#document custody services

[avinashsharma12]

The Crucial Role of Documents Safety Services in Information Protection

In this fast-growing legal age, documentation and data hold a significant role, words that are legalized can be decisive and defining. Safeguarding these documents is crucial and for the same purpose, there are document custody services that provide high-security storage and management of physical documents.

[kairospy]

AU:

Neil doesn’t meet the foxes, he’s instead caught by the FBI

He helps them catch his father and bring down his empire.

One day he’s brought in to Andrew’s lecture as a guest speaker

The Q&A at the end:

Student: Have you ever killed someone?

Neil: There’s two FBI agents at the door who advised me against answering that specific question. There’s your answer.

Student: What’s the best way to get fake documents?

Neil: I’m legally required to say “don’t”.

Student: What’s the most illegal thing you’ve ever done?

Neil: See, that’s a trick question, because if I answer it becomes the most illegal thing I’ve admitted to.

Student: What’s the hardest lie youve ever had to tell?

Neil: “Sure, I’d love to do a Q&A with a bunch of people who are weirdly obsessed with my father and decided to study crimes because they don’t have the balls to commit them.”

Student: Are you afraid your father’s people will come after you?

Neil *at the end of his fucking rope*: No, I feel completely safe. That’s why I’ve got armed federal agents waiting outside.

Student: How’d you get caught?

Neil: First of all, rude. Second, the FBI made a very compelling argument

Student: …which one

Neil: “cooperate or find out exactly how many laws you’ve broken” - said by a guy holding a very thick file. Direct. Effective. Hard to argue while zip-tied to a chair.

Student: What’s something you miss about your old life?

Neil: being able to leave a room without seven cops and a judge asking where I’m going.

Student: If you could do it all over again, would you?

Neil: I’d rather set myself on fire. I know you don’t understand that reference, but trust me when I say it’s funny.

Student: how many identities have you had?

Neil: Simultaneously or in total?

Student: …total?

Neil: enough that I had to check my ID before answering roll call

Student: what’s the worst crime you’ve ever committed?

Neil: do you want me to answer this as Neil Josten or Nathaniel Wesninski? The distinction matters.

Student: Have you ever made someone disappear?

Neil *looking over his shoulder at Browning*: goodness gracious no

Student: How many languages do you speak?

Neil: enough to talk my way out of things… mostly into them, though

Student: Why did you agree to talk to us?

Neil: it was this or community service

He’s as unhelpful as possible.

His entire goal is to waste everyone’s time while making it just interesting enough that no one can call him out on it.

And Andrew? He’s watching. He’s enthralled. He’s interested, and isn’t that odd.

The professor looks like she regrets her entire career. Half the class is too stunned to speak. Browning is wondering if the punishment for beating up the most valuable witness the FBI has in custody would be worth it. (It would)

Anyway long story short. 5 minutes in Andrew’s in love

[destielmemenews]

"Caleb Soto, of the National Day Laborer Organizing Network, told Al Jazeera that between 70 and 80 people had been detained, but only three lawyers have been allowed access to the detention centre where they were being held to provide legal advice.

Soto added that members of the community had effectively been “kidnapped” as officials, wearing masks had not shown warrants or any form of documentation when carrying out arrests.

Additionally, David Huerta, president of the Service Employees International Union (SEIU) California, was arrested for allegedly obstructing federal agents during the raids. Huerta was reportedly injured during the arrest and received medical treatment at Los Angeles General Medical Center before being taken into custody."

Al Jazeera

NBC Los Angeles

ABC News

[lala-blahblah]

The thing is I don't believe Miles Edgeworth would ever say "I love you" to Nick, and I don't think he would reach out to hold him. But I do think the moment he hears about what's going on with Trucy he would show up at Nick's door with a stack of documentation on adoption and sit down with him for hours as they wade through the legal process to gain custody. One step at a time, you are not alone in this, we'll figure this out together. Acts of service my beloved... Let me ease your burden by taking it on. I love you and want you to be well.

[saywhat-politics]

Carol Mayorga sat at a small table inside the Greene County Jail in Springfield, Missouri, on Wednesday morning. She appeared on screen via the jail’s video visitation service, wearing a muted green jumpsuit, her eyeglasses framed by her black hair.

Mayorga, whose legal name is Ming Li Hui, has been detained in jail under U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement custody since late April. She’d traveled from Kennett, Missouri, her home for nearly two decades, to St. Louis for what she thought was a routine meeting to renew her employment authorization document.

The document, issued by the federal government, allows her to work legally in the U.S. and is set to expire in January 2026.

Originally from Hong Kong, Mayorga said she was used to the meetings. But when she arrived, things were anything but usual.

After a brief meeting, Mayorga said a U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services staffer told her she needed to stay at the office in St. Louis. She agreed in hopes of receiving her renewal that suddenly seemed in peril.

“I started to worry — I was over there so long,” Mayorga said through a black telephone receiver in the jail. “I asked one officer, ‘Can I go now?’ because it was so late, and he said, ‘No, no, no. You will stay here.’"

[mariacallous]

In just a few months, Donald Trump’s second presidential term has drastically reshaped the United States federal government and moved to consolidate the power of the executive branch. At the behest of the president, numerous federal agencies have undertaken aggressive, invasive initiatives to crack down on immigration, police speech, investigate political opponents, curtail US public health efforts and emergency preparedness, and more.

With so much happening at once, numerous organizations and individuals have launched databases, interactive maps, and other trackers to catalog these government actions and their impacts on people’s civil rights across the US. Using open source intelligence, public data, news coverage, and other research, these tools are vital resources for documenting, contextualizing, and analyzing the flood of federal activity that is fundamentally reshaping the US. Here are a few prominent examples.

The Impact Map

by The Impact Project, Americans for Public Service

This interactive map tracks changes to US federal government funding, workforce, and policy across the country, documenting things like mass worker firings, hiring freezes, funding cuts, and lease terminations. The tool also shows places where funding has subsequently been unfrozen, federal workers have been rehired or may be, or the federal government has added a new service or benefit.

The map includes notations to specifically document impacts in rural US counties, areas in which the population is majority non-white, places where 20 percent or more of the population live below the poverty line, and indigenous lands. It also catalogs responses to these initiatives, including legal actions as well as local and state responses to funding cuts.

United States Disappeared Tracker

by Danielle Harlow, data analyst

This dashboard tallies the number of people impacted by the Trump administration’s mass deportations carried out by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). The number is already over 4,000. The tool also monitors the status of each individual to the degree that information is available, noting their names, original country of origin, and where they are being detained, when available.

The tracker crucially follows each individual’s status, noting whether they are in ICE custody, have been released temporarily or permanently, have been deported, have “self-deported,” or have died in ICE custody. The tool also lists how many days their ordeal has continued.

ICE Flight Tracking

by Tom Cartwright, immigration rights advocate

Tom Cartwright is a retired JP Morgan executive who uses flight monitoring data from around the country to track ICE Air deportation flights, return flights, and flights within the US. He posts regular, specific updates on his Bluesky social media page and produces monthly reports for the immigration rights group Witness at the Border about ICE Air flights and tallies. In the past 12 months, Cartwright has collected data on roughly 8,000 ICE Air flights, including 824 in April. More than 1,500 of that 12-month total were “removal flights,” while about 1,400 were “removal return” flights. The other roughly 5,000 trips were “ICE Air domestic flights” within the US.

Regulatory Changes Tracker

by The Brookings Institution

The think tank Brookings has built a database cataloging significant regulatory changes implemented since the start of the second Trump administration. It includes new executive orders and regulatory freezes as well as Trump administration changes to executive orders that were issued by past administrations. For example, the White House rescinded a 2022 Biden executive order aimed at lowering the cost of prescription drugs and another from that year calling for research into cryptocurrency regulation.

Trump Administration Litigation Trackers

by Just Security and Lawfare

The law and policy publications Just Security and Lawfare each offer databases that track lawsuits challenging Trump administration initiatives. The tools include case names, docket numbers, and jurisdictions, as well as the executive action being challenged and the status of the litigation. In most cases, the Trump administration has pursued its agenda without congressional oversight or corresponding legislation, and a number of Trump administration efforts that have been challenged in court thus far have either been paused or permanently blocked from continuing.

Far Right Groups Targeting Pride Month

by Teddy Wilson, Radical Reports

Anti-LGBTQ+ groups, including fundamentalist Christian nationalists and white supremacist extremist groups, have targeted Pride Month events previously and are expected to again this June, particularly given the Trump administration’s violent rhetoric and executive actions related to trans rights. This map is tracking Pride Month events around the country and indications that radical opposition groups plan to target the gatherings.

[follow-up-news]

A federal judge said Monday that the U.S. Office of Refugee Resettlement must reconsider the cases of some migrant children who have been stuck in government custody since the Trump administration changed the identification requirements for would-be family sponsors. The opinion from U.S. District Judge Dabney Friedrich in Washington, D.C., found that the Trump administration’s more stringent regulations caused undue delays for the children and the parents and adult siblings who were hoping to bring the kids into their homes. The White House did not immediately respond to a request for comment. “The ruling sends a clear and necessary message: the government cannot trap children in detention simply because their families lack specific documents or legal status,” said Skye Perryman, president and CEO of Democracy Forward, a legal advocacy firm representing some of the migrant children. “The court’s decision is not only a step toward reuniting families — it pushes back against a broader effort to erode long-standing legal protections for children.” Under the Trump rules, migrant children have stayed in shelters for an average of 217 days before being released to family members, according to data from the Health and Human Services Department’s Office of Refugee Resettlement. During the Biden administration, migrant children spent an average of 35 days in shelters before being released to sponsors.

[feminist-space]

"Now, already experiencing the clawing pangs of contractions, she pulled out a frozen pizza and a salad with creamy everything dressing, savoring the hush that fell over the house, the satisfying crunch of the poppy seeds as she ate.

Horton didn’t realize that she would be drug tested before her child’s birth. Or that the poppy seeds in her salad could trigger a positive result on a urine drug screen, the quick test that hospitals often use to check pregnant patients for illicit drugs.

Many common foods and medications — from antacids to blood pressure and cold medicines — can prompt erroneous results.

The morning after Horton delivered her daughter, a nurse told her she had tested positive for opiates. Horton was shocked. She hadn’t requested an epidural or any narcotic pain medication during labor — she didn’t even like taking Advil. “You’re sure it was mine?” she asked the nurse.

If Horton had been tested under different circumstances — for example, if she was a government employee and required to be tested as part of her job — she would have been entitled to a more advanced test and to a review from a specially trained doctor to confirm the initial result.

But as a mother giving birth, Horton had no such protections. The hospital quickly reported her to child welfare, and the next day, a social worker arrived to take baby Halle into protective custody.

...

To report this story, The Marshall Project interviewed dozens of patients, medical providers, toxicologists and other experts, and collected information on more than 50 mothers in 22 states who faced reports and investigations over positive drug tests that were likely wrong. We also pored over thousands of pages of policy documents from every state child welfare agency in the country.

Problems with drug screens are well known, especially in workplace testing. But there’s been little investigation of how easily false positives can occur inside labor and delivery units, and how quickly families can get trapped inside a system of surveillance and punishment.

Hospitals reported women for positive drug tests after they ate everything bagels and lemon poppy seed muffins, or used medications including the acid reducer Zantac, the antidepressant Zoloft and labetalol, one of the most commonly prescribed blood pressure treatments for pregnant women.

After a California mother had a false positive for meth and PCP, authorities took her newborn, then dispatched two sheriff’s deputies to also remove her toddler from her custody, court records show. In New York, hospital administrators refused to retract a child welfare report based on a false positive result, and instead offered the mother counseling for her trauma, according to a recording of the conversation. And when a Pennsylvania woman tested positive for opioids after eating pasta salad, the hearing officer in her case yelled at her to “buck up, get a backbone, and stop crying,” court records show. It took three months to get her newborn back from foster care.

Federal officials have known for decades that urine screens are not reliable. Poppy seeds — which come from the same plant used to make heroin — are so notorious for causing positives for opiates that last year the Department of Defense directed service members to stop eating them. At hospitals, test results often come with warnings about false positives and direct clinicians to confirm the findings with more definitive tests.

Yet state policies and many hospitals tend to treat drug screens as unassailable evidence of illicit use, The Marshall Project found. Hospitals across the country routinely report cases to authorities without ordering confirmation tests or waiting to receive the results."

Read the full piece here: https://www.themarshallproject.org/2024/09/09/drug-test-pregnancy-pennsylvania-california

[strawberrystepmom]

to forgive is divine & to err is human

pairing: Natsuo Todoroki x F!Reader (romantic), Touya Todoroki x F!Reader (familial)

word count: 7.5k

about: when Touya is released to Natsuo’s care following his 8 year prison stay, the fragility of the dynamic between the three of you threatens to derail everyone involved.

contents: cw: contains descriptions of depression, trauma, smoking, bad coping mechanisms, alcoholism, Touya dyes his hair black in a white sink (ugh). angst with a happy ending, set in canon universe but not canon compliant, established relationship between Natsuo and reader (married), Touya and reader are both assholes at certain points.

notes: tbh I've been meaning to repost this and since I'm currently in my "yes girl give us nothing" era, the time has come. Thank you to everyone (then and now) that has read this baby bc I did indeed put my ol' Kendussy into it so I didn't really change anything about it other than fixing grammar and I'm sure there are still mistakes. This is is how I wrote a year ago and that's okay and I'm proud of how far I've come.

Posting this as a double feature bc it feels too idk self promo-y to split them up again so enjoy my creature feature with my beloved Natsuo and his stinky brother. chain divider thanks to @/cafekitsune ♡

The large, red letters across the paperwork make your eyes hurt by simply gazing at them. 

“RELEASED” stamped with what you can tell was a mostly dried out ink pad, the red darker at the beginning of the word than at the end. You wish you could close the growing pit in your stomach knowing Natsuo will soon arrive back to your home, rehabilitated brother in tow, but the uncertainty makes it hard to settle as you re-stack the documents given to you by the Hero Public Safety Commission when they formally announced they would permit Touya’s release so long as someone would be responsible for him.

When the conversation came up, Natsuo volunteered without a second thought. It hurt at first that he did not ask you before making the decision but after having spent nearly a decade at his side, you trusted his judgment. Six months after the initial inquiry, you still do. Touya is a practical stranger, someone you have only met through grainy video chats, but you have been briefed by many HPSC coordinators. They have conducted home visits, interviewed both of you as if you were the criminals, combed through every bank account and piece of mail to ensure that they are putting their inmate into good hands. A good word from Endeavor, something your husband reluctantly accepted, sealed the decision. Your eyes scan over the handwritten letter from Enji, tucked in the stack of documents. 

“No one is more qualified to care for his brother Touya than my son Natsuo. He is a licensed medical professional, specializing in psychology and mental health services and has experience in dealing with traumatized children. I ask that the Commission consider no other placement for Touya.”

A tired sigh escapes as you flip through a few more pages, squinting through descriptions of you and Natsuo. Your personalities, your hobbies, where you work, who you associate with - all vital information, the panel assured you. The final page of the documents has the official ruling, the top left corner of the page curled in from how many times the pair of you have read over it.

“Todoroki Touya, thirty two years of age, is to be released to the custody of his brother Todoroki Natsuo, twenty eight years of age. Todoroki will be required to wear a location monitoring device at all times per the agreed upon terms of release. He is not permitted to be in contact with any of his prior associates. If contact is initiated, he will be required to return to the custody of the HPSC immediately and will no longer be eligible for release.”

Your eyes scan the document again and again, searching for some kind of strange loophole that could prevent all of this from happening. Guilt crawls up your spine and makes you shudder at the thought. How could you not want this for your husband? He has spent years dreaming of having a second chance to love his brother differently, to help him heal. It makes you feel vile to even entertain negative thoughts about Touya. 

Touya. You know little about the man aside from his name, or names, rather. His time as Dabi concluded, he was sentenced to 8 years of rehabilitation instead of prison. A victim of child abuse needed recovery, the commission reasoned, and they were willing to give him the space to do so within reason. The entire Todoroki family agreed with and supported the commission and their decision, his siblings and parents being granted permission to visit him if they chose to do so. 

Natsuo went as frequently as possible, excitedly telling you how much his brother has improved after every visit, eagerness infectious. You listened to his every word, rapt, as he talked about how different Touya looked now that he was eating well, how far he had come, how he seemed emotionally stable for the first time in his life. Genuine excitement danced in his eyes at the thought of having his brother back, not a shell of a boy or a man. Not Dabi but Touya, someone who was cruelly taken from him when he was too young to fully understand why. 

The true agony was seeing the metaphorical stitches ripped open, cruelly and callously. The entire country was witness to the explosive truth - Touya Todoroki was alive. Even Fuyumi with her limitless poise gnawed her lower lip hoping it would ground her enough that she could stay strong for everyone else. “I can handle this,” she assured you as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders the day after the video aired. She knew the person who would need you the most was her brother. Looks were deceiving - Natsuo was big and strong, a grown man, but his feelings were delicate. She trusted no one but you to look after him.

Natsuo had only asked you to be his girlfriend weeks before his brother revealed his true identity publicly. You will never forget the way grief was etched into all of his features, his strong brow downturned for weeks; retraumatized. It took every ounce of strength in his body to muster a smile, much less anything else, but he did it. For Fuyumi and Shouto, for his mother. 

You can remember every moment of the years following Touya revealing himself. The nights when Natsuo woke up sobbing, burying his face into your chest and balling the fabric of your shirt up between his fists as if it would keep him from losing touch with reality completely. He stopped eating for days at a time, depression sinking him into depths he didn’t know existed. You were always there with a soothing touch and okayu, a rice porridge Fuyumi taught you to make for him. 

“When Touya died, it’s all he would eat,” she explained. Your heart crumbled at the thought of a 13 year old version of your beloved future sister in law having to keep her 9 year old brother moving through the pain of loss. How did they keep themselves together?, you wondered more than once as she breezed through the difficult times with a tight smile. 

The more you watched the man you love sink, the more conflicted you felt about Touya. Those feelings lingered even into today. Natsuo is healing, therapy and love and compassion all coming together to create a whole man instead of pieces of a hurt child in a big body, but you can’t help the simmering anger you feel when you think about watching him experience the hurt in real time. Some memories stay etched forever. 

Natsuo continued to live despite the difficult times. You helped him study and make his way through medical school - a feat that he often credited you wholly for. It wasn’t true but the praise always feels good. Three years after Touya was sentenced, Natsuo opened his clinic that offers a variety of therapeutic services for children with difficult quirks or those who have suffered because of them. A year after that the two of you were married. 

“I knew you were the one when you gave me a reason to keep trying,” he tearfully admitted as you exchanged vows during your small wedding ceremony. The details weren’t for everyone else to know, but the pair of you knew exactly what he was talking about and the admission still makes you feel weepy if you start to think about it for too long.

Love feels like too shallow of a word to explain how you feel about him which is why you agreed to this in the first place - your love for Natsuo is stronger than your distaste toward Touya. You remind yourself of the mantra as you hear voices outside of your front doorstep, one immediately recognizable as belonging to Natsuo. You stand and take a deep breath, composing yourself and closing the file folder on the table as the door opens and the two white haired men crowd into the small genkan, talking amongst each other. 

“We’re here!”

A practiced, measured smile is what you can manage as you watch the situation carefully. Touya scratches the back of his head and offers a small and impersonal wave and you’re surprised by how different he looks. Thin but healthy, his skin grafts have been properly secured, his lashes are the same white as the ones that frame your husband's kind, gray eyes. The similarities between the two are striking but so are the differences - Natsuo greets you with a smile and a peck on your forehead and Touya glowers from the doorway. 

“Welcome home, Touya,”

He looks around, eyes narrowed as he takes in the sights of your well lived in home. It reminded you eerily of the way the representatives from the commission sullied your safe place away slowly, searching every corner to make sure you would not enable any more bad behavior from the man standing in the doorway. Your home had only just begun to feel like yours again.

“Nice place. Guess that’s what being married to a doctor gets you.”

His crass comment made you feel stricken, flinching slightly as your practiced smile wavers. You aren’t Fuyumi, full of endless grace and forgiveness - you can’t fake it. You aren’t Natsuo who believes in the potential of people more than anyone you’ve ever met. You are you and right now you are angry. Clenching your fists in a way you hope is imperceptible, you fake a laugh and your husband looks at you with wide eyes, noticing your change in demeanor.

“Well, it’s your place too now. Guess that’s what being a doctor's brother gets you.”

Touya purses his lips and nods, arms folded across his chest. You look over his scars, his healed skin, his cold eyes. “Do you want to show him to his room, babe?” Natsuo asks, voice shaky, as if he’s anxious for your response. “I can find it myself,” Touya answers for you, heavy boots in his hands as he pads through your home toward where his room lies. You spent weeks helping Natsuo prepare it for him, filling it with photos and books to help him gain back the time he lost while he was away. The taste in your mouth is nothing short of bitter and sour as you think about it.

“I don’t know what that was about, I asked him no-,” you raise your hand, cutting your husband off mid sentence as your fake smile finally falls and gives way to a slight frown, corners of your mouth downturned. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Touya has always felt suspicious of you. Your intentions, your affections for his brother, your involvement with his family - it’s hard not to be uncertain about someone who fits so flawlessly in the dysfunctional outline created by being a Todoroki. What are you hiding? What do you want? 

He tosses his boots down on the floor of the room at the end of the hallway. Instinctually, he knows this is his space. Covered with childhood photos of the Todoroki family, a quilt he received as a child covering the bed, he wants to be impressed with the effort put in but instead he feels hollow. This life never fit him in the first place, happy smiles for photos and dinners and whatever the fuck was expected of him, and now he had no choice but to live it. 

It is a hell of a lot nicer than the four white walls that housed him for eight long years. The bed looks a lot more comfortable, he thinks as he settles down on the edge of it, lying back with his arms behind his head. Fixing his gaze on the ceiling, he takes a moment to think in the silence of the space. The entire car ride his brother talked about you and your life together. Touya eventually began to tune him out, watching the trees pass by the window with the occasional red light flashing on his monitoring anklet catching his attention.

Rehabilitated. The connotations of the word weighed heavily on Touya - one fuck up and it would be so easy for you to convice Natsuo to send him back. You could never understand him the way that his family does. You couldn’t forgive him the way they had either, something both of you would never communicate to each other. 

“Hey,” Natsuo’s voice rasps from the doorway and Touya sits up slightly, grunting his response. “You like it alright?”

“It’s fine.” 

Natsuo sighs, carefully entering the room and shutting the door behind him as he slumps down on the bed next to his brother, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the huge change that has come over his otherwise peaceful life. “You don’t have to lie, Touya.”

Touya sits up, using his elbows to support his weight, and offers a half smile toward his brother. “I’m not lyin’, it’s fine. Just feels like too much.”

Natsuo nods, trying to tamp down his urge to play therapist instead of brother. It was something he did all too often growing up and probably why he has made fixing people his mission in life. Touya was no exception.

“It’s the least we can do. You’ve been through a lot.”

We, Touya thinks to himself. Always we. He wonders how much Natsuo has surrendered of himself for your sake. Does he have any hobbies besides being a doting husband? Is his world filled with anything besides this little bubble the two of you live in?

“Don’t act like she had anything to do with all of this, Natsu. I was released to you.”

Touya slips a hand in his jacket pocket and fishes around for his pack of cigarettes, popping one out of the packaging with expert precision and sticking it between his lips as his brother sits next to him silently. “Lemme guess, need to do this outside?” 

Natsuo nods and Touya sighs, sliding off of the bed and leaving a rumpled quilt behind him. Heavy footsteps trail down the hallway as he peers into the kitchen and notices the backdoor, quietly slipping through it only to be met with a glowing red cherry on the other side, smoke streaming from your mouth as you stand with a cigarette between your fingers.

“Didn’t take you for the type,” he starts, pulling his lighter from his pocket and clicking it until a bright flame catches the cigarette dangling from between his lips. Once upon a time he would’ve just used his quirk but the prescription blockers he was given by court order prevented that. “All he ever talks about is how perfect you are.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” you shoot back, flicking your cigarette ashes onto the ground below before taking another drag. 

The mutual distrust permeated the air between the two of you. Touya reminded you so much of your father in law it was like looking at another version of him. You reminded Touya of everything he hated about this world - false pretense and unattainable perfection. He doubts you have ever walked around without a hair out of place, a Todoroki would never.

“Any other deep dark secrets I should know before being trapped inside of this house with you 24 hours a day?”

You chuckle, dropping your cigarette on the ground and stomping it out, bending to pick up the butt once you’re done. 

“Your brother won't let me drink anymore,” you start, hoping the vulnerability warms your brother in law. His steely gaze convinces you otherwise and you begin to walk away, arms folded over your chest with a cigarette butt in your fist. “Just another fun part of the aftermath of your little warpath.”

Touya knows he fired the first shots but he’s taken aback at your accusatory tone. 

“Anything else you want to question me about? Figured the commission briefed you on all of my dirty laundry.”

He shakes his head and exhales smoke through the corner of his mouth, the plumes drifting in your direction. “Good chat, Touya.”

The back door slams as you enter your home through it, windows rattling slightly. Your first instinct is to pour a drink but the reminder of your rock bottom lingers on your mind as you instead toss your cigarette in the trash and turn down the hall and head to your bedroom, Natsuo sitting on the bed.

“Why does he hate me so much?”

You hate how hysterical your voice sounds, anxiety rising like bile. Rising to his feet, your husband gathers you against his chest and presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Give him time, he’ll warm up.”

You don’t share your husband’s boundless optimism as you hear the back door slam and hear footsteps heading to the bedroom opposite yours. Natsuo plants another soft kiss atop your hair and squeezes your hand gently as he walks back over to Touya’s room. 

“You alright?” Natsuo asks and Touya rolls his eyes, shrugging off his jacket and draping it across a hook on the back of the door. “Fine. Thanks for the concern.”

Natsuo slips through the door completely and closes it softly behind him, leaning against the solid wood.

“What happened out there?” 

Touya chuckles and shrugs, sitting on the bed in the same place he had left. “Nothing worth mentioning. I’ll make sure I keep my bottles hidden from her though.”

His eyes widened, Touya’s antagonistic tone nothing new, his shock coming from the fact you told him about your struggles with substance abuse in the first place. It wasn’t a secret but it certainly wasn’t a fun fact you gave out at trivia night. 

“Uh, yeah, thank you.” Natsuo fumbles through his words, unsure of the right thing to say. “That would be great. She has come a long way but there are still times that are difficult, especially when big changes occur.”

Your substance abuse issues began about a year after your marriage. Blissful happiness wasn’t enough to numb the intense pain of the years prior but copious amounts of whiskey while Natsuo was busy with work were good enough. Blind confidence convinced you he didn’t notice a thing, not your sunken eyes or decreased appetite, but he did and he confronted you as gently as he could.

The next day you started therapy of your own and have continued to go to meetings for others struggling with addiction since then. Nothing drastic has happened in your life since you quit drinking, calm falling over the Todoroki household, making it easier for you to maintain your wits.

He would never say it but Natsuo truly worried about your sobriety. Every time he left for a trip or wine was passed around at family dinner, he wondered if it would be the day you changed your mind. Sticking with you was easy, though. You did the same for him at his low point and he would never stop doing it for you.

“She smokes, you know that?”

Natsuo nods, Touya’s raspy voice breaking the silence caused by his brother’s overthinking. “Have to let her have one vice, you know?” 

“I think you forget that you weren’t the only person who had to live through that fucking horrifying life! It didn’t just go away when you did.”

Your voice cracks as you raise it at your brother in law, his turquoise eyes wide as he watches you yell with an intensity that leaves your hands shaking. He has never looked more like your husband than he does now, the same white hair sticking up on top of his head, his fingers carding through it and yanking the strands as he paces your living room floor. 

“There are times I don’t think you realize that your actions have always had consequences because you’ve truly faced so few of them,” you feel your face flame as Touya’s expression turns from surprised to angry. “You didn’t have to clean up the messes. I did.”

Seeing the similarities makes something inside of you crack, a piece of your heart perhaps, your chest heaving. Regret consumes your mind; you’ve gone too far. You struggle to catch your breath, rubbing your fingers over your cheeks to hide evidence of your tears. Silence blankets the room like a dense fog.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Your voice sounds meek and thin even to your own ears, the screaming match you have been engaged in rendering your throat raw. Painfully, you swallow what little spit you can and shut your eyes tightly as you listen to Touya’s rhythmic footfalls. Taking a deep breath, you sink into an armchair and dab at your eyes with the back of your hands, opening them long enough to see Touya staring intently at you. You drop your hands and sigh. 

“I can’t imagine what you have been through,” you hiccup, warm tears sliding down your cheek and dripping onto your wrists where they sit in your lap. “But you weren’t the only one going through it and I hope your brother can forgive me for saying all of this to you.”

The white haired man remains silent as you rise from your chair, hands balled into fists at your sides. Your gaze turns directly to him and you sniffle, tears subsiding. 

“He has always loved you despite everything you’ve done, exactly as you are. Please remember that.”

The words feel cathartic to say aloud, astute eyes narrowing to watch you as you turn on your heel and begin to walk away. Your tense posture tells him exactly how you feel about the entire situation and you reason that giving Touya space seems like the best option to end the strange battle of wills the two of you have found yourselves in. 

The gravelly sound of Touya’s voice from over your shoulder stops you in your tracks. 

“Then I owe it to him to try.”

There is no apology to be found in the words but you swear you can feel it as he says them, looking over your shoulder. For the first time you don’t see Dabi or Touya, you see someone completely new - your brother in law. A blank canvas, someone you could perhaps get to know under better circumstances. 

“We both owe it to him,” you respond as you turn around and make your way back to the chair you were sitting in moments ago, sitting stiffly against the back of the chair, shoulders still held tensely by your ears. “But how do we begin?”

Touya sighs and sits opposite you, rubbing his hands over his face as he rests his elbows on his knees.

“Hi, I’m Touya.” You laugh for the first time in a week and he can’t hide the half smile that comes across his face. “I did some fucked up things and spent eight years paying for them but I fucking love my family.” He stomps his foot, emphasizing his point. “That includes you now so we better get our shit together, yeah?”

Another tear falls as you nod, a watery smile settling over your features.

“Yeah, we should.”

A year later, when you think of your brother in law Touya, a memory from your childhood comes to your mind.

You are six, maybe seven and at the zoo. Your parents hold both of your hands dutifully to make sure you don’t run off, squeezing your tiny palms between theirs as you excitedly gasp and croon at birds, snakes, and butterflies. A flamingo makes you shout, a duck makes you quack.

Steps slow down as the three of you approach a large glass enclosure. “Black panther - panthera pardus” says the sign extending from the ground in front of the glass. You don’t know that, of course, until your dad reads it aloud to you, asking you to repeat the name.

“Panthera,” you repeat, a tiny voice bouncing back at you off of the glass.

As if you summoned the cat itself, it appears and you flinch. Black, lithe, wild eyed with muscles wound so tightly you can see the shape and size of each of them. You wonder if the panther knows how to relax, the same way your mom tells you to when you cry too hard. Maybe he needs to take a deep breath. 

“Why does he look so nervous?” 

In your young mind, the question surfaced before you had time to think about it. Of course he’s nervous, you reason, all of these people are staring at him like the attraction that he is. A dazzling thing to see locked between four glass walls. 

“He isn’t nervous honey, he’s probably just thinking about what he would do if he were outside with us.”

Pondering your mom's polite whisper, you nod and accept the answer. Grown ups always know best anyway. 

As a keeper enters the enclosure and carefully stalks toward the cat, your eyes widen in surprise. How can he let someone so close? You wonder if you could ever get that close to him. To see the sunlight in his fur just enough to reveal the spots under the dark of his coat or to watch his ears twitch as he listens for sounds of danger. Would he ever trust you? Could you trust him?

The crowd around the glass increases in size, delighted whoops as the keeper dangles the cleaned carcass of a large bird above the panther. You drink in the way he crouches and springs, tight muscles unwinding for a moment as large paws capture the food between them. 

A sight you’ll never forget.

A sight you see as Touya stalks through the living room of your home, tightly running his fingers through his hair. Muscles taut, standing and walking but trying to simultaneously fold in on himself.

“What the fuck would they even want to talk about?”

You sigh, shrugging at his words. The “they'' in question is the Commission and one year after his monitored release, he has been asked to return before the panel and answer some questions. Natsuo sits next to you on the floor in front of the chabudai, sorting through the papers sent to him to review ahead of Touya’s scheduled meeting. The three of you only found out about the date today.

“I dunno, Touya,” your husband shoots a bit impatiently toward his brother. “Let me read this and then I’ll tell you.”

Silently, you watch as he scans the documents, flipping them between his fingers. You hear the heavy pounding of Touya’s footsteps across the floor, reverberating through the otherwise silent room. Your house is too quiet. There is no crowd to filter out the silence.

“Potential restoration of privileges,” you hear Natsuo mutter from beside you. He continues to read to himself and you wonder what that truly entails. Would Touya be released from his supervised period completely? Would he be allowed to wander more than 50 feet away from his guardians? 

“God Natsu, read faster.”

Natsuo’s eyes shoot a frosty glance toward Touya from over the top of the papers in his hands. Placing them on the table, your husband sighs.

“They want to see your progress and maybe give you a little more freedom.”

Touya freezes in place for a mere second before turning on his heel and rushing to the edge of the table to snatch the documents and look over them, brows furrowed in concern that this is some evil trick the two of you have decided to pull on him. Revenge for the last twelve months of him and his fits, his angry words, his snarling. 

You’ve realized during the months he’s more meow than he is hiss.

“But,” Natsuo starts, clearing his throat, Touya tossing the papers back on the table and interrupting his brother with a clear as day “fuck!”, beginning to pace once again. “We have to give testimony.”

The royal we is something Touya has hated since the day he moved into your home. It always makes him feel as if it’s two against one, no separation between yourself and Natsuo and how you feel about the situation. He assumes if you’re mad at him, his brother is too. If you’re frustrated with Touya drinking the last of your nice matcha, Natsuo must be too. If you’re angry at Touya for dying his hair black in your bathtub and staining the shiny white tiles, Natsuo must be too.

He’s wrong about that, of course, his brother never holding any of his minor blunders against him. You don’t either but it would be tougher to convince Touya to believe that than it would be to build a house by hand, despite the tentative peace that exists between the two of you. You’ve allowed him into your home, your world, your once peaceful little family and have found that you are better for it. Natsuo is better for it. But there will always be a level of distrust. 

Like that panther you think of so often, Touya must wonder what it would be like to be free and trusted. 

“Touya, I don’t know how to say this,” Natsuo says, trying to keep his tone even and calm despite how anxious you know he must be feeling. You feel your stomach drop as well, balling the fabric of your linen pants between your palms to keep your hands from shaking. You looked at the date on the documents and noticed that it was a day you knew he’d be unavailable, working on a particularly tough case with multiple children from one family. “I can’t do it.”

Touya chuckles, a bitter and hollow sound that makes you flinch. “Of course not.”

“She can, though.”

Unexpectedly, Touya’s bitter chuckle turns into a belly laugh. You wonder if he’ll double over from the strength of it, scarred hands clutching his middle. Natsuo stands, approaching his brother carefully.

“Her?” He points at you and you feel like the one being questioned. Despite the grasp on the thighs of your pants, your hands do shake and your fingers slip. “She probably wishes I would have died every single day despite the little “play nice” bullshit she does for your sake.”

Gasping at the accusation, you hope he can’t see the way your eyes glance downward. You had assumed the two of you were past this, arguments coming to a halt around six months ago when you told him you simply didn’t have the energy for them anymore. 

You then began taking him to pick up cigarettes every other day, riding in your car together silently but comfortably. His fingers always drum against his thighs impatiently and you clear your throat, mouth dry until you arrive. You have to be close to him the entire time but you linger on the edges of the small shop in your neighborhood, giving the elderly shopkeeper time to fuss over Touya the way he needs. 

The two of you then silently ride back to your home.

“How could you say that, Touya?”

Much like the smaller version of you felt compelled to speak outside of the gleaming panther exhibit, you do the same now. Your voice sounds weak, thin, defeated. Natsuo rushes to your side, kneeling back down and placing one of his large arms around your shoulder.

“Oh here we go, gotta rush to defen -” 

Touya’s words are cut off by a sharp glance from his brother, a look he has never seen before. Smothering all of the fire inside of him, hurting the one person who has endlessly forgiven him, he is doused by humility.

“I don’t hate you,” you look up and see Touya’s turquoise eyes that are narrowed and hard staring directly at you. “I don’t wish you were dead,” you continue as you shrug your husband’s arm off of you and begin to stand. “In fact, I was stupid and thought we were finally fucking past all of this!”

Punctuating your shout with a frustrated grunt, you stomp off down the hallway and leave the brothers to figure it out amongst themselves. Natsuo would simply have to find a way to make the date work for him because you couldn’t bring yourself to beg the Commission to be merciful toward someone who detests you so much. You aren’t a big enough person for that, lacking the careful compassion of your husband.

“Are you fucking serious, Touya?”

Natsuo cursing at his brother makes his steely gaze falter, eyes glancing downward toward the floor. Touya remembers a time you went too far, not long after he first moved into your home, and he feels guilty knowing he has done the same.

“Whatever,” Touya responds dismissively as he stomps off. 

Natsuo hears the back door slam and rubs his hand over his face, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He’s transported back to 12 long months ago when he didn’t even want to be in the same room as the two of you, the tension making him incapable of dealing with his own uncertainty about the ability to rehabilitate his brother. 

As Touya steps outside into the cool air, far less suffocating than the inside of the house, he fishes around in his pockets for his lighter and mutters obscenities as he realizes it is inside. Of course, he still can’t use his quirk thanks to the very strong suppressants he has to take daily as part of his release, so he flings the door back open and stomps inside. 

Hearing hushed muttering from the living room, he closes the door quietly and creeps to the doorway of the kitchen. He shoves himself against the wall, trying to hide from view as he hears your voice.

“I don’t understand why he won’t give me a chance, Natsu.”

His brother sighs and Touya sinks further against the wall. He knows the sound - fed up, frustrated, struggling. Natsuo is the last person he ever wanted to create those feelings in and shame, a bit of an unfamiliar feeling for him, creeps up his spine and makes his stomach turn. 

“You didn’t exactly make the best first impression, of course he doesn’t completely trust you.”

Natsuo’s words make you blow out air in frustration. Touya can’t see you, but he imagines you look as downtrodden as you always have after these little battles. His brother’s defense of his behavior is surprising, though, and he idly rubs his thumb across one of the graft scars on his hands.

“I know,” you relent with a sniff. “I know.”

Your words shift Touya’s perspective, precious humility trickling over him and making his left eye twitch - a stress reflex he tried to hide for years. 

You were the first person who noticed it and on your usual trip to the small store to pick up his cigarettes after, you passed him a box of anti-inflammatory medication and a bottle of eyedrops wordlessly as you buckled into your seat. He hasn’t twitched since.

Acknowledging the hurt you’ve caused is the first step of atonement, he remembers reading in a book Natsuo brought him while he was still locked up.

He peeks from around the wall, stretching his arms over his head and locking his fingers on the back of his skull, buried in poorly dyed black hair. Natsuo looks up through his light eyelashes at his brother who approaches carefully, settling on the opposite side of the table from where the pair of you sit.

“You can do it.”

The words are simple and cause both you and Natsuo to look up. Touya refuses to meet your puffy eyes and rises back to standing as quickly as he sat, slapping the tabletop once before skulking down the hallway to grab his lighter.

You and Natsuo resolve not to ask questions, with only two weeks until the panel meets time is of the essence and your testimony will be key to helping Touya if you choose to help him. 

Sitting in front of the panel is more nerve-wracking than you expected. A group of five familiar faces all staring at you with discerning eyes as you shuffle the hand-written pages of your testimony between your fingers.

These people have rummaged through your home on more than one occasion, interviewed all of your close friends and family, sifted through every piece of your dirty laundry and you’re at their mercy once again but this time you’re more willing.

“You may begin as you wish, Todoroki-san.”

Nodding respectfully toward the head of the panel, you clear your throat and exhale as you look down at the papers in your hands. You can feel Touya looking at you from across the room, Fuyumi and Shouto seated beside him and Rei on the other side of his sister, but refuse to look up at them for fear it’ll make the little courage you’ve summoned disappear.

“When Touya first moved into our home, I was uncertain of his ability to be rehabilitated.”

You spent the last two weeks reading this exact same speech to Natsuo, rehearsing it in your bedroom while pacing across the floor. The ink on the page is smeared in places from wet tears that dripped down onto the paper, black bleeding into blue and drying into rippled and raised spots. Those spots remind you of Touya, the way he has woven his way into part of your everyday existence. 

“The process of allowing him into our lives felt very invasive. Respectfully, our lives were torn apart in preparation for him. Our home was combed through, our mail was intercepted, my husband was followed by a member of this committee on his way home from the clinic he tirelessly uses as a means to help others on more than one occasion.”

You keep your tone even to avoid sounding accusatory. These are all facts the Commission themselves have confirmed via their own documentation but standing in the face of the very force that can decide your future as well as Touya’s is more intimidating than you expected.

“The day Touya moved in, our lives shifted in a way that no amount of preparation could have made us anticipate. Difficult interpersonal dynamics forced us to take a good hard look at the future of our family and the future of what we desired for Touya. How did we want his rehabilitation to look?”

Taking a breath, you look up from the sheet of paper for a moment to meet Touya’s gaze and it strikes you as odd to see something almost tender. You sniff, nose twitching, vowing to hold yourself together until you’re alone or with Fuyumi or anywhere but sitting in front of people who have made their living off of judging, doling out punishment, changing lives for better or worse.

“While we’ve had many difficult times, I am not here to talk about the difficulty I caused Touya with my inability to coexist for the first several months. Rehabilitation takes a team and I was not a team player,” you pause and hear shuffling from the seats across the room. “Despite this, Touya has dedicated himself to improvement and has continually adhered to every request the commission put forth in the original terms of his release.”

While you don’t want to continue to air out your dirty laundry, there is a therapeutic feeling in knowing you’re publicly admitting to handling things wrong. In front of Natsuo’s family, nonetheless. Touya’s family. Your family. 

At the end of this lies the fact that you are all a family and forgiveness is inherently woven through the relationships and bonds you share.

“It is the recommendation of both my husband and I that Touya’s privileges of release be expanded upon, including reduction of supervision and permission to travel to the homes of his mother and siblings independently if he chooses.”

Rising to your feet, you bow before the panel once more before walking toward the back of the room and quietly exiting as they take time to deliberate and make their decision. 

Touya rises and comes to the front of the room, standing before them. He hates the way he feels, like a caged animal with his muscles tensed, in a suit that doesn’t even belong to him because why the fuck would he ever own a suit? The sleeves are too long, it is Shouto’s after all, and he pulls the cuffs over his hands with his thumbs.

The panel head speaks and the room is so quiet you’re even unnerved from the other side of the door. Pressing your ear to the wood, you listen.

“Our decision will not be immediate. You can expect further communication from the panel in the coming weeks. As of right now, your terms of release remain the same until you are otherwise notified. Thank you for your time today, Todoroki-san.”

Touya bows and joins his family, missing the member he wishes to see the most.

You back away from the door as you hear the knob turn and rest against the wall, arms over your chest as you greet your in-law’s with a subdued smile. 

“Natsu will be so proud of you!” Fuyumi beams, rubbing your bicep in a comforting gesture. You just shrug, unable to speak. You exchange a few additional pleasantries with Shouto and Rei, wishing them goodbye as they leave you and Touya standing on opposite sides of the hallway.

“It’s okay, you know.”

Touya’s voice is a rasp, as always, and you look up through your eyelashes at him. Fiddling uncomfortably with the cuff of your shirt in the same way he’s been fiddling with his own cuffs all day, it just further emphasizes the similarities you share. It isn’t just love for Natsuo you have in common anymore.

“None of this shit has been easy and you’ve done your best. I’m not exactly a fuckin’ easy person to get along with.”

You chuckle, tension diffusing.

“I think you’re going soft, Touya.”

He chuckles back and your eyes meet, the two of you walking toward the center of the hallway to leave the building together and walk back to your car. Your footsteps are quiet and so are his, both of you slumping as you saunter out of the door and into the bright midday sun.

“Nah, just tired of being an asshole all the time.”

The news comes as you stand at your kitchen sink, Touya bent over as you help him rinse black hair dye down the drain. Your hands are wet, his shirt is soaked, but you agreed to help him after noticing a huge white patch still at the back of his head from his attempts to do it himself. 

“I dunno why you want it to be black so bad, don’t you want to look like Natsu?”

Touya snorts and the sound echoes through the steel basin. “I have to keep a little edge. Let me live.” You shut off the clean running water, allowing the dark droplets to work their way out of your sink. There was more rinsing to do but you wanted to be sure of how much more.

“It’s here!” Natsuo shouts from the doorway and you hear his hurried, large footsteps trek into the room, ripping of paper ringing in your ears.

You want to leave Touya’s side and go to Natsuo, to read over his arm, to see for yourself but you resolve to be patient and continue to lightly massage Touya’s scalp. He needs comfort right now, you can tell.

“Expansion of privileges,” Natsuo mutters to himself, scanning the page as quickly as he can. “Unsupervised access to other family homes! Holy shit!” 

Tossing the papers onto the counter, your husband bolts toward you and wraps his arms around your waist. “No, no, no,” you chant as he picks you up and you accidentally pull Touya’s wet strands of hair. He yelps and you let go, hissing apologetically.

“God Natsuo, down boy.”

Your snarky brother-in-law draws a giggle from you as your husband presses a kiss against your cheek and reaches down to slap him on the back. “Do you wanna tell mom or should I?” Touya looks up, head still dripping, and rolls his eyes at his brother. “I could just show up at her house, that’d have more impact.”

Wiggling away from Natsuo, you reach for the towel on the counter and wrap it around Touya’s neck so he can sit up and not drip black water all over your floor. He gives silent thanks in the form of a tight half smile and you smile back, stepping away to let the brothers converse about how they’re going to break the news to their siblings.

As you watch the two of them, the panther and his handler once again come back to your mind. 

The reason that the handler was able to come so close to the cat is because he trusted him. The cat could learn to trust others, to let people in, to let them be on his side. You won’t have to wonder if you could have gained the panther’s trust any longer and he won’t have to wonder what it’s like to be on the outside with the rest of us. 

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lisa Needham at Public Notice:

It’s the type of bombshell that would’ve sent heads rolling in any previous presidency. On Monday, we learned that over a dozen high-level Trump officials had a breezy conversation over Signal about plans to bomb Yemen — and National Security Adviser Mike Waltz somehow accidentally included the editor-in-chief of The Atlantic, Jeffrey Goldberg, in the group chat. Then, the administration managed to basically goad Goldberg into releasing the entire text chain. This did not make things better, given how the texts undercut Trumpworld’s spin by showing that Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth did in fact share details ahead of the attack that could’ve endangered US service members. As the week draws to a close, the administration is still throwing excuses against the wall, hoping one of them might stick enough to distract people from the fact that “SignalGate” was highly illegal in multiple respects. Hegseth claims the texts weren’t really war plans. Waltz wants you to believe that somehow Goldberg’s number was “sucked in” to his contacts. Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt insists the texts merely show a sensitive policy discussion. And Trump is playing the hits by dismissing the debacle as yet another “witch hunt,” but it’s pretty clear he has no idea what’s really going on. Even if you try to take all these incoherent explanations at face value, there are still a number of laws Trump officials likely flouted during the course of their unbelievably dunderheaded OPSEC disaster. First, there’s the Espionage Act, which sounds like it applies only to spies or people who obtain information illegally. But there’s a provision in the law that applies to the SignalGate chatters, even if they were all legally entitled to the information. That’s because they have a custodial duty to keep national security information safe. Ryan Goodman of Just Security, who also served as special counsel to the DOD under President Obama, explained there are criminal penalties for someone entrusted with defense security documents if they act with “gross negligence” in letting them out into the wild. Presumably, the administration's stance is that no one in the chat knew that Goldberg was there, so they can’t be at fault. However, Signal makes it clear whenever someone new is added to a group, and the texts show that Goldberg was added to the ill-fated group by Waltz.

[...] Conducting these conversations on Signal creates yet another legal problem, one that isn’t solved by any of the explanations the administration has tried on for size. Government records must be preserved, period. The use of Signal here likely violates the Federal Records Act and the Presidential Records Act. Any discussion on Signal, or personal email, or wherever else these yahoos blithely share bombing plans, is still an official government communication. When messages are sent outside official government accounts they need to be forwarded to an official government account. But Signal has a feature where messages can be set to disappear after a fixed time, and the messages in Waltz’s group were set to disappear after one week before he changed it to four weeks.

Signalgate participants broke numerous laws by breaching national security.

[padawansuggest]

Bail: Okay, I don’t see why I need to sign these papers, I’m only interim chancellor until a new one can be elected-

Mace: Oh, don’t worry about that. Palpatine made the Jedi Order custody decision a lifetime one.

Bail: …I’m not sure that’s even legal to do temporarily?

Mace: :) yeah, really showing that Sith spirit, huh?

Bail: …is this binding? Do I need to sign these so the Jedi and clones keep getting funds?

Mace: Yes.

Bail: wtf wtf wtf omfg I don’t think I can do that, I can’t morally tie you to the republic for the rest of my life, you all have the right to leave whenever you want, especially after being abused by the last house in power.

Mace: Well, if you rewrote an agreement, in maybe, a few weeks, we could sign a new one. We can fund ourselves indefinitely but we can’t provide service to the galaxy or reparations to the clones without the money we’re owed.

Bail: Okay. Um. *pulls up a file to start outlining what a new agreement should have* Where do you want to start?

Mace: Well, around a hundred years ago, our initiates stopped receiving their stipulations when they got chosen as padawans, and only if they filed the correct documentation with the senate for formally leaving the order. So. That’s a lot of backpay I’d say.

Bail: *nearly breaks his stylus in half* …do you guys want to leave the republic after reparations are made? I’m starting to think that might be your best choice at this point.

Mace: Eh. Maybe. We might want to move to another temple, though.

Bail: *soul deep sigh* This is going to be a long list.

Mace: Sure is.

[todaysdocument]

Proctors' Answer - from Gedney v. Schooner Amistad

Record Group 21: Records of District Courts of the United StatesSeries: Case FilesFile Unit: Thomas R. Gedney v. Schooner Amistad [Sept 1839 Term]

United States of America

District of Connecticut Ss

Special District Court holden at New Haven in said District on the 7h of Jany 1840.

To the Honorable Andrew T. Judson Judge of the District Court of the United States in and for the District of Connecticut.

The several answer of Sinqua, Burnah 1, Dammah, Fourrie 1st otherwise called Foulerau, Shuma, Conoma, otherwise called Ndzhaulee Choolay, Burnah 2nd Baah, Pooma, Kimbo. Peah Bang ycah, Saah, Carle, Parli, Morrah, Nal quoi Quato, Sesse, Con otherwise called Keoony. Fourrie 2nd otherwise called Fouli wa he, Kennah, Lamana, Fajanah Yahboy, Faquanah, Berrie. Fawnee, Chockaman, Gabbo, otherwise called Galabara, Carre, Teme, Kene & Mahgue Africans, now in the custody of the Marshall of said District under Color of process issued from this Honorable Court on the 29th day of August 1839 against the Schooner Amistad and the articles of personal property on board of her then lying in the harbor of New London in said District, on the libel of Lieutanant Tho. R Gedney a Lieutanant in the United States Navy Commanding the United States Brig Washington in the service of the United States in the coast survey, and on behalf of Richard M. Meade a Lieut on board said Brig, and the Officers and crew thereof and all others interested or entitled, claiming salvage to be awarded to them by this Honorable Court as for a meritorious service, in seizing and securing the Respondents severally and holding them as slaves to certain Spaniards belonging to the island of Cuba, named in [complete document and transcription at link]

[obitez]

New Perspectives

Part 1 of my Bathena adopts kid!Buck AU

Also written for @buckandbobbyweek Day 2: Adoption && Alternate Universe

Full fic on Ao3

It was after they had been married for two years, watching Hen and Karen take in a handful of foster kids and adopt one themselves, that Bobby and Athena had decided to become foster parents. 

It had taken them about six months with the training, interviews, and home visits for them to become fully certified. And after that, another three months to receive a call that there was a child they were looking to place with them.

On the phone call, they were only told it was a five year old boy, and the social worker would provide them with more details when she came to drop him off in the afternoon. 

Bobby and Athena hadn’t really gone into this with any expectations for a certain child. They were open to either boy or girl, and as far as ages went, said they would prefer kids similar in age to May or Harry, but were open to any. 

What they weren’t expecting however, was for a child barely in kindergarten to be placed with them. 

When the social worker had called them on the phone and said the kid was five years old, they had an idea of what to expect, both of them having raised two kids through that age themselves. They hadn’t expected the kid to be… so small. 

The social worker, a woman named Vanessa, wasn’t that tall to begin with, and the kid, Evan Buckley, barely came up to her hip. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Vanessa, the social worker, said as she followed them inside to the kitchen, setting a large folder on the center table. Bobby could only guess that the folder contained information and documents about Evan, although he was surprised by just how large it was considering the kid was only five years old. “I know this is unexpected, but Evan’s case is, how can I say it, a bit unprecedented.” 

Unprecedented was… an interesting word choice, Bobby thought. 

And listening to Vanessa explain all of the details as Harry took Evan out in the backyard to show him the playset Bobby and Michael built two summers ago, Bobby would have to agree with her. 

Special, interesting, unique, wouldn’t exactly do the situation justice. 

It turned out that Evan, Evan Buckley, had been surrendered to the state when he was just eighteen months old at a hospital just outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Police and social services did find the kid’s parents pretty quickly afterwards, but after a couple hours of questioning, the state wasn’t able to do anything regarding them. Them leaving the boy at a hospital, below the age of two, had met the requirements for the safe haven drop off laws. 

“If that all happened in Pennsylvania, how did he end up here?” Athena had asked. 

Vanessa let out another long sigh as she leafed through a couple pages in the folder, pulling one out and sliding it across the table to Bobby and Athena. Bobby took a quick glance down at it, his eyes widened as he skimmed over the heading. 

“Three months after he was dropped off at the hospital, he was officially adopted by the West’s,” Vanessa explained. “For his first three years living with them, it seemed as if things were going very well.”

“And I take it that something happened then?” Athena asked. 

“Teachers at the school one the West’s older daughters went to began noticing things that just weren’t adding up. The parents were forgetting to sign forms sent home, lunch boxes coming to school empty, some bruises and cuts that were a bit too numerous to be explained by being a rambunctious kid. They submitted a report to DCFS who performed a home visit, thinking it would just be a wake up call for the parents and maybe some counseling and parenting classes for them, only to find numerous examples of severe neglect and abuse among the younger children, unsanitary living conditions, among other things. 

“The children were immediately removed from their custody. The West’s biological children were placed with relatives, who didn’t want to take in Evan so he was placed into foster care. Then, no one there is exactly sure how this was all leaked to the local media, including all of the children's names and images. And as the Wests were notable people in the area, the husband on one of the local news channels and the wife a prominent charity organizer, it exploded in interest over there. DCFS thought it was best to place Evan with a foster family out of the East Coast-”

“Which is how he ended up here?” Athena finished. 

“Yes,” Vanessa said. “The story was shared on most major news stations in Pennsylvania and the surrounding states. Due to the notoriety and his age, and that he had no family willing to take him in Pennsylvania, it was thought to be in his best interest to move him somewhere he would not be recognized. For the last week he has been living with a family as a temporary emergency placement, and we were hoping you would take him as a more permanent placement.” 

Bobby and Athena shared a look with each other. But they didn’t need to share words to communicate what the other was thinking. 

“We can take him in,” Bobby said. 

[beardedmrbean]

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky said Kiev has captured two Chinese nationals fighting alongside Russian forces in eastern Ukraine.

“There are the prisoners’ documents, bank cards and personal data,” Zelensky wrote on Telegram, alongside a video showing images of one of the captured men.

He said the two men had been fighting for the Russians in the eastern Donetsk region.

Zelensky claimed the two are not isolated cases. "We have information that there are many more such Chinese citizens in the occupying forces," he said.

He has instructed Ukraine's acting foreign minister, Andrii Sybiha, to demand an official response from Beijing, calling the development a "clear signal" that Russian President Vladimir Putin is intent on prolonging the war.

“This absolutely requires a response — from the US, Europe and everyone in the world who wants peace,” Zelensky said.

The prisoners are in the custody of Ukraine’s SBU security service.

Ukraine has been defending against Russia's full-scale invasion for more than three years, with significant military and financial support from Western allies.

North Korean troops are known to have fought for Russia, while thousands of foreign volunteers are believed to be serving on the Ukrainian side.

[ficpmaan]

"a chance at life" mike schmidt x gn!reader

summary: in the cold earth trench, mike thinks about only one thing (possible translations errors)

words: 0.7

tw: mention of war, mention of the smell of rot, possible death, wounds, PTSD, possible loss of loved ones

notes: guys, I'm not romanticizing anything. I was just inspired by the song. I also already have a little fanfiction about the war, but I didn't continue writing it because I don't have the inspiration. don't throw rotten tomatoes at me if you don't like it :(

mike was a strong, healthy, stocky man, so he was quickly drafted into military service. In such a situation, everyone should protect the country. every day he fought for his own life, knowing that peace and love awaited him at home.

it was scary in the cold trench, and mike would be lying if he said he didn't care. his hands were shaking, realizing that his life could end now. he clings tighter to the earthen wall of the trench, looking around and seeing his comrades, the same scared but brave men. each of them is fighting for life in the way they see fit and can. someone is saying a prayer, someone is sitting still and not moving, pretending that he simply does not exist. mike opens his left breast pocket and takes out two small photos of abby and yours. he examines them, running his hard and dirty fingers over your faces, leaving a trail of dirt on the surface of the printed paper. right now, the only thing he cares about is you. he knows that you are safe now, and he is fighting for you. but what happens if something happens to mike? abby will remain an orphan, because you do not have official documents for her custody, and you will remain a widow. mike shakes his head convulsively, hearing loud explosions and feeling the earth falling from the cold walls.

"no.. no.. I can't..." – he whispers to himself, and then, with shaking hands, brings the photos to his lips, gently kissing each one in turn. he looks at your picture, looking at your eyes, so dear and warm. mike looks at your lips, wanting to touch them right now, and gently press his hands against you and never let go again. he's been through too much to lose everything he's been building brick by brick right now.

the explosions are getting louder and closer, and he carefully unzips his breast pocket again, putting your photos right to his heart. he is almost pressed into the cold trench earth and mumbles uncontrollably to himself, holding his hand over his heart. you're safe now, and that's the most important thing. mike's thought that you were alone with abby at home, waiting for him, caused a surge of energy in him, a desire to fight to the end.

head hurts, there's a taste of blood in mouth, and whole body feels like it's been torn to pieces. mike opens his eyes and sees a white light in front of him, and then feels like someone is carefully bandaging his arm wound. this is probably what paradise looks like.

"you're awake!" – someone shouted joyfully in his ear, gently tightening the bandage and squatting down next to the hospital couch. he turns his head sideways, seeing the wounded soldiers in front of him, and then turns to the left. you're sitting there.

he can't believe his eyes, so he survived? or is it really paradise?

you reach for his greasy hair, straightening it, and a couple of pieces of earth fall on the pillow. of course, mike is not clean right now. the hospital smells of rot and sweat, but the most important thing is that you're here.

"I'm here.. abby's at school right now. we're fine, and so are you.." – your voice soothes his ears like a lullaby. mike smiles and nods, and then reaches for your hand. he feels pain in his forearm, but he continues anyway. his hand finds your hand and squeezes it hard, not wanting to let go at all. never. he will never let you go again in his life, continuing to protect you and keep you as the most precious treasure in the world that you are to him.

after the war, mike was not the same person he used to be. now he was afraid of any explosion or pop, the smell of alcohol drove him to panic, and he also could not sleep properly at night, seeing all his nightmares. but you carefully held his hand, pressed it to yourself and whispered various pleasant words. he was calm, feeling your warmth and knowing that everything was over. you even decided to pay for his psychotherapy, which became popular after the end of the war among former military personnel. it started to help mike a little bit, he came home and behaved a little more calmly. abby drew different drawings for him, and every year her result only got better. so now there was a whole wall in your room with its bright drawings filled with colors and life. everything was getting better.

[edutainer2022]

A little thing riffing off the concept of Scott, probably, getting mistaken for Alan’s father quite often. It turned out sadder than I hoped.

DAD

The loose end of his scarf got tugged lightly and he swiped his hand low to catch baby brother's palm, without shifting attention from the rows of pasta on a stall. Allie had hop-skipped away to the end of the aisle, mumbling something about waffles for dinner, and now probably demanded his immediate input. His hand grasped nothing but thin air. A scarf, however, got another insistent tug.

The scarf was not an eye-wateringly expensive brand-name cashmere that would usually go with his coat and the "Tracy Industries appropriate" look, but was infinitely more precious. Long, blue, hand-knitted and a bit loopholed, it was a gift from Virgil his last Christmas on leave from WAF. It was rediscovered in one of Dad's drawers on the island, apparently a keepsake of the things the GDF returned to the family after Scott himself was lost in That Place. Now it was Scott's keepsake after Dad... A full circle.

Scott peripheral vision detected a movement of blond and skinny far down the aisle, as Allie was, it appeared, reaching up for his waffles. They were in NYC together. Not only the Tracy Industries Board demanded a piece of him for one reason or other, but Tracy Legal and the family private solicitor required tweaks in the custody documentation. Scott took the opportunity to show pre-Christmas NYC to Alan. The boy was only seven when they visited the last time, bar Dad's massive public memorial service Allie barely remembered, wrought with grief. Scott hardly remembered much of it himself through the blur of shock, pain, doubt, and a kind of fatalistic determination. Anyhow, it wasn't a ten years old Alan demanding his attention now. Scott looked down.

A pair of huge grey eyes regarded him from under a gigantic pink bow. A small hand was tugging his scarf again, like a doorbell string. Up from Scott's height the little girl seemed positively tiny. He folded himself down, not to intimidate the child. Even crouching, Scott was still towering over her.

"Hey, sweetheart! Are you lost?"

Attentive eyes regarded him, then a pink clad arm shot out to point at the general expance of the rest of the supermarket.

"Mommy 'der!"

In between Gordy and Allie, Scott was proficient enough in three year old speak. Johnny, it seemed, was communicating at AP English level all the way back at two, or not at all.

The little girl's mom was, obviously, "there" - but nowhere to be seen down the aisle and behind the shelves. Out of a years ingrained habit Scott kept half and eye on Alan, engrossed in comparative analysis of the various boxes of waffle mix. The prudent thing to do wound be to call a store employee - Scott was aware it would send an alarm if he, all of the imposing 6'4, Armani coat and a Young Jeff Tracy face of him, walked away with a little girl. But the nook of the store was empty of anyone in telltale uniform. Huge grey eyes kept regarding him in expectation of some effective Mom-finding action. An idea occurred. Scott bent down some more and made sure to smile.

"Is it okay if I pick you up, sweetie?"

The child gave it a moment's thought and nodded. Scott sprung up easily, the girl securely in his hold, and propped her up on his shoulder. Tiny pink shoes kicked the air (and his ribs a bit) excitedly. There was some enthusiastic waving going on above Scott's head, well above the shelves, and even more delighted squeeing:

"Mommy! Mommy! Look'er! Mommy!"

That produced a young woman with a shopping basket AND Alan, running to him from the opposite side of the isle. He transferred the eager girl into her mother's arms in a fluid motion and reached out without looking again, to stop Allie from colliding with him full force. Alan bounced in place and looked up at him quizzically. Scott put an arm around the boy's shoulders. He saw the mother's eyes widen in surprise, once she was done thanking him for helping out a lost Polly.

"Oh, is he yours? So big already!"

Scott's hand tightened on Alan’s skinny shoulder on instinct. He could see the boy's face shift from curiosity to confusion. And it could be a matter of seconds before confusion gave way to anger or worse - tears.

Scott himself was used to that. He was getting those questions ever since Mom was gone and he had to pick Allie up from nursery after his own classes. Tall for his age, athletic and marred by grief and way too many worries - he was definitely spawning a "teen Dad" rumor among the pick up line Moms and babysitters more than once. He didn't have the energy to explain to anyone not in the know back then, no more than he had the energy to explain their whole situation now.

"Um... Alan is ten. You have a Merry Christmas, Polly! Don't get lost again!"

He could see the math recalculated in an instant behind the young woman's eyes, as she counted silver threads at his temples, stark in supermarket lights, and dark circles under his eyes towards a higher age bracket she thought he was. He wasn't. Dad's explosion in Zero-X and everything that followed added to the silver That Place wove into his hair. And he hadn't been doing much sleeping anymore. He didn't think he ever would again. Before the conversation could lead any further down those lines, he offered another polite smile and steered Alan away toward the exit.

Scott managed to order a hovercab without breaking a stride. The original plan was to walk back to Tracy Tower, maybe look at some Christmas window exhibits. They spent the afternoon gift shopping for everyone back at home and Scott could tell Alan was getting tired. But the boy seemed exited for their special time together, even if part of it was spent in the boring opulence of the family law-firm. Scott promised to cook dinner, not wanting to foster with baby brother his own habit of take-away Tai and more work crunched through the night.

Now, pressed to the window of the cab, small frame leaning away from Scott (a fact that was sending sharp pangs through his chest), Allie was quiet and listless.

"Are you my Dad now?"

Alan was still looking outside the window.

Scott was seriously dreading that conversation, but the incident at the store, apparently, accelerated the inevitable.

He reached a hand to ruffle soft blond hair. Then landed his palm between hunched little shoulderblades. Alan didn't flinch, which was maybe a good sign.

"Allie! Dad is always Dad. But I am your guardian now, and I will do EVERYTHING to protect you! Just as always!"

Small bony shoulders shifted in a sigh. Alan was puffing fog on the glass and drawing shapes with his finger. The hovercab stopped by the entrance to Tracy Tower, but Scott made no move to break the moment and leave just yet.

"Can I call you Dad sometimes? I told Nikky you were my Dad, back in Kansas. Mom didn't come to pick me up, so I didn't want to not have Dad pick me up too, so I told him you were Dad. Is it okay?"

The words came out a bit jumbled and interlaced with pending tears. Huge blue eyes turned to look at Scott finally, anxious and glistening. His own eyes were burning. So was his heart. His very soul.

"Oh, Allie... Of course it's okay! Always!"

His arms opened invitingly and were instantly filled with a crying child. He leaned down to press a kiss on the top of blond head and hug the boy closer, wrapping his coat around a little trembling body. It took a moment to conquer his own heaving sobs, but he still didn't trust his voice at full volume.

"I love you so much, kiddo! I've got you!"

Scott ended up just carrying Alan, quiet by then, but firmly clinging to him, to the penthouse, while a concerned head of security shift helped out with the shopping bags. Allie was probably feigning sleep - Scott didn't care. He toed off his own shoes, shrugged off the coat, settled against his headrest, the child still in his arms, and shifted to tighten his hold. There would be no sleep for him that night either, but that was just as well. He had been watching over little Allie (and little Gordy) since he was born and a tenfold that after they lost Mom. No name or legal capacity could change much about that, till Scott was breathing.

He wasn't anyone's son, though. Not anymore. Not ever. And that made breathing so much harder.