#but i also think id do fairly well in prison

[sillimancer]

therapy's gonna be interesting tonight

[executionerspity]

trying to get somewhere on deciding my next yuzugiri fic to focus on now that Rough Patch is nearly complete (in my drafts, as a very rough first draft) and ill have the time to work on other stuff

ideas under the cut, figured id at least get them out here and let people maybe comment or whatever

Idea 1: Focus on Catching Pop Flies and Feelings, a baseball AU with Baseball Pro!Sagiri and Bodyguard!Yuzuriha. It's already got the groundwork fairly set (and a few chapters uploaded), which allows for ease of transition into it, but I'm not a sports person, so I might prefer to keep it as a semi-sporadic fic to update.

Idea 2: Post-Series fic with a few of the butterflies that Rien planned to use on the mainland having actually reached there, altering things in ways that leave Yuzuriha and Sagiri investigating and handling several unwanted changes. This one could last a while with lower amounts of prep work, and could probably carry on and off until close to the end of the anime's airing, especially if they make 3 seasons with 1 cour each.

Idea 3: Modern AU fic with Cop!Sagiri, who makes a deal with Prisoner!Yuzuriha to get a confession from a different person to prevent a murder case mistrial, and the terms for Yuzuriha's cooperation requires them to interact semi-frequently. I've got a bit of the basics for this prepped, but not as much as the Baseball AU.

Idea 4: Arranged Marriage AU, where Yuzuriha agrees to go find an arranged marriage to get Saya better medical help in hopes of saving her dying sister. Cue Sagiri pushing her father's company needing to prove their diversity statements in order to get a wife, but her father insists on picking someone he thinks will be well behaved. Yuzuriha, of course, knows how to put on a façade. It's a newer idea, but fairly easy to write with minimal prep work.

Idea 5: Chess AU, modern. Nothing too complex or anything, just a meet-cute with some terrible pun title involving the word check or maybe a different chess term. Again, basically zero groundwork has been done for this, but it's a much easier concept to include overall, and can involve one of them teaching the other in order to make the gameplay lower level.

I do have a few different ideas beyond these that I've toyed with, but don't currently feel confident writing. I also could try to figure out another AU that's commonly used, like Band AU, Coffeeshop AU, or Florist/Tattoo Artist AU, and make that work. Probably would have some easy resources, but I'd be starting from square one on even building the ideas. Still down for people to suggest that stuff, in case anything pops out at me, it's just less likely than if I end up working on some idea of mine with some prep already done.

If I don't get any responses on this by roughly the end of April 12th (for at least one time zone), I'll probably end up working more on 1 and/or 3, but I'm pretty open to ideas. The time zone converter for that time is here.

[copperbadge]

This morning I busted out the ceramic knife sharpener along with my newly rediscovered steel knife sharpener and sharpened all the knives! (Well, the ones I regularly use, anyway.) I bought the knife block fairly recently, first knife block I’ve ever owned, and I very much enjoyed sharpening every knife and placing it back in the block to be displayed. I’m adding “sharpen knives” as a recurring item in google tasks, set to every 3 months or so. 

The kitchen is the one room the cats don’t consider their domain; they don’t even like me being in there for more than about 10-20 minutes. Often if I’m doing a cooking day, they’ll take turns coming in to check on me, and Dearborn will try to convince me to leave by standing in the doorway and crying piteously. 

Polk knows it’s pointless, so if I’m in the kitchen and she’s nervous about it she just perches in the cat tree and watches me through the kitchen doorway. I frequently leave the kitchen only to be confronted by a disapproving tabby at nearly-eye-level. 

This was some of NaClYoHo today -- I need to go to the Container Store for a couple of specific Containers, so the rest will have to wait until this afternoon. While sharpening blades and cleaning the counter I listened to an episode of an ADHD podcast I think I’m going to unsubscribe to (this morning’s episode was the last straw -- a seven minute minisode, the first 90 seconds of which was absolute pointless parasocial babble) and a portion of the latest episode of Ear Hustle, “Fences”, about prison architecture. 

[ID: Three images; the first image shows a series of ceramic and steel knives linked up on a cutting board, with sharpeners on either side of them. The second image shows all the knives in a clear plastic knife block, which holds them upright but also displays the blades. Third image is looking into the living room from the kitchen doorway, and shows Polk the tabby in the topmost level of the cat tree, squinting at me in annoyance.]

[anarchy2021]

PSA Day! (Rp etiquette)

{ID: A person standing next to a flipchart. They're thin, and have medium-length brown hair, pale skin, and dark brown ears. The ears are angled horizontally. They're wearing thin-rimmed glasses, and their expression reads as confident. Their hair is partially tied up in a bun. They also have a long tail the same brown as their ears, with brown fur the same color as their hair on the end. They're wearing black trousers, a black waistcoat with a white shirt underneath. Additionally, a black overcoat with gold edges is draped over their shoulders. The inner lining of the overcoat is red, and partially visible behind the person. They have their right hand on their hip, and with their left hand, they're holding a stick up to the flipchart, which reads "RP 101 :)". The 101 is underlined. END ID.}

Greetings! You may not recognize me (unless you were watching the debate perhaps, then, sup) as I admit I’ve been a bit…. Behind the scenes as it were (as secretary of VOID there is a lot of looking at the void, usual routine for me mhm mhm). Regardless, I’m Days (or Nights, either or) and for today’s PSA I’m here (along with some words from our recently freed from totally-not-prison president, Graphite, at a later date) to talk to you about roleplay! More specifically, rp etiquette and terms and how that relates to the DSMP and how it should be talked about. 

Now now, you might be wondering “oh but what is your experience?” Glad you asked! I’m a long term text rper with over 5 years of experience- and my main avenues of rp are rps similar in structure to that of the DSMP- long term improv driven sandboxes that also have important events planned ahead of time in some regard but are often player driven most of the time. Now, let’s get into it!

Head writers/admins

Let’s start off with a pretty hot topic regarding the server, which is the existence of a ‘head writer’ (usually in reference to Mr. Soot). Now, mainy take this as meaning quite literally a writer- like in a show, but, with what information we have I think it’s safe to say he’s not really that and more along the lines of an rp admin/head. The admin’s main purpose is to keep things structured and organized, as well as putting together the events they’re in charge of. This is pretty much how everyone treats the man anyways, BUT, while an admin is in charge of a lot they do NOT have the final say over everything, particularly in regards to the characters and their players. 

Players in an rp for the most part have full control over their characters (within reason and the confines of the rp setting) and an admin enforcing their will onto a character (such as enforcing certain backstory choices that don’t seem particularly wanted. For example, the fridge with c!Phil) is often frowned upon unless there is a good reason for it and discussed with the rper. 

It is also notable that just because there is an admin, that doesn’t mean they’re the sole writer/organizer/etc. It is not at all uncommon for specific subplots and or other important events to be headed by players involved in it in this type of rp. This can be seen in practice with how the Eggpire plotline was headed by BBH and the prison plotline was mainly written by Dream and Tommy. 

Summary:

- head writer/admins do not and should not control everything

- organise and structure events

- players might admin their own smaller plots within a rp

Narrative consequences

Now, another hot topic- especially in regards to character discourse (my abhorred personally). Narrative consequences. These are generally referred to when someone thinks a character is not getting the consequences for their actions in the story that they should, or (more rarely in my experience) when they feel a character is being punished too hard for their actions. While this is an understandable feeling to have, at the end of the day narrative consequences just aren’t much of a thing in roleplay, at least not to the same extent as a book or tv show. 

This is for one simple reason, consequences rely on the character’s actions and how they respond to others around them, if a character does not feel like it’s fit to react or if it angers their character- it is 100% within their right to respond accordingly. 

However, there is also an argument that can be made if a character responds to something in a way that doesn’t align with a character’s usual actions. For a personal example, one time in a rp I was playing a character who was intervening when another character was being hurt, however, my character was met with scorn from being somewhat aggressive regarding it- I felt that this was unfair as none of these character showed the same scrutiny to characters who did worse things, and none of these characters had been established as hypocrites. 

This grudge lasted the entire rp until my character died. This is a point where believing that the consequences to a character are unjust is more or less fair, but, a character simply not getting immediately smited or a character getting scorn is not automatically a point against the character, especially since an rper cannot reasonably make their fellow rpers react a certain way.  

Summary:

- narrative consequences are not the same in RP as in other mediums

- can't force characters to react, or force players to react in a way they don't feel is fit

- but can critique RP if things feel unfairly ooc/inconsistent

Retcons

Next up, retcons. What is a retcon? It’s short for retroactive continuity, in essence it’s when in a piece of media something is changed retroactively- such as a character’s personality, how an event occurred, etc. for an outsider audience perspective retcons are often looked upon unfavorably, as it’s changing something already established which can cause friction among those attached to certain ideas, but in reality retcons are both a neutral concept and fairly normal to occur in rps. 

Rps are (generally) not professional writing, they’re things made up on the fly with perhaps a base to work off of (and depending on the rp, not even that. However in the rps I’ve done we generally had character sheets and the like for backstories and all) and thus sometimes mistakes happen. One of the main causes for minor retcons is when details are confused or left out that would have realistically affected the situation or how characters would have responded to it, unless in severe cases these usually happen on the spot and don’t cause much of a fuss. 

Major retcons often fall along the lines of players and how they choose to present their character. This is especially common when a player is using a character for the first time or even if they’re just new to an rp in general, sometimes as we rp we simply decide to take things in a new direction and sometimes that direction may cause things already established to be retconned, even if not outright stated. 

A good example of this is the enderwalk with c!Ranboo, the enderwalk as it was first introduced is very different than it is portrayed now, likely as a result of Ranboo taking a new direction with his character since then. More widespread retcons may happen if people are unhappy with a certain plot thread, in this case an example would be the canon status of SBI, Wilbur used to push it but Techno (and later Phil) didn’t want it to be canon, so anything about it previously said has been soundly retconned. 

In my own case character retcons very often happen to me when I first use an oc, as the character takes a different shape than what I put on the paper in practice, even sometimes within the same rp (one of my first ocs was practically unrecognizable as the same character in the beginning of an rp as compared to even just a few weeks later).

So, retcons are fine and normal to occur, but, like I said- they’re neutral. A retcon can very well be done poorly and cause problems. This is mainly in issue with retcons made that affect highly established and built upon aspects without discussion with all those who’d be effected, this can cause confusion, plot holes and cause characters to be in a weird limbo if they don’t know how to have their character act without whatever was retconned. Major retcons need to be discussed in order to prevent these problems, and in some cases should be avoided entirely- instead it being better to work for a compromise and rework events rather than removing them. 

Summary:

- retcons are normal and neutral

- small retcons happened frequently in RP to help keep things going in an improv heavy medium. Usually unnoticeable

- large retcons tend to have with new players, or if the story is taking a new direction.

- large retcons require a lot of communication, and sometimes whould be avoided, instead working to compromise and rework the direction of the RP

Metagaming and godmodding

Metagaming and godmodding are two very important terms to know for rp etiquette and if you’ve done any rping you’ve probably seen these words thrown around in rules lists and such already. These are both ultimately negative things that should be avoided at all costs. What are they? Metagaming is when you use information that you know OOC and use it IC even though your character should not have that information. Godmodding is when a character is taken over by another person for one reason or another against the player’s will- such as having a character react to something without letting the actual rper do it. 

The former is a big issue when it comes to discussion of the DSMP and how people interact with it, mainly in the chat and donos. When you are trying to get a character to react to information that they shouldn’t have you are trying to get them to metagame, which is heavily frowned upon in an RP. This is also important to note in discussion, a character not responding to certain important events is not a mark against them if the character has no way of even knowing what was going on, or would not reasonably respond to it with the information they have. 

Summary:

- both frowned upon

- god modding is taking over someone elses character

- metagaming is using out of character information to do in character acting

- Meta gaming is relevant to DSMP particular in how it relates to donos and chats. Don't encourage meta-gaming

All of these factors are important to consider when discussing the DSMP and it’s narrative, it’s not going to function the same as other forms of media nor should it- as once you go in that direction you’re competing with the big boys over at tv and at that point things would fall apart. Improv and it’s unique variables is what makes the DSMP, and anything else like it, special and interesting to follow!

[werevulvi]

I hope these show up in the right order. This kinda stuff is exactly what makes me feel lost about my transness. Like I was just trying to be nice and agreed with this person's post. I had no interest in being an asshole or arguing what bio sex, or even what butch, is. I was just declaring myself as a bio female because it felt relevant to the topic and how I relate to it. It amazes me how even the pro self-ID types are against self-ID when someone identifies in a way that doesn't suit their narrative, even when it's a trans person whose identity they deny.

They blocked me and I don't want anyone going after them, I just wanna rant. And not even about this specific post or person, but more so about trying to exist as a gender critical trans person in general. I've been thinking about that for days, weeks, perhaps months or even years already, so it's really not about this specific person. I guess it was just what triggered me to finally start writing.

I guess I feel like both most other trans people and most other gender critical people, view transness as incompatible with gender critical opinions, and like that makes me feel pulled in two opposing directions. But anyone of any ideology can be dysphoric and transition because it helps them cope. I don't think that my opinions, or my choice to hang out with radfems, means that I'm self-hating, or even that I'm going against the needs of my own trans demographic. My own trans demographic is just all too good at confusing wants with needs... generally speaking. I see sex and gender the way I do because it makes sense to me personally, and I don't even argue that it's necessarily the objective truth. I don't think there is such a thing. It's just my truth, my perception of the world.

That I can't make myself see myself as a man for real, despite my dysphoria and transition, doesn't mean that I think it's wrong to transition, or that my body is damaged by it, or that transitioning is useless. Because it's not. I love my transition and everything it has given me. I'm comfortable with my transitioned body. It deserves love, especially my love. And although I still struggle with some insecurities, I feel like I love my body. It's been... incredibly good to me. It's stayed very healthy, and even keeping up a strong immune system despite my smoking, self harm, careless sexual escapades, etc. I may still have a fraught relationship with being female, but as long as I transition, I seem to be managing it fairly well. Except then I have a more fraught relationship with society instead. Can't win, but that's life, innit?

I don't think either my transness or my political opinions are my real problem or ever was. I think it's society's constant fighting about trans people's genders, lives and choices, that makes me constantly cave in on myself. Can't handle the pressure.

It feels like it's only ever getting worse. Ten years ago my biggest concern was people not ever finding me attractive because I was turning myself into some kind of a freak, which luckily I was proven to be wrong about. Five years ago my biggest concern was nonbinary people trying to normalize asking people their pronouns, which made me fear that people would never leave me alone about my gender, unless I forced myself to be hyper-masculine, which I still worry about. Three years ago my biggest concern was having been stripped of my sex-based rights and dehumanized for how I had chosen to treat my dysphoria, which I still worry about as well, and now...

...my biggest concerns are being treated as a third gender, fetishistic predator who should be shoved away into gender neutral spaces, and I fear that one day medical transition will be taken away as an option to treat dysphoria if transness is continued to be rejected as a medical condition. My heart rate is ever increasing. Can I even realistically "just go on with my life" anymore? I feel compelled to do something, but I also feel like there isn't anything I can do. No matter how many people I try to "educate" about dysphoria and why transition is incredibly important, all the while being as humble as I can, I am seriously lacking behind the much faster spread of harmful misinformation.

Thing is, I do not blame gender critical people for spreading some of that misinformation. For example of trans women as fetishistic predators, which people apply to trans men when they still fail to understand that MtF is not the only kinda trans there is, or when we dare to be just a little bit feminine while passing as male. If anything, I blame the true sources of such harmful claims, which slowly increase my anxious heart rate, over years, turning into decades, of living as openly trans. I blame opportunistic men who pretend to be trans women for gaining access to women's spaces, be it prisons, spas, shelters, sports, what have you, when they cannot possibly be dysphoric judging by how happily they swing their dicks around women as if it's no big deal and make no attempt at transitioning, but also who cares if they are dysphoric, no one should behave that way either way. I blame the trans rights activists who say lesbians have to suck dick if it's attached to a trans woman, and those who say that gay men have to be into pussy and date trans men. I blame those who say that trans women are bio female by virtue of identifying as female, and claiming that they can get periods, by virtue of... bowel cramps?! I'd also blame those who try to change female specific language on behalf of shielding trans men from our own dysphoria, in the rare cases we'd end up getting pregnant or manage to drag our asses to the gyno office for a pap smear, which... most of us really don't, regardless of if you call us women or uterus-havers, sincerely, please stop. It makes people think trans women are trying to take over the term "woman" entirely for themselves, which of course they don't.

I could go on, but I won't, as this post is not about these things. It's more so about how estranged I feel from the people who spout these things, knowing that they think they're speaking for me and my supposed needs as a tranny. But I see no point in trying to educate them, as they won't listen any more to me than they would to a radfem, and again, I think this post in my screenshots shows just how unwilling they are to listen to me.

I guess living with my transition on constant display is what's hard, and I guess I just need to vent about that, as it's always judged one way or the other; as either me having made myself into a man, or that I'm a delusional woman who mutilated herself; and it's kinda hard to find a kind and sane middle ground, that perhaps I'm just a victim of circumstances, and trying to make the most of my own life, regardless of what the fuck I am. That social shit, on top of dealing with dysphoria, makes it really difficult to not hate myself, I guess. But I have tried to live stealth and that made it if possible even worse, as it felt like I was lying, keeping a huge secret that grew in me like a spreading virus.

What I want is to just live my life, and for neither my bio sex, nor my transition, to stop me from doing that. I want to work through the worst of my autism, enough to be able to pursue a career in some low-paying labor, blue-collar job; get a car and driver's licence, find a suitable husband to have a child and cats with; I want my own garden, an art studio; I want to build muscle to become strong and even more independent (and perhaps strong enough to carry that husband, but at least to carry myself), and so on. When I picture myself in that potential future, it is with this male-like appearance I transitioned my body into, but it is also as a mother and wife.

And thinking about all of that makes me happy, it makes me smile and feel joy, meaningfulness, hope... While thinking about arguing online with some miserable fuck, who's deadset on arguing semantics and calling me a terf, when all I wanted was to show a little bit of kindness, that "hey, I agree with you, you make a good point here, and I'm not here to fight" only to be spat right back into my face... just makes me feel sad. Whatever happened to diversity of opinion? It's gone, it became labeled as bad, and left people like me with no place to be.

There is no point in arguing with such people, or even trying not to argue. There's no winning in that, there's no reward, no accomplishment. It's better to walk away.

I know I just have to get over this, this inner conflict of going against my transness with my gender critical opinions, and that I'm going against my womanhood with my transition - and be stronger than the political climate that's pulling me into pieces. But if it's peace that I want... I can just forget about it. There's no road there. But I have trouble letting go of that simple dream. The internet is constantly manipulating me into thinking I have an exciting social life, when in fact it's non-existent, and the lie is destructive. With internet vs real life, I'm living a double life. One of those lives has a future, the other one does not.

I'm glad I made this rant. It actually made me feel better, and reminded me that it's still worth it. Being trans, moving forward, focusing on what is good and what can become good in life. And it reminded me that the internet is merely an imitation of life, a substitute for human connection, and can... as with much else, be both good and bad.

[criminalminds4days]

Family Matters | Chapter 10: Believer

Hello everyone!

I apologize for my lack of posting. I have barely survived midterms and I have found myself with a writers block once more. I am hopefully going to be able to give myself a little break between the end of the semester and after finals and the beginning of my summer courses. Thankfully I only have 2 summer classes so hopefully that will make it easier to post. 

I have some announcements coming up soon and I will hopefully finish writing the missing chapters for this story and only have to post and edit. So far, I have not been able to edit anymore so I apologize for any grammatical error. 

I really hope you are enjoying reading the story because I had a really great time writing it. Hope you have a great weekend!

I apologize for constant flashbacks but they are important to the plot, I promise!

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 4k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog​

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(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 10: Believer

"Very well, this seems like a good start." She said as she finished reading his confession. She moved towards the camera and turned it off, signaling that she would be taking the paper and would adhere to her part of the deal.

"What is she doing?" Spencer whispered to Emily. "Without a video confession, the written one can be considered coerced. We would be back at square one."

"There is the surveillance camera, genius."

"Of course she has a backup plan." He looked at the black camera, smiling at the knowledge.

"Now tell me, who left you, was it, mom or dad?"

"My dad." She readjusted in her seat. "How many victims did you kill total. We've found five, but it seems to me that is a low number for someone as angry as you."

"Fifteen, some of them are lost in the desert, some are by the arches, they should be found fairly soon." He shrugged and continued to look at her. "Why did he leave?"

"My mother got pregnant when she was young. It was a mistake, they didn't love each other. They married because of me, so it was only a matter of time before they broke, and break they did." She fought the urge to look back, hoping that nobody aside from Hotch would review the security tape. "Did you kill your father?"

"First one. He's in the arches, his favorite place in the world."

"Did your mom not accept his apology?"

"Well, he didn't really apologize until I had a gun to his head, but my mother was always kind, so she forgave him."

"Why did you kill him then?"

"I didn't forgive him." He winked at her. "Did you look for him?"

"I did."

"And?"

"That's your fourth question."

"I don't care, I want to know."

"He is dead. As dead as can be." She said out loud for the first time. "I hired a private investigator and found he crashed his car two years after he left us."

"Karma is a bitch."

"Why keep killing if you got rid of him?"

"For the same reason, you joined the FBI." He smiled at her, "to show my dad that he wasn't gonna dictate my life. That I was not going to let him be my end goal."

"It seems to me he is. You tracked him down, killed him. For some that might be enough. But you never got closure so you decided to pray on people who made mistakes. Where did you find them?"

"I worked at a counselors office."

"Well, that is rather obvious now. Maybe you should have gotten some help yourself." She stood, ready to leave the room, "hope you enjoy prison." She turned to exit the room.

"My final question, if you had found him, what would you have said?"

"I don't know." She responded.

"Bullshit."

"Well, I couldn't  ask him why  he left because I already know that, so I don't really know what I would have said." She turned to him, "what did you tell him?"

"I told him trousers weren't his thing." He stood, the handcuffs falling from his hands as his smile grew wider. "You should really be more careful with what you leave laying here, doctor."She reached for her gun but everything happened so fast she had no time to fire it. He seemed to run into the wall, only this one was not as hard as it seemed and a giant chunk collapsed as he made his way through, and just like that he had exited the station. Prentiss and Reid rushed in and through the now giant hole in the station but the man was nowhere to be found. Lucas Heavensbee had just vanished on her watch.

"Fuck!" She yelled and made her way to the office, the team was now making their way to the interrogation room but stopped in their tracks as they saw her approach. "I need access to the security cameras, now." She moved towards the security office and asked for the feed of the last couple of weeks to be played, there she found there were about three days missing. "He planned this, and someone helped him. He knew exactly what he was doing. That bastard played us!" She rushed out and into an SUV, driving directly to his house that was now under surveillance. She looked around, looking for anything that would indicate he had been there. It was fast to spot it, he had managed to slide through the police cars and left a note for her.

I just wanted to make sure you knew this had nothing to do with you doctor, but I simply can't let my father win. I am sure we will hear from each other, and then we can converse from one orphan to another. Until then.

She was ready to show the note to them, as Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid made their way through the house. The note was still crumpled in her hand, but as the local police entered she decided against it. The two agents were the best people she had ever met, she knew it since the moment she joined the FBI, and she knew they were trying to make her feel better about the whole situation, but there were some things she couldn't get past. This man had killed fifteen people and kidnapped so many more and he had slipped right through her fingers. He had made a fool of her, and she would be damned if she didn't catch him. Telling Emily and Spencer would worry them, and they would be on her case about it becoming an obsession, just like she had done after their first case.

One year ago (I think?)

Her leg bounced as she drove with the social worker and two of her co-workers. This was her first big assignment, and she wasn't sure she would measure up. It was also important to note that while Emily and she tended to get along well, Spencer and she hadn't spoken almost at all since the sweater incident.

"Should I introduce you as FBI agents?"

"No, I think it's best if we come as social workers, there is less hostility." Prentiss' said as she gave both Reid and her their fake badges. She placed her FBI ID inside her bag and took a deep breath, it was a simple mission, they would be in and out.

Never, and I mean never, say something will be easy, as this almost assures you that is not the case. The social worker, whose name was Daisy, had been shot and was now dead. They had become trapped in the middle of a war between the cult leaders and the local police. It's as if the universe wished to remind her just how much bad luck she could have.

She heard them talking to the FBI, and food had been delivered so she assumed they had implanted microphones. Now they had to find a way to communicate with them and let them know what they had concluded.

"Which one of you is it?" The man said as he pointed a gun at them.

"Are we playing tag?" She asked stupidly, earning a glare from her partners.

"Do you think this is a joke? Which one of you is the FBI agent?" She turned to look at the woman and man, trying her hardest not to freak out.

"What are you talking about?" Spencer asked, clearly nervous.

"I will ask you one more time, and if none of you tell me I will not hesitate to shoot all three of you. Which one is the FBI agent?"

She saw Emily stir and knew she had to act fast if she wanted to save her. "I am." She said before either of them could stop her. "I'm the FBI agent. Though I'm fairly new so I don't really have that many secrets to tell. I was barely cleared to be on the field. If you really think about it, I'm not very helpful, so I think maybe if you let it slide I could-" she felt a fist connect with her right cheekbone, silencing her.

"Take her to the back." He instructed one of the men. She gave one last reassuring glance to her teammates, hoping this wouldn't be the last time she saw them.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, the door to the room she was in opened and Ben came in. You would think that having a name like Benjamin wouldn't exactly command respect, but she wasn't one to judge cults.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you told your men to lock me here." He slapped her across the face.

"Who sent you?"

"My boss?" Her response was received with another slap.

"Do you think this is a joke?"

"I think that you need to feel powerful because a part of you knows you're not enough." She spoke hoping her team could hear part of their discovery, even if she was receiving punches from the man as she continued. "You think you can get away with stuff because you prayed on the week, but deep down you know that there are people here who could stand up to you, and if they did you would be done for." She felt a warm liquid fall from her lips as he continued to beat her. "I know you pray on young girls. You're nothing more than a pedophile that uses the bible as a way to manipulate women to give their children to you." As she fell he started kicking her and she tried to avoid making noise, but the pain was too much. "This is nothing, I've dealt with worse." She spoke, hoping they would understand. "I've dealt with much worse, this is nothing."

"Who do you think you are?!" The man said, enraged at her defiance.

"Nobody, just the one person that knows you better than you know yourself." That earned her the hardest hit, and she knew she wouldn't be conscious for much longer, she had to let them know. "Your suicide won't work, there are people that are skeptical and you know it. This isn't about God, or even your preferences, this is about you Ben, and how you are so terrified to go back to prison you are willing to kill your followers to avoid it, because you know they would see right through your act, you are nothing but a coward." The last kick took place and the man left the room. "Don't change the plan, I'm okay." She whispered, hoping they could hear her, wishing that even if she died right then and there, they could save the people trapped in this church.

When she woke, a woman was there tending her wounds. "Be careful, I think you might have some broken ribs."

"Don't tell Ben, he might come and finish me off" she joked, but the woman gave her a pointed look as if letting her know that was a possibility. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"I don't know, maybe a couple of hours. They will come and get you for the ceremony, use you as an example."

"That's okay, I've always wanted to be one of those."

"This is not a joke girl, he's dangerous."

"I know. The trick is to have nothing to lose."

"Well, I have a daughter."

"Ben's wife, right?" The woman flinched at the mention. "You're not okay with that, are you?" And then, the pieces of the puzzle fit together. "You made the call, didn't you?" Before the woman could confirm her suspicion, a man entered and pulled her up, not worrying if her body ached, and took her to the church. She used the door frame to help her stabilize herself and took in the sight before her. It was still light, but with the time she lost she couldn't be sure how much time they actually had left. Emily and her locked eyes and she approached, her eyes full of worry, but her facial expression was one of pure anger and hatred. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you hate me?"

"How could you lie to us?" She asked, and as the men made their way to the front, her tone didn't change, but her questions did. "Are you crazy? Why would you do such a stupid thing? They could have killed you."

"I know, but it was either me or all three of us. Besides, I'm fine. We need you and Reid on the inside."

"This is reckless behavior."

"I know, but you were about to do the same."

"I have experience."

"Exactly, I can be a scapegoat."

"You are the most stubborn person I have ever met."

"I know, it's a gift. Now listen, I think there are mics, in the food, and if I'm right, I think I have been able to feed some information to the team, but we need to figure out when this massive suicide will take place."

Emily nodded and gave her an apologetic look before shoving her harshly. She fought the urge not to wince but it was almost impossible with her broken ribs. "You are a disgrace to this country, and I hope whoever you work for knows that they will not get away with it."

Ben looked over and stared at her, and despite her pain and the fear of another beating, she stared him down, letting him know that he would not get the best of her. She was gonna save as many people as possible and he could suck it. He was just another man who thought they were invisible because they weren't afraid to beat you up.

Spencer observed the interaction and the defiance she had amazed him. Despite the bruises and the swelling of her eye, not once did she lower her gaze or show any sign of weakness. Never in his life had he felt so attracted to someone as he did right then and there, but now was not the time to daydream of your coworkers, especially when they could be on the verge of dying.

As the day progressed, she continued to look for ways to tell the team, finally resorting to using the window to write a message. When she was younger she used to huff into a window to create fog and used it to write, so she did the same, letting the team know she could possibly convince some people to exit and they could come in after.

"What are you doing?" The woman from earlier spoke as she entered the room.

"If I'm gonna die, I might as well go doing something I like. Fog drawings." She said and covered her work. "Listen, don't ask me how I know this, but the FBI might strike tonight and if they do, he's not gonna cooperate, we need to get as many people as possible out."

"No, I can't do that."

"Please, I know you're scared, I'm terrified right now. I might have peed my pants earlier today, but that's not the point. The point is we need to save as many people as possible. Please help me get them out." Through the window she saw a figure, holding three fingers up. She nodded and turned back to the woman.

"Three a.m.?"

"You saw him too?"

"Yeah, one would think the FBI would be a little more discrete."

"We have our moments. Now please, make sure to get everyone out before then." The woman sighed and nodded, agreeing to the plan. "And one more thing, the people I came with, how are they?"

"Are they also agents?"

"No, of course not. I just dragged them into this and feel responsible for them. They are good people."

"The man seems to be fascinated by Ben, and vice versa. The woman keeps pacing around as if hoping for enlightenment. She has talked to some people though."

"Okay good. Please make sure to get them out too." After she left and closed the door, the woman sat down, her injuries making it hard to breathe. "I don't know where I am, or how to get out, but that will not change the plans okay? I need to make sure all these people are safe."

She wished she could hear someone ensuring her that would be the case, but there was no answer. She felt herself get dizzy and knew there was definitely internal damage that would take time to heal. Turns out her mother was wrong, money couldn't get you out of everything. It felt like an eternity, but she knew the time was approaching. She saw and more and more dark figures gathered around the church. She even caught a glimpse of Derek, who seemed to be looking around, as if hoping he could find her. She huffed one last time and wrote a message to him.

The door opened and nobody came in. She knew what it meant, so she gathered her remaining strength and walked out. Everything was dark and she could hear Spencer's voice coming from the main room. She followed it and stopped as she noticed him trying to talk a man down from placing explosives. She cursed under her breath. She stepped forward only to be pulled back by someone.

"Don't even think about it." The man said.

"Derek, we need to help him."

"I know, I'll go, join the rest. Everyone is already out."

"But-"

"Go!" She began walking out before it all happened. Reid ran towards them and Derek pulled the both of them to the nearest and hopefully safest area before a sharp pain on her head made her vision blurry and soon after she lost consciousness.

"I think she will appreciate it if you showered." She heard someone say, once she finally regained consciousness.

"Well, then she can tell me that herself." Another voice responded.

"Emily, you and Spencer have been here for a week. You need to go to the hotel and rest. At least the kid has been using the shower."

"I am not leaving until she wakes up. That includes leaving to bathe."

"Neither am I." A third voice added to the mix. "Though I can't say the same thing about avoiding water."

"How am I supposed to leave if I can't trust the two of you to take care of yourselves?"

"Easy, your flight leaves in less than an hour and you are still here. Unless you want to be paying fees you will get out of here."

There was a sigh of resignation before the voice spoke once more. "Reid, you're in charge until she wakes up. Then she's in charge."

"You're gonna put the one of us that was hit in the head 'in charge'? What does that even mean?" The female voice complained.

"I have made my decision. Maybe if you showered, things would be different." The voice faded, and the steps of the person became less clear, so she assumed the person was leaving.

"I think Morgan is right, you should take a shower."

"Don't make me hurt you, Reid."

"It was just a suggestion."

She didn't want to interrupt their banter, but her urge to sneeze was bigger, so she let her body do its thing. Though it is important to let you know that sneezing with broken ribs is horrible.

"She's awake!" Emily screamed and launched herself onto the bed. She started crying from pain after the action. "You're so happy you're crying!"

"Prentiss, that might be because you just jumped on her ribs." The man clarified as he stood, placing his hand on hers. The feeling was foreign, but she could let it slide once.

"I am so sorry! But I am so happy you're awake."

"What happened?"

"After the explosion, you hit your head, and because you already had injuries your body gave out, exhausted. Thankfully the ambulance was already there and we could rush you to the hospital. You've been sleeping for a good week." He explained.

"Well, then I don't get a lazy day for another three months." She joked and the two joined her. "How are the believers?"

"They're all safe and accounted for. Sadly we lost Ben's wife."

"Does her mom know?"

"Yes, but she wanted me to tell you she doesn't blame you and hopes you do get better." There was a moment of silence, as she processed the message, as well as her guilt.

"And I want you to know I ate your Jell-O." This caused her to laugh again. No matter how painful it felt, she was glad to be alive.

"Remind me to never get stuck in a hospital under the care of Spencer Reid. He'll eat my Jell-O."

"Let's make it a no trip to the hospital policy."

"Do I need to remind you where we work?" The woman shook her head, and both of them looked at her with a heartwarming smile. "I hate to break this moment, but please go shower, Prentiss."

"Ugh, fine." She placed a kiss on her forehead and moved out. "Reid, if anything happens, call me. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Got it."

She walked out and the two remained silent for a couple of minutes. Their hands were still together and she squeezed it to get his attention. "How are you doing? I wasn't the only one that got caught in the blast."

"I'm good. Morgan and I barely had a scratch, they cleared us that same day."

"That's good. What about the rest of the team?"

"They are all good. They wanted to stay but they had another case, Hotch said your family was out of reach so Emily and I refused to leave. Morgan also stayed behind but they called him up today, without three agents they needed all the help they could get."

"You guys didn't need to stay." She assured him. His grip on her hand tightened, enough to let her know he wasn't letting go, but not enough to hurt her.

"You could've died. Because of me."

"That's not true and you know it."

"I should've said I was the agent."

"We both know the reason he didn't kill me was that I'm a woman. You wouldn't have been so lucky."

"Still."

"Reid, listen to me. This is not your fault, and this is not Emily's fault either. I knew what I was getting into, and I would do it again in a heartbeat."

"You are one stubborn woman."

"I know." She smiled at him, "now please go find me some Jell-O."

He laughed, but nodded, letting go of her hand. Just before he exited the room he turned and gave her the most endearing look she had ever seen, "thank you, for saving our lives. I'll never forget that."

"Good, that way I can ask for favors at any time." They both chuckled and he left the room hunting for the dessert.

The reality in her brain, however, was not as calm as she portrayed. For months she had obsessed over what she had done wrong, and she had spent sleepless nights thanks to her recurring nightmare, in which Ben didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, and as she watched Spencer and Emily's bodies lie in a pool of blood. This alone was enough to make her train and perfect her skills, to the point of complete exhaustion. She wasn't going to fail, not again.

That was until Lucas Heavensbee had brought her right back to her dark hole.

[cheshiresartblog]

Demon/Angel Thing

Alright. Due to popular demand I’ll start with this one.  Also, straight up, I literally do refer to it as “the demon/angel thing” cause I don’t come up with titles until the end.  Also I started this entire thing when I was 14 years old. I’m 24. So this is my longest running world I guess. I have a lot of worlds I’ve made over the years. I will admit my dirty little secret here, but what jump started this for me was watching Black Butler for the first time as a kid. Got me interested in the whole demons and angels thing. That’s where the similarities end, though. 

Also, I will not be going really deep into the plot simply because Spoilers since I def wanna make something out of this. 

Stuff below the cut cause it’s  l o n g 

The World

Basically, there are three interconnected realms; Earth, the Heavens and Hell. Also, the Heavens and Hell are not related to the afterlife. That’s a whole other can of worms here that ya’ll already got a bit of a taste of with my BNHA Reapers Au a while back. But yeah. They’re three interconnected realms. The Heavens was made by the God of Order and Hell the Goddess of Chaos. Earth was made by the missing Goddess of Life. Angels are being of Order and Demons are beings of Chaos and Humans fall in between the two. Also I’ve been at a loss for names for the Deities here but I do have two for sure. The Goddess of Life was named Gaia and the Goddess of Chaos was named Lilith. 

Basically Heaven and Hell had always been at odd with each other and Earth was a common battle ground. The earliest I can go with the timeline that’s relevant would be what I call the Princes Era. 

Prince Era (World Statuses) 

Earth: Humanity is young, they are mostly just coming out of their hunter-gatherer stage of things. The planet is mainly used as a battle ground for the warring Angels and Demons, inspiring myths of old to come. Magic is wild and free in this time on the planet. When Lucifer fell it disrupted the ley lines of the planet resulting in a steady decline of the magical on earth for years to come.

Hell: Hell is in chaos itself. While dealing with the war with the Angels they are dealing with heavy infighting between the demon variations and Lilith being unable to completely control her creations. After much thought Lilith decided to choose seven(eight) demons with blood from the seven ruling families to become the first seven Princes of Hell and unite Hell into one unified force to defend themselves properly from the greater threat that are the Angels. 

The first seven(eight) Princes are the following: 

Baphomet of the Superbia family, the Prince of Pride and the next chosen King of Hell whenever Lilith decides to step down. 

Beelzebub of the Grykësi family, the Prince of Gluttony. 

Leviathan (Identical twins Via and Anthel) of the Invidia family, the twin Princes of Envy who both share the identity of Leviathan in the public.

Asmodeus of the Libidine family, the Prince of Lust.

Mammon of the Avaritia family, the Prince of Greed. 

Sathanas of the Ira family, the Prince of Wrath. 

Belphegor of the Tristitia family, the Prince of Sloth.

Notes 1: Prince is just a title here. Sathanas and Beelzebub are women Notes 2: The Princes were all granted the ability to use Hell Fire by Lilith personally after she assessed deemed them all worthy in one way or another. 

Heavens: A world ruled by the God of Order through the chosen King. At the time it’s extremely militaristic. Working under the King and God of Order are the four Archangels; Michael, Lucifer, Gabriel and Raphael. Though, under the surface there’s a rebellion brewing. (I will be honest, I always focused a bit more on the Hell as a world when thinking about this Era.) 

Notes: What sets the Archangels apart here from regular angels besides rank is that they were blessed with the ability to harness the power of Holy Fire, which is something more explained story wise. Just know it would kill the average angel if they tried to use it.

Modern Era

The Modern Era is marked by the a huge event. The destruction of Hell. In their ever going war, 100 years before present time, an attack by the Angels lead to Hell being rendered unstable, which resulted almost half of the population being killed and the other half escaping to Earth. Some kind of peace treaty was made and it allowed the Demons to stay on Earth but with conditions. Also, with this event the Angels too more charge on Earth than they were before and humanity was now pulled fully into the know about Angels and Demons existing. 

This also established something very important to the story itself. The Zones. Most high population areas were split into Human Zones and Demons Zones, with a few cities gaining a third Zone due to the humans refusing to move and/or being sypathetic to the demons. This is the Neutral Zone. Aka, a home for society’s misfits. The main setting of the story is one of these three zoned cities. Right now it’s called Half-Light City but that name is subject to change most likely lol. 

The Zones 

The Human Zone is fairly well maintained for the most part. It has it’s occasional bad section, but those are closer to the Neutral Zone’s border fence. All and all it is the most upkept part of the city and is home to Humans, Angels and Half-Angels. It is heavily guarded and you need an ID to get in from the Neutral Zone, along with the requirement of being human. Demons and Half Demons are not allowed unless summoned. The Human Zone is protected by the Hunters, a group that is somewhat a cross between the police and the military. This section of the city is run by a chosen Council which answers to the Angelic Council of the Heavens. The occupants seem rather ignorant to the going ons of the other parts of the city and seem to go on with life without a second thought. Most of them at least.

The Demons Zone has a surprisingly decent upkeep, but then again they usually have to do it themselves because the money given to them by the city is not that much. The zone is mostly populated with full Demons, with the occasional Half-Demon or Demon with a Human partner scattered about. The fence between them and the Neutral Zone is actually quite open and in a state of disrepair, though Demon Zone residents and Neutral Zone residents alike guard it, it is usually quite easier to pass between these two Zones than it is for either of them to pass into the Neutral Zone. The Demon Zone was formerly run by a Demon Council made of Noble family survivors or descendants but was recently overthrown by a shady organization that needs a new name so bad. I’m so embarrassed of the old name I will not mention it but I will say I abused Google Translate as a teen so bad.

The Neutral Zone is basically the slums with a few nicer parts of town. It's a dreary and gray place at first glance honestly, but underneath that is a sense of unity between its people. Humans, Demons, Half-Breeds of both sorts and Fallen mix fairly well. The Neutral Zone is home to swindlers, mercenaries and all sorts of illegal activity giving it and it’s residents a negative reputation in the Human Zone. The Zone is co-lead by the two leaders of the two biggest Mercenary groups in the zone; the Triad and the Freelancers.

A more detailed description of the Heavens and Hell 

Heavens 

The Heavens are a set of floating islands that float around each other similar to a solar system might. The middle Island is The Capital City, and the roads are literally paved with gold and as well as some buildings being made of gold as well. It’s where the wealthy and powerful often live and is the center of their government. It is the largest single island whereas each other section of the Heavens is more of a string of islands.

The closer a set of islands are to the Capital the more privileged and wealthy the citizens are, and the higher the rank. There are a total of six rings of islands around the Capital. The outermost two hold the most farmland, forests, orchards, etc. Those two rings are the most populated and are where the lesser angels live.

Most Lesser Angels will never see Earth unless they join the military or join missionary work.

There are two islands floating above the Capital. One is the prison and trial area of soon to be Fallen Angels, and the other larger one is for military training. They never move from their fixed positions above the Capital.

While there are trains and such, most Angels get around via walking or flying, though flying is more common.

Angels higher up either dress like royalty or business men/women. Depends on the family. Lower class Angels dress in things like tunics and kinda, you know, greek-type of shit unless their employer gives them a more modern uniform. 

Angels use portals that appear like a glowing mass of light to get around Earth.   Hell

Hell is a Realm that exists solely in an underground location. It is said that the surface is way too hot to even walk upon, let alone live. There are Seven Circles of Hell and each Circle is responsible for a different area of their government, with Pride being the most powerful of them all.

The First Circle is the closest to the Surface and the most resistant to the heat found there. That would be the Wrath Circle. Physically they are the most capable of the variations of Demons and their Noble Family is the one in charge of the Military.

The Second Circle is Lust. Lust demons are the ones in charge of the Magical Regulations in Hell. That being said, they have the most Mages born to them, and some of the most powerful Magic users. They also are in charge of any and all Seers born in Hell.

The Third Circle is Greed. Greed demons are the ones in charge of the economics of Hell.They honestly have the most boring job, but it brings in the most money. They simply don’t mind because hey, the like to hoard riches anyways. They are said to have the biggest hand in the slave trade in Hell though.

The Fourth Circle is Envy. Envy demons are the ones in charge of the Judicial branch of Hell, handling criminals, legal matters, and prisoners. The latest raining families of Envy Demon Nobles have been well known for being cold and unbiased.

The Fifth Circle is Sloth. Sloth demons are the ones in charge of the Health care in Hell to put it simply. Someone has to be in charge of it. It also helps that Sloth demons have the largest amount of natural Healers born in their variation.

The Sixth Circle is Gluttony. Gluttony demons are surprisingly the second in charge after the Pride demons. The Noble Family of the Gluttony Circle has a deep history with the Pride royal family. Other than being the second in command the Gluttony demons are the ones in charge of Education and History keeping.

The Seventh and most powerful Circle is Pride. The Pride demons are the ones that run things, they are in charge of all the other Noble Families, and contain the Royal Family and the current ruling King or Queen of Hell. They have the final say in everything, but normally let most of the Noble Families run their domain as they see fit to.

Demons have technology based around magic, so magic teleporters, communication orbs, shit like that, is pretty common place.

The Slave trade is common and highly accepted by older demons though the newer generations are beginning to be against it. The slave trade in Hell often consists of captured humans, half demons, Fallen and rarely half angels and extremely rarely angels.

They have a potion that can make a Demon appear like a human for 24 hours meant for spies but a lot of teenagers use it to sneak to earth to party.  

Jewelry is huge in their culture. Like, seriously, so much jewelry.

A lot of Circles are mixed with the type of demons that live there but they usually have a slightly higher population of the type of demon the ring is named after.

I will probably make a separate post going more into detail about the species of angels and demons themselves. Demons, btw, consists of 7 different races of demons separated by sin type. They all have different traits. 

Magic Stuff I guess

Angel Magics (From common to rarest)- Healing, Aura Sight, Defensive and Protective, Weaponry Enchantment, Runic, Elemental, Precognition, Holy Fire (this one is literally the rarest thing for an angel to have).

Demon Magics (From common to rarest)- Illusions, Elemental, Contract Magic, Enchantment, Energy Draining/Aura Draining, Binding Magics, Witchery (Jinxes, charms, etc), Healing Magic, Possession, Shadow Magics, Shapeshifting (Rare for non Gluttony Demons only), Hellfire (Super Rare, actually marks the next Heir of a Ring of Hell to have it.), Precognition.

Human Magics (All human Magics are considered rare)- Witchery (Gained naturally or through demonic contract), Healing, Aura Sight, Runic, Elemental, Precognition.

Everyone can brew things such as potions.

Demons have more magic energy than Humans or Angels tbh and mages are way more common with them, though Healers are more common with Angels, and less common with demons.

Technology is advanced and exists and is built to work alongside magic.

Weaponry such as swords are still used though with Angels and Demons.

--

Alright folks. This is basically a world info dump. I will do a species info dump like I said once I got some decent pictures or I’ll do it in relevant chunks. 

[random-mcrandom]

Feral, Baku-centric fic idea

So I already tried to write this once but then my computer decided to shut down on me and I didn’t save it so here is attempt two. Good golly, I hope you guys like it. So this is going to be me tell you the basic idea for the story in slight vague, but detailed detail. Got it? I hope so. Here we go. (And I swear I’m going to save after every paragraph.)

So the story starts off with Pro Hero Dynamight doing hero stuff, patrolling, begrudgingly assisting people with not really hero things, and stuff like that. Then he gets an alert of a villain attack a little while away involving Pro Hero Red Riot. Dynamight blasts off to assist in the fight, but when he gets here, all he sees is Red Riot rampaging through the streets, flipping cars, endangering the lives of several civilians and injuring several heroes in the process. Dynamight asks the other heroes on the scene what happened and they say that they don’t really know what happened. One moment, Red Riot had the villain pinned and was getting ready to handcuff him and the next he was attacking everyone around him.

Dynamight tries to restrain Red Riot but is severely injured in the process. Suddenly, Deku shows up, after also being alerted of the need of assistance, and he quickly subdues Red Riot and puts quirk-resistant cuff on him. Bakugou is taken to the hospital, meanwhile Red Riot wakes up and is immediately interrogated. Kirishima says that he has no idea what happened and that he doesn’t remember ever attacking anyone else other than the villain that he supposedly caught. The interrogators inform Red Riot that not only did he let the villain escape, he also caused extensive damaged to public property, endangered the lives of many citizens as well as injured several other Pro Heroes that were on the scene, including Dynamight. 

Deku believes that Kirishima wouldn’t attack without reason and that something had to have happened in the fight to make Kirishima act that way. Deku asks if they could do some tests on Kirishima to see if there was some sort of drug or quirk activity that caused Kirishima to act the way that he did. There were a few tests done, but all of them came back to show that there was no drug or quirk induced anything that made Kirishima act the way that he did. Deku and Kirishima couldn’t believe it, but without further evidence to prove Kirishima’s innocence, Red Riot was officially arrested and sent to a maximum security prison.

Bakugou wakes up in the hospital about a week after Red Riot is arrested and learns of Kirishima’s fate through the Bakusquad, who all have been denied when asked if they could see Kirishima. Bakugou is pissed. After leaving the hospital, he also tries to get in to see Kirishima but is denied entry. After refusing to leave until he see Kirishima, Bakugou is forcefully escorted off the premises and is met outside by Deku who was called to take him. Bakugou and Deku head back to the hotheaded one’s apartment where Deku tells him everything about the interrogation before Kirishima was arrested. Bakugou is convinced that there must be some way to prove Kirishima’s innocence and that the first thing that they should do is find the villain who attack Red Riot in the first place. 

After a day and a half in the agency office (ignoring requests for him to go on patrol), squinting at security feeds from the area surrounding the villain attack with Red Riot, Bakugou finally got a general ID for the villain, who seemed to be an average Joe that had no previous criminal record. Bakugou searched several more security feeds before he found a recent one of the guy in the next city over. Bakugou packed a small bag and went to hunt the guy down.

It was fairly simple to find the guy. He was wandering from alley to alley, avoiding major streets when he could. Bakugou stopped him and after a moment of Bakugou convincing the panicking man that he wouldn’t arrest him if he told him all he knew, the man immediately started to give him details of what he last remembered before the fight with Red Riot. 

The man claimed that he was just having a drink at his local hangout when a lady bumped into him when he was on his way out and she accidentally blew some of her make up powder at his face. He described the woman to Bakugou before he told him that shortly after the woman left his sight to go into the club, he tried to brush the powder off his jacket, but then blacked out and when he woke up, he was half naked in an alley in the next city over. Bakugou asked where the club he went to was located and the man immediately gave him the address. Bakugou told the man to stay low for right now and that he was going to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. 

Bakugou returns to his apartment where he finds Deku who doesn’t look happy. Bakugou tries to ignore the man, but Deku starts asking him what his problem is. Bakugou gets mad, telling Deku that his problem is that Kirishima is obviously the nicest guy on the face of the planet and that he wouldn’t hurt a fly and something had to have happened to make Kirishima act the way that he did. He tells Deku that he may have a lead to what caused the rampage. He says that the guy that first attacked was possibly drugged at a local club by a woman. Deku asks Bakugou if he arrested the man who attacked and got a little more mad when Bakugou told him that he didn’t. Bakugou explains that he doesn’t think the man is guilty because the man was probably drugged by this woman and if he found the woman he could figure out what the drug was. 

Deku tried to explain to Bakugou that Kirishima was tested to see if there were any drugs in his system, but everything came out negative. Bakugou countered that if the powder that the man was attacked with and that Kirishima may have accidentally inhaled were actually quirk based, that it may not appear on any test. They would need a specially made test to figure it out and in order to get the test made, they would need a sample of the powder first. Deku wasn’t convinced and told Bakugou that he needed to take some time off because he was obviously stressed and was just going to work himself to the bone. 

Bakugou told Deku to feck off and that he didn’t care. He needed to get Kirishima out because he knew that he didn’t belong in prison. Deku left Bakugou’s apartment. The next night, Bakugou left to go to the club that the man had told him about, undercover. Bakugou went up to a few people who worked at the establishment and asked them if they knew of the woman that Bakugou described to them. Most of them said that they didn’t know anything, but one man told Bakugou that he should keep his nose in his own business. Bakugou insisted that the man tell him where he could find the woman. The man grabbed a napkin and a pen and wrote down and address. Bakugou looked at the address and found it barely legible, but when he went to clarify the address with the man, Bakugou was met with a cloud of dust in his face instead. 

Coughing, Bakugou quickly left the club out the back door and nearly ran face first into none other than Deku. Concerned, Deku asks Bakugou if he is alright. Bakugou quickly tells Deku to feck off and not to breath in the dust on him. Deku takes a step back before he goes to take off Bakugou’s jacket, but before he could, Bakugou blacked out.

When Bakugou woke up, he found himself in Deku apartment in quirk-resistant handcuffs. Bakugou started shouting at Deku asking what happened. Deku explained to him that when he tried to carefully take the jacket off of Bakugou, the hotheaded one started attacking him. Deku had quickly lured him away from the busy street and into a large parking lot that held very few cars where they spent almost an hour “sparring”. Bakugou tells Deku that he doesn’t remember anything and Deku believes him. Bakugou asks what happened to the jacket and if it still had any of the powder on it. Deku goes into his office and grabs a large evidence bag that held Bakugou’s jacket with traces of a light powder on the collar and shoulders. Deku says that he is going to ask Hatsume to take a look at the powder and see if she would be able to make some sort of blood test that specifically looked for the chemicals in the powder in the blood stream. 

Bakugou asked Deku what should they do now. Deku suggested that Bakugou go to the agency to explain what he has found out and that he would take the jacket to Hatsume later that evening. Bakugou didn’t think it was a good idea to go since the last time they tried to prove the innocence of someone under the influence of this specific drug, Kirishima had gotten arrested. Deku understood, but told Bakugou that if he kept keeping things secret from the agency, people were going to start getting suspicious. Deku told Bakugou that people were already thinking the worst about Bakugou and that his current attitude as of late was just making things worse. 

Bakugou was very against the idea, but eventually Deku practically escorted Bakugou to the agency where they immediately took Bakugou in to question him about some social media recordings of a very recent fight between Dynamight and Deku. Bakugou said that he was at a club nearby, trying to relax and that when he decided to leave, he saw Deku and told him that he wanted to spar. So the two of them decided to go to a parking lot and they fought. 

Partly lying, but also partly the truth, Deku told a similar story that he went to go find Bakugou at a local club and when he stumbled out, he was covered in dust and was suddenly itching for a fight with him. The interrogator with Deku asked him if either him or Bakugou still had the jacket with the dust on it. Deku told him that he did have it in an evidence bag in his apartment and that he was planning on taking it to a lab to have tests done. The interrogator asks that Deku immediately give them the evidence and that they would take care of it. Deku was hesitant, but after a short conversation about how they were all on the same side and that no one at the agency wanted to think about what would happen if Deku started withholding evidence from them. 

Feeling slightly threatened, Deku agreed to give them the jacket and left to wait outside for Bakugou. The interrogator with Bakugou was convinced that Bakugou didn’t spar with Deku, but instead attacked Deku. However, Bakugou had evidence from years before from working with Deku that sometimes he and Deku would just fight and spar spontaneously and that it was normal behavior and it didn’t give them a good enough reason to try and arrest him. 

Agreeing, they let Bakugou leave and he quickly met up with Deku. The two of them left the agency to return to the apartment where Deku almost immediately grabbed the jacket and tried to leave. Bakugou asked him where he was going with the evidence and Deku quickly explained that it would be better off if they were to leave the evidence in the hands of the agency. Bakugou asked him what about Hatsume? Isn’t she supposed to make a test to look for the drug in victim’s systems? 

Deku sighed and looked tiredly at Bakugou. Deku explained that they were all on the same side and that they would have better luck hand it over to people who were better at investigating than they were. Bakugou was not convinced. Bakugou tried to get Deku to give him the jacket so that he could just take it to Hatsume himself, but Deku quickly refused. Deku said that if he were to withhold evidence from an investigation then it wouldn’t be good news and people would start to think ill of him. Bakugou quickly shouts that he doesn’t care and that the jacket could actually prove Kirishima’s innocence. Bakugou needed the jacket and he didn’t care what he had to do in order to get it. He needed to get Kirishima out of prison and he was going to do everything in his power in order to make it happen. 

Deku looked at Bakugou worriedly. You’re starting to sound like a villain, Kacchan. Bakugou stopped in his tracks. He was bewildered at the accusation. He shook his head at Deku. He doesn’t sound like a villain. He’s just a man who is afraid that his friend is going to spend the rest of his life in prison for something that he didn’t do. Bakugou wasn’t going to just let that happen. He wasn’t going to abandon his friend in his time of need. He had to help him. After everything that Kirishima has done for Bakugou, Bakugou needed to help prove his innocence. He needed Kirishima back. 

Bakugou remembered the address written on the club napkin and stuck his hand in his pocket. It was still there. Bakugou shoved his way past Deku, ignoring the jacket now. Instead, he was going to go to the source and figure out what was going on, once and for all. Without letting Deku know where he was going, Bakugou started running, heading towards the general direction of the address. Though he was quickly stopped again by Deku who shouted at him to stop and to think about his actions. 

Bakugou stopped for just a moment to look back at Deku, but the moment was long enough for Deku to tell him that if Bakugou kept going down this path he had chosen, he would never be able to become the Number One Hero. That stopped Bakugou. 

Heart pounding, Bakugou thought about it. If he kept going, he wouldn’t be able to become Number One? If he stopped, he could still become Number One, but at what cost? Kirishima and the possibility of other innocent people rotting in jail because of an untraceable drug that made even the kindest people go feral, when he had the chance to prove their innocence. Bakugou steeled himself and look Deku in the eyes. All the hard work that the both of them had put into their work, each of them trying to surpass the other. All of it. It was going to come to an end that night. 

Bakugou let out a shaky exhale before sharply inhaling. FINE! He yelled out. He doesn’t care about that stupid title. Deku can have it. If being a hero means he has to leave an innocent man to rot in jail, then he doesn’t want to be a hero anymore. Immediately turning on his heels, Bakugou runs from Deku and uses his blasts to propel himself into the sky. 

With Deku out of sight and Bakugou’s destination nearby, Bakugou takes a moment to calm himself down. This is what he has chosen. There is no going back now. 

Bakugou quickly finds the address and finds it somewhat familiar in a way that he doesn’t quite remember. Marching right up to the front door of the rich house, Bakugou bangs his fist against the door. Shortly after, a butler opens the door. Bakugou immediately described the woman with the powder and asks the butler if she is in the house. The butler tells Bakugou that the lady of the house is indeed in and if Bakugou would like to wait inside, he would go get her. Bakugou says that he is alright waiting outside. 

The Butler closes the door and walks away to get the lady. Bakugou looks around him at the environment. He notices a small camera above the door bell. He lightly wonders where the feed goes and if it records all the time or only when the doorbell is rung. A moment later, the door opens again and Bakugou finds himself looking face to face with the woman that drugged him at the club. 

Bakugou glares at the woman. The woman smiles up at him and coyly asks if she can help him with something. Bakugou immediately asks if she is the one that has been using her quirk to make people go feral. The woman blinks, gently surprised at the bluntness of the man at her door, but she quickly grins widely. She says that she is indeed. She says that she is surprised that he isn’t in jail for attacking a fellow Pro Hero. Bakugou quickly explains that he already has a track record of attack that specific fellow Pro Hero. She giggled. 

She asks Bakugou again if she can help him with something. Bakugou asks why she is drugging people and making them act the way they do. She shrugs. She says that she only dusts people that don’t pay her. She explains that she protects people and expects them to pay her but when they stop paying, she gives them a little powder and then she looks forward to hearing about it the next day in the news. Bakugou glares at her and says that he is going to arrest her, but another voice chimes in, telling him to be careful.

Another man walks up to the door behind the woman and Bakugou suddenly remembers why the rich house looks familiar. Its owned by a higher up at the Hero Public Safety Commission. And the woman with the powder quirk appears to be his wife. Bakugou practically glares at the man, asking if he knew about his wife drugging innocent people and getting them arrested. The man admits that he knew. Bakugou asked why he let it happen when he was sworn to protect people under the same oath that all Heroes did. The man laughs, claiming he is protecting people and when people decide that their protection isn’t good enough, then he shows them a world without his protection. 

Bakugou tells them that they should both be arrested. The man puts his hand on Bakugou’s shoulder and leans in close to talk to him. He tells Bakugou that if he were to walk away now, there would be no harm that came to him or his Hero name. He told Bakugou that if he wanted to, he could pull some strings and make Bakugou the Number One Hero he wanted to be. He could have anything and everything he ever wanted, as long as he forgot about the feral powder incidents. 

Bakugou thought about it for just a moment before he looked back at the man. Bakugou had the guts to ask about what would happen if he refused the conditions. The man’s face morphed into a deep glare. The hand on Bakugou’s shoulder tightened. He said that if Bakugou refused to listen, then the man would make it so Bakugou could never become Number One Hero. He could make it so that practically over night, Bakugou would become the most wanted villain in all of Japan. Bakugou’s eyes widened and his breath hitched quietly. 

The woman chuckled from behind her husband. Pulling out a small make up kit, Bakugou quickly recognized it as the Feral Powder. Bakugou swallowed and looked back up to the man. The man smiled at Bakugou, but it was anything but friendly. Bakugou tried to take a step back but the man grabbed the front of Bakugou’s shirt and pulled him close, warning him that if he were to reject this proposal, he would regret it for the rest of his days. Bakugou took in a deep breath before he yelled fuck you at the pair. Bakugou rushed forward to grab the make up kit, but the woman quickly blew it in his face before he could grab it. 

Bakugou exhaled sharply before he quickly turned around to run away, but before he could get away, he felt the man grab him from behind. Acting on instinct, Bakugou reached up to gran the man’s arms and sent a few explosions down his arms, enough to leave small burns, but not enough to severely require a hospital bill. The man yelled in pain and immediately let go. 

Keeping in mind the powder, Bakugou tried his hardest not to inhale as he made his way away from the house. He propelled himself into the sky and only then did he take a short breath. Processing what happened, Bakugou made his way safely to the ground where he removed the powdered shirt and folded it up so that the dust stayed in place. 

In the dark of the night, Bakugou quickly and quietly made his way to Hatsume’s workshop. She was still working, burning the midnight oil as well as burning a few other things probably. Bakugou made his way inside and quickly grabbed Hatsume. She wasn’t all too surprised to see him. She had been expecting Deku, but was pleasantly surprised to see Bakugou anyway. Bakugou quickly explained what happened to her and asked her to make the test with the powder. She agreed, excited about the potential challenge.

Bakugou asked if he could shower since he still was at risk of inhaling the powder that was still lingering in his hair. She told him where it was and told him to lock the door. If he did end up inhaling the feral powder and started going wild, the handmade bathroom would definitely be able to hold him. Not questioning her and her decisions, Bakugou quickly showered, making sure to scrub himself raw to get any type of dust off of him. 

When Bakugou got out of the shower, Hatsume was almost finished. She just needed to test it on someone who already had the powder in their system. Bakugou offered himself as a test, knowing that he already had his feral attack earlier that week. The test went through and came back positive. Hatsume immediately tested it on herself, only for it to come back negative. She grinned wildly at Bakugou and asked now what?

He took a deep breath. They needed to test Kirishima to prove that the powder was what made people go feral to begin with. They also needed proof that the couple was actually doing this to people. Bakugou asked Hatsume if she would be able to hack into a specific camera that may have caught the whole confession, thinking back to the camera by the doorbell. Hatsume’s face folded into a thinking expression. If she was able to access the camera manually, she could but it would probably be near impossible to do it from far away. 

Bakugou sighed. He didn’t want to go back to the house without having some sort of back up plan. He looked at the test that Hatsume created and asked her if she could send it to Deku to just hold onto. She nodded and prepared it so that she could safely deliver it to the Pro Hero. Bakugou wrote a short note to Deku, telling him that he figured out who has be drugging the innocent people and that the stuff to do the blood test was going to be in the box that Hatsume gave to him. In the note, he asked Deku not to hand it over to the agency until he knew that they weren’t going to just do a whole cover up on the whole incident. 

He hoped that Deku would listen to his letter. Hatsume told Bakugou that she was going to go take the package and Bakugou’s letter to Deku immediately and that Bakugou should rest. She pointed him to a small room under her workshop that served as a kind of storage room/guest bedroom. It had a lot of shelves filled with junk and in the back was a couch. Bakugou laid down, but didn’t really get a lot of sleep. He was planning on how to get the camera footage so that they could get the confession of the pair that knew exactly what they were doing. Bakugou wondered if he could get a picture of the woman to ask witnesses of other feral attacks if that was the woman who dusted them before they blacked out. 

Bakugou fell asleep partway through planning. He was woken up by Hatsume who immediately was pulling up a news report on her phone. Bakugou’s breath was practically punched out of his lungs as he listened to the report. The man from the Public Hero Safety Commission was explaining to police and reporters that Pro Hero Dynamight had attacked him in his home last night, leaving his several burns on his arms. The man’s wife was nowhere in the report. Hatsume looked slightly concerned at Bakugou. Within a few hours, word was going around that Pro Hero Dynamight was now a wanted criminal and that if anyone hears from him or sees him, they need to call the police or a hero immediately and do not engage him. Reports claiming that Dynamight was now a villain and was deemed extremely dangerous. 

Hatsume suggested that Bakugou should get out of town and hide for a little while. Bakugou took in a deep breath before letting out a loud curse. He stood up and started pacing the small room. Hatsume suggested he lay low somewhere remote. She said that she could easily get the footage from the night before. Bakugou swallowed before he hesitantly agreed. He explained to her what the plan was on how to get the Feral pair arrested, telling her to get the confession video from the doorbell camera, to use the blood test to prove that the innocent people that were arrested were indeed drugged and under the influence of the woman’s quirk, and hopefully, after all was said and done all the people in prison would be released, including Kirishima. 

Donning a full body disguise created by Hatsume herself, Bakugou managed to leave the city, undetected by police and other forces that were intensely looking for him. By the time Bakugou had made it to a small town in the mountains, it had been almost two months since Kirishima had been arrested and this whole mess had started. Feral attacks were happening all over in the city and at this point, Bakugou couldn’t do anything to stop or help. He waited weeks for a news article to pop up saying that they caught the people responsible for causing the feral attacks, but day after day, he was disappointed. It was almost to the point where he almost believed that Hatsume and everyone that he once believed to be his friends may have actually accepted the bribe of “anything and everything they wanted”. 

Then one day, while walking around the small mountain village, still in the disguise, he saw a news report on a small diner tv. Bakugou immediately paid the closest amount of attention as the reporter detailed the cause of all the Feral attacks in the city and that it was all due to an ex-employee of the Public Hero Safety Commission and his wife. Bakugou grinned at the sight of the couple being handcuffed and driven away to a maximum security prison. The report continued to explain that the individuals who had gone Feral and were arrested had all been tested and it was confirmed that those individuals would immediately be released and reimbursed for time in prison. 

Bakugou’s breath caught in his throat as he saw Kirishima walk out of the prison gates and into the arms of the dear quote unquote Bakusquad. Bakugou swallowed a lump in his throat as he wished that he could have been there to greet Kirishima and to hold him with everyone else. But he knew that it was better this way. The report continued, explaining that the man-hunt for Dynamight the villain was called off after reports of the alleged attack were disproved and no longer valid. Bakugou laughed as he made his way out of the diner and made his way back to the city. 

By the time Bakugou had come back to the city, the first place he went to was back to Hatsume’s, to return the disguise and to also thank her for what she did. Hatsume was over joyed to put the man and his wife behind bars. She managed to find a lot more dirt on them than just a confession to the attacks at the door. Bakugou was slightly amazed and promised to make it up to her somehow. Hatsume nodded, saying I know and then she quickly ushered him out, telling him that he needed to get home. 

Bakugou made his way home, making a point to avoid heavily crowded areas, still hesitant about the possibility of getting arrested just for being Dynamight. Bakugou made it back to his apartment in one piece and was surprised to find everything exactly how he had left it almost a month ago. He grabbed a clean pair of clothes and immediately took a shower, delighting in the feeling of being clean after so long.

Once he got out of the shower, he walked into his living room, heading for the kitchen, but was surprised to find Kirishima and Deku standing in the room. Bakugou stopped in his tracks and gaped at the sight of the two of them. Kirishima was the first to react, tears welling up in his eyes as he quickly made his way over to wrap his arms around Bakugou. Bakugou let out a shaky breath before he brought his hand up to grip Kirishima’s shirt and pull him closer. Kirishima let out a wet laugh as he held Bakugou. Bakugou felt his own tears beginning to fill up his own eyes as he looked over Kirishima’s shoulder at Deku. 

Deku was standing sadly, tears freely running down his face. Bakugou took in a deep breath before he pried himself away from Kirishima. He walked slowly over to Deku and they just stood there looking at each other. Deku tears quickly turned into heavy sobs as he collapsed to his knees in front of Bakugou. He was trying hard to let out long strings of apologies, that Deku should have believe in Bakugou more, he shouldn’t have doubted him, he shouldn’t have said all those awful things to him. Bakugou grabbed Deku’s face and told him to shut up. 

Bakugou told him that he didn’t care about any of that anymore. He was just happy that Kirishima wasn’t in prison anymore and that he wasn’t being hunted down. Deku smiled half-heartedly at Kirishima. The redhead looked at Bakugou and told him because he had been in jail and because Bakugou had been considered a criminal, both of their Hero Licenses had be revoked. Bakugou swallowed and let some more tears tread quietly down his face. 

Deku quickly added to the conversation saying that if they wait the 6 month waiting period, without getting arrested or breaking any laws, then they could reapply for a Hero License and pick up right where they left off. Bakugou looked over at Kirishima, who looked at him smiling happily. He shrugged his shoulders and asked Bakugou what they should do for 6 months. Bakugou smiled at said that he spend some time in a cute village in the mountains and that there were a lot of good hiking trails that could keep them busy for a while. 

So Bakugou and Kirishima spent the next 6 months up in the mountains, hiking and living a casual life before they returned to the city to renew their Hero Licenses. Later that year, Bakugou was given the title of Number One Hero for sacrificing everything he had in order to do the right thing.

Yaaaaaay the end.... also could do a follow up of what Bakugou and Kirishima did during the 6 months up in the mountains but I don’t know. This was the idea. It was stuck in my head and now it is here. Lemme know what you think. Love this fandom. 

Good night, everybody!

[gallavictorious]

I love your insights so I thought I would ask about lip and his terrible plan to avoid getting caught with the stolen goods. I don’t see how he gets out of this and he dug himself even deeper this past episode. I thought the bikes were dumped by Kev in 11x7 and now he has to keep brad from talking. And Tami almost encouraging him to continue with this massive problem. Thank god Mickey isn’t yet aware of what’s going on yet (I guess he knows the cops are involved). Mickey would actually be able to handle this with a better plan if he knew the extent of what is going on.

Hiya, nonnie! I love the compliment, though in all honesty I'm not sure how much insight I can offer on this. But let's see, shall we?

Disclaimer: I love to speculate and entertain a thousand possibilities and have a lot of opinions about how I'd like for things to go down, but as for actual predictions about what will happen... I'm often a bit useless, I'm afraid. Mostly there's too many variables for me to feel comfortable making any definitive statments, and at the end of the day I prefer not to get too attached to any one theory anyway. So unless I have some properly hard data to build my case on, it's all fanciful sandcastles, yeah? Don't take anything too seriously.

That said and while I'm not sure how Lip gets out of this mess, I'm pretty damned sure he does get out of it. Don't really see them sending him to prison in the last few episodes of the series, you know? It's possible Brad ends up taking the fall one way or another – he's a character the show might be willing to sacrifiece for some real consequences, but to be honest I deem it unlikely. One way or another, they'll squirm their way out of this!

As for the police inquiry, it doesn't even have to be all that hard (especially if the show doesn't want it to be). Yes, Lip and Brad are the very obvious suspects, but without any proof of them breaking in (and we know they took the security camera) and without any of the stolen goods tied to them (the bikes have been dumped, and the remaining boxes hidden in Tami's dad's basement) the cops haven't really got shit on them. Unless the police finds something else or one of our amateur robbers crack under interrogation, they're likely to walk.

But that's the rub, eh? Brad will obviously crack, and he can't stay cuffed to Tami's car and avoid questioning forever. What to do, what to do? Well, allow me to suggest several more or less likely possibilities:

1. They pump Brad full of some likely drug that will keep him calm during the interview. This is a risky and pretty stupid idea, since drugs are generally more likely to make you open up than to allow you to lie convincingly, but what was robbing Born Free if not risky and pretty stupid? Also, could lead to Brad falling off the wagon and there can be Drama and Guilt and What-not.

2. Do the cops know what Brad looks like exactly? They haven't met him yet. Can they send someone else in to do interview in his stead (maybe with a very convincing fake ID, provided by one of Mickey's contacts, if identification is required when you show up to tell the police you're there to answer a few questions)? This seems a kind of Shameless way of dealing with things.

3. They convince Frank that he did it, and then allow his conviction of guilt to lead him into suspicious behavior as he tries to deflect blame which in turn makes the police think it was him that did it. That's a very cold use of Frank's dementia, but Lip might reason that he's likely to be let off on account of his illnes – or taken into care, which would arguably be a win for everyone! And Lip's been a bit of an asshole this whole season, I wouldn't necessarily put it past him.

4. For one reason or another the cops decide to drop this lead before they have time to interview Brad, and he gets a message that he doesn't need to come in. Why would the cops ever do that? Well, maybe both the investigators we met in 11x07 catch old 'rona and since they're understaffed there's no one to take over a simple break-in. Maybe there's another bigger crime happening and they're needed for that becaue they have Special Skills and – again – this case isn't top priority when they're low on officers! Or maybe someone else confesses to the crime because of... reasons?

Listen, if the show wants the allegations to go away, they'll go away. Whether or not we'll find it believeable is another question, but as mentioned, I think there's a pretty good case for the case realistically not holding up as long as Brad doesn't get a chance to confess. (Not saying my ideas for keeping Brad from talking are realistic, mind you... )

The thing is, though, Lip and Brad's troubles aren't over just because they shake the cops. We know, from the 11x09 promo and the episode description, that the new owners of Born Free are in the mob. They won't be concerned about actual evidence; if they think Lip and Brad did the deed, they'll come for their pound of flesh. Returning to the cops dropping the case – what if the owners (after getting new instructions from their mobbish overlords) get in touch with the police to say ”whoops, our mistake, we found the bikes, all's good here officer, no crime to report” because they'd rather deal with the situations themselves? I could see it. If forced to pick an idea I'd personally think makes the most sense, this would probably be it (which isn't the same as me thinking this is what will actually happen).

(Maaaaybe Layla's cop is very and understandably annoyed by Lip's general assholery and accidentally on purpose mentions to the owners – whose connections are not unknown to the police – that they do have a pretty good idea who did it, but no real evidence, so sorry, not much we can do here really, I guess true justice will never be served, unless... I'm rather fond of this notion, even though I don't find it very plausible. But maybe she can at least break the news of the case being dropped to Lip and Brad and she's really smug about it and they don't get why until they do get why? I don't know why, but apparently I'm a bit invested in her getting to be mean to Lip.)

As for Mickey... I can see him staying out of the whole thing, because while Brad and Lip are obvious suspects, he is not so there's a good chance he won't implicated. What with the emotinal and practical aftermat of Terry's death, he might be too focused on his own shit to pay much attention to Lip and Brad's, and they might hesitate to drag him into it. On the other hand, maybe not – maybe he gets involved and this whole thing is somehow connected to him headbutting Lip in 11x10.

All right, nonnie, I don't know how that was for insight, but I'm fairly confident Lip will get out of this just fine in the end. ;) Thann you for the ask - I had lots of fun thinking about this!

[nerdpiggy]

Tell us about your ocs!! I'm genuinely curios bc of the tags

[ID: Meme of Hatsune Miku smiling. Top text reads "Thanks for sending me a message". Bottom text reads "You're very cute and I will be replying to you".]

Robin "Robbie" Fuller: The character i play in a DND campaign.

they/them pronouns. they're nonbinary and asexual and don't care to label their romantic attraction.

They're 22 years old and 5'9" (175cm)

Their birthday is November 12th. they're a scorpio

They started off as a Mundane MOTW character and they're now a level 7 warlock in DND. They're a human

They live in a small coastal town in massachusetts called Holyoak and they go to the local college to learn culinary. They live in a single dorm and they have a cute widdle black cat named Chickadee

One day (for various reasons) their life was flip-turned upside down with discovering the existence of monsters, portals, different dimensions, and rifts in spacetime

One of the reasons for them discovering all of this was them meeting a man named Thomas who's a human from a different dimension called the Palisades. He's a well-known Judge over there. (Thomas is @bevtastic 's character)

Robbie gets an offer to join the Interdimensional Defence Agency (IDA), says fuck it and accepts, and Robbie and Thomas stay friends by virtue of their similar jobs.

Robbie is tasked to go to a different dimension (A half-medieval half-wild west desert town called Argyle) to stop a threat that was growing there. Threat turned out to be a massive mind-controlling dragon who wanted revenge for the rest of her dragon species that were killed off by medieval "heroes". Robbie was not cut out for this as their first job. They (with help) subdue the dragon eventually but not before she burned down multiple towns including Argyle to a crisp. Robbie feels very bad about this.

Robbie, Thomas, and the rest of the party receive a mysterious letter leading them to an old abandoned mansion in Holyoak and get roped into a rescue mission to save Thomas's old friend Percy who has apparently been bodysnatched by a bad guy and trapped somewhere for what felt like thousands of years. This is the arc where we switched from Monster of the Week to DND, and Robbie gets connected to a nature deity Adelaide through a purple necklace. They also get a familiar, who is an owl with pitch-black feathers and glowing yellow pupilless eyes that Robbie named Mr. Muffins.

Robbie and Thomas become very good friends :)

Thomas dies.

Robbie goes to the Palisades to find out what happened to him. Turns out he wanted to reveal the secret of interdimensional travel to the public and work to make it open, free, and safe. The people in charge did not allow him to do this by legal means so he aimed to do it illegally, which was when he was murdered by a group of bandits.

On top of that, one of the main reasons why he wanted to reveal the different dimensions is because there is a HUGE interdimensional threat coming our way, and we need to act on it if we want to live.

Percy finds Robbie and asks them to help with this threat, who apparently is a singular person named Siris that has been locked in a prison for thousands of years and somehow got out. Robbie doesn't have much of a choice and accepts.

In the Palisades, there are monsters called Behemoths. they emerge from people who get bitten by a behemoth or who touch the black tar-like substance that runs like rivers in certain areas of the Palisades. During a battle, Robbie gets bitten by a Behemoth, and now they're a candidate for Behemism (aka turning into big giant monster syndrome).

Because Robbie has Behemism and Siris is part of the reason for Behemism existing, they're mind roommates now. Robbie and Siris do not get along very well.

There's more to Robbie but this is their main backstory!!!

[ID: a drawing of Robbie holding a chrysanthemum. They have short pink curly hair, and they're wearing a yellow floral button-up and a purple necklace. They have bandages on their freckled face and they're looking down at the chrysanthemum with a neutral expression.]

Emile Azarel: A character i play in a different campaign that does MOTW.

He/him pronouns, he's trans, demisexual, and demiromantic.

He's 19 and he's 5'3

He doesn't know his actual birthday but the day he celebrates is January 23rd

His MOTW class is The Expert. He's a fire genasi

He was born in central Russia but he doesn't know his parents well because when he was ~8 months old there was a big monster attack that unfortunately killed his parents. A monster hunter named Avery Azarel found Emile, took him in and raised him.

Emile learned to hunt monsters with Avery and the two traveled around together as monster hunters.

Eventually Emile wished to have a solid place to live rather than constantly traveling, because he wanted friends. He found a town in the pacific northwest called Salmon Peak that had everything he wanted: Russian culture, a fairly small easy-to-get-around layout, and some very weird mysteries going on. (Just because Emile wanted to settle didnt mean he wanted to stop monster hunting!)

He moved to Salmon Peak and has met a bunch of new friends! He's also learning more and more about the town, which is turning out to be somehow even weirder than he expected.

Emile is a very sweet, polite boy, but considering the fact that he's only ever been around one person mainly for his entire life, he has a bit of a ways to go when it comes to interacting with people. The monster hunting life means that when there's a monster, you kill it and that usually solves all your problems. Emile has transferred this logic to people as well (if they're a monster, kill em!) and he's learning through friend influence that maybe human lives are a bit more sacred than that.

His favorite color is blue because he loves the sky!

A lot of people underestimate his skills because he's little and looks very young, but he is a very good monster hunter. Because of Avery (the best monster hunter in the biz), his last name has a bit of a reputation.

Emile is blind, autistic, and has vitiligo!

I have much more planned for Emile but I can't say it here because it is MAJOR spoilers!

[ID: a drawing of Emile walking forward. He is wearing a blue shirt with stars on it, blue jeans, a fluffy white jacket, a belt with a star on it, star earrings, a moon necklace, and black shoes. His blue hair is swaying behind him and he's holding a white cane with a red tip. He's smiling slightly.]

Avery Azarel: Emile's parent! I've not played them as a character yet but I've made a character sheet for them.

they/them pronouns. They're agender, aromantic, and pansexual

their age is (???) and their height is 5'7

they have a birthday but nobody knows when it is

Their MOTW class is The Chosen. they appear human

They're widely considered the best monster hunter in the biz. Their name is well-known and they're requested for help all around the world

Because of this, they're constantly traveling and having a house would not make sense. They just pack their things, stay at motels/hotels/etc., camp in the woods and move around to wherever people need them.

Since they've been pretty much everywhere, they always seem to know at least one person from each town. They never seem to get too close to anyone, though

They are fluent in many different languages!

In the past they were paired up with another monster hunter and they made a great duo. That was a couple decades ago; they go solo now.

Years ago, an unexpected and incredibly destructive monster rampaged a small town in Central Russia. Avery came as fast as they could (they were nearby in the area) but they still couldn't finish off the beast before it tore the whole town to shreds. Dozens of homes were crushed, but surprisingly most people survived, with the exception of a couple of people who died under the rubble. Avery felt awful (this was their biggest failure in a while), and as they were searching through the rubble for any more casualties they found little baby Emile, miraculously unscathed. They took him in and raised him from then on.

Nobody, not even Emile, knows very many details about Avery's childhood, their family, their age, or really any information about them. (Emile has been trying to figure out Avery's birthday for AGES so they can celebrate, but Avery has refused to budge)

Their main weapon is 2 pairs of bolas! those are those chains with 2 balls on either end, usually made to be thrown at people's legs to restrain and trip them. they use the bolas both as restraining tools and as their main weapon, because i think weapons where you spin them really fast in front of you are cool

There's a scar over their left eye; whenever someone asks how they got it they always spin a different elaborate tale of an epic monster battle. Nobody knows which (if any) is the true story

there is a WHOLE LOT that I am leaving out if you couldn't tell. There's a huge chunk of their past that I'm leaving out because it's all a big bundle of spoilers. Someday I will be able to elaborate more on Avery!

[ID: a picrew made by djarn of Avery. They're smiling, their head is tilted slightly, and there's a scar over their left eye. Their hair is tied half-up half-down. They're wearing a black shirt with "òwó" on it and a blue jacket with an aromantic flag pin and a pansexual flag pin. the background is an agender flag.]

These are my main OC's! I have more (Orion, Nottwyrm, "Noodlearms", etc.) but these 3 are the main ones that I post about. :3 thank u for asking!!!

If you have any questions about any of my characters I always welcome asks!!! 💖

[vintagevalentinex]

Decode, XIII

Hey guys!  Here it is!  I just wanted to let you all know that this one is a little scary/dark so be forewarned!

Thank you for continuing to support this story, as I have continued to love writing it!

Feedback is always appreciated!

xoxo

Decode, XIII by vintagevalentinexx Mycroft Holmes x Reader ~1600 words

You were running for your life.

The burning of your lungs didn’t deter you as you continued to run, to where you didn’t know, but you just knew that you couldn’t remain where you were.  Something was coming for you and you had to get away.  You could feel the rapid beating of your heart, the blood pounding in your ears as you ran as fast as your legs could take you; the burning in your muscles not even able to stop you from running.  All of a sudden the world started fading around you, your surroundings going from a muddy gray, slowly getting darker, going back until you were running into nothingness.  The silence was deafening, and being able to only hear the pounding of your heart was unnerving.  You tried to scream into the void, only to hear absolutely nothing.  You realized whatever was chasing you has caught you.

Your eyes snapped open, groaning as you felt a dull ache at the back of your head.  What the hell happened?  The last thing you remembered was opening the door at Sherlock’s flat, thinking Mycroft had come back up.  You tried to move, nearly rolling your eyes at the fact that you were tied to a chair, the zip ties biting into your skin.  You took in your surroundings, just about too dark for you to see anything that could possibly give you any indication as to where you were being held.  It was hauntingly quiet wherever you were and it didn’t seem as though whoever had taken you prisoner was there at the moment. Despite all of this, your mind kept going back to the same person.

Mycroft.

Did they take him too?  Was he alright?  Did he know you were missing?  Did he even care?  Would he be able to find you?

You were snapped out of your internal rambling by approaching footfalls.  They shuffled along, seemingly slovenly as their approach grew louder and louder.  You kept your eyes up defiantly, determined to see the face of the person who abducted you. You saw a shadow figure of an average-sized male approaching you, your heart pounding against your ribcage, but you refused to look away.  His face became clearer in what little light there was where you were being held.  He stood maybe ten feet from you now as you tried to place his face.  He was fairly average looking, not the Quasimodo, menacing man with a handle-bar mustache you were expecting.  You knew you had seen him before…but from where?  

“I see you haven’t figured out who I am yet, Professor.”

His voice is what made it feel as though you were doused with ice water.

That voice.  You had heard that voice every single day at the University when you’d go in early in the morning and as you left every night.  It was a voice that you knew very well, a voice that you had always assumed was nonthreatening.

It was still dark when you parked your car in the faculty parking lot.  Just another typical Monday.  You taught classes all morning, had some office hours in the afternoon, along with a faculty meeting.  If you were lucky, you’d be able to get some of your own research done.  Stepping into the building you quietly made your way to your office to prepare for the day, as well as the long week you knew it was going to be.  Turning a corner, you nearly had a heart attack.  You just avoided slamming into the janitor who was quietly mopping the floor.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I should be more careful!”

The janitor smiled kindly at you.  “It’s no problem at all, Professor.  Be careful, we wouldn’t want you to slip!”

“Oh yes, thank you.  Have a good morning!”

“Good morning to you too, Professor…”

It was all starting to make sense now.  You had been in early every morning and had become accustomed to seeing the same faces again and again.  Just when id that janitor start?  He was fairly new before you left for London…Oh my God.

“I see it’s all starting to make sense now, isn’t it?”

If looks could kill. You continued to stare up at this man, wanting so desperately to pull yourself from the zip ties that bound you to the chair.

“How long…just how long were you watching me?”

He lips upturned into a wicked smirk.  “I wasn’t at the University for awfully long, to be honest.  Just about a month before you headed across the pond.  I really wanted to nab you before your trip, but you proved to be hard to attain…I like that about you, (Y/N).”

You could feel the bile rise up into your throat.  This was a game to this psychopath, and for some unforeseen reason, he decided to zero in on you.  He didn’t even let you say another word.

“You’re just hard-to-get, aren’t you?  At first I was pretty angry that I had to catch a plane…this was supposed to be an easy job.  I couldn’t believe my luck when that geezer wanted to pay me to take you out…but the more I watched you, it became so much more than that.  How that man could ever want to have you killed is beyond me, little bird…”

You wanted to throw up. Great, now the crazy man has a nickname for me…wonderful…that’s always a good sign…

“But I followed you anyway, I had to…I needed to make you realize how much we belong together…how much you were meant for me.  I may have had some minor indiscretions since I’ve been here, but I just had to make you realize how serious I am, little bird.  You are mine.  And you’ll never have to worry ever again…I’ll keep you safe…where nobody and nothing can ever get to you…”

You were fairly certain you were trembling now, partially in fear, but also in anger.  Who did this man think he was?  Well…he probably didn’t know who the hell he was either because he is clearly delusional and insane.  Please, please somebody find me. Mycroft, I hope you’re safe.

Your captor continued to talk at you for a while as you tried to make it look as though you were actively listening so you could try and figure out a way to escape.  It was completely silent, albeit the rambling of the psychopath in front of you.  in the distance you heard a loud thud, which pulled the killer from his perturbed fantasy, his head whipping around to the source of the noise.

In a matter of moments several red laser-like dots were trained on the chest and head of your captor, and you felt as though you could cry. Someone was here, and someone wanted to take him down.  Only roughly ten seconds later you head loud boots running toward you, several pairs if your hearing was correct.  You were surrounded by what looked like to be a SWAT team, shielding you from the cries of your captor.

“Take him alive.  He will atone for what he’s done.”

Although the voice was laced with ice, it was the most beautiful thing you’d heard in the past several hours.  You wanted to whip your head around, run toward him and throw your arms around him, but unfortunately you were still restrained.  You unconsciously tugged at the zip ties, nearly hissing as they bit into your skin once again.

“You have yet to free her?  Do you remember who pays your salary?!”

In that instant you were finally freed and you instantly went to rub at your wrists, certainly bruised by that point.  Careful footsteps walked around you to come to your front, and careful hands lifted you up by your forearms to help you upright.  You could finally breathe again.

“(Y/N)…”

You must have looked a mess.  You were sure you were bruised and dirty and possibly in some state of shock, but you couldn’t help let tears fall as you were face to face with Mycroft, knowing that you were safe when he was around.  He swiftly took his suit jacket off, wrapping it around your shoulders as he began to usher you out of whatever building you were being kept in.  As you approached the exit you could hear your captor screaming for you.  The temptation to turn around and look was there, but you steeled yourself and continued to move with your savior beside you.  Before you were ushered into his towncar you were able to see that you were down by the docks, seemingly being kept in a warehouse.  Typical. You looked up as you saw a helicopter speed off from the scene, as well as at least a dozen police cars creating a light show with their alarm lights.

You looked wryly over at Mycroft, who held a somewhat sheepish expression.

“Don’t you think this is a little much?”

You could feel his hand at the small of your back as he helped you into the car.  As he slid next to you, you could feel the warmth of his arm around your shoulders.

“I nearly called in a tank.  However the Chief of the General Staff informed me that it was ‘overkill.’”

You tried to laugh, but all that came out was a smile, your emotions betraying you.  Mycroft pulled you closer to his form as the car sped off.  You felt sleep overtaking you, the hardships of your ordeal finally hitting you, the adrenaline all but burned off.  As you drifted off into slumber, you could have sworn you heard Mycroft speak softly.

“You are safe now, my darling.”

Next Part!

[the-official-account]

Character Analysis of Mike aka Agent Micheal Blanc

Aka OP said "fuck it i might was well post my meta". Aka I promise you the blanc roast is a separate document but this is a bit of that too.

Read below the cut. This contains MAJOR spoilers for pasithea episode up to the most recent: 15. Edited and Archived from discord.

So Michael Blanc.

I said I didn't know how to approach him, and I meant that. BUT the central question of that confusion was "Does he believe he's doing the right thing. is he hero of his own story." You'd assume yes, most people do, they are. I thought I'd have to just wait and find out, but looking at his Uquiz result (which I am FAIRLY sure but not CERTAIN is by hedeman-olguin) and I don't think that's the case. (If you want to see the uquiz rrsult drop a comment or something)

TL;DR "You like to make people squirm, you annoy yourself" Which is like, the key! When it comes to his treatment of Jane, we know the means we know the opportunity, this is the motive. So I'm going to go down the line of things I know he's done and try to build a fuller character profile from that. Note that I may get details off, I'm not caught up on my looking at the transcripts. if I refer to him as mike please read as mike(derogatory) and NOT mike(familiar) here we go.

wait where's that one image

[ID: a conspiracy theory meme]

To begin: Mike had a significant change in character just before the beginning of cannon. He went from a professional distance from jane to none of that. If we know there's a change, we can find it's cause, and know from that a character's reaction under a certain stress.

We can't be sure of the exact timeline just yet, but just around that time Mike would've learned about The Others and started taking steps along with Agent Cullens to start recreating the pasithea powder. We can imagine that this is what causes the shift from "Doctor" to "Janie".

There are several ways he could have reached this conclusion:

He wrongly assumed that Jane is more insecure than she is, and thought that getting romantically involved with her would allow him to more easilly manipulate Jane, who may well be the most resistant surviving conspirator and a big piece of the puzzle if the latest episodes are taken at their face value. He had to do something and he thought too highly of himself (which is NOT mutually exclusive from disliking oneself, trust me. I'm familiar with dudes in highschool)

Loyal to the queen and overcome with Bitterness, he's hates that he has to work with and protect Jane now, instead of forcing her around like a prisoner. He start to poke at her because getting a reaction satisfies that bitterness, until bit by bit the other things he relies on fall apart, and he holds onto getting reactions from Jane until it become obsessive.

and my least favorite option, personally. He was always like this but knew that the change at the start of cannon meant he'd harder to fire, and abused the priviledge in the same way that sophie does hers

If I know what motivates him I can take that away. I'll know what makes him cry :3

here's a quote from Mike in 1.3

I’m not sure which part you don’t regret. Betraying your government. Or making Pasithea Powder in the first place. Jesus. You should see the look on your face. Cheer up, Jane. It’s not a bad thing, to live without regret. It’s good to know you’d do it all again.

It supports theory two the mostly strongly. but my question is more along the lines of, what is he himself refusing to regret that he says something like that so offhand? Is it a specific event or events we're not yet privy to? His general way of being (suggesting a lack of self-reflection which would support his behavior growing more extreme in the later episodes)

Mike's stalking methods of guarding jane in 1.3 also most strongly support point two. It could be argued that the constant smile that permeates his description in the early days is him remaining loyal to his orders, that he's technically there to protect Jane as much as imprison her, and is pretending to love that responsibility. Or, it could be argued to support point one. he doesn't hit any usual romantic beats because he isn't trying to. He does not respect jane and therefore the power dynamic is not a barrier, but a tool. If Jane were a weaker person, the standards of kindness would be lowered. The smile might be unsettling at first, but should she resign to it, it could become a comfort. There are ongoing themes in the show of what people allow themselves to believe to support their preconcieved notions, but Mike wouldn't know that Jane is almost eintirely immune to that struggle. She has trouble betraying Isabel's ideas at the end, but can you blame her for taking time to consider that facts? She would not start to trust Blanc just because it would be emotionally convient.

Which we see best in episode five when his attempt at gaining her trust after the knife-dude goes tits up. Normal people would be more shocked after an event like that. Jane however was, throughout the early episodes, keenly aware of how much danger she's in. Mike even shot himself in the foot by presenting Jane with those death threats. In most people that would create fear and therefore uncertainty, in Jane it creates fear and therefore certainty by further confirming what she knows. SO when this happens

JANE

He--he was in my room, he was--he was in my closet, I don’t know for--how long--he was just waiting in there--!

BLANC

You’re all right. Come here. [He embraces her] You’re all right. Look, you’re barely even bleeding.

JANE

You saved me.

BLANC

Of course I did. That’s my job.

JANE

I’m--I’ve got blood on your--

BLANC It’s all right, Janie.

JANE Um, um, I need to-- [She picks the comms unit up] It’s okay, I’ll--I’ll call you later. [she hangs up.]

She has a moment of shock, because who wouldn't and then falls back to her priorities. she's calling Sophie. This creates some uncertainty because it presents evidence that maybe Blanc can be trusted, but he continues to proove the contrary and the comprimise she reaches is that he is as much a tool for Jane as he is a shackle.

I was talking about Mikey B where was i.

Cool, so in the court of my own personal opinion, I think Mike's central motivation is a mix between one and two. in the earlier episodes I doubt he was at all concerned with what Jane thinks of him. in the later episodes, which I'm less familiar with right now, that may or may not be the case.

to my knowledge, what's imporant is that Agent Blanc leaves jane with the other for the needed 24 hours but quickly reenters to kill it. Jane goes public about pasithea. The PSA arrests her and uses that to consider her no longer a casandran citizen and give her her own lab. Having lost his prey, Mike is demoted to trailing sophie and offer to meet up with jane when she comes to him with questions.

Sidenote: okay but on todays episode of "haha Jane Your so cool twirls hair moments"

I know you’re on Nemea, Blanc. And sloppy enough to get caught on a recording, even after everything we went through together.

Right. So The High And Mighty Mikey is reduced to, checks notes m, cursing at the icecream man like an absolute buffoon. Redirected anger, that checks out. he and jane are on near equal footing now. His leveraging Sophie's whole mess against Jane supports motivation 2 the best but could also present itself as Jealousy, supporting motivation one and the idea that he does care what jane thinks about him now. The insistence that she calls him michael does the same. but I'd really like to emphasize that there are several points in this conversation in which Jane very nearly gets the emotional upperhand-- and not on accident either

BLANC

Janie.

JANE

I wondered if you would pick up.

BLANC

For you? Always.

JANE

Don’t be disgusting.

BLANC

Janie, you called me.

she gets a straight awnser out of him here which, to me, feels significant:

JANE

Why are you on Nemea?

BLANC

Well, I was demoted, thanks to you

and this is certanly a point to team jane:

JANE

Tell me more about how you got fired.

BLANC

They didn’t fire me. They just...redirected me.

and the bitch line is important in and of itself "I always knew you had it in you to be someone’s bitch. Just a shame you weren’t ours." to support motivation one first and foremost. he was trying to -- excuse my language-- tame her.

I will conclude in three parts:

Firstly, removing Mike from his context, removing him from jane leaves him nothing more than the pathetic husk of a man who seeks power to sooth his insecurities. He finds that power in position and the discomfort of others, and is quick to throw a tantrum when he finds himself powerless. Give him someone to bully and he becomes more foreboding, but without that person he's nothing much.

Second, I think it's important that we acknowledge the parralels between sophie and Mike, if we aren't deluding ourselves. Don't get me wrong, i ADORE sophie green, but I'm so adamant about her acting shitty because I know she isn't a shitty person. She'll do better soon. My proof? Both Mike and Sophie allowed themselves to abuse the power of their position, potentially endangering others, until their priorites were screwed and they were no longer at their most effective, causing them to loose their jobs. They both, when faced with the others, saw a significant change in their day-to-day work respincibilities about ten months after ther war, and they both seek Jane's favor. the Big, most important difference is that jane believes in sophie where she doesn't believe in blanc. This parallel has got to diverge for blanc to serve his full purpose as a character foil, and I can't wait until it does.

Third and lastly, my diagnosis on how to make Blanc feel the most pain he may be capable of is to set up sitatuthation that follows cannon until about now, giving hims the beats

Gains power over another person

That power increases significantly and he starts to abuse it

That person gets the upper hand. he looses that power. (but then continue it with)

He think he gets another chance at redeeming himself and regaining that power, but it is false.

he is laughed at and/or beat up, publically if possible

that person (jane) refuses to feel strong about his situation in any direction. He cannot even consider himself a martyr.

:D<

Blanc is fun cause usually I ask myself what characters are like with the goal of fufilling them as much as possible, but he's the exact opposite. I might try to redeem him in whatever just to see what happens but yk. Mic drop.

[punkandsnacks]

Sinnerman, Chapter One; Lions and Lambs.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: This is also - surprise surprise - another fairly slow burn story. With so many triggers and red flags I can’t even begin to tell you! I’ll tag each chapter of course. There is some language and violence and swearing in this chapter- hope y’all are ready to sin for this one... In this story there is knife play, violence, rough sex, dubcon, angst, and just a great great deal of, well, sin.

Synopsis: Prisoner!Killer!Kylo/OC AU

In which a sweet crime writer goes to question a convicted scarred murderer; what could possibly go wrong? (Oh! So many things)

He’d watched her pulse leap in her pale throat when he sat down. Watched her shrink in her seat. Saw how her pale blue eyes dilated when she saw him. He’d heard her gulp. Heard her breath hitch. That had been hard for him not to smirk wildly at. That he had such an effect upon her...

Seeing her in here after so many goddamn days and years limited purely to the bland familiar sights of fellow prison inmates and guards. Broad men of all sizes. So to suddenly walk in here, and see what little treat sat awaiting him, was like New Years Eve in Paris.

After all, he was a dangerously bored, violent sociopath.

~ ~  🖤 ~ ~ 

   Evelyn Winslow was the kind of woman no one ever saw.

 Not that this was ever a detrimental feature. Matter of fact, she thrived happily behind this persona.

 All her life she’d been the bookish one. The shy one. The bibliophile who hid herself away behind her self-constructed, unbreakable, fortress of comfort. Supported by books and her intelligence. Held up faithfully by her own proclivity to be first and foremost, who she was comfortable to be.

All for herself, and no one else. Which was just as well. She was a daughter to a single mother, and was raised by both her grandmother and mother alike. It had been many years since she’d lost her granny to cursed old age and her mother to a rotten illness.

She was entirely alone in her world. It was populated now by nothing other than her small corner of cherished hobbies, and her job to fulfil her. It kept her sane, and happy. Even if the loneliness did creep In sometimes… and she was hardly the type of girl to have legions of men fawning after her as lovers… She was a reserved, quiet person who was happy with her own set of well-loved interests.

 This was obvious from the first glimpse of her.

 Drab formal work-wear wrapped around her unremarkable, small, body, swathed in her trusty granny cardigan, with a patch sewn roughly over the worn elbow.

 Her round, owl-like reading glasses perched happily on her pale face. Her plain hair, chestnut auburn, somewhat shiny, but somewhat straggly, was smoothed back into an artless bun at the back of her neck. Though despite her best efforts, wisps of it still managed to catch in her face, swinging in front of her glasses clad eyes and her ears.

 She was perched on the edge of an unfathomably uncomfortable plastic chair. Her small form getting swallowed up into the artless frame the seat offered.

One that she couldn’t help but think didn’t mould to cradle the shape of anyone’s ass.

Her body was alight with nerves, she tried to absolve her trembling hands on the reliable paperback she’d sloped in her lap, hoping she could lose herself in the words, and they would provide her the usual succour of her favourite novel.

 But the worn, water warped paper backed book did nothing to aid her. Not when she was in this place.

 This great sprawling concrete building took up most of the horizon, like some ugly beast. She had hesitated getting out of the car three times before she bit the bullet and went inside.

Entering the place was a challenge in itself. Two forms of ID required, a security check, bag search and finally she was allowed inside this awful, cavernous setting.

 She’d been escorted along the drab, cold halls by a broad, silent guard. The hallway she’d been led down filled full of the far off clamour of all male noise.

The musty air mingled with the stale stench of ancient sterile cleaning products that she was sure had been pasted over the peeling lino floors with a mop, in the not too distant past by some inmate.

 The lumbering guard ahead of her didn’t even bat an eyelid when he led her down a walkway, high above what she could discern was a common room of sorts. Down below, she could see pool tables, and normal tables gathered in groups, surrounded by tall columns of orange clad men of all shapes and sizes mingled around them.

 Heat flooded to her cheeks when came the first wolf whistle aimed up at her. She ignored the rising clamour of shouts and calls that were sent her way. Some voices more distinguishable than others- unfortunately.

 Voices erupted from beside them too. They walked past rows of white barred cells.

 She flinched out of her skin when one huge man thudded down from his top bunk and rattled the bars of his cell so loud it almost knocked her off her feet.

 She tried to keep her eyes down as the guard had said, and not interact. But at his rough voice and even rougher words she made the mistake of flickering her eyes across to him.

 “Come over here bitch, I wanna get a good look at you.” He all but spat at her. His hands braced on the bars, leaning closer.

 She fixated on the scar that divided his face. The shaven crop of his hair, and the tattoos that marred his thick arms. By the time he dropped his head to clock her ass, his smile was a leer.

 The guard seems to take notice of the prisoner and sends back a harsh bark of warning to him.

She found her courage, and her legs re-joined, and she moved off. Her cheeks pink, her shame broadcasting out of every pore.

 Her fear and her anxiety palphable in the air. Almost as if she could reach out and touch the cloud of nerves surrounding her.

 “Don’t let these scum know you’re scared. They’ll eat it up if you do.” The guard casually tossed over his shoulder as they came to another set of stairs, leading away from the commotion of the common room.

 Evie frowned at his words. And gulped too.

 It was obvious from the off, not as if she needed the confirmation, but it was clear this place didn’t welcome nor warm well to outsiders.

Eventually her silent bidder of doom led her to another waiting room, and told her to be patient and that the Prison shrink would be with her soon to debrief her about her visit.

 So here she found herself. Jiggling with nervousness. Reeling from the rough words of the prisoner who’d gotten off from scaring her half to death. Feasting on her with no more than his eyes like she was a porterhouse steak.

 Sickness and dread bubbled up in her stomach, cloying sour in her throat. She picked a stray thread off her drab grey skirt. Tucking her teal cardigan tighter around herself. She was feeling clammy and terrified. The dank air in here serving to make pimples raise on her exposed legs.

 She’d taken the dress code very seriously. Her sensible grey skirt came to her knees. She wore simple kitten heels on her feet. Her white blouse and her cerulean blue wool cardigan were both buttoned modestly across her décolletage.

 Nothing to invoke or enflame masculine attention. She was well versed in that rule.

 Her makeup was practically non-existent.  No lip colour, barely any blush. Nothing to conceal the bags under her eyes and only a sweep of mascara to darken her lashes.

She’d been scrupulous about everything. Only cursing herself when she lapsed, forgetting the dress code when she spritzed perfume on her wrists and dabbed some on her neck this morning.

 Assured the guard opposite wasn’t watching, she lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled. Nothing but the scent of her washing detergent and the soft scent of her skin. She flattered herself she might get away with it…

 Nervously tapping her foot, she put her ineffective novel away and reached for the file in her bag. Reacquainting herself with the contents which she was sure she knew off heart by now.

 She’d read over prisoner ID 623859’s profile numerous times. She’d gone over it time and time again, hoping it would make her feel more prepared. It was an odd thing; there she was, of an evening, curled up on her sunny front porch, in the porch swing, with a glass of white wine, going over the file of this perfect stranger.

 This whole man in his entirety, having been consigned to a number, and a charge sheet...

 The absurdity and callous nature of it had struck her as a very cold and brutal thing. To add insult, the file had lacked a mug shot. So she couldn’t even see what he looked like.

 Her boss had shrugged when she bought it up. The photo had gotten lost or dropped out at some point perhaps… did it matter? To Evie it did. They could atleast give this man the decency of being treated like a human being.

 And now she was here, and it was all so real. She’d be meeting the man behind this file in a mere matter of moments.

 She’d  interviewed a few prisoners before, all in the line of duty for her work as a crime writer. But they’d been in on minor charges such as breaking and entering, arson, car theft or fraud.

 She’d never had to sit across the interrogation table from a killer before.

 Because ID 623859 was a lifer, who’d been sent down for five counts of first degree murder four years ago.

 A step up from her usual inmates doing 2 – 3 years for good behaviour and the district attorney arguing for whittling their case down to community service rather than jail time.

 Out of her comfort zone couldn’t even begin to describe the place she found herself in right now-

 She was so idly consumed in the file, the reverberating clang of bars in front of her echoed in her bones, startling her yet again out of her daze. Looking up she met the gaze of a very run down man who tiredly called out her name in confirmation.

 “Winslow?” He asked morosely.

 She darted up nervously. Pushing her glasses up her nose. Tucking hair behind her ear. Her anxious tick, she’d always been told by her granny.

 The laminated name badge pinned to her chest earlier clattered against her arms when she stood. She nervously shut the file and stepped towards the man. Awkwardly jerking her hand out from under the coat folded over her arm.

 “Hello. Yes. Uh, you must be Doctor Finch…” She greets politely. Finch assessed her with a fatigued flick, up and down, of his eyes.

 “This way..” He greeted with little enthusiasm. Encouraging her to follow. He didn’t return her handshake.

 He was a short, stout man. Dressed in a drab puce green shirt, with sweat stains at his armpits, and a bland brown tie knotted around his neck like a lifeless noose.

 His trousers were wrinkled and his shoes looked unloved to say the least. Even with his olive skin, his salt and pepper balding hair and baggy eyes spoke volumes of his jaded despondency with his job.

 As she followed him she noted the scent of stale sweat, bad coffee and awful cheap cologne followed him as he moved. Everything about this man seemed stale.

 She trailed after him obediently in silence, the only sound they made was his lolloping steps from his heavy boots, and the dainty click of her heels hitting the lino floor. It wasn’t until they got to the second door that he spoke. His voice too, was fusty.

 “So. You’re here to see Ren…” He lets his question hang in the air.

 “Uh. Yes.” She speaks up. “I’m from Armstrong & Lowery Publishing. I was tasked along with a few in house authors to write criminal profiles for a memoir series. Very edgy. Uh, plenty of personal insight into life after conviction...” She explained. He replied with a less than impressed grunt.

 “Lucky you.” He answered drily without looking back at her.

 The pit of hope in her stomach dried up. She wouldn’t be making any friends in here, that was for certain.

 “Now listen…” He breathes out blearily.

 “This isn’t some tame convict whose serving time for joyriding…” He begins. For the first time since they’d met, he turned to her and stared her down deep with the depths of his dark eyes.

 “This criminal is a violent, dangerous, sociopath who brutally attacked and killed five men, in cold blood.” He tells her. Each word punching out his mouth with heavy gravity. She nods.

 “I read his file…” She offers weakly.

 He scoffs.

 “Then you’ve barely scratched the surface, girly.” He tells her with a hint of amusement in his voice.

 Do you always make the outside visitors your entertainment? She wonders idly.

 “Truthfully. I don’t know what warnings I can give you about Ren.” He starts as he unlocks a barred door from the keys clipped to his belt which strained under the size of his rotunda belly.

 “One thing I can promise you is that you sure as hell might not get much out of him. He doesn’t tend to like being interrogated by journalists. Ask the last one who came to annoy him with questions.” He chuckles.

 Evie froze. He turned around and met her gaze with the threat of his morbid promise glittering in his eyes.

 “What happened to the last one?” She asks in a voice that was barely audible.

 “They pushed him.” He says. “Ragged on him, dug into his weak points. Delved far too deep into his personal life for his liking…” Finch tells.

 “Even handcuffed to the table, he managed to reach across and break their arm in three places. And he didn’t even work up a drop of sweat as he did it.” He warns. “...And don’t go thinking provoking him is the only way to set him off either...” He starts.

 “Two years ago I was performing a routine eval of him, and he lunged across that table and stabbed my own pen through my hand when I tried to get him to finally open up about his childhood.” As he spoke, he held up his right hand, and she could see the uneven bump of a small jagged scar sat on his palm.

 Evie blinks. Her spine felt frozen rigid in fear. It took an enormous portion of her courage to step through the barred door he held open for her.

 “If you’ve talked to other prisoners before, then you’re up on the familiar protocol… No reaching over. Don’t pass them anything except paper. Keep your hands to yourself. Dress appropriately. Don’t rile them. And when times called, times up. Visitors and Prisoners both follow the rules, that clear?  You stay seated until the prisoner is escorted out by the guards… the usual fuss…” He adds.

 She thinks she may have nodded in response. She isn’t entirely sure.

 He walks her down another long hallway. This one was much different to the one the other guard had led her down.

 There were no bars. No open communal spaces. The doors here weren’t bars, they were solid heavy metal. With tiny shuttered windows on each one. She didn’t need to be told what kind of men were kept back behind these doors.

 She soldiers on. Acutely aware of the clack of her heels that rung through the hallway with each step she took. How unfamiliar a sound like that must be in this miserable, rigid institution.

 “What else can you tell me about him?” She braves to ask. “Something that isn’t in his file?”

 Finch sighs and goes quiet for a moment, fiddling with the keys in his hands to find the next one for the interrogation room.

 “You want my honest opinion?” He speaks up. Standing stiffly and regarding her for a moment. She waits patiently for his assessment.

 “He ain’t seen or talked to a woman in three years. You want the truth, I think that’s gonna have a big effect in how he reacts to you. I don’t know if it’ll necessarily help you or hurt you. You may arouse his interest, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna give you answers.” He honestly informs her.

 “He’s not gonna open up to you just cause you’re a woman. He won’t see you as some compassionate, kind, caring shoulder to lean on. For all I know, you going in there to question him could be putting you in serious danger.” He tells her seriously.

 No sugar coating news around here, it seemed.

 That was when he stepped closer and unashamedly took a deep breath next to the air surrounding her shoulder. She shrunk back a little, perturbed.

 “Forgive my asking. But did you put perfume on this morning?” He asks her in a bored monotone.

 Her cheeks heat. “Habit.” She tells him, embarrassed at having been caught out. His eyes turn to points

 “Next time? Don’t. He’ll pick up on that.” He tells her off sharply. She bobbles a nod once again. He turns and continues their long walk to the interrogation room.

 “Now. There’ll be guards posted outside the door. And I need to mention for safety all your conversations will be recorded.” He explains the usual procedure.

 “I’ll be watching the two of you from the anteroom on the video monitor. If he tries anything. We’ll be there hopefully before anything can happen. We’ve learnt the hard way to step our measures when it comes to Ren, for both inmates and visitors.” He tells her.

 “I read about his… uh injury… After his sentence here…” She tells Finch. “The altercation with the other prisoner, in the yard.”

 “Nastiest thing I’ve seen in a long while.” He tells her.

 Back to her as he punched a key code into the panel on the wall. A harsh blare opened to cell door, showing her the rows of silver tables and fixed chairs inside.

 She’d read in the file about what happened not long after he was first incarcerated. Some gang set after Ren during yard time one day, and the leader took his shiv and carved a scar down from his forehead to his shoulder. Holding him down as he did to teach the new pretty boy who was top dog.

 They had swaggered off, assured they’d cemented who was the alpha. When Ren, bleeding profusely, and in probably unfathomable amounts of pain, chased the guy down, beat him half to death, buried the guys own shiv in his thigh - and bit out a chunk of the leaders face for good measure.

 It took four guards to get Ren off him before he killed the fellow prisoner. guards, prisoners and visitors gave him a wide berth after that. No one dare looked in his direction if they knew what was good for them.

 “Since that day he’s been in solitary cell confinement for his sentence here. Can’t trust him to be the type to get along with a bunk mate.” Finch spoke under his breath, as if he was speaking disappointedly about an errant child who didn’t gel with other people.

 He’d gone through two cell mates here in his first month. Both of whom barely escaped with their lives.

 He waved his arm, indicating for her to take a seat at one of the tables.

 “Standard procedure. The prisoner will be escorted in shortly, Ms Winslow. Take a seat…” He tells her.

 She steps past. Clutching her coat in her arms as if it could protect her. She chose the table in the far corner. And spread her folded coat across the back of the chair. Nerves squirming in her belly like some rabid, wild animal was trying to burrow into her stomach.

 She tucked a strand of her hair and took a seat. The worn and scratched metal chair under her making her skin thrash coolly as she lowered down onto it. Tainting her skin with goosebumps. The hair at the back of her neck was needled straight on end with terror.

 “I’ll be in the monitor room watching. Try not to let him play too many of his games with you, and remember. Don’t antagonise him… Best of luck…” Finch sniped at her before he shuffled away out of sight.

She tried not to let herself think unpleasant thoughts about the insipid, embittered man who clearly despised his job and all those involved along with it.

 She fiddled with her glasses, and withdrew her notebook and pen from the confines of her bag. Nervously nibbling on her lower lip. She flexed her cold hands as she flipped to an empty page. Making last minute, nervous adjustments, fixing her badge. Making sure she was still all buttoned up, and presentable.

She nervously crossed her legs, feeling that her sheer beige tights slid smoothly along her cold, goose pimpled skin. She wiggled her chilled toes in her shoes. Shamefully aware as she drew her cardigan over her chest, that she was suddenly freezing.

 For good measure, she crossed her arms over her chest and hunched down in her seat, arms under the table and awaited her fate.

 The first thing she heard, was the jangle of the keys scuffing the barred doors unlocking then clanging as they were slid open.

She was beginning to understand they were the standard noise to echo and signify movement about this prison.

 The sound seemed to rattle through her, ringing through her skeleton. Making more dread creep through her. She swallows, her eyes darting to the door where she could hear a few sets of footsteps shuffle and clatter along the vapid lino floor.

 There was something else too, along with the heavy sets of treads, she could hear a soft clinking noise shift in the air. It took her a second to come to realise that she could hear his shackles as the prisoner was being shifted along.

 Cuffed at the ankles and the wrists – for her safety. She heard a door open and close, and Finch’s bored voice rang loud through the halls. They were just metres away, beyond the barred door.

 “You be nice now, Ren.” Finch warns.

 The clanking stopped for a moment.

 “You know I don’t play well with others.” A deep baritone answered drily. The implication in his voice was dangerous. It made her blood run cold.

 Evie suddenly wanted to shrink down to about three centimetres tall. She wanted to wither away into the chair like a dried up leaf curling in on itself.

 She watches Finch unlock the door and then it is filled by the three figures the other side of it.

The tall column of orange prisoner is flanked by two guards. They, frankly, looked ineffective in comparison to the figure they were there to guard.

 They seem more like ineffectual support than anything. Because the solid wall of tall man in the prison jumpsuit was entirely six feet four of fury, rage and danger hemmed into an orange uniform.

 He may have been the incarcerated one, but power pulsed about his figure like a far off threat. Lingering in the distance. Always there, chiming gently.

 He stands a foot above the two guards, superior, and the small curl of his lips suggests he knows this.

 Under an unruly mane of inky hair, his eyes look darker than black zirconia’s. The harsh light of the room they’re in reflects in a glimmer back off his black, fathomless eyes.

 Lifeless eyes, like sharks eyes, she thinks… dead eyes… the knowledge he was a killer made them more chilling- Those eyes had seen men die.

 He cocks his head at her through the bars and surveys her. Something dark and terrible flares through her belly.

 She wants to pull up her book, shield herself. Put something, any barrier really, between her and his burning eyes that were boring holes into her like flames scorching paper.

 It was like looking at something grotesque, it unsettled her down in the very marrow of her bones – but her body just wouldn’t let her look away.

 She hadn’t expected to find herself so entranced with his looks. He could definitely be classified as intoxicating.

 She certainly felt under the influence. He was handsome in an unbelievable and impossible way. Strong, broad features, full lips.

 A clean shaven chin. Face marred by a thick, jagged track of a vivid red scar running from the top of his forehead entirely down his right cheek, slicing its scarred trail deep into his skin. It told of what made him so dangerous, so brutal. The latticework of violence on his skin written with the tip of someone else’s crude knife.

 It marred well with the tattoos that she could see covered every inch of his torso. The backs of his hands, twined along his large, thick fingers. Hidden at either side of his pale neck by long strands of his hair that fell in waves to his shoulders.

 Down the front of his neck, by his clavicle and the exposed top buttons of the stark orange jumpsuit. There too shadowy patterns of ink are shouting their dark tales of his life from the surface of his alabaster skin. Appropriately, She can see teeth, bones, skulls, darkness and blood.

 The door is slid open and with a final, resounding thunk, this odd entourage steps into the room.

 The prisoner is walked across to the table. Evie’s hand itches. She wants to do something normal. She wants to rise to her feet, greet him hello, and shake his hand as if this was a business meeting over coffee. But she can’t. She won’t.

 She stays with her ass firmly placed on her seat as if it was cemented there. Her wrist twitches and she fights the proclivity to reach across for a handshake. Rule 1 of prison etiquette; Don’t reach over – keep your hands at all times, to yourself.

 Instead she can only sit there, pinned, under the gaze of the gigantic man being led towards her. She felt exposed like this.

 A rabbit in headlights. Vulnerable. And she wasn’t even the one in shackles here… how was it he still harnessed all the power in the room?

 She was convinced he managed it by the sheer size of his body alone. He was towering to say the least. She was sure he was a good two feet taller than her.

 She watched him stride across the room, with the guards shuffling him in by his sides. She saw his long, powerful legs stride him forwards as if he wasn’t even in cuffs, or in this prison at all.

 She is cursed to do nothing but watch, as he is led across to her. The guards go either side as he lowers that big body of his into the seat opposite. She fears that he wouldn’t fit onto it.

 But he eases down and slides his hands forwards onto the metal table top. He unfolds his legs under the table and lets them stretch out, almost hitting hers. He arcs his back and shoulders forwards in the chair and lets his forearms rest on the surface.

 She jumps back, flinching in her seat when he drags his shackles harshly across the tables surfaces. The metal whining and shrieking.

 Oh, she was sweet. He’d scared the poor little lamb.

 She watches the guards chain his joined hands to the metal bar secured on the table top. He sits there, suave, like a king, not even acknowledging the two people securing him. His eyes remained fixed on her.

 She wets her lips, and tucks her hair behind her ear. His eyes don’t miss a thing. Evie gives the po-faced guards a wobbly smile, which they do not return, before they shuffle away out of the room. Leaving her all alone to the savage mercy of Kylo Ren.

 “You know the rules...” One of them warns him as they shackle his left wrist. How many more warnings was he in for?

 “Is that meant for me, or her, Henderson?” He asks. Looking her right in the eye. Appealing to the guard by name.

 She gulps. Again. He spots it. 

“None of your trouble here with the lady. Try not to get yourself thrown in the hole for a month this time…” The Guard bays back to Ren’s snappy mouth. Their conversation ends with the harsh clang of the cell door.

 “No promises…” He mutters lowly. Growling lowly at her.

 Her mouth gapes lightly. And his smile curls up more in the beginnings of a smirk. She felt her bravery deflate at the fact he was staring his piercing gaze into her soul.

Yet still referred to her in the third person. As if she wasn’t in the room. As if she wasn’t even here. To him, she supposed, she was an ineffectual, annoying spec. A fly he wished to swat to death with his very large, tattooed hands.

 For what feels like the first time, she lets her frightened gaze meet his. She sits up a little straighter and shuffles in her seat, her eyes switch across to the door as the guards flank it and stand silently.

 Arms crossed, backs ramrod straight. Eyes daggering into Ren’s back. She timidly reaches her hand out for her notebook. Feeling a little like she was dangerously reaching her hand into a lions enclosure at the zoo.

 She wets her lips. Summoning the energy to speak.

 Ren feels his temper simmering under his skin already. Was the damn girl a fucking mute or what?

 “Um, Thank you, for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Ren…” She begins.

 He merely narrows his eyes. Otherwise silent as the grave.

 “I’m missing my yard time for this. And for what? So a Librarian can ask me the same fucking questions every journalists wants to ask me?” He all but spits out.

She can tell he doesn’t really require an answer on that one.

 She shuffles. Tucks her hair behind her ear again. Clearly that outburst made her uncomfortable.

 “I’m not a journalist…” She corrects weakly.

 His impassive, handsome, face made no move to acknowledge her smidgeon of backbone.

 She looked about as robust as that godawful fraying, fuzzy, granny cardigan she was wearing. He thought about how the heft of it rudely hid her body shape from his eyes.

 “My names Evie Winslow. I’m a writer, actually. I’m from a publishing house that’s very interested in your story as a lifer in here. They’re doing a series of inmates personal memoirs to publish into a volume of…”

 “Writer. Journalist. What’s the difference…” He lets out under his breath to himself, unamused.

To him, they were both annoying, pushy, arrogant suits who only seemed to swan into this place to grill him with personal and infuriatingly nosy questions.

 “You look like you know your way around a book. You’ve doubtless read my file judging by that manila folder sticking out your bag… You’ll know my feelings about bossy journalists asking me their annoying questions….” He warns, his voice a dark purr.

 His threat hanging around in the air. As he spoke, he leaned into the table. Pinning her under that dark gaze once again.

 That gaze had kept him safe being locked up in here all these years. It made sure people left him-the-fuck alone. Made sure some of the fucking scum that co-inhabited this place knew not to antagonise him.

  She bites at the inside of her lower lip. Mulling over his musings.

 “Writers have the luxury of imagination.” She offers simply as an answer. Again, he is silent. But she can see activity at the back of those deep dark eyes as he assesses her.

 She was meek. There was no doubting that. He somehow found himself giddy at the fact that she leapt out of her skin when she slowly scraped his shackles across the table.

 He’d watched her pulse leap in her pale throat when he sat down. Watched her shrink down. Seen how her pale blue eyes dilated when she saw him. He’d heard her gulp. Heard her breath hitch. That had been hard for him not to smirk wildly at. That he had such an effect.

 After all, he was a dangerously bored, violent sociopath. Seeing her in here after so many goddamn day and years limited purely to the bland sights of fellow inmates and guards.

 Broad men of all sizes. So to suddenly walk in here and see what sweet, shapely little treat sat awaiting him was like New Years Eve in Paris.

 A writer, was all he’d been told. British too, apparently. What the fuck does some prim suited, stuck- up writer want with him?

 Visitor signed in as E. Winslow. He’d expected to walk in and see some balding, academic, authorial fat old man. Not a delectable, petite, shapely, dark haired woman.

 When he saw her wet her lips as she looked nervously across, he swore to god his cock leapt up to attention under his jumpsuit. He tried to discern more of her figure as he sat, but her frumpy work wear made that a challenge.

 He let his mind drift a little as he was shackled in. His eyes went to her chest for only a second.

 The fuzzy cardigan did well to hide her shape from him. But he could see under those drab work clothes there most likely his a fine figure.

 The sight of her buttoned over cleavage and the slight hint of her pale sternum made his mouth water. Aswell as the scent of her.

 Her fucking scent he could smell all the way down the corridor.

 Sweet honeysuckle or some natural shit like that. Lavender. Peonies. Something other than the scent of the paltry institution detergent they washed the prison suits in.

 That something other was like ambrosia nectar to him.

 He thanked the stars that she’d put on perfume too. Giving him something to fucking distract him from this fucking pit if for only a damn second.

 He could trace warm notes of it in the air around her. Something so bright and floral it was all he could do to concentrate on ignoring it.

 He wanted to lean across and find out with his lips where abouts she sprayed on her soft, silken neck. He wanted to vice her throat in one hand, squeeze, and feel her pulse go crazy under his palm. Crushing her windpipe lightly under his violent grip.

 He can’t say he was familiar with her type. She had a lot of things she tried to hide herself away in.

 Her messily arranged hair, the librarian owl-like glasses, the dull blouse and the boring cardigan; it all screamed ‘safe’ at him. Polar opposite to him, he thought.

 His entire demeanour was centred off the fact he never hid a thing. Of course, he tried to blend into society’s norms into what was acceptable. But that was a different thing. He was big, tall, unabashed, broad, unashamed, confident.

 He brazenly wore his temper, his tattoos, his wealth, his piercings – the few he had left. She was the complete photo negative. She seemed designed to take up as little space as was possible.

 Her personality spoke of her living her quiet, shy life in exactly the way she pleased. No wedding ring visible on her slim finger. From that he could discern that meant she didn’t dress up her petite frame for anyone but herself. Never stepping out of her comfort zone.

Never doing anything brazen or risky. She looked like a woman who lived well within the parameters of her cosy, cushy, ineffectual little life.

 So what was this nice, educated, girl doing in a place like this? Talking to a man like him?

 “Call a spade a spade. You’re here to ask me questions. No matter what job you’ve got.” He grilled with a neutral expression. Piercing right to the point.

 He’d got her there.

 “Well. Yes, I am…” She adds.

 He made no move except to harshly exhale. She could see he was still staring her down like he wanted to cut her into strips, simply for being here.

 “What more, personally, can you tell me about your conviction? What was that like?” She begins, holding her notebook open. Her pen poised to take notes.

 His jaw grit. Tight.

 If she thought he was going to sit here like an obedient lapdog, and answer every personal question she wanted to pry into about his own damn personal life, she could think again.

 “Long and boring.” He answers stiffly.

 “The trial?” She asks.

 No answer comes from him.

 “Read. My. File.” He answers shortly.

 She blinks, her pen poised over the paper, now blotting a large, sticky ink stain on the creamy lined notebook paper.

 “How was it adjusting to prison life?” She ventures. But by now she knows not to get her hopes up for an answer.

 “Painful.” Comes the reply with his similar deadpan expression.

 “Uh..” She stumbled, trying to find the notes. Flicking through pages and feeling her cheeks glaring red with embarrassment.

 Her throat was drying up. Her hand trembling. He was so big, and just so terrifying.

The veins in his neck were starting to strain up under his skin. Pulsing with the need to keep a foothold on his patience.

 “What do you want me to talk about, huh?” He asks suddenly. Bursting forwards even more in his chair.

 The scraping of the shackles on the table shrieked again. Once more, she jumped at the noise, and he felt his arousal bubbling up with his rage.

 “You want me to describe in vivid detail what hurting all those men felt like? How it felt when I held the knife in my hand and ran it into them. Into their skin. Into their guts. How I slit one of their throats and how it felt fucking good to watch the blood pour?” He asks with a little twitch of his head, and morbid fascination in his voice.

 “And with another one…. About how I cut his femoral artery, deep, and watched him die so slowly. People don’t reckon they know how much blood is in the human body. But, ohhh, I do, Kitten. And it’s a lot. I know because I watched a man fade slowly away in a pool of his own blood. By the end he was choking on it.” He explained.

She wanted to flinch at that pet name he’d assigned her in the middle of his murderous diatribe.

 “I think you do want to hear it. On some twisted level. You want people to know how it feels. That’s why people will read your fucking memoirs, baby.” He says

 “They want to read about it because they will never know how it feels to be like me. To be like any of the murderers in this place. They can never know. So, they do the next best thing.” He explains.

 ”They come in here and they poke and prod and dissect us with psych evals and dare to call us crazy. When really, they’d do anything to know what it feels like to be a killer. To fall over that edge.”

 She felt somehow both sick and feverish. Frozen.

 She said nothing, but looked at him with those big, blue, innocent, scared eyes of hers. And my god, the sight of that almost served to make him rock hard under the goddamn table.

 “Is that what all you and your type want to hear? I enjoyed killing them. I glad I did it. No I wouldn’t take it back if I could. I’m glad I killed them all. Yes, I do curse every day I’m trapped in this miserable rotten hellhole, being shuffled around like a caged animal. Being told when to sleep. When to piss. When to shower. I miss my freedom.

 She just stares for a second. She wasn’t hard hearted enough to scoff at him in derision.

No. She was too sweet, he thought. But he could sense her disappointment at him. She chews on the inside of her lower lip again. And then he watches as she lays her pen down…

 “What else do you miss most from outside this place then?” She asks after a long moment of silence.

 That made him cock his head. It startled him. She’d startled him. The petite, five foot three librarian had astonished the six foot four, gigantic killer.

 “What?”

 She wet her lips. His big thighs tensed under the table.

 “What else do you miss-��

 “I heard the goddamn question. Kitten.” He growls with little patience.

 Her spine tingled at his oddly soft endearment once again. He knew. Of course he knew. Those pale cheeks went pink, that’s how he knew.

 She idly stroked a fingertip over the spine of her closed notebook. He watched her do it.

 Her hands looked soft. When she glanced over to his, she saw they were marred with scars, calluses, and toughened skin. She wondered how soft they’d feel pressed against hers…

 She’d been warned about sharing private information. Warned against sharing anything that wasn’t pertinent to her enquires as a crime writer.

 But she wanted to level with this dangerous man. As she imagined no one else had ever bothered to do. They took him at face value; a killer, an ID number of six letters. A last name. And that was all.

 They didn’t look beyond, however hard that may be, and however tricky Ren made it for them, to see the man underneath the prison file.

 He was still a human being. Sure, a damaged one. But still-

 “I’d miss my garden.” She pipes up.

 She flickers her eyes up, watching him as he shifts back to relax slightly into the cold metal cradle of his chair. His wavy hair caught the light, despite what she knew would be years of lax grooming and institution shampoo used on it, it still looked silky. Falling in gentle waves around that unforgettably beautiful face.

 Most inmates she knew were only allowed bar soap, basic shaving necessities, and loveless bathing products to clean with.

 He looked like the kind of hardcore man who’d stuck to a strict grooming routine before he came into this place. Cut-throat razor.

 The finest shaving creams and expensive balms used, to sit lingering their fine fragrance on his skin. Cologne so expensive it was like a scent of the finest luxury with every whiff.

 The thought of seeing hot, steamy water run over that broad tattooed figure she knew was lurking under that jumpsuit. Trickling over those rippling muscles in his back, over his shoulder blades, down across his divinely formed- she found herself flushing with longing.

 She snapped back out of her sordid daydream...

 He was clearly reluctant to speak. So she continued. “My Granny left us her house in her will. After my mother passed on also, it became mine. It’s small. Full of hand me downs, antiques, and various knick-knacks. It’s a cheap, dated house now. But it’s warm. Its clean. And it’s all mine.” She tells him.

 ”All I have left of my family exists in that house. My little dwelling in the middle of nowhere. One of my earliest memories is planting daisies into terracotta planters with my granny. I must’ve been about, five or six. As a kid I was always outside, playing in the garden. And my mother always roped me into help...” she chuckles.

 ”And that’s how I came to love it, I guess. I’m at my happiest up to my elbows in dirt putting in a new bed of tulips, or tending my hydrangeas, or seeing my hard labour come to fruition when my jasmine gardenias blossom in the first week of spring. It’s a lovely thing.” She explained.

 “The smell of my lilac trees on a warm summers morning coming through on the breeze from my kitchen window. That’s what I’d miss.

 Unless she was very much mistaken, that was a small curl of a smile turning up the corner of his lips. Barely visible. But she knew what she saw.

 “Coffee.” Was the word that surprised her when it came sailing out of his lips. A short, staccato bark, really.

 She nods.

 “Italian coffee. Strong. No milk. Dark as ink. A triple espresso so strong it makes your teeth ache.” He lets out. “The instant shit you get in here tastes like mud.”

 “That’s good…” She smiles lightly. Tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. She does that a lot, he noticed.

 “I could do without being assaulted daily by Finch’s shitty cologne too. But there’s not a lot I can do to change that either.” He grumbles.

 His eyes turned up to the corner to fix a dark glare into the camera that was pointed down at them. He knew the chubby man would have his arms crossed over his fat belly, watching him through the monitor. Probably picking his nose or reading a dirty magazine.

 An unusual feeling spread warmth through his stomach when he saw her fight off a broad smile at that wish. She pushed her glasses back up her pixie like, upturned nose and tried her best not to laugh aloud.

 “Some things are just, eternally, beyond our reach, I guess.” She mutters quietly.

 ”No accounting for taste.” Ren glares solidly at the camera. Making sure Finch heard it, and saw it.

 “Time’s up.” Came a short outburst from the heavy set guard stood flanking the door.

 Ren watched the prim Ms. Winslow turn her head, her mouth gaping as she blinked prettily at the two plodding guards who came over to release Ren’s shackles.

 Once again, he watched her like a hawk, rather than paying attention to what was being done to his hands as they were jerked free of the table.

 She wondered if his wrists hurt with the careless way they handled him. Tugging and pulling his hands about in the cuffs like he was a nerveless piece of meat.

 She could see the raised red lines of irritation from the harsh cuffs about his pale, thick inked wrists that looked sore.

 He could tell she was disappointed. She had hoped for more from him. Her boss would grill her for days about this. He already found her a thorn in his side.

 Nothing she ever did was good enough. He proofed, edited and slaughtered her articles and writing proposals before he sent them to print. She didn’t like to reckon what he’d do if she’d go back tomorrow empty handed.

 “Come see me again.” Came a baritone rumble from opposite the table.

 “Up.” One of the guards instructed plainly. Yapping at him like a baying dog.

 Evie blinked. Did he just…?

 “Kitten.” He growled a crooked smirk in parting, rising to his full towering height again, eyes pinning her down again before he was tugged away.

 Shackles clanking. Big broad frame filling the door as he moved through it. Out into the hall.

 And she watched that tall column of orange flanked between two short navy pillars once more before he is out of her sight.

 She’d never been more speechless. And somehow, oddly enthusiastic. He’d spent the first ten minutes glaring at her. Terrified her to the bone. Threatened her and made her shiver in her seat.

 And still she felt motivated to come to this awful place again, merely by the way he’d growled his little pet name at her.

  ~

  It was a few days later, and just gone past noon when a tall man strode his confident way into his corner office. His blushing blonde secretary had just handed him his schedule.

 And he thanked her with a sultry wink. He hadn’t bedded this one yet. But he was going too, he could tell.

 Another warning from HR about the mingling of personal and work relationships sent his way as a final warning; that he could easily ignore, just crumple and throw in the bin as he had done with the last four.

 He strode into his office with all the poise of an Emperor. Surveying the expensive, sleek space he’d worked semi hard to earn.

 His Brioni suit was flawless. His office was kitted out with some new, showy expensive Italian designers collection. Fresh calla lilies adorned the masterpiece of an art vase on his coffee table, and with the sun filtering through his blinded windows just right, he felt good that today was going to be glorious.

As most of his days usually were.

 His coffee warming his hands, last nights lovers lipstick he was sure was still smeared its cloying kiss on his neck and his collar, and on the fly of his zipper.

And it didn’t hurt that the cute girl at Starbucks had scrawled her number onto his cup next to his name.

 He hummed merrily as he crossed to his desk, just as his office phone blared to life. He slung down his cup and answered it. Checking the time on his flawless Panerai watch.

 “It’s me.” A gruff greeting came, down the line.

 His head shot up. He’d know the baritone match of his relatives voice any day. He smirked.

 “He never calls, he never writes…” He chided with his typical grin, leaning back to perch on the edge of his desk.

 “I need a favour…” He grunted.

 He listened for more that was sure to follow.

 “Someone came to see me recently. And I need to know who they are. What they want. I need information and you’re going to get it for me.” They instructed.

 “Do you want the usual package of information or something a little…sexier?” He enquired.

 “I don’t give a shit. Just come see me with what you know when you find it.”

 “I might need some gentle persuading…” Came his playful answer. He didn’t. He just loved riling his twin.

 They growled lowly down the other end. How long was it before he crushed the plastic handset to splinters, he wondered?

 “Just do it, Ben.” Came a ferocious order. A threat. A promise. And then the line went sharply dead.

 Ben Solo put the phone down, lifted his coffee to his lips, and smirked.

 Today really was destined to be full of surprises after all.

  ~ ~  🖤 ~ ~

[justahopelessssromantic]

Runaways- A Mayans MC Fanfic

Part 1 // Part 2

Part 3

*Warnings: Mentions loss of parents*

A little over a week had passed since we arrived in Santo Padre. The morning after my fight with David he made me pancakes as an apology, too proud to apologize verbally. I also received a text from EZ and since then we messaged each other off and on.

There was still a rift between my brothers but neither one of them would tell me anything about it. Conveniently they both got jobs that were during different times, David at a gun range during the day, and Nicky the night shift at a gas station, which made it much easier for them to avoid each other. When they were together on the rare occasion you could practically cut the tension with a knife. And don’t even get me started on the constant bickering over ridiculous things.

I currently didn’t have a job spending most of my time packing up some of Ms. Rosa’s stuff into boxes to be put into storage. Part of the deal of getting to live here was that we would pack up her things and fix up the house for David’s friend Raphael, that way when and if we did eventually move out the house would be ready to sell and he wouldn’t have to pay anyone to do the work.

It was late morning, almost noon, and I decided it was time to get out of the house. Changing out of the sweats and tank top I was wearing I put on a pretty little white off the shoulder sundress that had dainty little sunflowers all over it pairing it with my yellow vans. Going to my vanity I put on light makeup consisting of sunscreen, mascara, a little blush and a pink gloss on my lips. I then went into my bathroom and took the hair straightener putting loose curls into my shoulder length blonde locks. Finishing with a spritz of perfume I walked into my bedroom. I then went to my jewelry box grabbing my mother’s necklace that she always wore. It was a dainty piece of jewelry, silver, with three small birthstones representing each of her children. I then put in a pair of simple small silver hoops in my ears.

Going to the closet I grabbed my purse and swung it across my chest. Bouncing out of my room and to Nicky’s door I knocked twice.

“Come on let’s go out and enjoy some sunshine!” I said “You got five minutes to get ready!” Hearing a muffled groaning I figured he heard me and went to wait in the living room.

Thirty minutes later he was ready and we were out the door. Walking down the block we headed towards Main Street where most of the shops and businesses were.

Once we got there we stopped by Felipe’s carniceria first having finally met our actual neighbor a few days ago where he told us about his business.

“Good afternoon Felipe!” I greeted feeling so much better being out of the house.

“Buenas tardes Willow,” wiping his hands on his apron he walked up to the counter across from me. “What can I do for you today?”

Behind me Nicky was checking out the bookshelf.

“Just wanted to stop in and check out your shop. You have a very nice place here.” I looked in the display at all the different options. “But since we are here can I get you to wrap up a roast for us that David can pick up later on his way home?”

“Of course, I will have it ready when he gets here.” Looking behind me he addressed Nicky. “You should take that one home to read. It’s a good one.”

Smiling he held up the book “Yeah that would be really cool, thanks.”

Saying our farewells we exited the carniceria and continued our stroll down the street.

A couple hours had passed and we decided to stop in a small diner for some food. Sitting at a booth in the back we looked at our menus as we waited to order. On the other end of the building there were two men having a tense discussion. Both men were fairly tall and well dressed in suits. The man facing in my direction was very handsome, dark hair and a well maintained beard with just a little hint of grey. The other man whose back was to me had dirty blonde hair and seemed a little older.

“Hey earth to Will?” my brother snapped me out of my daze.

“What? Yeah sorry, what did you say?”

“Your phone is buzzing.”

Reaching into my purse I pulled it out to see EZ’s caller ID. I quickly answered hoping I wouldn’t miss him. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You have any plans tonight?”

“Um no not really, why?” Chewing on my bottom lip I waited for his response. I could hear someone faintly calling out to him on the other end.

“I was just wondering if you could take that rain check tonight? I could pick you up at six, maybe we could get something to eat if you wanted”

Replying a little too eagerly I said ,“Yeah that sounds great!”

“Great! I gotta go but I’ll see you at six.”

Smiling I hung up the phone and looked across from me to see my brother grinning.

“Stop it!” I stuck my tongue out throwing my napkin in his direction.

Chuckling he caught the napkin “Careful sis you don’t want to seem too eager.”

“Oh shut up Nicky!” I responded blushing.

—————————————————————————————————————

Back at home I jumped into the shower to prepare for my date. Scrubbing my skin and then washing my hair I turned off the water and grabbed a towel to dry off. Grabbing the robe on the door I wrapped it around me and blew dry my hair. Once that was done I did my usual makeup. Going to the dresser I pulled out a baby blue wrap top with bell sleeves and then a pair of black denim shorts and black jeans.

Walking out to the living room and up to my brother on the couch I held up both pairs of bottoms. “Which do you think I should wear?”

Contemplating his answer he started to speak when the front door opened and in walked David.

“What’s going on?” he asked us.

“Will here has a date tonight,” Nicky said still looking at the options before him.

“What do you think I should wear David?” I turned presenting the options to him, “I have never been on a motorcycle before and I don’t know what you’re supposed to wear.”

“A helmet,” he replied a smug smile on his face

Laughing mockingly I said “Very funny, dad.”

David moved to join Nicky on the couch sitting on the opposite end of it.

“Seriously guys I need an opinion and unfortunately for you and me I don’t have anyone else to ask.” I gave them my best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine tell us about our options.” David gave in.

Holding up the shorts I said “There are these shorts which show off my legs really nicely or, these jeans which make my butt look great.” I finished holding up the jeans.

“Alright I’m done,” David said standing up “I am not going to help my sister decide between shorts that show off her legs or anything that apparently makes her butt look good to go on a date with some criminal.”

“He’s just in a motorcycle club! And he’s a really nice guy.” I huffed crossing my arms.

“He just got out of prison Will.” Nicky joined David

“Really? You guys have been fighting all the time but now you guys agree?” Annoyed I turned around and headed to my bedroom “I will just figure it out myself!”

Deciding on the jeans and a pair of black boots I then grabbed my leather jacket thinking it could be chilly. Taking my purse off my bed I placed it across my chest and put my mother’s necklace back on walking back out to my brothers.

“We’re sorry. You look great sis.” David said walking over and giving me a kiss on the forehead.

“Yeah you do. Just be careful okay? We don’t really know this guy.” Nicky added

“Okay, but you guys have to promise me something.” I looked at them sternly and pointed between the two. “You two gotta figure out what ever this shit is that’s been going on. I’m getting tired of it and want my family back. I don’t care how you do it, just do it.”

“Fine.” David said while Nicky just stared at his sneakers.

Satisfied I headed for the front door just as I heard a motorcycle pull up outside. Before I could open the door David grabbed my arm turning me around to look at him.

“Here. I got you something.” He pulled a small handgun from the back of his pants and put it in my bag. “Just in case. You remember how to use one?”

“Of course.” Giving one last smile I turned and left the house David standing in the doorway watching as I walked up to EZ.

EZ grinned at me as I approached his bike. Getting off he grabbed his extra helmet and handed it to me. “You look beautiful.”

Blushing I grabbed the helmet and placed it on my head. “Thank you.”

He sat back down on his bike and extended his hand to me. Taking it he guided me onto the back behind him. I timidly wrapped my arms around his waist.

“First time?” He asked looking back at me

“Is it that obvious?”

Chuckling he grabbed my arms and wrapped them around him tighter pulling me closer into his back. “Don’t be afraid to hang on. You ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.” Leaning my cheek against his back I held on tight.

The ride was so freeing and simple. The wind in my hair and the scent of EZ making me relax. Taking it easy he didn’t go too fast and we just enjoyed the ride and each other’s company.

Pulling up next to a food truck EZ helped me off the bike and then followed himself. I took my helmet off and he placed it onto his handlebars.

“This place has the best tacos in town.” He told me as we walked up to the window to order.

Getting our food EZ grabbed his bedroll and then taking my hand led me to a field of grass just a little ways behind where the truck was parked.

Laying his bedroll down we sat down beside each other to eat just barely not touching.

“I’m pretty sure that was the best thing I have ever tasted.” I said sighing satisfied

“I told you so.” He said turning slightly so he was facing me more. Reaching over and gently touching the stones on my necklace he admired them, “Your necklace is very pretty. Where did you get it?”

Picking it up and playing with it I replied “It was my mother’s, each stone is for her children,” pointing to the stones “the peridot is for David, the aquamarine is for me, and then the citrine is for Nicky.” I looked back at EZ smiling.

“Are you close with your mom?” EZ asked.

“I don’t really remember her. She passed away when Nicky was still a baby,” still playing with my necklace I continued, “My dad and brother would tell us about her all the time though, kept her memory alive.”

“What about your dad?”

“We were close. He was a great man and a great dad.” Moving to sit criss cross I looked at my hands in my lap.

“Was?” EZ asked gently

“He was a cop. Got killed on the job about six years ago.” I fiddled with my hands in my lap.

Compassionately placing his hand over mine settling them he said, “I’m so sorry.”

Looking up into his eyes I saw what almost looked like guilt. Grabbing his hand I gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry about your mom too. I heard what happened. How you ended up in prison.”

“So you know I killed a cop?” He asked averting his gaze from mine.

“Look at me EZ.” He did, “From what I heard it was an accident. Completely different from what happened to my dad. I would never hold that against you.”

He let out a relieved breath, “You really are an incredible woman.”

Moving over I scooted closer to him and he put his arm around me as we looked up at the night sky full of stars.

“I will never get over how beautiful this view is.” I whispered in awe.

“Yeah me either.” He said looking at me.

Feeling his gaze I groaned teasingly, “Please tell me you did not just do that.” I turned to look at him, “That was so cheesy.”

Chuckling he looked at me with adoration, “It’s true.”

Gently grabbing his face I leaned in and kissed him tenderly. Pulling back I returned his goofy smile.

“It’s getting late I should probably get back home before my brother's start worrying.”

Helping me to my feet after getting up himself EZ rolled up his bedroll and we walked back to his bike hand in hand.

Once home I got off his bike and leaned over thanking him and giving him a quick peck on the lips “I had a great time. Hopefully we can do this more often.”

“I would love that.”

Slowly walking towards my front door I turned around to find EZ doing the same on his way into Felipe’s house. Giving a smile and a wave I then entered the house leaning against the door smiling from ear to ear thinking about my amazing date with EZ.

[pandemicthestory]

10: confused

Fake it til you make it.

In the middle of the City, fairly close to the Academy, there is a chrome-colored building that is taller than almost all of the rest. Night and Sugar stand in front of its doors, wondering how they’re going to get in.

The building is called “Mecca.” It’s filled with headquarters for top companies--mostly builders, but also fashion and interior designers, medical technicians, and game developers. Thousands of civilians report here for work 5 days a week. But since it’s Friday, as soon as it’s 5 o’clock, these workers will leave their desks and head to the top floor. 

At the top floor of Mecca is LOUNGE, an exclusive night and day club where windows are always blacked out and the passing of time can’t be measured. A night club meets speakeasy meets casino, this is where the elites go to unwind. After a long week’s work of building, the business men and women of Mecca can swipe their membership card at the top floor and indulge themselves in the darker parts of life. 

And this is exactly where Sugar intends on taking them.

“There’s no way we’re getting in.” Night mutters, hitting his forehead with his palm. This situation feels seriously illegal and seriously stupid. As he and Night stood at the front of this massive building, Night begins to wonder if he’s made a big mistake. 

“Hold on now, don’t give up just yet, man. Listen, the separation medical facility is in this building.” Sugar explains. 

“So..?”

“People think we’re Vacaters. So, we’ll tell security that we have appointments today, they’ll let us in, we’ll head to the facility and…” 

“And what?”

“And figure it out from there? Let’s go dude!”

*buzz*

*buzz buzz buzz* 

Suddenly, Night’s phone starts blowing up in his pocket. He can’t ignore it, because it just keeps going. 

“Hold on a second, Sugar…”

Night reaches into his pocket and sees that he has several missed texts and calls. From Julian. 

Oh god, what does he want from her so desperately? What could be so important that it can’t wait? 

This is why he’d tapped Emma’s phone. It wasn’t because he’s creepy or trying to infringe on her privacy, though, he’ll admit, that’s exactly what it looks like. No, it’s because she’s unpredictable, and surrounded by people who don’t know what’s best for her. And because he really needs her to make it here. 

JULIAN: where are u 

JULIAN: stopped by your house and u weren’t there 

JULIAN: ur mom said u were out for a walk, but i don’t think that’s true. Tell me what’s happening

(3 MISSED CALLS)

JULIAN: your friend zoe says that you’re out somewhere with her boyfriend. Care to explain? Wtf is going on...we’re leaving in a few days Emma

(2 MISSED CALLS)

JULIAN: we’re leaving tomorrow

Leaving?

Leaving where?

Night had known that Emma was planning something, just not what. Apparently Julian does. 

Sugar taps his foot impatiently while Night composes a response to Julian. With the software he installed on his phone, it will be rerouted through Emma’s number. He’ll have no idea.

“EMMA”: Going where?

A pause, and then Julian is typing. 

JULIAN: there you are. Fuck. don’t do that to me 

“EMMA”: where are we going, julian? 

JULIAN: what are you talking about? Are you trying to distract me from the fact that ur out chilling w Gabriel? The fuck?

Now Night is actually confused. Is this why she didn’t answer him? Because she was busy with Gabriel? And for that matter, who the hell is Gabriel?

What’s going on Emma? Everything you need was sent straight to your doorstep. Couldn’t have been easier. All you had to do was get the mail. So what went wrong?

Sugar yells to him, “DUDE, NOW.” 

“Ok ok, I’m ready!” Night says, while composing and sending one last text.  

“EMMA”: i’m not going anywhere with you julian. I’ve changed my mind. Don’t contact me again

Night runs after Sugar. He wonders to himself...what does such a smart girl see in such a profoundly stupid guy? Is she that starved of attention that she’ll settle for anyone who gives it to her? Note to self: that question will probably be offensive to her if he were to ask it. So he will not.

But hopefully he’ll at least have the chance. Soon. 

Sugar storms ahead, and Night basically has no choice but to follow. 

Sure enough, they head through metal detectors on their way in, and are then greeted by a squad of security guards. A guard steps in front of them. How many times is this going to happen today?

“Please swipe ID cards on the way in.” 

This guard is nicer than the last one, he said please. He’s still in the way though. Sugar steps up. 

“Hello sir, we don’t have ID cards because we don’t actually work here. We’re merely here for our appointments at the separation facility. We’re wearing our uniforms to indicate our status.” Sugar says, oozing with professionalism and aggressively overdoing it. Night fights a laugh under his breath (“merely..?”) and Sugar elbows him discreetly. The guard frowns.

“Is that so? We weren’t told of any separation appointments scheduled today...in fact, it’s rare that they’re ever scheduled on Fridays. What’s the reason you’re here for the service today instead of Monday?” 

At this moment, both Sugar and Night are hoping that the other one has more knowledge of who the hell Vacaters actually are and what the hell the separation facility actually does. Unfortunately, neither of them do. Night realizes that he’ll have to throw another hail mary pass and hope for the best.

“Well it’s because, the...service...is going to be followed by a session with some other associates at LOUNGE.” 

Now it was Sugar’s turn to try not to laugh. That was officially the dumbest ass response ever, which is why he is the resident debauchery mastermind and Night spends every night in front of a computer and a dead plant. 

Night tries to remain confident. He couldn’t bank on these guys not understanding Vacaters, like the last pair of idiots, but he gambled that he could bank on them not knowing much about LOUNGE. From the look of it, these guys don’t seem like the type to be invited to an exclusive, glamorous party. They’re wearing jumpsuits. 

“What? Really? That’s so...unusual.” One guard says. The other nods in agreement. They actually seem a bit...jealous? As in, why have these two bratty teenagers been invited to the top floor when we who have worked here for five years never will?

“Well yes, my father is a builder and it’s, uh, a sort of rite of passage for me to be vacated, er, separated, alongside him. In a celebratory way. After work.” 

If Night got away with this, he’d owe the forces of the universe one. 

The guards just nod in admiration while Sugar looks incredulous. 

“Well then, good luck young man. We hope your last night will be a special one.” 

The guards exchange nods with Night and Sugar, who head forward to the glass elevator. 

“Separation facility is on 43!” Calls one of the security guards from behind, almost wistfully. Maybe one day he’ll get the chance to see what’s up there. But not likely. 

Once inside the glass elevator, Sugar hugs Night around the shoulder. 

“Ok honestly, I’m a bit shook that you’re a bad ass. Was pretty sure that you were just a virgin computer nerd.”

Night laughs to himself. That’s all that anyone has ever expected of him. But right now, seeing himself through Sugar’s eyes as a genius lawbreaker feels good. Intoxicating, even. 

“What floor’d he say? 45, was it? Sugar asks. 

“Why not go straight to the top?” Night asks, with a mischievous grin.

He hits the number “100” without waiting for an answer. 

* * * 

Emma crashes through the front door of her house, ready to have to explain herself to her parents and hoping to get through it painlessly.

But they don’t seem to be home. “Mom? Dad?” 

They must be out looking for her. Now it all makes sense...her neurotic mother was blowing up her phone because she couldn’t even trust her daughter to take a walk around the damn block. Then her phone got destroyed in the parking lot. And now, since she hasn’t answered, they’re out looking for her. And when they eventually get back, she’ll probably be sent to prison. Cool.

Emma decides to take this time as a gift. Tune everything else out. This is her shot to save Isabel. 

Emma runs upstairs to her room and tears the cardboard off the headset. She tosses the instructions aside because she has enough knowledge to put one of these together without them. 

Does it need to be charged? It does not. It’s ready to go. 

Now, to check on the download…

7 HOURS REMAINING

She groans. It’s speeding up, but not enough. She needs to plug in now, not in 7 god damn hours. She sees on her computer that there are a shit ton of unread G-chat messages from Zoe. Ugh, she’s probably dealing with some sort of jealousy moment right now and Emma just doesn’t have time to deal with it. So she doesn’t open them. Sorry Zo. You’ll forgive me.

Emma wracks her frazzled brain--there’s gotta be a way for her to get online and contact Emma.

Wait. 

Emma runs across the hallway to Isabel’s room, carrying the headset and headphones. Isabel is still slumped over in her chair, alive, looking the same as before. Well at least she’s alive, which is cool. Emma examines the game on the computer--scanning the twisted map view of a city for any sign of her sister. None. Hm, guess it doesn’t work like that. 

Emma looks at the game settings. 

Ah, input/output. Yes. This is it. 

If she can’t join from her own game, maybe she can join Isabel’s.

Emma sits down on a pile of clothes in the back of Isabel’s closet. She might as well get comfy, she could be here for a while. She puts on thick noise-canceling headphones and the headset, and everything goes dark and quiet. 

Power on. 

Emma wirelessly connects to Isabel’s computer, then sees the icon for the Universe game pop up in front of her eyes. With a nod, she selects it.

Black becomes blue. 

Silence becomes ambient drone music. 

Isabel’s done VR before, so she expects this. She still feels excitement. This technology never ceases to amaze her. 

It’s when the feeling of the laundry beneath her fades away into a rush of cold air... 

This, she does not expect. 

[pauputoot]

Luxu, Ansem, Other Ansem, and ProbablySkuld (KH3 spoilers)

This started as an analysis of the Ansem the Wise/Ansem SOD convo outside the twilight town mansion and quickly spiraled out of control.

[ID: Screenshot from Kingdom Hearts 3. Ansem Seeker of Darkness and Ansem the Wise, both in black cloaks, stand outside the Old Mansion in Twilight Town. Ansem SOD says, “You know something and that… is why you stopped the experiments.”]

In my first playthrough I thought it was fairly obvious that “the girl” they keep referencing isn’t Namine, even though they’re talking about her as well. I assumed it was Xion, because a) I knew from the trailers that she ended up as part of the new org b) up until this point characters in the game had been talking about her in vague terms already and c) since Ansem TW had done so much research on Sora’s heart, he knew about her.

BUT. On my second playthrough I was like, “Oh. They’re talking about Subject X from the secret reports.” Who we know from Nomura’s Ultimania interview is probably Skuld.

I pulled the relevant bits of dialogue from this scene:

Ansem TW: I told you I did not take her. Her disappearance was why I put a stop to the research.

SOD: You took the girl and hid her. […]

Ansem TW: If you do find the girl, what is it that you expect will happen?

SOD: The child’s memory holds a mystery to unravel – one concerning the battle we seek between light and darkness. You know something, and that is why you stopped the experiments.

This isn’t necessarily consistent with what we learn from the Secret Reports.

Secret Report #1 (written by ProbablySkuld) says “One day, a man came to take me from the prison. I could not see him for the darkness, save that he wore an eyepatch.”  

Timeline-wise, this has to be Braig/Luxu. (Although there’s a tiny voice in my head saying “What if Ansem TW can time travel like Xehanort! What if he saves her as DiZ?!” but that’s very unlikely and also I wouldn’t call his head covering thing an eyepatch. Anyway.)

The relevant parts of SR #3 and #4 (written by Amnesiac Xehanort Apprentice) say: 1) Traversing the Heart unlocks memories. 2) Doing this also causes mental collapse.* 3) Ansem TW didn’t like this and stopped the experiments. 4) Amnesiac Xehanort suspects that Ansem TW “hid [ProbablySkuld] away.” 5) Amnesiac Xehanort will do the experiment that he WAS going to do on ProbablySkuld on Himself instead. 

These reports corroborate the fact that they’re talking about ProbablySkuld in the above cutscene. Also, Point 5 is what turned Amnesiac Xehanort into a heartless, so we know ProbablySkuld was extremely close to being turned into a heartless instead of him. Whether she would have been a darkling is unclear.

Secret Report #6 (written by Saix) says, “When we did manage our way inside, we spoke with her. That was all the comfort two children like us could offer. But Lea had other ideas. He was determined to free her. We slipped into the castle that day knowing only that we wanted, with all our hearts, to save her. But we did not find her inside on that day or the next, or any of our subsequent visits. Had she been moved?” 

This implies that she was moved immediately after her contact with Lea and Isa. Now we know that the heart can be used to unlock memories, but I don’t think that exclusively means Amnesiac Xehanort’s shady method. Making a friendly heart-connection with two kids around her age might have also been a way of jogging her memory, ESPECIALLY if this takes place after Lea and Isa met Ven.

Ok so with all that, here’s what the game wants us to think happened:

Braig/Luxu sees ProbablySkuld and keeps tabs on her.

 For his Plan, he needs her to stay alive, unharmed, and without her memory. 

He sees that a) she’s in danger and b) she’s made contact with kids who have the potential to trigger her memory, neither of which is part of the Plan. 

So he kidnaps her and hides her away, without telling anyone, including Ansem TW. 

Ansem TW investigates her disappearance, discovers all the shady stuff that Amnesiac Xehanort Apprentice is doing, and shuts it down. 

Amnesiac Xehanort thinks that Ansem TW took her. 

In reality, only Luxu knows where she is now.

However. I don’t want to discount the possibility that Ansem TW might have been In On It. Think about it: do we know how much Ansem TW knows about the Keyblade War and the Age of Fairytales? The Kairi/Grandmother Story scene from KH1 takes place in his domain, so he’s probably at least aware of the legends. In addition, The Old Mansion - his Twilight Town headquarters - is FULL of unicorn imagery.

Something – be it ethical concerns or something else – made him want to stop the experiments of the heart. Did Luxu confide something in him? Also, we know character-wise that he likes hiding his research in Secret Reports, deep in computer systems, and inside of teenage boys. Is it so out there to think that this man continues to know more than he lets on, and wants to hide it from everyone else?

My guess is that he at least has some sort of latent connection to the Keyblade War. (Which isn’t saying much – it seems like many characters do!)

In any case, I’d put money on Ansem TW being the first person to suspect that Braig is connected to the Keyblade War and to figure out What the Hell is Going On.

*Points 1 and 2 here also have… uh…. Implications….. for how Sora is trying to use the Power of Waking so. Food for thought.