#it’s the rank and file that are being horrendous

[frangipani-wanderlust]

So. Someone tried to assassinate Trump yesterday. He didn’t die.

Unsurprisingly, but somehow disappointingly anyway, the libs have reacted with disappointment that he didn’t die. Hell, I saw those memes on Tumblr too. "How could you miss, he was three feet away!" and etc. Criticizing the gunman for not having gotten more range time in. Timing his shot badly. Whatever.

This is particularly ghoulish, because that gunman y’all are egging on?

He’s dead.

He was 22 years old and died yesterday, and y’all hate Trump so much that you’re celebrating his death and don’t even care he was on your side! This child was 100% a Trump hater just like you, died over it, and you don’t even care. You hate Trump more than you love each other.

I just can’t understand that level of toxic. And thank goodness for that because I don’t want to.

[ankle-beez]

To Our Guild Leadership and Staff: We are proud rank-and-file union and trade association members from every corner of our industry — working on screen, stage, set, and in the field — united in solidarity with the global call for a permanent ceasefire in Gaza and a just, lasting peace. As artists and storytellers, we cannot stand idly by as our industry refuses to tell the story of Palestinian humanity. Following SAG-AFTRA’s statement in sympathy with Israel regarding October 7, many SAG-AFTRA and sister guild members have watched in horror as the Israeli government wages a war of collective punishment on the civilian population of Gaza — killing over 40,000 Palestinians, injuring over 90,000 more, forcibly displacing 2 million people, and openly targeting members of the press and their families. As the IDF continues its assault on “safe zones,” schools, and hospitals, and as civilians in Gaza die from starvation, dehydration, and lack of medical supplies and fuel, major human rights groups have labeled these acts as war crimes, human rights atrocities, and even genocide. The UN has described Gaza as a “graveyard for children” — and estimate that by mid-July “half of the population — more than a million people — could face death and starvation.” As of now, there is no end in sight — only escalation, death, and destruction.

Despite these clear violations of human rights and Israel’s decades-long occupation of Palestinian land and lives, our union leadership has remained silent. Thus, they have made conditional which atrocities we choose to condemn and which innocent lives we choose to acknowledge and mourn. Moreover, SAG-AFTRA and nearly all our sister guilds have remained silent in the face of flagrant and unprecedented attacks on freedom of the press, including the deliberate targeting and murder of Palestinian journalists and their families by the IDF. The Committee to Protect Journalists has declared the war on Gaza “the deadliest period for journalists covering conflict since CPJ began tracking in 1992.” Some of those journalists were members of news organizations whose domestic affiliates are represented under SAG-AFTRA contracts. While SAG-AFTRA issued a public statement at the outset of the Ukraine war demanding that “journalists of all nations working in the war zone are kept safe,” its words now ring hollow if they only apply to some journalists of certain identities.

On December 13, 2023, Israeli forces attacked The Freedom Theatre in the Jenin refugee camp and kidnapped several of its members — fellow actors and directors, who have called for solidarity from theatre workers worldwide. Palestinian trade unions have called for international labor solidarity, reminding us that “the struggle for Palestinian justice and liberation is a lever for the liberation of all dispossessed and exploited people of the world.” Worldwide labor has heeded that call, including major Australian, British, Belgian, Indian, and American unions. On Nov 15, our British peer union, Equity UK, called for an immediate and lasting ceasefire, stating: “We send our solidarity to Palestinian artists suffering in the horrendous conditions created by Israeli bombing, occupation, and apartheid.” Since then, UAW International has called for a ceasefire and announced the formation of a Divestment and Just Transition working group; The Animation Guild (IATSE Local 839) became the first Hollywood union to call for a ceasefire in Gaza; five of the 10 largest American labor unions and federations have officially called for a ceasefire including the NEA (National Education Association), SEIU (Service Employees International Union), and the AFL-CIO; and unions collectively representing a majority of organized workers in the US formed The National Labor Network for Ceasefire. In July, 7 major unions representing over 6 million workers published a letter to President Biden demanding an arms embargo on Israel.

The global call for a ceasefire — from organized labor, artists and fellow SAG-AFTRA members, human rights groups, world leaders, and the majority of the American public — grows louder every day. And yet, our government continues to sponsor the Israeli forces’ assault on Palestinian civilians, and our industry union leadership still refuses to speak out. We reject this silence. Our calling as artists, news reporters, and storytellers is to bring truth to the world. To fight the erasure of life and culture. To unite for justice in the name of the most vulnerable among us. It’s exactly what we did during our historic strike in 2023.

We are the labor that built and sustains this business. When our leaders can’t stand up publicly for peace and justice, then we must do what we always do: organize, fight for change, and win. Our guild leadership must join the largest and most diverse peace movement in a generation — the integrity of our legacy demands nothing less. When confronted with genocide, oppression, and injustice, let us ring the bell for humanity and liberation. An injury to one is an injury to all. We, the undersigned members of SAG-AFTRA, IATSE, WGA, Teamsters, DGA, AEA, AFM, Hollywood Basic Crafts, CSA, PGA, and more, demand our leadership issue a public statement calling for a permanent ceasefire, release of all hostages — both Palestinian and Israeli, and immediate funding and delivery of desperately needed humanitarian aid; to speak out against the targeting and killing of innocent Palestinian civilians, health workers, and our journalist colleagues; to condemn our industry’s McCarthyist repression of members who acknowledge Palestinian suffering; and to eliminate any doubt of our solidarity with workers, artists, and oppressed people worldwide.

[dallasareaopinion]

If there ever was a time to fly the American flag upside down, the time is now

The Democrat machine has failed this country.

The Republican machine had already capitulated to their own dangerous power grab lead by someone who has no idea what is the Constitution, much less able to defend it against all enemies from within or abroad. I could say quite a bit about that person, however today is not the day for name calling and mudslinging.

Today is sad, depressing, scary, and even worse we are in desperate times. We must rely on the Democrat machine to find a reasonable candidate who can actually be President and not come up with horrendous public policy and deal with serious foreign adversaries. Trump caters to our enemies and yet the monsters behind Project 2025 do not care. Heck I think their program even caters to our enemies.

The only other option standing right now is Robert Kennedy Jr. and no. I read his Fauci book and no. Granted he did make a couple of good points, but overall he is so far from mainstream thinking and with no proof for his wild conspiracies he is no better than the rank and file populace on social media drawing Trump in superman clothes and spewing some of the wildest fiction known to man.

Yes I have been saying for years we need new parties. And I know if I say anything right now it appears that I am gloating. Unfortunately for 2024 the ability to produce another major party or strong enough independent candidate may be too late. I hope not, but the 4th of July is next week. This seems to be a weird time line to cross without a decent candidate.

Things are so desperate that I was thinking in my bed last night and it was late so maybe I was tired that the military should step in to protect us from the madness on the right and support an independent candidate. I had to write that down so the realization I am desperate would stick in my brain.

And yet maybe a few of Trump’s old Cabinet that is not supporting him might look good right now. Obviously Liz Cheney would garner some interest, but MAGA world would tear her up in such a horrid way it would be an injustice to put a human through that stupid madness.

There are a few names in the Democrat world that if they were to try and nominate them they guarantee Trump’s victory. Think 2016 for one example. I say just don’t. You have already lied to us enough with the Joe Biden debacle. Do not make things worse! And you know she is sitting on the sidelines just all up in herself to go.

Whoever let Joe Biden get this far should be arrested, not via the MAGA nonsense, but the actual fact they put our country in a precarious position on the international stage. We have too many people that want to see this country fail. You have got to think they are chomping at the bit to push us to the extreme. Some might.

I heard someone mention the 25th Amendment last night. We are probably close to that being a reality, but before they do that they better get a new Vice President. I have nothing against Harris as a person nor as a qualified administrator, but as a politician in DC fighting against the MAGA world, the Freedom Caucus and the middle school class of Green and Getz et all our government would become a dystopian nightmare and then we are heading into whatever Trump and Project 2025 would bring us.

If there ever is a time to fly the flag upside down, now is the time to do it.

[taintedsoul-if]

hello author~ who are the group of Gusik? are they like the peasants of vathilia?

Hi Anon! 🙋‍♀️.

👀👀 Anon I am worried about you choosing the memory shard. I would advise you to create another save file if you don't want to be punched by Trysten in this upcoming chapter. Let's move on to the matter at hand.

*******

When the poisonous fog came it poisoned all life forms on Vathila. Crops withered and died, animals had a negative reaction towards this poison as well. So with that being said, Grusik's are creatures that are created from more than one entity. These entity includes: a shark, gargoyle, and a lion. These creatures are massive in size and weighs over 2000 pound.

Grusik's are mindless creatures.... they are lower rank carnivorous creatures who carries out the orders of other higher ranking carnivores creatures. These creatures are said to be a myth. Any Phasron who comes across these creatures never live to tell the tale....

**********

My monster log is horrendous sometimes. 💀. Alright anon I apologize for taking so long to answer your ask... please do have a productive day. Thank you for the ask! Stay safe!

[crispyjenkins]

Me again, hope you don’t mind... anyways could you do Cody and Obi wan First Meeting out of Cody’s POV and he slowly realizes that this isn’t you usual Jedi general but that Obi-Wan Kenobi is not only beautiful but also 1. Incredibly good at words 2. Actually cares about the Vode 3. For that reason dislikes fighting and casualties and actually shows his compassion to the Vode 4. Is an absolute badass and 5. Absolutely insane

(Obi-Wan defying the troopers' expectations is the reason i'm alive, and the vode being intimidated by this scary magic man only to find out he's a reckless dumbass who cares more about them than actually winning the war is just. yes. not actually sure how it happened in canon, my brain is being mean, but canon is nebulous and i do what i want. 

so here's Cody being surprised by Obi-Wan's endless love for absolutely everybody, and obi being surprised that Cody is surprised.)

  Cody is running on six hours of sleep in two days following General Rret So’s reassignment, and he isn’t even close to being finished cleaning up that... disaster. They’ve got a new batch of shinies to paint and name, bodies to bury, a new general to meet, and to be honest, Cody doesn’t have all too high hopes for their next one. It’s already kriffing clear that none of the Jedi have proper military training, and while Cody isn’t one for gossip, he’s also heard rumors that Kenobi hasn’t been in the field since Geonosis. And they want him to lead an attack battalion.

  But when Cody arrives in the hangar of their current outpost to make sure it’s in shape before Kenobi arrives, there’s a Jedi near the center of the room, sitting on the floor. Or sitting... a few inches above the floor, only one hand gently touching the durasteel below him, and Cody halts just inside the door.

  It doesn’t take much to guess his identity, what with the Jedi robe mostly pooled on the floor, whose edges drift in lazy swirls. The man has his eyes closed, several small stones levitating in equally lazy spins around him, but the casual show of power doesn’t put Cody on edge the way their Nautolan general had; the air around Rret felt like static when he meditated, but General Kenobi effuses warmth and calm, his expression as thoughtful as it is peaceful. 

  Cody skeptically takes in the armor under Kenobi’s robe, modified clone armour; General Rret never touched anything not sent directly from the Temple. And Kenobi is... smaller than Cody had expected of the famed Negotiator that had helped lead at the Battle of Geonosis, more lithe, more compact. His hair is longer than regulation (not that that has ever stopped Tup), just enough to pull back, with an endearing curl that’s escaped the elastic floating at his temple.

  Cody was created for problem solving, for analyzing patterns and information where his rank-and-file brothers could not, but all these little details just leave him confused.

  The stones gently and slowly settle back onto the ground, followed by the general as he inhales a deep breath, and that aura of tranquility does not leave when he opens his eyes. 

  And then he smiles at Cody.

  Cody snaps a salute, nerves jumping despite the general’s expression, and tries to raise his mental shields like Jango had taught them to. “General, sir,” he greets, keeping his gaze just below Kenobi’s eyes, which unfortunately has him pinned on his lips.

  “Commander Cody,” he returns warmly in High Coruscanti, rising in a fluid motion and holding out a hand. Cody stares at it for a moment before he realises General Kenobi means to shake his hand, and he almost thinks it’s a trap, but he hesitantly reaches out all the same. That smile grows as Kenobi then moves to grip Cody’s forearm like any proper Mando, tapping his other fist to the center of his chest. “It’s good to finally meet you, Commander: I’ve been assured that we will work quite well together.”

  Reeling, Cody almost forgets to respond. “Sir?”

  “I’ve heard nothing but compliments from your men, and from other battalions; Captain Rex in particular speaks very highly of you.”

  Does he know Cody was almost court martialed for arguing with General Rret? Does he know about the multiple complaints submitted by the Nautolan for insubordination? 

  The way Kenobi’s eyes crinkle at the corners doesn’t assure him that he had. “I like to get my information from multiple sources,” Kenobi explains, finally releasing Cody to tuck his arms behind his back almost at parade rest. “You’re here a bit early, aren’t you? Excellent, that gives us some time to chat before your men arrive.”

  It’s enough that General Kenobi went out of his way to learn his name, and then use it, leaving Cody absolutely helpless as Kenobi launches in questions about the cleanup from Rret’s departure.

-

  Kenobi growls like a stampeding reek as their next assault goes to kriffing shit. No sooner had Kenobi managed to greet Ghost Company, that the call to arms had blared through the outpost, a droid battalion approaching from the South. Which was something Rret had apparently anticipated but not felt the need to tell anyone, including the High Generals.

  And Kenobi had loaded up with the rest of them, speaking quickly with the pilot, and surely his general wasn’t planning on— on actually fighting with them? 

  But he had indeed leapt from the transport into the dense forest right alongside him, and Cody had realised, kriff, he has to try and keep this crazy Jedi alive long enough for him to ask what the kriff he’s thinking.

  And then things just keep going wrong, from misinformation about droid numbers, to being cornered in a ravine, to Cody having to step over a Shiny that hadn’t even been named yet. Kenobi whirls through the droids with his lightsaber, but the B1s seem to just keep coming, and Cody has almost resigned himself to dying here, because Rret would never let them change the plan this far in—

  “Commander!” Kenobi shouts, shoving a B2 droid off his ‘saber. “Full retreat! Evac is inbound, get your men to the top of the ridge!”

  “Sir?”

  Appearing at Cody’s side and handing him a fresh blaster, Kenobi’s serene expression is traded for troubled rage, but it’s by some miracle not aimed at the vode. “We’re not winning here today,” Kenobi says, jerking his chin towards the ridge as he tugs Cody behind a boulder. “We need to regroup, your medic is already overrun.”

  Which doesn’t quite compute. It’s not as if they haven’t lost entire squads in similar conditions, what does Kenobi hope to achieve by—

  “I’ll hold them off,” he says, making Cody choke on his spit. “As long as I can.”

  “General!” By the Force, he can’t honestly think that Cody will let him stay behind, that Cody will leave him here.

  “That’s an order, I’m not losing any more men today,” Kenobi says firmly. He checks around the boulder before spinning back to Cody. “I was told you were by the book, that you were a stellar soldier with his brothers’ best interest at heart. Are you going to make me a fool for believing that?”

  “General, I don’t think—”

  “I’ve given you an order, Commander. Retreat. I will meet you back at the outpost.”

  Swallowing down the urge to throw up, Cody nods and salutes, and prays to whatever deity listening that he’ll wake up tomorrow with absolutely no memory of today.

  Kenobi gives him a small smile, before reigniting his ‘saber and rushing back into the battle.

-

  Cody is just beginning to wonder if they’re going to have to get another new general when Kenobi shows up in the last search party before they call it off for the night, stepping off the transport with several more injured brothers that hadn’t made it back with the first two evacs. A squad of shinies runs up to get the stretches to the medbay that is indeed overrun, but Cody doesn’t worr— can’t worry about that right now, marching up to Kenobi with a comm disk.

  “Sir, welcome back,” he greets, taking quick stock of the minor grazes on Kenobi’s face, how limp his hair has turned, but he otherwise seems fine, which is a miracle in it of itself. “High General Mundi—”

  “Later,” Kenobi cuts him off, not unkindly, but with an air of unspeakable exhaustion. “Master Rret So restationed your secondary medics, yes?”

  “Yes, sir, but what—?”

  Kenobi nods once and starts to follow the shinies, Cody matching pace with him even as he’s sure he’s broadcasting his confusion into the Force. Kenobi offers him a tiny smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your brothers aren’t going to last the night if I don’t go help Wupi, and you’re horrendously undermanned as it is.”

  Another name casually thrown out, as if General Rret hadn’t even bothered to learn their numbers, and if Cody wasn’t already a whirlwind of emotions, he might have some feelings about that. Later. Everything later.

  A thought occurs to him. “Sir, General Rret said they were needed elsewhere. The secondary medics.”

  They arrive at the medbay that is in utter chaos, too small to house so many vode, already filled from their last skirmish and now completely overflowing. Kenobi looks around almost as if he’s going to cry, before he clenches his jaw and turns to Cody.

  “General Rret was mistaken. I hailed the 501st from the transport, they’ll be here tomorrow afternoon, but until then, it’s my duty to keep your men alive. Can you help me do that, Cody?”

  Cody simply nods, wondering if he had been concussed during the battle. “Yes, sir. What do you need.”

  “I need every sheet you can spare, and the emergency medkits from all the transports. I need you to hold off General Mundi until morning, I know he’s expecting a long conversation. And please, tell him in no uncertain terms that I plan to have very harsh words with his former padawan as soon as the 501st arrive.” Kenobi takes a deep breath, seeming to draw energy in from everywhere, and then puts a hand on the side of Cody’s neck for the briefest moment. Almost like static shock, Cody flinches, but suddenly doesn’t feel so exhausted, and he blinks down at Kenobi.

  “That should hold you over until morning, I trust you to handle the rest of the outpost?” He raises a single brow, but kriff if Cody is going to tell him no.

  “Yes, sir.” He salutes, feeling a green warmth brushing against his mind that certainly was not there before, but belongs there all the same. 

  That warmth stays with him long after the 501st arrives with aid, and Cody intends to hold onto it for as long as his cannon-fodder life allows. 

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Thirty-Four) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Death. Mentions of torture. Panic attack-- everything Criminal Minds.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 12919

Timeline: Season 5 Episode 09. A few days after part thirty-three.

Hotch put his hand on my knee to stop me from bouncing it at an annoying and distracting pace. I stopped and tried to relax, even though the rest of my body still felt like a goddamn Mexican Jumping Bean. Every inch of me was shaking as nerves ran through my veins. While bouncing my leg, I had been so lost in thought about what was about to happen that I didn’t even notice that it had upset Hotch. And despite the fact that I felt the urge to start the habit up again once his hand retreated from my thigh, I used every bit of self-restraint I had to refrain from doing so. Hotch was already upset, I didn’t need to add to that. I needed to be there for him, I needed to help him however he needed. He didn’t need me to be annoying or distracting. That was valid. So, I stopped.

The door to our left opened suddenly. Hotch and I both jumped to our feet, his hand finding mine and squeezing so tight I felt my knuckles touching. I winced, but still tried to squeeze back in order to comfort him and tell him: “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.” For the past few days, he needed to hear me say it every chance we could get. “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.” And then he could breathe for a bit until he needed to hear it again. I knew that no matter what, I'd say it as many times as he needed to hear it, no matter how repetitive it got. “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Emily stepped into the hallway, her eyes glued to the floor until she saw our shoes, and she slowly glanced up. Her face was soft and sad, like she had been holding back tears for the past hour that she had been inside that conference room. If Emily looked that bad, if Emily could crack, then I was fucked. Emily was perhaps the strongest out of all of us, even if no one wanted to admit it. She, like Hotch, had been through too much in her life already to break when it came to losing someone or something. But after what I saw, after what we lost, I knew that there was no way the next hour was going to be easy for me. If Emily could crack even the slightest bit, I was going to break into a million different pieces.

Emily held the door open behind her in order to usher me in, but I took a moment to just stay frozen in place while losing all feeling in my hand because of how tight Hotch’s grip was. I felt sick already and I hadn’t even sat down inside yet— hell, I hadn’t even seen the damn room yet. How was I supposed to go in there on my own for an hour when Hotch and I hadn’t been apart for more than two minutes since it happened? How was I supposed to survive the next hour without him there to comfort me and tell me that it was going to be alright. I knew that I was supposed to be the strong one right now. I knew that he needed me to step up and be the brave one because he couldn’t do it for once— and no one blamed him. Not a single person who knew him the way we all did blamed him for what happened or how he reacted. But when was I supposed to finally break? When was it alright for me to fall apart in his arms and have him tell me that it would be alright?

“You should go,” Hotch croaked.

I shook my head. “I can’t move.”

Hotch let go of my hand and I sucked in a breath. Honestly, I would have rathered he continued to break my hand if it meant he just continued to touch me. Not feeling him anymore made me feel like I was drowning in my nerves. In the next instant, though, he turned and put his hands on my shoulders so that I would face him and look at him. I stared into his brown eyes for a minute, finding peace in how they seemed so dark and endless. Even with a black eye, a broken nose, and scratches everywhere, he was still handsome. His eyes, the way they stared right into mine, and his hands, the way they squeezed my shoulders just right, it all brought me back to Earth and grounded me.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done. It’ll be okay.”

My heart ached in my chest. Nothing felt okay. It didn’t feel like it would ever be okay again. But I trusted Hotch, and I knew that I could believe him about this, too. If he thought that things were going to be okay, even when his whole world was falling apart, then there had to be some truth to it. So, I nodded shortly, bowing my head so that I could collect my thoughts and whatever bravery was hiding deep inside of me so that I could make the first step towards the door that Emily was still politely holding open for me.

Hotch leaned in and kissed my forehead gently before releasing me. I made my move towards the door, and Emily tried shooting me a small, reassuring smile. Even though she was trying to help, it somehow only made me feel worse. I was just too worried to appreciate how she was trying to be supportive. She was a good friend, and she had been by my side when it happened, but even her kindness couldn’t distract me from the misery that was waiting behind that door.

When I stepped into the conference room, I saw Strauss sitting at the table, her back towards me. Her head was down as she wrote some notes down in a file she had in front of her. When she heard me coming in, she glanced over her shoulder to take notice that it was me, but she didn’t smile invitingly. She gestured to the seat across from her as she sat forward again. I sucked in a deep, quiet breath as I walked around the table and took the seat that had seemingly been assigned for me.

“Well, this all feels awfully familiar,” she said to herself while adjusting her glasses on her nose. I asked myself how on Earth she could make a joke about the time she wrongfully suspended me when what just happened was absolutely horrendous. “I’ll be recording this interview for the council, if you don’t mind. It was the only way I could convince them to allow me to do this in-house with everyone on your team except for Agent Hotchner.” I shrugged. Strauss took that as a sufficient answer, so she reached out for the tape recorder between us and started it. As she settled in her seat once more, she began the interview with, “Please state your name and rank for the record.”

I shifted around uncomfortably, my sweaty hands fidgeting with the hem of my pencil skirt under the table. “Y/N Greenaway, Special Agent for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.”

How I managed to get through all of that without stuttering or throwing up everywhere,  I wasn’t sure. I just wished that there were a way for Hotch to be there with me. I didn’t want to relive what happened that day, but I especially didn’t want to do it without someone— anyone— by my side. Hell, I would have even taken up the idea of being there with Rossi, if that was what it would take.

“And, how long have you been a member of the BAU?” she inquired.

“Just under two years, ma’am.”

“And you have worked under Agent Hotchner this entire time?”

Well, that was one way to phrase it, Thank you, Chief Strauss. But I shook my head regardless of the pun that was spinning through my mind. “No, ma’am, I currently report to Agent Morgan.”

“Because Agent Hotchner’s ability to lead this unit had been compromised?”

“No, ma’am. Agent Hotchner has always been able to lead our unit, and he’s very good at it. He stepped down from the position temporarily because of the injuries he suffered at the hands of George Foyet a few months ago. He is planning on returning to his position as the unit chief once he’s feeling better.”

Strauss bit the inside of her cheek. That wasn’t the answer she was hoping to hear since she was looking for every reason to finally bury Hotch’s career now, but there was no way in hell that I was going to play her little game. Just like when she tried to get rid of both of us with our original suspensions awhile ago, I wasn’t going to play nice now. Not when Hotch couldn’t afford to lose his job now, too.

“How long have you been involved with Agent Hotchner?”

“What does it matter?”

“Just answer the question, Agent Greenaway.”

My gaze hardened as I stared at her, a challenge that said: “This is stupid.” But she didn’t relent. Her question still stood, and she was waiting for an answer. If I didn’t respond, and the committee heard that I was dodging a question about my relationship with my boss, that would raise more questions than we needed. So, I gave in.

“Just under two years, ma’am. Agent Hotchner and I got involved with one another a month into my promotion into the BAU.”

“So, you were not involved beforehand?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Your promotion into the unit had nothing to do with any kind of favoritism?”

I stared at her blankly. What kind of fucking question was that? No, I didn’t fucking get promoted because Hotch liked me. Yeah, we both secretly admired one another for years, but I didn’t know that until after I joined the BAU. Hotch told me that him and Gideon decided to hire me because of my skills. It had nothing to do with anything personal. For her to insinuate otherwise was distasteful.

I bit my tongue and answered through gritted teeth, “No, ma’am. Like I said, we got involved after my promotion.” I released my tongue. “Pardon me, ma’am, but what does this have to do with what happened?”

“Agent Greenaway, the faster you stick to just answering my questions, the sooner you can go home. The more pushback you give me, the longer this will take. So, just… answer to the best of your ability.”

I bit my tongue again, this time to hold back every curse word imaginable. If I could have, I would have leapt across the table and strangled her then and there. But with a, “Yes, ma’am,” I obeyed reluctantly.

“Good.” She looked back down at her sheet of questions. “How would you describe Agent Hotchner’s behavior in and out of work?”

“With all due respect, ma’am, this isn’t about what happens behind closed doors. This isn’t about what happens after work. This isn’t about mine and Agent Hotchner’s private life. Therefore, I will not be disclosing any information about his behavior outside of work. As for at work, he is very driven— especially since George Foyet first attacked him in our home.”

“How long has Agent Hotchner been investigating George Foyet?”

“To my knowledge, Agent Hotchner was originally introduced to The Reaper case when George Foyet first started killing in the 90’s. Agent Hotchner was promoted to lead profiler for the case, but the trail went cold, and he didn’t revisit the case until George Foyet started killing again about three months ago.” My hands pulled at the bottom of my skirt as I thought about what I was going to say next. Like I said before, I didn’t want to have to relive all of this, but there we were… I had no say in the matter. “We restarted the investigation again after Karl Arnold revealed to us that George Foyet was his secret admirer.”

“Why did you stop the investigation three months ago?”

“Because we had placed George Foyet in custody after finally catching him. By the time we learned of his escape from prison, he was long gone, and we were already home. We had other cases, and there were no new leads. We couldn’t do anything until we heard from him again or decided to kill again. So, when he reached out to us through Arnold, we restarted the investigation.”

Strauss put down her pen, took off her glasses, and looked away from her questions so that she could look me right in the eye. “I’d like to hear your side of the story. What happened that day as you remember it? Keep in mind, everyone is telling us their story, so if you lie in order to protect Agent Hotchner, it could possibly result in your immediate job termination.”

This was the dreaded moment. There were no more questions, unless Strauss needed me to clarify something. All there was left to do was give every single detail, no matter how painful. The worst part about it, though, was that I couldn’t break. No matter how bad it got, I couldn’t let Strauss, of all people, see me crumble. She had been working since we first met towards getting rid of me, and if she thought that I was “too emotionally vulnerable for the position”, she would have me gone in a heartbeat.

I reached forward slightly and grabbed an empty glass and the jug of water beside it. With a shaky hand, I nervously poured myself a full cup. “Aaron and I—” I stopped myself. Just keep it together. Please. Don’t fuck this up so soon. “Agent Hotchner and I had been staying in a safe house because we were afraid that Foyet was stalking us. We didn’t think that it was safe to go home anymore, so we left and didn’t tell anyone where we were going— even the unit had no clue we moved. We still came to work, though, in case Foyet was still watching. We wanted to give the impression that everything was alright while we started looking for him again. On Thursday,” I shivered as I thought about how that day started so innocent but ended with a trip down to Hell. “On Thursday, Agent Jareau came into work to tell us that she realized something about Foyet’s medication. We had been trying to track him through all of the medications he needed to take as a result of stabbing himself back in the 90’s in order to escape police detection. Agent Hotchner had been prescribed all of the same medicines after his stabbing, so we knew what we were supposed to be looking for, the only trouble was, no one seemed to be buying what was needed, which meant that Foyet was a ghost in the wind. Agent Jareau realized that he was taking certain over the counter medications that replicated the effects of what he needed to actually help him. So, we started looking for purchases around the area that matched, and for the medications that he couldn’t replace.”

Hotch and JJ stormed into the boardroom as Morgan, Emily, Reid, and I kept searching through every red flagged receipt in the state. Reid was going faster than the rest of us, of course, but we really didn’t know what we were even looking for. We knew that Foyet needed to bulk up on all of these seemingly random over the counter medications, but so did half of Virginia, apparently. Despite the fact that Hotch, JJ, and Garcia managed to narrow down our search to a list of different pills, it didn’t help that most of them listed were popular brands, like Claritin, Motrin, TUMS, etc. Anyone with a sick kid or grandparent was stocking up on these pills, too. We needed to narrow it down again somehow if we were going to find Foyet soon.

When they came storming in, though, they seemed to have good news. Finally. They had the name of the medications that couldn’t be replicated or substituted. Tapazole, which helped treat hyperthyroidism— a disease which caused extreme weight loss as a leading symptom. It was the only one out of all of Foyet’s medication that he couldn’t get anywhere else. That was how we were going to find him. We narrowed it down further, just like we wanted, but we still needed to get more specific. There were thousands of people in the state of Virginia who took Tapazole, and Foyet was likely using an alias. If we were going to find him fast before he could move on, we needed to fine down our geographic profile.

Foyet was last seen in Fairfax County, where Hotch and I lived. That was the day he stabbed Hotch and drove him to the hospital. The last time we heard from Foyet, however, came down to the letters he sent to Karl Arnold in prison. Each letter was sent from a different city: Westminster and Fredericksburg. So, we had three locations, which meant that we could triangulate, but that meant fuck all when Foyet’s profile stated that he liked to move around a lot when he knew he was being hunted. Even if we could possibly search the epicenter of the three cities, he was probably long gone. We needed something more.

“The center,” Morgan pointed to the map on the wall, “it’s D.C., not Virginia. Why?”

“Because he’s staying close to Hotch,” Emily assumed. “He liked watching Shaunessy deteriorate because of his guilt. Now he wants to see Hotch fall apart without his fam—” Emily stopped herself when she realized what she was saying. She had just been doing her job, profiling the Unsub, looking at the M.O., narrowing down the victimology; but she crossed a line accidentally, and she immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry,” she told Hotch quietly.

He shook his head and shrugged. “I know he’s been watching us. That’s why Y/N and I moved to a safe house and I stepped down as unit chief. I wanted him to think that he was winning.”

Morgan and I glanced at each other. Neither of us knew that. Hotch told me it was for his health and because I was worried sick about him. I didn’t think for a moment that there was a larger game at play. It still didn’t matter, though. Even if Foyet really was still watching us, and Hotch wanted that, he could be long gone already.

“Eureka!” Garcia cheered as she came running in with her computer, just on time. “The goddess and her boy toy do it again!” She set her computer down on the red table and took a seat. “I narrowed the list down to 153 names.”

“That’s still a lot of people,” I said, crossing my arms. I knew that she was doing her best, and she had just broken through a huge wall for us, but we were racing against time now. 153 names was too many. There had to be a way to find Foyet on that list.

“Garcia,” Hotch said, turning to face her, “look to see if he used the name of one of his victims as his alias.”

Garcia typed away at her computer. “Nothing.”

“What about one of the cops who worked at the precinct during his arrest?”

“Nothing.”

“What about an anagram?” Spencer offered, pushing himself to his feet, using his cane to do all the work. He limped his way over to the glass board and started writing out George Foyet’s name. We all watched as he mumbled to himself, underlining certain letters, crossing out others, rearranging a few here and there. “That’s not right,” he groaned as he erased all of his work. He then started over, using The Reaper as his base. “This goes here, that goes there, this crosses out, that goes away—” And then he got it. By some miracle, that brilliant mind of his found it. “Peter Rhea.”

“You, Dr. Reid, deserve more credit,” Garcia complimented as she typed away again. “There’s a Peter Rhea in Arlington.”

We immediately set out to head to Peter Rhea’s apartment. Morgan hurried to his office to call in a SWAT, and the second he was off the phone, our team was racing to get into the cars. Hotch drove me, Morgan, and Emily, while Rossi drove JJ and Spencer in the other car. We sped through the cities with the lights and sirens on until we reached the block over from the apartment. We split up and parked on opposite ends of the road, staying hidden around a corner and under a tree.

Morgan ordered us to stay in the cars while the SWAT team set up a surveillance system to see if Foyet was inside. He wanted to play this safe and smart since he was still getting a lot of heat from Strauss and the Director while being the new unit chief. We couldn’t go storming into some random guy’s apartment without probable cause, we all knew that, but if the call were up to Hotch, we would have already been knocking at the door. Morgan, on the other hand, wanted to wait and see if Foyet would do anything while the SWAT team got in place.

“Is he ready?” Morgan asked into his comm.

The plan was that they were going to send in an agent undercover as a plumber to see if they could get someone to open up the door. If Foyet opened the door, we could go in and continue with making the arrest. If Foyet didn’t open up, the agent was going to use a micro-wire camera to peek under the door to see if there was anything suspicious enough to give us the reasonable cause we were looking for.

I looked out the window to see the agent walking across the street with his toolbox in hand. He walked casually into the building, which was when we lost sight of him. All there was to do now was wait to hear if we could move in or see if he would connect the camera’s live feed to our tablet in the car. So, we watched as he made his way up to the apartment we suspected that Foyet was in. Still, without cause, we had to wait. But we were all getting anxious, understandably.

He first knocked on the door, waiting to see if there was a response. If Foyet opened the door, we were going to make our move. If someone besides Foyet opened the door, we would have to wait to see if there was anything incriminating of if we just got the wrong place. If no one would open up, then we’d have to use the camera. A minute passed. No one answered, even when he tried knocking again, so Morgan gave the go ahead to use the camera.

The camera snuck under the door, and we watched on the tablet in Morgan’s lap. My heart was racing in my chest. My hope was that the son of a bitch was cowering inside, making it easy for us to capture him. This time, we weren’t going to give him a chance to escape. This time, he wasn’t going to hurt Hotch.

“Morgan, look,” I pressed the tip of my index finger against the screen. “There’s unfinished food next to that laptop. The food, the unopened mail, the clean apartment. This has to be his place, and he left in a hurry.”

“He’s not fucking there?” Hotch inquired angrily.

“Move in!” Morgan demanded into his comm. The team jumped out of the cars we arrived in, all of us unholstering our weapons as we closed the doors. The SWAT team was already moving across the street in formation. 

We stormed the building, racing up the staircase together in a single file line since running was faster than waiting for the elevator. When we arrived on Foyet’s floor, Morgan led the way down the hallway, and slowed to a stop in front of the apartment. Morgan kicked the door down before running in first. Emily, Rossi, and Hotch were all right behind him, with me and JJ keeping watch in the hallway. The SWAT team was still clearing the rest of the building, and it would take a while to meet us all the way at the top floor, so we needed to search the place as fast as possible.

Morgan and I moved into the bedroom on the left while the team looked around the main room. There was a half-packed suitcase on the bed, clothes everywhere, and a safe hidden in the open closet with a stash of guns inside. He hadn’t even bothered to lock up the guns when he left, which meant that he knew he wasn’t coming back. Foyet knew we were coming, and he ran. Shit.

I lowered my weapon as I let out an angry sigh. We wasted so much time just sitting in the car. I loved and respected Morgan, and I knew that I trusted him with my life out in the field, but he made the wrong call by telling us to wait in the car. If we had gotten into the place sooner, we would have already seen this and been tracking Foyet to his next location. Now we were too far behind.

“What’s going on out here?” Morgan asked, stepping back into the main room.

The team was huddled around the computer that Foyet left, watching nervously as something beeped on the screen. I followed Morgan and leaned on my tiptoes to see the computer over everyone’s shoulders. Foyet brought what he needed to D.C., and he only took what he needed when he left this apartment in a hurry. Everything else was evidence for us, he knew that. Since he knew we were coming, he had a safety system in place to make sure we wouldn’t get our hands on anything valuable, which included the contents of his laptop. The team looked nervous because whatever was on there, it was being deleted by a program he created.

JJ was already calling Garcia to see if she could stop it and save everything that was already gone. Like the goddess she was, Garcia already hacked into the computer by the time Morgan and I were aware that this was happening. She managed to stop the program that was deleting everything just as I leaned back on my feet and stepped towards Hotch’s side to get a better look at the screen.

Hotch had his hands clasped together in front of him, his fingers picking at his cuticles nervously. He was upset that Foyet wasn’t there, that he had escaped us again, and that we still didn’t have our family back yet. We had hoped that this lead would end with Foyet in handcuffs again, and Hotch would immediately get to call Sam to tell him that Haley and Jack could come home. Both of us had hoped that this lead would have ended with us holding Jack in our arms by diner time, but the world wasn’t kind to us like that. Foyet had escaped us countless times before, and this was just another one of those cases.

“Garcia, wait—” Morgan insisted. I looked back over at the computer to see that Garcia had paused her new program which was retrieving everything Foyet already deleted. She had been running through hundreds of different pictures, just trying to collect them all, but something caught Morgan’s eye. “Hotch, isn’t that—”

Hotch grabbed his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Yeah, that’s the U.S. Marshal assigned to my family.”

My heart sank in my chest as Garcia continued running the program. Foyet had hundreds— if not thousands of photos of Sam. This whole time, Hotch and I had been worried that Foyet was following us in the hopes of getting to Haley and Jack, but he was really trying to get to them through Sam, the only one who knew where they were. Sam had probably visited them on multiple occasions to make sure they were doing okay, since that was the unofficial deal he made with Hotch. Every time Sam went to visit them, Foyet was there. He knew where they were. He knew how to get to them— via Sam.

“He’s not picking up,” Hotch informed us before trying Sam’s number again, this time to leave a message. “Sam, it’s Aaron. We found Foyet’s apartment, but he has surveillance of you. He might know where they are. I need you to call me for a meet location, or we’re on our way to you.”

Morgan pulled his phone out, too. “We need another SWAT team at Sam’s place.”

“That’ll take at least thirty minutes,” I said.

“It’s the best chance we got.”

“Aaron!” I called after him while he stormed out of the apartment. I looked to Morgan for his next orders. “We need to go to Sam’s house. Now.”

Morgan nodded, “Go. Reid will stay here with SWAT, the rest of us will catch up.”

I didn’t spend another second in that apartment. In an instant, I was on my toes, chasing after Hotch, jumping down the steps of the apartment building, trying to meet him at the car before he could drive off. As I pushed through the front doors in the lobby, I saw Hotch getting into the driver’s seat of the closest car we brought. Hotch spotted me running across the road as he started up the car. He waited until I was in the car to go, the door barely even closed yet, my seatbelt not on.

Hotch was driving like a mad man. He was taking the turns too fast, he was weaving around cars, he was racing through intersections without looking to see if it was safe. I genuinely feared that we were going to die before we could even get to Sam’s house. What help would we be then? Hotch could afford to at least slow down a bit, right?

I grabbed the handle on the ceiling as we took another sharp turn a little too fast. Hotch tried to regain control of the car as he straightened out the steering wheel before the car would overturn. I sighed with relief quietly when we didn’t die, then kept driving towards Sam’s neighborhood.

When we arrived at Sam’s house, Hotch drove straight up onto the curb and jumped out once the car was in park, but didn’t wait to turn off the car. I followed suit, both of us grabbing our guns as we ran up the sidewalk in the middle of the front yard. My eyes grew wide as I silently took notice of the unlocked front door that was half open. Hotch noticed, too, but nothing needed to be said about it. The plan was to do what we always did. Go in together, clear the house, find Sam. Most importantly, just pray that Sam was okay.

Hotch looked over at me. “You got me?” he whispered.

I nodded.

He faced the door and took in a deep breath before pushing it open and running in. I followed closely. Both of our weapons were raised, our fingers on the triggers. We hurried inside to search the place for any sign of Sam. Hotch checked the left side of the living room, while I went to the right. The backdoor was open, just as the front door had been.

I immediately holstered my weapon as I walked around the couch in the middle of the room to find Sam laying on the floor, bleeding out. I called Hotch’s name and he came rushing over. We both fell to our knees beside him and I started to put pressure on his wounds. Sam had been shot in the chest twice, each leg once, and in the foot a single time. I started by pressing down on his chest, and Hotch helped by holding the thigh wounds.

“Medic!” Hotch yelled to the approaching ambulance outside. “Medic, please!”

Sam groaned and opened his swollen eyes as far as he could. Foyet had beaten up his face and cut off three fingers. “I’m sorry, Hotch…” he croaked before coughing up some blood.

Hotch leaned over him to make sure they could make eye contact. “It’s alright, Sam. It’s alright. You need to tell me if he knows where Jack and Haley are.” He was being so calm. Oddly calm.

“I didn’t… I couldn’t… I’m sorry…”

“Sam, look at me,” Hotch begged. “Does he know where Haley and Jack are? What’s her phone number or address?”

“It won’t matter…”

“What does that mean?” I questioned.

“It won’t matter…” he repeated, his eyes falling shut.

I looked up at Hotch. “It’s the shock.”

I recognized his inability to speak because of how similar it was to how Hotch was after the car bombing in New York. Hotch couldn’t form complete sentences, and he always kept repeating the same thing over and over, even when I would try to ask him questions. Sam was the same way, and I couldn’t blame him. Foyet had really done a number on him. He was bleeding out fast, and I prayed that the medics would arrive soon.

“Sam, please, just tell me if he knows where our family is,” Hotch said, still calm and collected as I had ever seen him.

Sam’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, but fell shut again. He was losing consciousness. There was no way he would be able to tell us anything about where Foyet went or how to find Haley and Jack. Even if he got to the hospital before bleeding out, there was no telling when he would wake up in order to tell us where Haley and Jack were. We needed answers now, but the only person who could give them to us was unable to say anything at all.

A pair of hands grabbed my shoulders. Morgan pulled me onto my feet and out of the way as the EMTs hurried into the house with a medical bag and a stretcher. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth to cover the worry and shock that was certainly plastered to my face. Morgan noticed my bloody hands, so he grabbed a wipe or handkerchief of some kind from his pocket. He took my hands in his while I still stared down at Sam and the medics doing everything they could to help him. I felt Morgan wipe the blood off my hands, and I could vaguely hear him talking to me, but I didn’t say anything or even more. Sam was our last chance. He was our last link. He knew where they were, and now Foyet knew.

Hotch looked as solid as a rock, not reacting a single bit. He just calmly stood and moved to the side while we all watched the EMTs get to work. They started by covering up the bullet wounds, then rolling him onto a stretcher, and as they wheeled him out, they stuck an IV in his arm. Hotch was right next to the stretcher as they rolled Sam out of the house, onto the sidewalk, and up to the ambulance waiting in the road. Morgan and I were a few steps behind, watching as the EMTs lifted Sam into the back of the vehicle. I noticed that Hotch wasn’t waiting back with us, though. No, he was all the way up there with them—

“Aaron!” I yelled, running towards the ambulance.

He was climbing in with the EMTs and was already working on closing the door when he heard me. He stopped for a fleeting moment. “Stay here! I love you!” Then he closed the door.

The ambulance immediately sped off the second the door was shut. Sirens shook the neighborhood, and the lights nearly blinded me as my eyes fogged over. I felt sick and confused again, just like I had at the hospital in New York. I tried to close my eyes, swallow hard to keep myself from vomiting, and focus on finding Jack alive. Hotch left to talk with Sam in the ambulance. That was a good move. It was the right move. But not knowing what was going on and not being able to do anything made the panic that had been building in my chest since New York come flooding back into my mind, heart, and lungs.

My ears started ringing just as my heart rate sped up and my lungs started to give out. I cursed under my breath as I hid my face in my hands and sat down before I could pass out and likely hit my head on the concrete. I tried to focus on Jack and our favorite dinosaur that was sitting at home, waiting for him to come back and play with it. I tried to not think about the bile rising in my closing throat or the way my whole body was shaking like I was standing in the middle of a world ending type of earthquake.

I gasped for breath and laid on my back, the sun’s light casting through my eyelids. It was so nice and warm out. It didn’t feel like the kind of day that was meant for this. But, then again, when was it ever the right kind of day for something like this?

“Morgan...” I croaked. “Morgan, it’s happening again.”

I could feel him crouching down beside me, putting one hand on my hair and one on my shoulder. As he tried to talk to me, it just sounded like he was screaming at me from underwater. Everything was so muffled, and nothing made sense. The ringing in my ears returned two-fold this time and I winced. Trying to balance everything— my breathing, my heart rate, my ears, my sick stomach, the shaking, the blurry sight, and the racing thoughts— all at once was too overwhelming for me. This didn’t feel like New York. It felt ten times worse than that.

“Call Hotch!” I heard Morgan yell. That was the only clear thing to me. “Call him now!” 

In a few moments following that, I felt a phone press against my ear. “Y/N?” It was Hotch. He was still in the ambulance. “Y/N? Are you there?”

“I’m here…” I whispered, opening my eyes. The feeling of needing to vomit was slowly subsiding. “Has Sam said anything?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. Just talk to me.”

I sucked in a deep breath, held it, and slowly let it out— just like the doctor in New York taught me. Slow and easy breaths. “Did he tell you where to find Jack and Haley?”

“No.” He was holding something back, I could tell.

“Foyet?”

“Took Sam’s phone, called Haley, and impersonated a U.S. Marshal.”

I pushed myself upright and took the phone from Morgan. Deep breath in, hold it, then let it out. The ringing in my ears was gone and I could hear everything around me again. “Did she tell him where they are?”

“No. She’s meeting him somewhere.”

“Do you know where?”

“Y/N, stop it. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, standing up. Morgan held his arms out like he was ready to catch me at any second. “Tell me everything Sam said. Please.”

Hotch sighed on the other end of the call, likely debating if he should tell me or hold his tongue. Someone must have told him what happened, which was why he wasn’t telling me anything, and he was avoiding talking about Foyet in order to get me talking. I promised him ever since New York that this wouldn’t happen again, and just when it finally does, he was too far away to help me.

“He told her that she was compromised and that we’re dead,” he answered. “He told her to throw away her phone and buy a disposable.”

“That son of a bitch…” I mumbled under my breath.

I gave Morgan a worried look and he called the team over. I took the phone away from my ear and put the call on speaker. My shaking was nearly gone. I felt like a million bucks again. Funny how those things work sometimes, right? Or maybe it was just that I had suppressed it all again and I was another ticking time bomb. Honestly, if that were the case, I was just hoping that I’d wait to blow up again until after we found Jack and Haley safe and alive.

“Foyet posed as a Marshal and called Haley from Sam’s phone,” I caught the team up to speed.

Emily was cocking a brow at me like she didn’t understand how I could go from laying on the sidewalk while hyperventilating to standing upright and talking about the case without any hesitancy. I tried to avoid eye contact with her so as to not be alarmed by her worry for me. 

“He still has the phone,” Hotch continued explaining for me. “He scared Haley into thinking that she’s alone and in danger. She trusts him now because the call came from a number she knew and he gave her the promise of safety. We have to find him.”

JJ pulled out her phone, “Garcia, we need you to locate Sam Kassmeyer’s phone ASAP.” She stayed on the line as Garcia worked. “Fairfax County,” she repeated for us.

“Send the approximate coordinates to my phone,” Hotch demanded before hanging up.

“Wait—” Emily tried to catch him, but he was already gone. “Garcia, is that phone still on?”

JJ, with the phone still pressed to her ear, nodded to Emily.

“It’s a trap,” Emily said.

“Emily, call the U.S. Marshals. See if they can reach Haley,” Morgan ordered as we all headed back to the cars. “It’ll be a tight fit.”

Emily, Rossi, and JJ made it work, though, as the three of them squished hip to hip in the back seat. Emily was already on the phone with the U.S. Marshal Service while JJ was still listening to Garcia as she tried to get more information about Foyer and Hotch. Emily sighed, hanging up the call she was on after having a back to back conversation while Morgan started speeding out of the neighborhood.

“Haley’s gone. They don’t know where she is,” Emily informed us.

“Guys,” JJ said, putting her call with Garcia on speaker. “Hotch is calling Sam’s phone.”

“Foyet has it, though—” I said before realizing what that meant. “Garcia, can you connect us to it?”

“Already done,” Garcia said.

“Agent Hotchner,” Foyet welcomed with a bright voice. “How are you?”

“If you touch them, I swear to—”

“What? Do you want me to be gentle, like I was with you?”

My blood ran cold. Morgan glanced over at me to read my face before turning back to watch the road. Hotch and told me what Foyet did to him, but there were obviously some details he refused to tell me, like how he was tortured. As far as I was aware, Foyet had broken into our house, stabbed Hotch a series of times after they had a fight, and then he dropped Hotch off at the hospital. He didn’t tell me anything about Foyet taking his time to torture him, though, I guessed I should have known that the Reaper wasn’t just going to let Aaron Hotchner get off that easily.

“What took you so long?” Foyet chuckled. “I was beginning to think this piece of shit phone was dead or something.” There was silence on the call for a moment. “Why are you so quiet, Aaron? You usually lash out when you’re frustrated. Remember what happened when I mentioned dear old Y/N that night? You threw a goddamn glass bottle at my head. Where’s the fight, Aaron?”

“I’m not frustrated. You’re just predictable.”

“Is that so?”

“You didn’t know where Haley was, so you tricked her into coming to you. That’s not like you either, George. Where’s the creativity?” He was pushing back against Foyet to prove that he wasn’t going to be rattled.

“You make me sound lazy, Aaron.”

“No. I just know you’re smarter than this. I mean, you did kill your parents when you were nine—”

“—They died in a car crash—”

“—That you caused and couldn’t take credit for. Is that your biggest regret? Hmm? Not being able to brag about your greatest accomplishment?”

“That’s not my greatest accomplishment,” Foyet snickered.

“No? Then what is? Getting away with all of the people you murdered in cold blood?”

“Have you stopped to ask yourself that perhaps my greatest accomplishment has yet to come? In fact, I’m staring at it right now. She’s gorgeous, Aaron. I get why you married her. But I think blonde suited her better than the brunette look. Oh— and here comes the little man! Look at how big he is now! Wow. You know, Aaron, I actually admire one thing about you. Do you care to know what it is?” Hotch didn’t say anything still, so Foyet continued. “Most couples, when they get a divorce and there’s a kid involved, they fight for custody, but not you and Haley. You two managed to work it out in a way that made you both happy. She got him nearly all the time, and you got to see him when you and your whore weren’t away.” He tsked his tongue, “Aw. Look at his little superhero t-shirt. Adorable.”

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and gestured for Morgan to go faster.

“Hey, you know what, that reminds me…” Foyet groaned like he was stretching. “When I called Haley earlier and told her that you and Y/N were dead, she said that Jack wanted me to grab a toy dinosaur from your place— mentioned something about how it’s Jack’s favorite toy and he can’t bear to move away again without it. I hope you don’t mind, but I went by your guys’ place and grabbed it for him.”

A whimper left my throat as I failed to choke back a sob. Our favorite dinosaur… The one Jack gave me before leaving. The one I had been thinking about earlier to help calm me down. Foyet went back to our house just to grab it. It was going to be the last thing Jack would see.

Rossi reached between mine and Morgan’s front seats and grabbed my shoulder to comfort me. I put my hand over his after wiping away a tear from my cheek.

Another phone on Foyet’s end of the call started ringing. “Oh, that’ll be Haley. Hold, please, while I turn you off speaker and answer her call,” Foyet said. We heard the beep of him picking up the other call and putting it on speaker for us to listen. “Mrs. Hotchner, are you safe?”

“Yes. I’m here,” Haley said.

I squeezed Rossi’s hand.

“Good. Just open the gate and I’ll drive in,” Foyet said to her.

“Okay. Thanks.” She hung up the phone as fast as she could.

“Aaron, you still there?” Foyet asked. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll say goodbye to the little man for ya.”

“You motherfuc—” Hotch began, but the call ended.

“Garcia?” JJ asked into her phone.

“I couldn’t get an address,” she whispered in defeat. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Wait…” I said, letting go of Rossi’s hand. “Wait, wait, wait. Garcia, Sam’s phone is government issued, which means that they can falsify the call’s location. Is it possible that he’s not even in the middle of Fairfax?”

“It’s possible, I suppose, but the signal was bouncing from three towers around that county. He could be anywhere inside it or just outside of it.”

Hotch and I lived just outside of Fairfax County. He hadn’t moved out after Haley left him, and we certainly didn’t move when I moved in with him. We wanted Jack to have some normalcy in his life, so staying in his childhood home was the best choice. There was a gate in order to get into the neighborhood. Foyet mentioned that Haley needed to open a gate.

We were speeding down the highway towards the North side of Fairfax County, but Hotch and I lived East of the county, just barely outside of the county line. Hotch was already close by to the house after leaving the hospital, but we were at least fifteen minutes away. We wouldn’t get there in time, but Hotch could.

I scrambled for my phone and dialed Hotch’s number again and he answered. “Hotch, he’s at the house! He told Haley to meet him at our house!”

Foyet had tried to throw us off by mentioning the dinosaur, making us believe that he broke into our house in order to give Jack the toy at a separate location; when, in reality, Jack was already at the house and probably already found the dinosaur sitting prominently on the table by the front door.

“I know, Y/N. I know.”

Morgan made an abrupt U-turn, and we started speeding back towards South-East to meet Hotch at the house.

“Y/N?” he asked quietly on the other end. I hummed a tune that asked: “What?” and he followed with, “I love you.”

“Hotch, why are you—”

“If something happens… I love you.”

“Aaron, stop it,” I begged, shaking my head.

It sounded like he was saying goodbye, and it was scaring me. Why did he think that something was going to happen? Nothing was going to happen. Nothing. He was going to be fine. He was going to get there before Foyet could lay a finger on Haley or Jack. Everything was going to be alright.

“Please say it back. Please.”

“Aaron—”

“Please.”

I took in a deep breath and blinked away the tears that were welling in my eyes. “I love you, Aaron.”

“Guys, Foyet’s calling Hotch again,” Garcia informed us.

“I love you,” we both repeated to each other one last time before he hung up and answered Foyet’s call.

Garcia connected us again so that we could listen.

“Aaron?” Haley asked into their new call. “You’re okay?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m fine,” he responded.

“But… He said that…” Haley gasped quietly. “Oh…”

“He can hear us, can’t he?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Haley, don’t show him any weakness, alright? He feeds off of it.”

“Oh, come on, Aaron,” Foyet groaned out of annoyance. “Chop, chop, tell your wife what this is really all about. Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Aaron?” Haley questioned, pressing him for answers.

“Don’t listen to him,” Hotch begged, “he’s just trying to scare you.”

“Well, she should be scared, Aaron! She gonna D-I-E because you refused to listen to me!”

I looked at Morgan for any kind of consolation. He looked back at me with pressed in eyebrows and sad eyes. “We’re at least twelve minutes away,” he told me quietly.

“Ignore him, Haley!” Hotch yelled.

“Since he won’t tell you,” Foyet sighed, “I guess I will. All he had to do to save you and your son was stop looking for me.”

Haley sniffled, “Aaron, what is he talking about?”

Hotch was quiet for a long moment.

I wondered what he was going to say. Was he going to tell Haley the truth? That George Foyet had told Hotch that he would stop killing if we just stopped chasing after him— if we just put the case away until he would eventually die, then this whole mess wouldn’t be happening. Foyet proposed the deal that night in the hotel room, and Hotch practically told him to go fuck himself. It made sense why Foyet wasn’t exactly happy, and was thus trying to take it out on our family. The psychology of it made sense, but I just wanted this nightmare to end. We couldn’t go back in time and tell Foyet that we would agree to his terms, and Foyet knew it. He knew that this was Hotch’s fault, and he wanted everyone to know it. He wanted Hotch to know it most of all.

“Tell Jack I need him to work the case,” Hotch cried into the phone.

My face fell into my hands as I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. Hotch had tried so hard all day to stay strong for himself, for me, for the team, and for Jack and Haley. He hadn’t broken once, even when I was a wreck. But Foyet had Haley and Jack. He had our son and there was nothing we could do. We were all helpless. But there was one thing Hotch could tell Jack to do that could save his life. One simple request that seemed so innocent to Foyet and everyone else— but Jack, Hotch, and I knew the truth. Telling Jack to go work the case was the last thing we could possibly do to save him. If that didn’t work, it was over. Foyet would kill both of them and we would lose.

“Hi, Daddy,” Jack said into the phone.

I let out a sob. Morgan and Rossi both put a comforting hand on me, but it didn’t matter. Nothing was going to help me. Jack sounded so happy, so oblivious to what was going on. And as I hid my face in my hands, I couldn’t help but see images of him lying dead on our carpet. We were going to find him like that… Our baby Jack.

“Hi, buddy,” Hotch sniffled.

“Is Y/N with you?”

“No… They’re coming, though. We’re both trying to get home to you as fast as we can.”

“Is George a bad guy?”

“Yes… Yes, he is, Jack. Listen, buddy, I need you on this case with me. Do you understand? I need you to go work on your superhero homework because Y/N and I need your help with this case. Does that sound good, kiddo?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Now give your mom a Superman hug, Jack.”

There was silence on both ends of the call for a minute, then I could hear Haley whispering to Jack that she loved him more than anything in the world and he complained that she was hugging him too tight. She apologized to him through a half sob.

“Why are you sad, mommy?” Jack questioned.

“Oh… I just love you so much,” Haley answered as bravely as she could. “Now go work the case for your dad, alright?” Jack hummed an agreement, then I could hear his little feet running off.

“I’ll be right up, Jackie boy!” Foyet called after him.

“Is he gone?” Hotch asked.

“Yes,” Haley cried.

“You’re so strong, Haley. You’re stronger than I ever was. You’re going to be alright. I’m so close. I promise.”

“Aaron…” she whispered into the phone. I could finally hear up close just how scared she was. Her voice sputtered, she was whimpering quietly, and her breath kept hitching as she tried to not sob.

“I know you didn’t sign on for this. I’m so sorry for everything, Haley. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Aaron,” she repeated like she was trying to tell him something important. He stayed quiet to listen. “Promise me that you’ll tell Jack how we met and how you used to make me laugh… He deserves to know that we were happy at one point. Promise me that. Please…”

“I promise…” he whispered in defeat. “I promise, Haley. I love you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Haley… I promise…”

And then there were three gunshots.

I shook and cried, Rossi’s grip tightened around my shoulder, and Morgan picked up my hand to hold it.

Three shots. Three. They rang in my ears. I counted each one. One after the other. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. My ears were ringing again. I didn’t even realize that the call had ended.

I heard Emily ask how far we were, and Morgan quietly said that we were still ten minutes out, if we were lucky. Ten minutes for Foyet to find Jack. Ten minutes for him to wait for Hotch to get home. Ten minutes for him to kill my family. Ten minutes to take everything from me. Ten minutes. If we were lucky. If. If we were lucky, we’d get there and maybe only Haley and Jack would be dead. Lucky. That was considered lucky. If we weren’t, I’d walk into our home to find all three of them dead and Foyet gone.

There was nothing we could do. Nothing but to wait the ten agonizingly long minutes. Every second felt like an hour. Every breath I needed to take felt impossible to reach, like a thousand pounds were resting on my chest. And yet, the world around us didn’t seem to notice. Cars on the road moved to the side to let us through, but then they continued on behind us. The trees were still, and the birds were flying high in the sky, kids were riding their bikes on the sidewalks, people were waiting for the public transport buses; and not one of them knew what was really going on. No one knew. No one cared. Just ten minutes of me staring out the window, watching all of those people living their normal, happy lives. And I wished that I were in their shoes.

As we pulled into the neighborhood, I sat up straight, wiped my eyes, and adjusted my vest. I let go of Morgan’s hand and shrugged off Rossi’s touch on my shoulder. I pulled out my gun and checked the magazine and the chamber while telling Morgan that I’d lead us inside quietly. No one argued. They just seemed as shell shocked as I should have still been, but I couldn’t afford to let my guard down when my family was in danger in our house.

Hotch’s car was parked on the grass in front of the house like he sped up as close to the door as he could get before jumping out and running in. The front door was wide open, but all of the blinds inside were closed. Someone had set the house up, and that someone was probably Foyet. He was toying with us. He had been planning this for so long while stalking us, and now that the day had finally come, he was probably sitting inside, smiling and waiting.

As the team got out, the EMTs and SWAT team also arrived. Morgan went over to talk with them about the plan for proceeding inside, while the rest of the team had my back going into the house. We quietly ran up the front lawn, and Rossi pushed the front door open carefully to make sure it wouldn’t break or hit the wall. Our favorite dinosaur wasn’t on the front table as I had left it, which meant that Jack had it with him in his spot, or Foyet took it. I didn’t want to assume anything past that while I needed to focus on finding them all alive.

The house was dark with no lights on and the curtains drawn, so we all pulled out our flashlights. I crossed my wrists over each other, one hand holding my gun up, the other pointing my flashlight forward to help me navigate my way around my own home. I gestured to Rossi and JJ to check upstairs while Emily followed me as we proceeded quietly throughout the first floor.

There was nothing in the living room that was out of place. Not a single thing. Even all of Jack’s toys were put away, even though Hotch and I had left them out on purpose to make it feel like he was still around. Someone had cleaned up, maybe it was Foyet, or maybe it was Haley. Either way, the room was still empty, so we moved on.

The door to the kitchen was wide open. Inside, one of the drawers was pulled out all the way. I checked the inside of it and noticed that our spare flashlight was gone. Hotch had come through there, too. I checked the knife rack, taking note that all of the knives were still there. No sign of a struggle in the kitchen. So we moved on again.

We worked our way into the dining room, and that was where we found the first evidence of a struggle. The table was broken like someone had been thrown onto it and it collapsed under their weight. Then just beyond the wreckage of the table, we saw the first trace of blood on the carpet. I pointed at it for Emily, and she nodded to tell me that she saw it, too. The trail led to the stairs, which was where Rossi and JJ were already looking around— and truth be told, since we hadn’t found Haley, Hotch, or Jack downstairs, it meant that they were upstairs, and I didn’t want to be the one to find them. I was fine with waiting downstairs for Rossi or JJ to tell me the bad news.

“Pssst,” Emily drew my attention to the window that was facing the backyard.

There was something going on outside, but we weren’t sure what. It could have just been the neighbors making some noise, or maybe the SWAT team was surrounding the house to make sure Foyet wouldn’t get away. Whatever it was, we needed to know, so I walked over to the window and carefully pulled the drape to the side to take a look. I peeked into the backyard for just a moment before realizing what was going on. Without warning, I dropped the drape and dashed for the backdoor, which was open, too. Emily chased after me, not sure what I saw, but still decided to follow my lead.

I holstered my weapon as I ran out past the patio and onto the grass. “Hotch!” I yelled at him, sliding to my knees. He was straddling Foyet’s torso while continuously beating him. Foyet was unrecognizable behind the blood and bashed in face, yet Hotch kept fucking going. “Aaron, stop!” I grabbed his arm before he could land another punch and pulled him off of Foyet. He sobbed as he fell back into my chest, and I wrapped my arms around him to make sure he wouldn’t try to get back on Foyet to keep going. “Aaron, it’s me! He’s dead! He’s dead! Stop!” He slumped against my body, giving up, and sobbed even harder. “Baby…” I cried. “Where’s Jack?”

He stopped crying at the realization that he hadn’t gone to find Jack yet. He wiggled himself out of my hold and scrambled desperately to his feet, nearly tripping over himself as he did so. I pushed myself off the ground, too, and chased after him into the house. Emily didn’t follow us, though. She stayed on the porch, just staring at Foyet’s body and all the damage Hotch had done. Hotch was capable of so much, but no one ever truly saw the extent of what he could do when he was angry. While it didn’t exactly surprise me how Foyet ended up, I could understand why Emily was so shocked and speechless.

We ran through the dining room, jumped over the pool of blood on the carpet, and hurried up the stairs. I noticed that the corner wall on the staircase had a dent at the bottom, like someone had smashed their head into it during a struggle. There was blood all over the stairs, and the banister, and the walls. So much blood… But we kept running. I used the railing to pull myself up faster, skipping as many steps as I could at a time without accidentally running into Hotch.

When we reached the top of the steps, we turned to the left and ran into the office together. Hotch’s desk was under the window that looked over the driveway on the side of the house, and my desk was on the wall to the left of that. Between our desks was a large wooden chest with a leather padded seat on the top.

Hotch hesitated in front of it, not sure if he wanted to look inside. But I didn’t wait. I had to know. Did Foyet kill my little man? Did he kill the only innocent thing in our lives? Did he win?

I knelt down and slowly opened the lid. A sudden sigh of relief left me before I started to cry again. Jack was laying down in the chest, messing with the power switch of his Spider-Man themed flashlight in one hand, and playing with our favorite dinosaur with the other. As I opened the lid all the way and rested it against the wall, Jack sat up and I immediately hugged him tight. I let out a painful cry as he nuzzled his head against my shoulder and hugged me back with his Superman strength. I lifted him out of the chest and cradled him close.

“I worked the case with you, Dad,” Jack said to Hotch.

Hotch crouched down beside me and pushed back some of Jack’s blonde hair out of his face. “You did a great job, buddy.” Hotch kissed my temple for a long moment.

Jack unwrapped his arms from our hug, and so did I. “Are you okay, Dad?”

Hotch nodded, “I’m okay. I want you to go outside with Ms. Jareau, okay?”

I looked over to the door to see JJ and Rossi standing there. No Haley with them.

One. Two. Three.

The gunshots rang in my ears again as Jack pried himself away from me and ran into JJ’s arms. JJ caught him with a forced smile and immediately carried him downstairs, making sure that he couldn’t look down the hallway to our bedroom. Rossi stayed in the doorway to make sure that we were okay, though.

Hotch fell from his knees onto his hip and leaned into my side as he started sobbing again. I turned and sat with him on the floor so that I could hold him better. He hid his bloody face in my shoulder, screaming into my shirt. My hands went up to the back of his head and held him close. My fingers curled in his hair as I let out another sob with him.

Jack was safe, but at what cost? Haley… One. Two Three. Haley didn’t make it. That was Foyet’s final move, his greatest achievement. He died knowing that he had beat Aaron Hotchner. He died knowing that he took something that meant everything to Hotch. And that was a win for him. He didn’t have to kill Jack, he didn’t have to kill me, and he didn’t even have to kill Hotch. All Foyet needed to do was take out Haley and that was it.

Hotch’s hands curled into fists around the fabric of my sleeves. I knew that he was trying to stop. I knew that he didn’t want to keep crying. He had been brave all day. He had been so strong, despite everything. And now… Now… He just couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I couldn’t blame him. Haley was the first love of his life. They had been together since high school, and she gave him the greatest gift of their lives, which was Jack. They loved each other so much, even after the divorce, and even after meeting me. They had been through hell and back together, and he knew that he had to let her go when she had finally had enough, even though it was the hardest thing for him to have ever done. Hotch never stopped loving her, it just changed after their separation. He lost her and that was the breaking point.

Foyet had killed dozens of people over his lifetime, he had taunted us, he had stabbed Hotch, he had taken the ring that was supposed to be mine, he had stolen our family from us, and he had killed Sam. And yet… none of that broke Hotch until Haley. He could go through all of that without blinking an eye, and then there was Haley.

One. Two. Three.

Hotch leaned back and looked into my eyes. His nose was broken, his forehead, lips, and cheeks were all bleeding, and his tears were still streaming down his face; but he looked right at me and took my face in his bloody hands. “Are you alright?”

I shook my head. “Are you?”

He shook his head and screwed his eyes shut again. “She’s in the bedroom… On the floor… Her eyes are open… And she was staring at me…” I brushed some strands of his dark hair out of his face. “I’ve gotta close her eyes…” He let go of my face and slowly stood up.

“Aaron—” I tried to catch his sleeve before he could leave me, but he kept going.

I took a moment to just watch him through my fogged up eyes from where I was sitting on the floor. He stumbled around, catching himself on the walls, then pushed past Rossi, who was still standing there. As Hotch walked into the hallway, Rossi and I finally made eye contact. He nodded his head to the side, a gesture that I should go with Hotch because he shouldn’t be alone. I slowly stood and started peeling off my vest. Rossi took it from me as I passed him on my way into the hallway.

I felt my knees buckle slightly as I passed Jack’s room and saw Haley’s feet in our bedroom at the end of the hall. I could tell that was lying on the floor, just as Hotch warned me, yet I still wasn’t prepared for it. Only one shoe was still on her feet, the other one neglected on the side. Foyet had… He wasn’t known for messing with the bodies afterwards, but this was different. He wanted this to hurt as badly as it could. He took every precaution to ensure that he would win. Messing with Haley’s body after she was dead… That was just senseless and cruel. It didn’t bring him any direct pleasure. What did it for him was that it would hurt Hotch the most.

As I practically limped up to the bedroom, I saw that Hotch was already on the floor with Morgan, cradling Haley’s dead body in his arms and sobbing into her shoulder. Morgan had a hand on Hotch’s other shoulder to try and comfort him, but it wasn’t doing any good as Hotch continued to cry and cry. I had never seen him like that. I had never seen him so out of control, so broken. I had seen him cry before, of course, but this was different. This was watching his heart break over and over again as he realized that he wasn’t in a nightmare, that this was real life, that he had really lost her, for good this time.

Morgan stood and met me in the doorway, “Y/N—”

He was trying to stop me from going in and seeing more, but I had to know. I had to see. I had to be with him. So I pushed by. Morgan let me pass, but I didn’t make it very far into the room.

One. Two. Three. They rang again as I saw all the blood.

One. Two. Three. I saw the bullet holes in her chest and neck.

One. Two. Three. I saw an engagement ring on her finger.

I turned to Morgan and covered my mouth to stop to myself from throwing up everywhere. He caught me and held me in his arms as I started sobbing again.

Foyet always liked to take something from his victims and put them on the next. It was his signature. When he hurt Morgan, he took his credentials, then left them on Hotch when he was stabbed and taken to the hospital. Hotch told me that Foyet had specifically gone looking for the engagement ring he was planning on giving me, and we all knew that it was going to be placed on his next victim— but I didn’t find any ring on Sam, considering Foyet had cut his fingers off. 

When I saw Haley, though, I suddenly knew why.

She wouldn’t have been wearing an engagement ring— she wouldn’t have even been wearing her old wedding ring. Foyet took the ring from Hotch because he knew he was going to kill Haley. He knew that he wanted this to be his grand finale, and he wanted to make sure it hurt like a bitch. He wanted to prove to Hotch that this was all somehow his own fault. If he didn’t divorce Haley, this wouldn’t have happened. If he didn’t turn down Foyet’s offer, this wouldn’t have happened. If he had been just a few minutes quicker getting to the house, this wouldn’t have happened. Hotch let Haley down and Foyet rubbed it in his face by not only taking Haley away from him, but the joy that came from buying that ring for me and the excitement of getting to propose to me one day with that very ring. Foyet knew that I wouldn’t want that ring anymore. He knew that Hotch wouldn’t want to even tear it off of Haley’s finger. He took Haley away, and he took away something that was important for us moving on.

He won in every way.

One. Two. Three.

Strauss stared at me silently. There were no words. There was nothing she could say to me that would matter, and she knew it. Even if she could give her condolences, I wouldn’t accept them from her. She didn’t care about me, or Hotch, or the team, or even Haley or Jack. Yet she still couldn’t even find the words to conclude our interview. All she could do was silently turn off the tape recorder between us and watch as I left the room.

As I stepped into the hallway, I let out the breath I had been holding in my chest for that entire interview. I put my hands on my knees and tried to focus on the marble floor in order to ground myself. Hotch approached me, his shoes sneaking into my field of view. I stood up straight and sighed.

“I never want to talk about it again. Ever,” I told him.

He nodded understandingly. The door opened again and Strauss told us that she was ready to speak with Hotch before the rest of the committee would show up to make the final decision about whether or not he would get to keep his job at the FBI. Hotch thanked her for letting him know and asked if we could have another moment alone. She smiled lightly and retreated back into the room.

We stared at each other again, just like we had before I went into the conference room to endure that Hell. Understandably, he was the nervous one now. He was probably going through the motions, too. He wanted me to go with him, he wanted me to hold him, he wanted me to be there as a constant reassurance that everything was going to be alright— that I was alright. He wanted to know that, no matter what, I wouldn’t leave him, that he hadn’t failed me, that I was safe and I was his. He lost one love, he couldn't afford to lose me, too.

“I love you,” I told him when we were alone again. “Whatever happens… I love you…”

Hotch cupped my cheek with one of his palms, and I pressed into his touch. “I love you, too.” He kissed my forehead, but when he pulled away, I leaned up to kiss his lips. We pressed into each other’s touch gently. I didn’t want to hurt him, and he didn’t want to hurt me, but we needed to feel the softness of each other’s lips, and we desperately needed the comfort of our kisses. “You’ll stay with Jack?” I nodded and felt tears welling up in my eyes again. “Don’t cry. Please,” he quietly begged.

“I’m trying,” I croaked. “I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.” He wiped away the tear on my cheek that managed to escape me. Before it could get worse, I turned away from Hotch’s touch and hid my face from him. “I’ll be with Jack when you’re done.”

Hotch stepped around me before he could break, too. I stood in the hallway as he entered the conference room, leaving me all alone. I let out an audible sob and started crying again. It was hard enough for me to go through that interview without shedding a tear… I couldn’t imagine the struggle Hotch was going to face over the next hour. And he was going to be all alone. All I could do was hear the way he cried that day replaying over and over again in my mind. I had never heard anyone sound that distraught in my life. It was probably even worse than hearing the gunshots. Whenever my ears weren’t ringing with the sound of Foyet’s weapon firing, it was echoing Hotch’s screams, and I could still feel it on my shoulder every time I thought about it.

“Hey, sunshine,” Morgan cooed from behind me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I sucked in a shaky breath before wiping my eyes and turning around. When I saw him and the rest of the team standing there, Jack in JJ’s arms, I tried to act like I hadn’t just broken down by forcing a smile on my face so that Jack couldn’t worry about me.

“Hey, there, little man,” I said to Jack as JJ handed him over to me. He was getting so darn big; it was hard to hold him when I hardly had enough energy to stand up straight. Jack hid his face in the crook of my neck, just like he had when I pulled him out of the chest in our office. I felt the tears start to pour again, even though I was trying so hard to make it stop. “I love you…” I whispered to him, hardly making it to the end of what I really wanted to say. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered back, playing with my hair with his fingers as he said it.

I looked over at Emily and saw that she had finally broken. I held out the arm I could afford to let go of Jack with, offering the team the hug I desperately needed. Emily was the one who hugged me and Jack, Morgan hugging me and her, Garcia hugging him and Jack, and so on.

“I love you guys.”

--------

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322​ @rousethemouse​

[ataswegianabroad]

Alone Amongst the Gum Trees Part 4 - Digital News Report: Australia - A Murdoch Review

NOTE - this article has been migrated to Medium. As of 2021, A Taswegian Abroad will be closed down, and all of my writing will be published on my Medium profile.

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After seeing a significant public outcry to my story based on a response to Sally McManus on twitter - I recently spoke with the ABC on being an Aussie overseas and the challenges we’ve faced getting home. The failure once again of Morrison’s government to provide enough vaccines and a proper quarantine system (covered up by the Murdoch Press protection racket) is having real implications on everyday Australians.

I strongly believe that for this to change, the media needs to perform its function of holding both elected officials, and their peers in the press, accountable for such actions.

Until Australia has reestablished media fairness among the press, improved media literacy amongst its citizens, and have mostly removed the cancer of Murdoch’s News Corp dominating mainstream media, we will never break this cycle of government ineptitude, gaslighting, negligence, and outright corruption with little to almost zero accountability.

You don't need to look far for proof. The ones that immediately come to mind for me:

2020 Bushfires and consistent climate change denial - "I don't hold a hose mate"

Freedom of speech is threatened where internet comedians get arrested in their own homes for making jokes about a LNP Deputy Premier

Kate and the horrendous Christian Porter alleged rape case

The four stage plan to make a plan about having a plan for Covid, 18 months into the pandemic, with literally no dates or vaccination targets.

Back in March, I caught onto calls for a Murdoch Royal Commission by former prime minister Kevin Rudd, and since then I’ve been keeping a very sharp eye on the Australian media landscape.

Despite over 500,000 petition signatures and the ramping exposure by Rudd online (leading to a full senate enquiry), the Murdoch press is doing its best to discredit, misdirect, or, blatantly ignore the storm that’s brewing. A couple of major things have caught my attention since that date.

News Corp outlets are still consistently cowing their competitors at Nine, Seven, the ABC, and more into towing the pro-Coalition narrative THEY choose, or, risk facing character assassination. This applies to everyone who dares step out of line: reporters, ministers, producers, senators, editors, presenters, janitors… no one is safe.

This sort of behaviour and influence is not easy to show on graphs and charts, but if you read between the lines, you can see it. Let me show you.

The ABC Presents the Data

In April of 2021, the ABC published a fact-file article outlining the power of the Murdoch press - the first article from an at least somewhat reputable source addressing this that I’ve seen on this topic.

The biggest things I took from it are that despite there seeming to be a diverse ownership pool across many mediums, News Corp (Murdoch) newspapers significantly dominate the national market for print papers, and, have recently been crowned leaders of the #1 source of news for Australians: social media (via mostly viral, opinion, and video based content primarily from News.com.au and Sky News pages on Facebook and YouTube).

Remember this point - spoiler alert: it’s important.

At the recent senate enquiries, News Corp claims there is in fact diversity - focusing on different mediums such as online, social media, radio, television etc. available to represent “diversity”. This is response refers to medium diversity, and is quite frankly a misdirection based on a technicality to avoid the real question. Classic News Corp.

Rudd says “each story published online or broadcast over the airwaves finds its point of origin in a print story, often a Murdoch print story". The former PM is referring to content diversity where factual reporting reigns supreme, and different points of view are given equal time in the sun without the blurring of opinion and fact.

As Kevin likes to say: “pigs might fly”

While you might be thinking “so what? News Corp is strong in print and social, Nine is strong for television and online news, ABC is strong on radio and social, Seven is strong on radio and television etc” - I’d like to ask you a question: where then is the accountability for elected officials in the media?

The Murdoch press won’t say a word about the Coalition’s ever growing laundry list of corruption, negligence, ineptitude or incompetence, but if a Labor politician sneezes, they’re likely to be labelled a Covid super spreader on the front page of 15 national and state papers the next day.

How about this doozy from the Herald Sun in May 2021 after Dan Andrews quite literally broke his back and took medical leave:

I didn’t see one peep from the Murdoch reptiles about Morrison's three day actual disappearing act only last week after his bogus "AstraZeneca is OK for under 40’s / go to your GP” comments.

The key thing to point out here is that the news provider who ranks number one in Australia's largest news medium (social media) is a well known right wing protection racket that doesn’t show any signs of slowing down, and there's mountains of evidence that exists to prove they don’t play a fair game.

Let’s Go To the Numbers

To really drill down into how important online media control is, I found the Digital News Report: Australia 2021 (i.e “the report” for the rest of this article), recently published by the University of Canberra by way of the Reuters Digital News Report: 2021

Below I've outlined a number of key headers from the report, and more specifically tried to point out exactly where Murdoch and News Corp are exploiting and manipulating their way into control. The data shows us both what has been going on, and the direction it will likely continue in.

Having worked in digital marketing for the better part of the last four years, I couldn’t wait to dive into this data and explain just how much of a rort this all is for the sake of profit.

1: Local News

Replaced by Murdoch Sky News, Invests in Social Media

“For ‘hard news’ such as local politics, economy, crime and health, local news consumers continue to turn to traditional local news outlets, such as the newspaper or TV. However, for most other news and information, consumers are using internet search and other internet sites to get localised information.”

The report tells us that:

“2020 was a difficult year in Australian news sector, with news companies closing or suspended. This is in part a response to the COVID-19 pandemic, but it reflects a longer-term gradual decline in newspaper consumption that is replaced by online offerings”

So why did the BBC report in 2020 that Murdoch shuts 112 Australia print papers in major digital shift? CNN covered it too, as did the Guardian. I couldn’t find anything on a Murdoch owned site or outlet. That’s because Rupert is rolling out “Sky News Regional” to replace them all.

The report outlines:

“This year’s data highlights the important role of newspapers in generating a sense of community, particularly among older news consumers . Further, newspapers are perceived to be the best source of information about local government and politics, which is central to the functioning and accountability of local communities. It is important for industry and government to remember that the closure of a local newspaper not only leaves a gap in the provision of quality news, but also a loss of critical information that is connected to people’s sense of attachment to their community”

How on earth does one far-right Sydney run “news” channel represent hundreds of regional communities? Answer: It doesn’t - it’s designed to influence regional voters to think the way that suits the Murdoch press agenda.

2: Impartiality of News

Murdoch Cuts ABC Funding via Coalition, Ramps-Up Online Polarisation

The report tells us that 

“traditionally, values of independence, and impartiality — or ‘objectivity’ — have been central to journalism’s mission and deemed important to perceptions of trust in news. However, in the digital media environment, former demarcations between news, features, opinion, and advertising continue to blur.

“News audiences are becoming more polarised and are increasingly attracted to news brands that offer partisan perspectives.”

What you’re seeing here is that while the data reveals a strong desire for news outlets to attempt fairness, balance, and an impartial approach to reporting - the demographics more likely to use social media (the medium that Murdoch now leads, mostly containing Millennials and Gen Z) are less supportive of impartiality, neutrality and giving equal time. More on this in Part 8.

On the flip side: 

"news consumers who prefer impartiality are much more likely to say they distrust news on social media.”

“Both the 2020 and 2021 data highlight that these traditional journalism ideals are more strongly supported by older generations and those who use traditional sources of news."

You need not look further than the blatant defunding of the ABC to see how the Murdoch Cancer continues to take over.

So, if the majority of Australians believe the ABC is impartial and does a “good job”, why has the ABC had $783m in funding cut since 2014 by the Coalition government?

Seems to suit the Murdoch agenda pretty nicely.

3: News Representation

Low Media Literacy in Under-Represented Demographics

“Importantly, a large proportion of Australians say they don’t know if the amount of media coverage of ‘people like them’ is sufficient or fair. Those who have low education are much more likely to say they don’t know. This indicates a lack of engagement and adequate media literacy to identify misrepresentation and bias in the news.

“Combined with a lack of awareness about misinformation, lower interest in and consumption of news, these findings confirm the ongoing need for targeted media literacy interventions"

The only way the public can push back against misinformation is by knowing they’re witnessing it first hand. That does not suit what Murdoch is selling.

Misinformation breeds confusion, smoke and mirrors, and is aided by political spin, gaslighting and stone throwing to keep people moderately confused and ultimately giving up on understanding the “truth”, or, deciding their own convenient version of truth.

The closure of the Australian Alternative Press due to revoked funding by Nine and News Corp in 2020 should be enough to tell you the media landscape is gravitating consistently to the right.

4: News Access

People Losing Interest, Murdoch Keeps the Elderly Onside

As traditional mediums (television, radio, and print) are on the decline, social media and online news is on the rise with the aid of mobile device popularity (45% of Australians preferred news devices).

It's not a surprise to learn that during COVID-19, older Australians have increasingly turned to social media platforms to get news.

“The percentage of 75+ who use social media as their main source of news has more than tripled in two years from 3% to 10%. Among this age group, social media is now comparable to print use.” the report states.

While it’s hard to point this as a direct plot by News Corp, this is still great news for Murdoch. All News Corp had to do was weaken the traditional mediums that aren’t making them as much money, and push the audience toward social media. It worked.

75+ votes still count, and they are more likely to click the “clickbait” articles to make News Corp that sweet, sweet ad platform revenue.

5: Emerging New Habits 

Murdoch Funds the Fuel for the Fire

Despite people being somewhat varied on their social media usage for news specifically, the important statistic here is that more than half of Australians consume news videos.

The below statistics from the ABC should set alarm bells screaming. To put it plainly:

More people on social media than ever before

Murdoch ramps up social media content (Facebook posts / videos & YouTube videos mainly), then mega-funds paid advertising on said content

Drives subscribers and views through the roof

Overtakes ABC (yes, the one he’s got his politician friends/puppets actively defunding)

Don’t believe me? See for yourself.

The ABC outlines that: 

“Fact Check has analysed audience data for media accounts on what Canberra University found were the two most popular platforms: Facebook (used by 39 per cent of news consumers ) and YouTube (21 per cent).”

“Data from the analytics site Social Blade shows that Sky News Australia's YouTube channel had more than a million subscribers at the start of 2021, having doubled its following in just six months. Its subscriber base began to pull ahead of Channel 7 and Channel 9 from mid-2020, and by March 2021 Sky had overtaken ABC News”

The University of Canberra report aligns to these trends, and summaries that:

“Australian news consumers are accessing news online from a diverse range of sources including news videos, podcast apps, and numerous social media platforms alongside traditional branded news websites.”

“Although social (media) is the most common main pathway to news online it is common for consumers on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and Instagram to say they mostly see news incidentally while they are on those platforms for other reasons.”

6: Trust and Misinformation

Rupert’s Bread & Butter

“Tackling disinformation and misinformation is complex and won’t be solved by platforms alone. Responsibility must be shared across governments, digital platforms, users, news media and society to make sure Australians can access accurate and reliable news and information online, while ensuring rights to freedom of expression are protected.”

Creina Chapman, Deputy Chair, Australian Communications and Media Authority

This in part ties back to my earlier points in part 3 regarding media literacy - the report indicates that trust remains high where people use both multiple mediums AND multiple sources for news. This is further compounded by the evidence that low educated readers are less likely to know they’ve encountered misinformation.

The report confirms this by indicating:

“The differences between high and low educated Australian consumers in relation to concern about COVID-19 misinformation and their ability to discern it, points to an ongoing need to boost media and information literacy among socio-economically disadvantaged groups in Australia”

The ABC and SBS still continue to be the most trusted brands, however, it needs to be highlighted that “Local or Regional Newspaper” comes in third (62% trustworthy) - the vast majority of which Murdoch owns.

In 2020, survey participants were most concerned about Australian governments and politicians being sources of general misinformation (35%), followed by activists or activist groups (20%).

Despite this, 2021 shows that trust in news has increased in 2021 (43%), rebounding off trust associated with COVID-19 news reporting. The report breaks this down further:

“The data show(s) that concern about journalism as a source of misinformation about COVID-19 is very low (9%). In 2018, we asked about ‘fake news’ and 63% of news consumers said they were concerned about poor quality journalism as a source of ‘fake news’, and 40% said they had encountered it. This signals a possible positive shift in perception of journalism after 12 months of reporting expert health advice about the COVID-19 pandemic.”

"The data also highlight(s) ongoing low levels of trust in news found on social media (18%) compared to trust in news generally. Given much of the news encountered on digital platforms is the same as that which appears on the homepages and front pages of well-respected news brands, the findings suggest that the nature of the online environment itself is one the factors lowering perceptions of trust, rather than the news content."

Creina Chapman, Deputy Chair, Australian Communications and Media Authority states in the report that:

“In the context of online news, nearly two-thirds of Australians remain concerned about what is real and fake on the internet. And a variety of surveys over the past 12 months have shown a concerning portion of the population believe dangerous falsehoods about COVID-19 that have been circulating online.

"Any lack of trust in authoritative or reliable sources of news and information is particularly worrisome during a global pandemic, as it may drive people to spaces where misinformation is more prevalent. This, in turn, increases exposure to false conspiratorial narratives that can result in real-world harm to both individual users and broader societal institutions”

Where does Murdoch benefit here? Same as always: smoke, mirrors, confusion, and spin all wrapped into enormous volumes of social media content.

7: Paying for News and Funding Journalism

Conveniently Avoiding the Issue

“To ensure media diversity and plurality in Australia, a mix of substantive, fiscal measures is necessary to support, transition and stimulate existing news businesses and encourage new entrants”

Anna Draffin, Chief Executive Officer, Public Interest Journalism Initiative

Despite a fair and balanced media being a must-have for any democracy - this is not surprising, given the low amounts of trust for online media content. Overall, given that Australians are not concerned about the poor financial state of news outlets, it’s sad but not surprising that many feel the government should not step in to help.

What is the most dangerous here is the simple fact that when there’s no money to fund decent and ethical journalism, we end up with tabloids, opinion pieces, shock jocks, and anything that just gets you to first: SEE it (an “impression” in the marketing world) and second: CLICK on it. Both of these things make News Corp richer.

Here’s the report evidence:

“A quarter (25%) of left-wing news consumers and 27% of centre-leaning are supportive of government intervention (to assist struggling journalism). However, more than half of right-wing (58%) news consumers are opposed to government assistance for financially struggling news companies."

“This is consistent with the findings that left-wing news consumers are more likely to say they are concerned about the financial state of news businesses (41%) compared to centre (37%) or right-wing (34%) news consumers”.

News consumers who think their political views are represented fairly for online news are another win for Murdoch. This is compounded by the fact that those who think news should take a position are also more likely to pay for that news.

That means if the mainstream media is pro-right wing, for example, then more people look at right wing news and pay for right wing reporting, ultimately leaving the left without funding, and fighting a losing battle. All Murdoch needs to do is discredit who he deems as “left” and it’s game over.

But Murdoch doesn’t need subscriptions. That’s just pocket money for him. With the introduction of the News Media Bargaining Code, Rupert & News Corp continue to improve their financial revenue streams through digital marketing strategies (views and clicks) without needing people to pay for fact based, objective journalism.

8: Political Orientation

Stealing the Centre & Making Opinion the “News”

Of all the elements of this report, this one shocks and upsets me the most.

The majority of Australians (61%) identify with the centre-left of politics (30% political ‘centre’ and 31% identify as either ‘very left-wing’, ‘fairly left-wing’ or ‘slightly left of centre’).

Only 22% of Australians align themselves with the right wing, and 18% don’t know their political orientation.

Younger generations have historically been the drivers of progressive social change, and younger Australians are more concerned about the environment and the impacts of things like climate change and equality.

Clare Armstrong, National Political Reporter at the The Daily Telegraph outlines in the commentary that: 

“many young Australians may rightly feel their futures, livelihoods and social activities have been either jeopardised or overlooked by a centre-right government, and subsequently a larger cohort has been pushed toward the left”

To begin in closing, based on this - how do Conservative/Right Wing parties keep winning federal elections?

It’s by doing exactly what we’ve mentioned in the first 7 sections:

Flooding the online and social media landscape with non-factual spin and confusion

This is aided by the bedrock of owning the majority of national, capital city, and regional papers which in turn steer the daily political narrative on television/radio

This is all driven home by bullying competitors into following suit, or, suffering the consequences

There is no governing or peer run body with teeth (or guts) to hold Murdoch and News Corp responsible or accountable

According to the report; 

“Younger generations, who say they feel less attached to their local community, and who also access social media widely for general news, are more likely to seek local news and information from the internet and online platforms.”

As Clare Armstrong also states: 

“Social media has significantly fuelled political polarisation in the last decade as its algorithms, by design, show users more of what they want to see, rather than a broader mix of ideas presented in traditional media.”

In summary - this quote from the Political Orientation trends leaves a long-lasting impression on my psyche:

“Left-wing news consumers (61% of the country) are more comfortable with news that takes a position rather than maintaining neutrality.”

Rupert has them right where he wants them: thinking that opinion is news.

[ihatetaxes99]

THE YAKUZA AND THE PHOENIX - A BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA FANFICTION

"See, the problem with people like you," Commented the cool, sanitised yet utterly terrifying voice of Kai Chisaki as he kneeled down just in the very corner of the hero's peripheral vision. "Is that you relied far too much on that disgusting disease that plagues every last vein in your Godforsaken body. Maybe if you had just thought ahead a little… Has this illness robbed you of your senses, too? Left you as useless as a newborn? Not that it matters. It's far too late by now for any part of you to begin thinking about what could have been. I mean, just take a look around." He raised one hand to adjust his mask, while using the other to gesture to the scene around the two, one filled with flame and destruction. "If you had thought to bring police, tried to corner me with rifles, well you might have had some sort of success. I'm not stupid enough to resist against live bullets. But no. Your sickening Quirk has left you with such delusions that you thought you could stand to take me on alone."

The young woman's eyes filled with nothing but pure steel as she looked up at him. There was no fear to be found in the glare she delivered the man known as Overhaul, in spite of the terror bubbling in the pits of her stomach, constantly threatening to rise to the top. But she would not let it. Not in front of this Chisaki bastard, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he had won.

"No words?" The man sighed, poking her lightly in the head as if to provoke a reaction. "Like a kid who doesn't get their way. Stubborn to the end. What a pain you are. The worst kinds of people are the ones who don't realize they're infected. They have no true redemption in their future. It's kind of weird when you think about it. What a shame… Not that it's any of my concern. I'm more interested in just why you and your ridiculous headgear have been following me around all day. Do you have an answer for that?" He grabbed her by the back of the hair, and pulled her face up to look at his. "I'd prefer an answer as soon as possible, so I can minimise the amount of contact made with your disgusting body."

There was only one way the woman knew she could respond to this and that way landed directly on the suspected Yakuza's forehead. "Why would I tell you anything, asshole? You won't get anything out of the Phoenix."

The man actually audibly growled, like a feral wolf, as he slammed her head into the asphalt. She felt her nose break as blood streamed from it onto the road. It was probably one of the lesser injuries she had incurred that day. Chisaki got to his feet and produced a spotless handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face of the hero's saliva. "How childish." His voice was full of pure, deep contempt. "How filthy. Were you never taught manners? Are you mentally deficient? Hmph. Not that I should expect any more from a hero who calls themselves the Phoenix. How cliché." With that, he returned to his kneeling position over her limp body, she practically felt his shadow drop over her as the smell of burning embers filled her nose. Were those sirens she heard? They were faint, but what else could they be? Were they coming in her direction? One ear was completely busted up, so she couldn't tell. Looking up to the man who supposedly went by Overhaul, her peripheral vision severely limited by her complete and total lack of a right eye, she found her mind drifting away to the beginning of the day. When things had seemed oh so simple. When she still had all her limbs and when life had generally been more preferable when contrasted against her current predicament.

When had it all gone so wrong?

---------------------

"So, all I have to do is follow the bugger?" Twenty-three year old Misa Kawajiri enquired into her phone as she took small, meticulous sips from her large Coke, sitting atop a rooftop in the very heart of the city, occasionally reaching into the bag next to her to dig out a fry or two and jam them into her mouth. This was the life, no doubt about it. The young woman, who went by the heroic moniker of the Phoenix, was elated whenever she was sent on surveillance patrols by her agency. Most other pro heroes would consider such work to be beneath them, it mostly consisted of hounding tax evaders, low-rent rank-and-file grunts and conmen, there was almost certainly never a tang of excitement to be found. This was the reason most heroes preferred more interesting work and it was the reason why Kawajiri adored such jobs. For her, it was a chance to slow down, chill out and enjoy life at a bit of a slower pace than usual. She definitely was not above having time to unwind and take things at a more reasonable pace. Of course, today's surveillance was already beginning to sound more interesting. It had started out with monitoring some basement-dwelling Otaku who shared anti-hero sentiments on internet forums, so not exactly a thrill ride there, as evidenced by the fact that Misa had left halfway through to get herself a McDonald's. But her new target, as assigned to her by her employers at the agency…

"His name's Kai Chisaki." Rang the cool, clerical voice of Phoenix's supervisor. "Mid to late twenties, germaphobe. He isn't often seen out and about, instead residing largely in the Shie Hassaikai's compound."

"Hassaiaki?" The hero of the sky's ears perked up at that. "He's Yakuza?"

"As far as we know, yes. We can't trace back any records of a family, except for Kazama Chisaki, his uncle, who was also associated with the organization before his death, although not as a full member."

"Interesting…" The girl pondered. "So, why are we following him, then? The Hassaikai have a good reputation, right?" Her words were slightly muffled as she jammed more fries in her mouth at that moment than was probably reasonable.

"That they do, Phoenix. They're underground. There have been search warrants on the premises before, but nothing suspicious was turned up. They're a Yakuza group in name only right now, nothing worth worrying about. But Chisaki? He's different. You're going to be following him for reasons unrelated to his activity within the clan."

"Oh?" Misa cupped her free ear with her hand so that she could better hear the man on the other end of the phone.

"In short, we have reasons to believe he's been peddling Trigger behind the backs of his bosses. Obviously, I don't need to tell you about that."

She nodded, although that was a tad redundant, considering the voice on the other end could not see her. The experimental drug known for its Quirk-bolstering properties was nothing to trifle with, and it had only grown more popular in recent time. "Why do you think he's doing so?"

"Money, probably. Who knows with these criminal types? The point remains that we have reason to believe he's out and about today. I've sent you an image of him on your phone. Follow him, see what he's up to. When a hermit like him comes out of the woodwork, it can never be good. Not for anybody." And with that, her superior hung up, leaving Misa to her own thoughts. In being left this way, she dug her knees up tucked under her chin and sulked for a bit, confident that nobody could see her act in such a childish manner, taking the odd glance at the image. He was a shockingly handsome young fellow, with sharp yellow eyes, ruffled brown hair and a suit, he looked the part of any well-meaning businessman. The only weird aspect was the steampunk-esque plague doctor mask clamped around his mouth. She shrugged it off as probably having something to do with his Quirk, whatever that was.

"This sucks." She groaned as she reached for her helmet, which mostly served as a fancy shell to hold the visor that shielded her eyes from the wind. "I don't wanna have to pursue Yakuza drug dealers, it's just no good. Give me a fat, tinfoil hat loser ranting about conspiracies any day. Surveillance is supposed to be a break from the hard stuff. But nooo, it just has to be more of it, doesn't it?" She sighed, the air whistling over her lips, as she tossed aside her empty bag. Stretching upwards, allowing her skintight suit to hug her body, she felt her wings extend from her body. It was always a glorious sensation to be felt, the pure rush of it all. She adored it beyond belief, the best part of the job. With a cheeky grin, the young hero spread her arms…

… And let herself fall from the building's roof.

---------------------

Filthy. The very lot of them, surrounded by filth and dirt and all manner of unpleasantries. It was enough to break young Kai Chisaki out in hives, it truly was. Absolutely repulsive. How horrendous to have to walk amongst the common people, all of them no doubt inflicted with that despicable illness. As he made his way down the crowded high street, bumping into the occasional commuter, he felt the irresistible urge to lift up the sleeve of his green coat and scratch at the lumps on his arm. Urgh. The very lot of them, disgusting. He was rapidly remembering why he vastly preferred to remain indoors. And yet, he had to do this. He couldn't entrust mere goons with carrying out the mission, not even the Eight Precepts of Death. This had to be done by him and him alone. He felt the cold metal rub against his stomach from the inside pocket of his coat. What depraved things that guns were. Alas, they were a necessary evil, and still far better than Quirks. As he walked, he had no clue of the eyes following him as he did so. Misa Kawajiri worked fast and had found him in mere minutes. Was he aware of this, he would almost have applauded her.

Key word: Almost.

"He's carrying some sort of briefcase..." The girl noted to herself as she watched him. Luckily, his mask made him very distinctive for anyone who may be looking for him, so she had not had much trouble. "Is that relevant to whatever he's up to?" The questions were racing through her head in spite of her better judgement. She couldn't help but wonder about the good-looking, well-dressed young fellow with Yakuza ties. It was all so odd to her, and new. She didn't often run into anything so… exciting, was probably the word. And normally, Phoenix abhorred exciting. But something about it just seemed alluring. Maybe it was more the man than the danger, who really knew? Certainly not her.

…

DAMN.

Wrapped up in her own little thoughts, Kawajiri had lost Chisaki. He had seeped into the crowd. That wasn't good, not good at all. Not even wasting a second, Misa once again extended her wings and took off into the air, in search of the fellow she was shadowing. Stupid Misa, she cursed herself. How had she been so stupid? She really needed to focus more. Her eyes scanned the surroundings as she flew over an alleyway that served as a gap between two buildings.

And in that very alleyway, Kai Chisaki now stood, facing a triage. They were common street thugs, Overhaul had done his research. Nothing big, they were unheard of, just worthless druggies with not a thing to their names and a whole heap of desperation for power, power that they had no clue what to do with. In other words, the perfect suckers to lure in.

"Gentlemen." The distinguished Yakuza bowed. The goons showed no such respect in return. Was it really so hard to show the baseline politeness required of a person? These kinds of people pissed him off the most. Fortunately, the mask obstructed his grimace as he set the silver case on the ground and entered in a combination. A few seconds passed and then it clicked open. "Here's your bloody Trigger. Ten vials, enough to give the three of you a bolster in your path- In your Quirks for up to forty-eight hours. If you have any questions, I would advise you ask now."

The thugs all shared looks with one another. They appeared satisfied at the very least, yet the one in the middle, a big guy with muscles to rival All Might- Well, the former All Might- seemed incredulous to some degree. 

"So, what yer tellin' us, Chisaki-"

"I would prefer if you called me Overhaul."

"-Right. Sorry." His accent was just thick enough to get under the Yakuza's skin. "Yer sayin' that we don' hafta pay for any of this?"

To this, Kai shrugged. "Consider it a first-time buyer's guarantee. If you want more later down the line, that's when you'll have to start paying me. Otherwise, take it." He kicked the briefcase, sending it sliding towards the men. "It's all yours." For a moment, it seemed like the huge guy was about to protest, but at looking at the vials, his greed got the better of him, and he allowed a wide grin to overcome his face, no doubt imagining what his improved Quirk would be like. Disgusting animal.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya, Mr. Overhaul." He gloated as he picked up the case, his cronies hovering around him as they sneaked looks at the drug. Now was probably the best time to strike, while they were blinded by their own pathetic delusions of grandeur.

"Likewise." Chisaki responded, reaching into his coat, as if trying to find a cigarette. "Say, you three, have you ever wondered what society would be like without Quirks? How far we could have advanced by now if we hadn't had to restart everything to accommodate the idea of superpowers?" The men stared at him like he was mad, which was to be expected. "It's just something I've been thinking about." He admitted as he pulled the gun from his coat and aimed it squarely at the large man's head. "Let's test it out. You'll survive, of course."

"What the fuck?" The scumbag growled as he dropped the case in shock. "You pullin' a gun on us? Guess what, you skinny prick? It's three on one. Shoulda thought about that before pullin' a betrayal!"

"Probably." Kai noted nonchalantly as he took aim and fired.

The bullet ricocheted up against a wall in the alley as the metallic weapon was knocked from his hand by a kick. And not a kick from one of the steroided-up goons. No, one aimed from above.

"Looks like I caught you boys in the act." Phoenix grinned as she stood, legs firmly apart, eying up Kai. "Trying to betray the dudes you're selling drugs to really isn't a great idea, I must add." 

…

Filthy…

Sickening….

"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE??!!" Kai Chisaki screamed, his voice carrying high up into the sky as he stared down the hero, his pupils small and mad in their sockets. "HOW DARE YOU TOUCH ME??!! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU??!!" He was completely enraged, sweat pouring from his forehead as he grasped at his hair. "DISGUSTING, DISGUSTING, DISGUSTING!!" He appeared to be on the receiving end of a full-on breakdown. All this over being kicked in the hand? No, it couldn't just be that. Already, the receivers of the Trigger had fled, stolen briefcase in hand. It really had been their lucky day.

"Woah, calm down, Chisaki-"

"Who gave you the right to call me that?!" He demanded, his voice slightly softer now. "And do you have any idea how difficult those bullets were to manufacture? I simply cannot afford to waste them!" Turning his back on Kawajiri, he picked up the gun, examining it for damages, and then wiped it clean with his white surgical gloves.

"Hey, creep! Stay right where you are!" Misa was petrified. She truly was. Something about this guy just was not right at all. She had been told he was a major germaphobe, but was it this bad? Enough to push him into insanity at a moment's touch? "You're under arrest for possession distribution of illegal narcotics." She was basically reading off the rulebook, saying what she was supposed to say in such situations. But nothing about this felt normal. Why was he so focused on the gun? "Stand down and await for police transport."

"You think I would heed such commands from a filthy piece of scum like yourself?" Suddenly, Kai was cool, clinical, yet again as he calmly pointed the gun in her direction. Phoenix nearly felt her heart stop. "Maybe you'll make a better test subject." His finger tightened on the trigger of the handgun. Misa had no time to think, no time to plan.

She simply ran forwards, charging the villain as he steadied his aim. Another loud bang echoed from the gun. She felt it tear her suit as it whizzed past her, but she managed to just barely evade it. Now, she was too full of adrenaline to stop, as she ploughed towards Chisaki. As she drew closer, she reached out, grabbing for his arm… She had to restrain him and fast.

"DON'T LAY YOUR FILTH-ENCRUSTED FINGERS ON ME FOR EVEN A SECOND!!" Overhaul yelled, back to unconcealed rage, as he slammed his hand down onto the ground. From nowhere, burst large columns of rock from beneath the concrete, sending the heroine flying back a few inches and separating the two. 

"Woah..." Was this his Quirk? She hadn't seen anything like it before. The rock wall stretched all the way up, totally shielding the Yakuza from her. It twisted up into the blue sky, as far as the eye could see. And then, she heard his voice, once again calm, from the other side.

"You made me use my Quirk." The man stated. "I hate this thing, but you left me with no other option. For that, I truly do feel some sort of hatred for you. So, I suppose I really feel no guilt in using you as my little guinea pig." Then, he fell silent again, as Phoenix paced around, trying to look for some sort of opening in the wall. Suddenly, she heard a rush of wind behind her and snapped around her head just fast enough to see Overhaul rushing at her. Now, Kawajiri had no clue just what his Quirk did yet, but she figured letting him touch her was a bad idea, so she took off into the air, hovering out of his reach.

"So, a flight Quirk, eh?" Chisaki sighed. His hair was ruffled, the purple fur on his coat torn in places and his bleach white tie flicking wildly with the motion from his rapid movements. "I must admit, I've never been great with moving targets." Once again, the pistol was out, pointed at her. No, she shouldn't panic. Judging from earlier, whatever bullets he loaded the thing with were very precious and so, he wouldn't waste them unless he knew there was a guaranteed chance of hitting her. She was safe for now.

She realized she had been foolish to think that even as the spiked column of rock dug itself up from the ground and impaled her right through the stomach, sending her back, right out of the alley and into the streets outside. She heard a scream as she slammed into a car, feeling the metal crunch behind her. Her vision was hazy, like that of a drunk, but she could still make out the suited villain walking slowly towards her as civilians fled the area. Well, all except for one man, who clearly realized that Kai was up to no good and tried to charge him. Without even looking in his direction, his gaze fixed on Misa, Overhaul's arm made contact with the brave man's chest and he exploded into nothingness.

"What the hell?!" Phoenix yelled. She felt like throwing up at the man's remains splattered the asphalt So this Quirk… It could erect pillars of rock, reduce humans to nothing, what was it exactly? She couldn't even think straight in her current state to try to decipher the answer.

"Isn't it kind of weird how people always try to act the hero? I've noticed that. I swear, this world has been poisoned beyond belief. Can I even cure it? Is that possible?" She felt cold metal as the bastard jammed the gun into her gaping mouth. "All I know is that I can try my very best. Starting here. You'll be my first patient, my girl. The first to be cured."

"Bite me." She hissed as she aimed a kick at his side, which somehow connected, winding the Yakuza just long enough for Misa to stagger to her feet. It felt like she had multiple broken ribs. Those could wait. "I think I get your shtick now. You think Quirks are disgusting or something, right? Yeah, just like any of those Creature Rejection Clan nutjobs. But you think you can bring an end to them, right?" She coughed up some blood onto her fist as she held Chisaki's gaze. "Well, think again, dickwad. You really think that you're some great saviour. I dunno what you have planned, but it sure as hell won't be anything that won't see you crushed like the pathetic little man you are!" And with that, she took flight again, aiming a kick at his head.

Before she even knew it, another column had travelled right through her left eye with a fleshy squealtch, blood coating the rock as she hurtled backwards, her fall stopped by a large vehicle that the rock pinned her to.

"Jesus… That it?" She spat, as Kai approached her yet again, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Then, he stepped backwards. Then again. Then, he spun around and started walking away. Misa was completely taken aback. "What?! You just leaving, you limp-dicked bastard? That ain't how a saviour acts, is it? Running away from a fight?" Her attempts at provocation did nothing to stop him and when the young woman tilted her head just a little, she saw why.

"Ah-" She started, before the oil tanker she had been pinned to exploded. The shockwave could be felt for blocks to come, glass shattered from the skyscrapers above as the world was thrown upside down. Everything went white for Misa Kawajiri, then black.

---------------------

Damn. That really had escalated quickly. And now, the pro hero lay, amongst the rubble, with one eye, a busted ear, no legs and a stump of an arm. The Yakuza stood above her. 

"I'll be willing to overlook your blatant lack of manners." Overhaul growled as he resumed his kneeling position. "In fact, I'll let you be saved. I'll be the one to save you. Isn't that something? A sickening power-infected freak like you, given a second chance by a humble Yakuza. And after everything you've done to me. You have been one hell of an annoyance. But, I guess you'll have started to make it up to me if Eri's little bullets end up working." The girl felt metal press into her side. Why was he so eager to shoot her? It must have something to do with whatever he was planning. The last thing Misa Kawajiri heard was the crack of a gunshot, the last thing she felt was the pain of the bullet entering her body, and then, she fell still. A second or two passed before Kai hovered his hand over her head.

"All going well, you have been deprived of your filthy Quirk." He noted, more to himself as the hero was now deeply unconscious. "Now, just to fix you up." He pushed his hand down on her and the woman's body blew apart in a spectacular show of blood and gore. Just a few seconds later, it reassembled, all limbs, eyes and anything else re-attached. With a satisfied nod, the man got to his feet.

"You'll live peacefully for the rest of your days." He told her, turning his back on her and walking away from the destruction that lay sprawled out like the play area of a particularly deranged and angry child, as if it had just been another day at the office, adjusting his tie. "No Quirk, no heroics, no excitement. I hope you're cut out for a desk job, Phoenix. It's all you have in your future. You're welcome."

[akechicrimes]

bro all this time we've been joking about akechi being the homura but it was aKIRA FKJHFKD HIM AND HIS REALITY ALTERING TO KEEP THE PERSON HE LOVES W HIM LMAO HHHHH (joking but also hhhhh)

IT’S NOT EVEN A JOKE THO I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS ALLNIGHT

ok ok ok ok ok ok LISTEN

there’s not a lot of hardcore decisions that change fatealtogether in p5 vanilla.  in all of akira’s social links, you can’teven reverse the s link. s links rank up eventually, even ifyou choose all the wrong answers. you can get a game over, but these endingsare pretty standard (akira gets imprisoned/caught, change of heart doesn’thappen). when i was playing the game, i got this feeling like i couldn’t fuckup–not in a way that mattered or was interesting. i used one save the entiretime, except once, to take yaldo’s deal and get the bad ending. 

in terms of putting in the work to help your social links, atmost you go into mementos and beat up some people for your friends. evenmaruki’s entire palace can be pretty railroaded (like a lot of p5′s palaces),so you don’t struggle too hard with the place. 

but in p5r there’s suddenly a ton of timeline-alteringdecisions, that meaningfully and drastically change the end of the game.

and they’re all related to whether or not akechisurvives.

all of a sudden, if you don’t know what all those dialogue choices do, you have to choose one and see what happens and fuck up and reload and do it all again. you have to try and try and try and try.

for the first time, you gotta really really really really WORK tosave one of your friends. not just akira. you, the player, become homura going that extra mile and then some to save akechi.

because all these decisions are player-controlled, all of a sudden the livestreamer’s saving all over the place andusing different files because we don’t even know when and where he needs to bein the game timeline in order to change akechi’s fate. i was fucking cacklingwhen tim started reloading saves the first time in order to change the beddecision. in game mechanics, he was literally homuraing his way to save akechi.likemollypaup pointed out, there are SO many hoops you have to jump through inorder to save akechi.

P5r does a very clever thing wrt being a remake of anexisting story: p5r goes into the storyline with the assumption that youknow that akechi is slated to die, despite the fact that some players reallywant him to live. by the time we get to the third trimester, both of thosefeelings become explicit: akira explicitly willed akechi backto life, and akechi explicitly is destined to die at the endof the dreamworld. P5r plays with the idea that akechi is a character weliterally all know is supposed to die, and then introduces an entire storylinemechanic by which we have to confront the fact that in-universe, akechi is nowsupposed to die again, and that akira as a character with feelings and acharacter arc doesn’t want this to happen. (ALSO HELLO REMIND ME TO TALKABOUT AKIRA’S NEW CHARACTER ARC SOME OTHER TIME)

in other words, akechi’s survival is now explicitlythe emotional stakes of the story. in terms of narrative structure, akechi becomesakira’s reason for fighting as hard as he does. akechi’s survival becomes amatter of whether or not you can change fate—fate that was decreed by persona 5classic’s linear narrative that renders the player unable to change the boiler roomscene no matter what you do, and also for in-universe reasons.

and then p5r was like: if you want a good ending where helives, you better fucking work for it. 

(especially so if you need to spend the entirety of p5classic’s timeline collecting jose’s stars, but that hasn’t been confirmedyet.)

none of the other s links are like this!!! you don’t have tobounce around royal’s timeline looking for some way to keep him alive likeyou’re sissel from ghost trick!! you don’t get entire different game endingsbased on whether or not you did your akechi-saving homework!!! in the othersocial links, it just all falls into place.

the relationship between how much effort you invest in aperson and how much you care goes both ways. the really interesting thing aboutvideo games is that when achieving something is hard, actually achieving itfeels more meaningful. in the s links where the game kind of hands the goodending to you, it always felt to me like I hadn’t earned it. when the gamewithholds something from you, you start to want it more. people with acompletionist streak playing p5r WILL come out of it feeling some type of wayabout akechi because it’s so fucking god damn hard to save him, and because somuch work goes into accomplishing it.

and of course it goes the opposite way too: one of the clearestways that someone can show that they really care about someone is forthem to go the extra mile for them.

in-universe, akira does go the extra mile. he goes withtoranosuke to his weird political dinners. he accompanies iwai to a yakuzastandoff. he goes through an entire palace for futaba. but for me, theplayer? these events are pretty railroaded and scripted. I myself am not goingthe extra mile. i am expecting there to be a palace and a boss that I need tofight for futaba and I more or less know that I need to level up in order to doit. it’s straightforward. i as the player am not saving and reloading andreloading again trying to figure out what dialogue decision specifically willsave futaba, because futaba’s storyline doesn’t have that opportunity tofuck up so horrendously that she dies (barring getting a game over). Akechi isthe first character in persona 5 that I’m really feeling like it’s genuinely difficultto help him, because of p5 classic’s assertion that he seems to die no matterwhat you do, because of the decision-making process in p5r, and also becausetakuto is apparently stronger than fucking GOD if you want to get past him andget any sort of good ending.

tl;dr the really cool thing about p5r right now to me isthat the game makes you, the player, fight for akechi’ssurvival. like!!!!!!! it’s a really clever way of showing how much akira mustreally really really want to save this one boy in particular, againstall fucking odds including death and reality itself in a way that’svery specific to the video game genre!!!!!!! 

[notquitecanon]

Billionaires, Archers, and Spies, OH MY!  Marvel Criminal Minds crossover pt. 2 (reader insert) ___

Part one! 

Sorry for the horrendous title. Not much about the BAU in this one, but we’re getting there

______

When Coulson said ASAP, he meant ASAP. No sooner than you had been settled into a provided apartment, you were escorted to the Airport to fly to an aircraft carrier. There, Coulson introduced you to Maria Hill who gave you access to an office. There you were given file-upon-file about one, Clint Barton.

You built a solid profile based on the files, and then when you felt you had a good basis- you boxed up the files, shut your notebooks, and (as you had been told) pressed a button. Two minutes later, a man in a SHIELD issue suit walked in.

You immediately recognized him as Clint Barton, and smiled at him, “Hello, Agent Barton, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m going to ask you some questions, please answer honestly- there aren’t right or wrong answers.”

“Aren’t there always?” Clint grinned, slouching into the seat across from your makeshift desk. You just quirked an eyebrow as you sat down.

“So let’s start at the beginning. What was your childhood like?” You asked, watching everything from his breathing to how he drummed his fingers on his knees. Hyper Vigilant, channels into constant movement.

He gave a brief overview of his childhood, his parents Edith and Harold, growing up in small-town Iowa, graduating high school, but focusing on his marksmanship afterward.  “If you’re wondering if something traumatic happened, it didn’t.”

“I never assumed, but thank you for the clarification.” You nodded, noticing his aversion to your questioning-hiding something.

“Ok, well, according to your file, Nick Fury hand-picked you for your skills. Marksmanship, archery if I remember correctly? That must have been quite an honor.” You remarked, eyes carefully watching his facial expressions: a huffed (sarcastic) chuckle, a slight smirk, and his eyes flitted out the window looking up- checking for snipers.

“An honor, I guess you could call it that.” He nodded, meeting your eyes again.

“So what would you call your relationship with Director Fury?” You asked.

“Professional, he’s my superior. We’re friendly, he trusts me to get the job done.” He answered, to get the job done. Is he implying that Fury doesn’t completely trust him- or maybe that he doesn’t completely trust Fury?  “He did me a favor, so I trust him as much as he trusts me.”

Interesting wording again, but when he said “favor” his left thumb rubbed his ring finger. His file said unmarried...

“Alright, any girlfriends? longterm partners? Children?” You asked, trying to prove your point. Clint visibly tensed, eyes immediately narrowing in on you.

“No, no, I’m a player through and through. Hook-ups only.” He easily splurged, lying through his teeth. Definitely has a girlfriend- possibly a wife? Obviously doesn’t want it in his file.

To try to relax the clearly agitated agent you simply nodded, “Well, Agent Barton, I’m sure you know how babies are made. Hookups...”

Clint simply shook his head, “No, No, children.”

“Alright, now let’s talk about professionally, you have a nearly perfect success rate. I understand you recently survived an assassination attempt?”

____

Clint Barton: Loyal to SHIELD, Pride in his work, but not in killing, close emotional ties with Natasha Romanoff, and unnamed girlfriend/wife (not in Files), will follow orders unless he finds a better solution, can work with others, prefers not to. Long-distance specialty- aversion to close up/ slow deaths. Secretive, low to none security risk

Good for the Avengers Initiative.  

____________

As soon as you presented your findings to Director Fury, he had more files sent to you. These files were all labeled [classified] and many of them were mostly redacted.

“Unredacted versions will be available in your office only. I’m eagerly awaiting your next report.” As ever, a man a few words, Nick Fury sent you on your way. This time, you had a couple of weeks to read up on your next interview as she was on a mission.

Natasha Romanoff, Natalia Romanova, Natalie Rushman, Black Widow, your eyes skimmed down the page-long list of aliases. That’s a profile all it of itself, You thought. Next, you read over her accomplishments, both as a Russian spy and as a SHIELD agent. They were extensive. She was a member of the KGB when she was a Soviet (with an unspecified body count). Then, she was brought into SHIELD, where she worked as a normal combat agent before being promoted to strike team delta- then her accomplishments allowed her to keep climbing rank. Skills include excellent marksmanship, more black belts then you cared to count, espionage, seduction, sabotage, hacking, interrogation, and deception. You noted to yourself, a spy of this caliber definitely has training in hiding behavioral traits and tics- might even be able to fake other tics to skew the profile.

A month and a week after interviewing Clint, you opened the door to a stunningly beautiful woman. She was tall- long legs, pale skin, green eyes, body toned from years of training yet still looking like the picture of feminity, blood-red curls that fell almost to her waist. You observed everything, even down to how she was standing, Her stance is meant to come off as unassuming, but actually, she’s already poised to strike if she has to.

“Hello! I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I’m here to ask you a few questions to build a psychological / behavioral profile. Can we get started?” You asked, gesturing to the chair in front of your desk. She nodded, sitting down. Once again, her posture was faux-relaxed- leaned back, legs crossed, arms delicately laid on the armrests, but ready to fight in a split second.

Her emerald eyes watched you as carefully as you watched her, not quite threatening but almost challenging, subtle hostility towards authority? no, maybe other women.

“Well, I have a three-mile-long list of alias, but it doesn’t tell me what you preferred to be called. What can I call you?” You asked, carefully watching her. You registered the nanosecond of confusion before she smoothed the expression, Not used to having a choice.

“I prefer Natasha, thank you.” She nodded to you, and you smiled back.

“Before we get started, I’d like to clarify there are no right or wrong answers, just honest ones, please.” You clarified, noticing how her eyes narrowed, nostrils slightly flared, but no comment as she nodded.

“Alright, let’s start with your life in Russia.” You motioned to her, waiting for her to begin, but she just cocked her head.

“What do you want to know?” The hostility was well masked, but you still caught it. You didn’t comment on it, only thought for a moment how to spark the conversation.

“Just walk me through growing up in Russia, starting as early as you can remember.”  You prompted, watching her try to hide a frustrated sigh.

“My earliest memories are of the red room. That should be in my file.” She brushed off, voice even, not too fast or slow- carefully hiding any defensive tone.

“I know, I was given the files. I’m former FBI and haven’t been here long enough to ask questions. You’ll have to explain it to me.” You apologized. For a long pause, she didn’t say anything, “If you don’t want to talk to me, we can-”

She interrupted, “Ballet lessons, that’s how it started. Then, ballet became a polisher, kept us strong, but lithe. Feminine, but deadly. Then they taught us everything we’d ever need in the field. From flirting to torture.” She divulged, the information was still vague but gave you enough information to prod the conversation.

“So there were other girls with you as well?” You asked, she nodded. Intense competitive conditions among young girls, explains her challenging attitude towards me. “And they taught you...”

“Espionage, seduction, combat, marksmanship, how to blend in and stand out at the same time, deception...” She listed, trailing off. You hid a smirk, not condescendingly, as a joke crossed your mind.

“How to lie.” You remarked, “You could have been a politician.”

She laughed quietly, a laugh which you couldn’t decide if it was fake or she actually thought it was funny, “You think I’m a liar?”

You smiled softly, noting how she was trying to intimidate you, but didn’t comment, “I think you could lie through your teeth and 99% of people in the room would believe you. It’s an impressive talent.”

She smirked, cocking her head slightly, “Would you believe me?”

You shrugged, knowing she was luring you into a trap with either answer, “Are you going to lie to me, Natasha?”

She smiled, showing off perfect rows of pearly white teeth, “Agent (Y/L/N), there’s just some things I can’t tell you.”

You nodded, using the natural pause before moving on, “Let’s move on then, can you tell me about Budapest?”

Her smile faded, “When I worked for the KGB, I had a very specific skill set, and I didn’t care who I used it for. I got on SHIELD’s radar, in a very bad way. I’m sure I was probably on FBI lists and you just didn't know it was me. Well, Director Fury put Clint on my case, to, well, I’m sure you can guess. But He made a different call, and once I defected from the KGB and renounced Russia, he gave me a second chance. I felt like I owed it to him to try to fix what I had done- at least my targets now are bad people.”

“So- for lack of better word- Redemption influenced you to work in SHIELD?” You asked, watching her carefully. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m not naive enough to look for redemption.” She stated, before eyeing you up and down, “What are you really doing here?”

It was your turn to be smug, smirking as you started, “Agent Romanoff, there’s just some things that I can’t tell you.”

She chuckled, glancing down at her hands. You cleared your throat, “Just one more question, were you aware of Clint Barton’s wife?”

Her shock actually registered, telling you that your suspicions were correct, and also that she probably knew her personally, “He told you about them?”

Them, not her, which means more than one: children. You smiled, proud of your deductions, but shook your head no, that he didn’t tell you.

“Oh, you’re good.”

_________

Natasha Romanoff: Spy/Seductress personality traits, Only appears to completely trust Clint Barton, but Nick Fury seems to be a close second. Alpha female- flirty (manipulative) towards men, abrasive around other women until they prove themselves / or aren’t a threat to her position. Prefers close quarters combat- uncharacteristic of female assassins but registers high levels of confidence, control, and discipline. Eager for redemption/ paying her debts- seems to want to do good. This paired with her high levels of training can make for a ruthless weapon in the right hands (even if it’s her own). Not necessarily a team player, but knows how to manipulate people around her to further her mission.

As for the Avengers Initiative, as long as Agent Barton is present (to have at least one person she trusts), if given separate orders could potentially point other team members in the most effective direction.

Approved at Director's discretion.

__________

The next time you saw Natasha, it was two months later and you were asking about Tony Stark. You already watched all relevant interviews, spoken to both Phil and Nick, and read all the files available to you. Natasha was undercover in Stark Industries (at the moment) and had dealt with Stark one-on-one. The spy seemed more relaxed around you, even pausing the conversation to open a bit.

“I noticed you didn’t put ‘wife and kids’ into Clint’s file.” She started, to which you nodded, “I really appreciate it, His family means everything to him, and he pisses off some powerful people- it’s best no one knows.”

“I know. His family was the only thing he lied about, and Director Fury didn’t admit it, but definitely already knew. Which means the only reason to put it in there would be spite, and Clint seems like a good guy- like a asshole, but a good guy." You explained.

Natasha snorted a laugh, “Yeah that’s Clint.”

“Speaking of Assholes, Tony Stark. What can you tell me about him?”

“Deep down, deep, deep, down- he wants to be a good guy.” She nodded thoughtfully. The wording caught your attention.

“Wants to be?” You quirked an eyebrow. She sent you a tight-lipped smirk.

“He hit’s some roadblock- every time.” She nodded, to which you nodded.

“Keep me updated?” You asked, tapping your pen against a grainy shot of an iron man suit flying through white clouds.

“If it goes according to plan, I’ll get you an undercover interview.” She smiled, flipping perfect curls over her shoulder. She kind of felt like a super intimidating version of Prentiss.

“Thanks, Nat, you’re the best.” You flinched at your own words, noticing her tense and then relax.

“That’s what they keep telling me,” She smiled, and your tension fell away too. “See you around.”

________

“Hello, Mr. Stark, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I’m a writer for a psychological magazine. I’m working on an article about the psychology of billionaire superheroes-” You started, but the cocky billionaire interrupted you. It was now September, and you had been waiting for the interview since July. 

“There’s more than one? I should start a book club.” He chuckled, swirling a whiskey drink in one hand It’s ten AM, alcoholic tendencies as Nat reported. It was probably best he didn’t know you worked for SHIELD, as he was more relaxed around you now.  You faked a laugh, blushing as if you were flustered.

“You’re right, few and far between. But, uh, superheroes are a hot topic right now, billionaire superheroes, the public is interested. And also, as you’ve said in interviews, you don’t trust the military to have your tech- so the public wants to know if your...”

“Stable?”

You nodded, finally, he motioned for you to sit across from him, which you did quickly, “So let’s begin, we’re going to build a psychological profile based off of behavioral analysis.”

“I’ve read about that science, in fact, I’ve been following the Behavioral Analysis Unit from the FBI- David Rossi’s books are fascinating. Don’t you think?” The question caught you off guard, bringing back intrusive thoughts of your team- all the phone calls you were told to ignore, the purposely left signs that Penelope tried to hack your computer, Reid still emailed you a weekly reading list.

You snapped back to reality, lying easily, “Yes, I’ve actually learned some of my techniques from BAU lectures. David Rossi and Dr. Spencer Reid, Agent Aaron Hotchner would occasionally guest lectures.”

“Well, sweetheart, show me what you learned.” He told you, spreading his arms as if to say ‘hit-me-with-you-best-shot’ meanwhile, you inwardly cringed at ‘sweetheart’.

“Alright then, let’s start with early life and childhood.” You prompted, pretending to take notes as he began recounting his life story. You didn’t pay much attention to his words, so much as his actions, which made it easier to tell when he was lying, exaggerating, or under-exaggerating.

Control issues, perhaps to deal with feelings of helplessness- even though he’s a super genius, God Reid never shut up about it. Narcissistic tendencies, which normally doesn’t pair with a savior complex. Alcoholic tendencies, possibly remnants of a bad relationship with his father. Flinches when he moves in certain ways, either still hurting or phantom pains from his time held hostage. Early stages of PTSD?  

Finally, he closed his epic tale as he got up and made another drink, “And here we are together now. Isn’t life funny like that?”

“It’s strange, I’ll give you that. And how’s your current life?” You asked, he offered a cocky grin, running his hand through his disheveled hair and downing his drink. The cocky attitude didn’t reach his eyes, you noted that.

“Me? I’m living the life. Now, let me answer your real question. Why I won’t let my tech go to the government- and why I’m qualified to keep it?”

“That’s a jump. But if you’d like to tell me....” Something you want to get off your chest, Stark?

“When I was held hostage over there, it was because my tech got into the wrong hands. Then I got back and became acutely aware of how many people had been injured because of my negligence. Then I thought to myself, I can hand over some weapons solely to the military, that’ll fix the problem, right? wrong. The military is controlled by politicians, politicians who have agendas. Me? I have no agenda. With tech in my hands, I can go fix problems myself- no bureaucracy.”

Survivor’s guilt. Dangerously independent which feeds into his savior complex. He will not play well with others. Definite signs of depressive self-loathing and self-placed blame.

“Wants to be a good person, but hit’s a roadblock every time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. I have everything I need. Thank you for your honesty.”

____________

Tony Stark: Classic narcissist, paired with a savior complex (likely caused by survivors' guilt, heightened feeling of responsibility, and guilt from his weapons being sold on the black market). Control issues. Will not follow orders, always thinks he knows a better way. Substance abuse issues are likely, alcoholic tendencies are confirmed. Sex addiction is highly likely. These are escapist tendencies. Early signs of PTSD, depression, and anxiety. Issues from childhood include a bad relationship with his father (never felt true validation from an unavailable father figure, mother never stepped in). Butler, Jarvis (not to be confused with his AI) seemed to be the primary influence in his upbringing. (Mentioned Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter more than once, bitter with Steve and fond with Peggy)

Avengers initiative: He’s self-obsessed, volatile, will not work well with others. But no matter if he’s part of the team or not, it is almost certain that he will inject himself into any global/ SHIELD conflict.

Rejected, even though he will involve himself regardless of SHIELD decision.

_______________

In November of 2010, you were called into a meeting with Fury, 

“This is good work, agent.” Director Fury nodded as you thumbed through the file on Tony Stark. He read over the profile, but didn’t show any emotion.

“Thank you, sir, but I have a feeling that I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know.” You replied, watching his eye as he switched to the file on Natasha. 

“You confirmed some suspicions. This will help me convince my higher-ups.” He affirmed, dropping the file on his desk with a quiet thump. You quirked an eyebrow, a small smirk on your lips. 

“You have higher-ups?” You asked, wondering who on Earth was brave enough to give Nick Fury orders. He was like the dark, scary version of Hotch. 

“We all have superiors, agent.” He replied lowly, his eyebrow raising in a way that told you he wasn’t angry but not to press the matter. “You know these were the easy ones, right?” 

“I wouldn’t say that Tony Stark was easy to deal with.” You muttered as he slid another file across. The cover read ‘Dr. Bruce Banner / The Hulk’. 

“I want a profile of Bruce Banner, and a separate one on the Hulk.” He stated, and your eyes flicked to him. You remembered watching the news at the BAU, as the Hulk tore through Harlem. Spencer went on and on about Dr. Banner’s theories in astrophysics, and then the theories that surrounded Dr. Banner’s.... condition.  

“Didn’t Bruce Banner fall off the face of the earth after the Harlem incident?” You asked, ignoring the task of profiling the Hulk. He nodded, turning his computer monitor around. It had several red dots throughout the middle east and down into India. 

“We’ve been following his whereabouts. You will not be conducting an interview, but just build me a profile based off these files, we’ll be bringing in a few other people who had contact with both Banner and the Hulk, and you can interview them.” He explained, leaving very little room for argument. 

“Yes, sir. But, I just need to make sure you understand that these are all secondhand sources, so the profile won’t be near as accurate. And, I’m afraid there won’t be much on the Hulk to profile.” You admitted, collecting the files as you got up. 

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Agent.” He called as you left, for the first time feeling uneasy about your position in SHIELD.

__________

Two months. Two months to build a preliminary profile on your Jekyll/Hyde situation. Two months of reading files, trying to understand his old scientific journals, talking to other scientists who worked with him, and reviewing his childhood through the documents SHIELD could get his hands on. 

You looked over your glass board (making you nostalgic for all the cases you has laid out on boards like this, only now you were working alone), printed out photos (mostly of Bruce, but also of Betty and Thaddeus Ross, a few of project Rebirth, and a lot of the Hulk), dry-erase marker notes, a tentative timeline of his life, and red string connecting relevant ideas. 

Real name Robert Bruce Banner (10/18/1969),  M.D., 7 Ph. D.s, expertise in biochemistry, thermonuclear physics, and specifically in GAMMA radiation. (which was used in the creation of the original supersoldier, Captain Steve Rogers WW2)  

Reid would be jealous, he’s only got 4. 

Strained relationship with father- from feelings of incompetence/invalidation- possibly what pushed him to constantly overachieve. Went to Harvard, was apart of hallucinogen research trials. 

Then a red string connected that thought to one, Betty Ross. 

Know a romantic relationship with Betty Ross, after graduation moved with her to Virginia together and were instructors at Culver University. Went on tenure in late 90s, met Erik Selvig- another astrophysicist, and worked on Electron collisions with gamma radiation. 

Is this a constant overachiever or just someone who knew his potential? 

Up until 9/11 he led a relatively normal life (for a super genius)

Project Rebirth was where it got fishy. Thaddeus Ross (presently General Ross, I had the pleasure of dealing with him with the BAU in the anthrax scare of 2009)  father of Betty Ross (Bruce Banner’s then-girlfriend). Tasked with recreating the original super-soldier serum. Knowing of his daughter’s boyfriend’s talents (and of his own ability to possibly manipulate Banner) he recruited Dr. Banner without telling him the truth of what he was working on- that’s why Banner chose Gamma radiation, thinking he was combating radiation poisoning. 

ingrained mistrust of authority/father figures, but not likely to act on it. Will keep striving to impress/ complete work. probably why he prefers solace. 

Thinking his work was combatting radiation poisoning, and completely on the right track, he tested it on himself- hoping to impress both Ross’s. Of course, since this was now weaponized gamma radiation, it went terribly wrong. Prompting his first transformation into the Hulk. During which, two doctors and a soldier were killed, and Ross’s were among the injured. Overwhelmed with guilt, he escaped to Canada- evading multiple capture attempts. Attempted suicide by gunshot on top of a mountain in Alaska (2006) 

eager to impress father figures until another one betrays him, driven by severe guilt, depressive tendencies, unsuccessful suicide attempt. 

Escaped to South America and lived in hiding for 2 years until his location was discovered. He transformed into Hulk before returning to America. Stayed hidden for a couple days before the ‘battle at Culver university’ marking the first public appearance of the Hulk. Upon provocation, Hulk took Dr. Ross with him. 

Two years without an incident. Bruce Banner has to have a good handle on that anger. Which makes him still extremely organized despite it all.

A few days later, Banner was found in custody and taken in by an Emil Blonsky (special forces) his file was extremely redacted. so that’s all I know on him. After being taken into custody, a second ‘Hulk’ appeared in Harlem. A bitter fight pursued, and with its conclusion, Bruce Banner was in the wind again and still is. Rumors include the middle east, rumors of a Hulk spotting at a destroyed terrorist base.  

~~~

With the Hulk, you had less to work with, mostly grainy photos and videos. You had biased first-hand accounts from General Ross, Doctor Ross, Samuel Stern, and a handful of soldiers. The least biased was Betty’s interview but she was very much so still in love with him, so the cognitive interview wasn’t much help. The biggest help you had was the videos of the Hulk in actions of which there weren’t many.  Even though they were helpful to the profile, it was like watching videos unsubs would send in- unsettling, scary, and sad. 

Preliminary ONLY- this is a tentative profile, it could be largely inaccurate without further information. 

Bruce Banner: Reclusive loner type. Can and will survive on his own. Beyond Genius level IQ. High distrust for the government. Goes without saying, but anger issues. Extremely organized. The limited current information makes it hard to complete the profile, but the medical work

Avengers initiative: With his high distrust of the government, it’s more than likely he’ll just be a security risk. And despite his level of control, it will also make him a safety risk to those around him. Unless you require someone with a knowledge of gamma radiation, you’re better off with another astrophysicist. 

The Hulk: Despite the low level of control that Dr. Ross reported after the incident, it is clear that no one can control the Hulk. He can be pointed in a direction, but that level of rage is indicative of the lowest form of control and in most cases intelligence. The Hulk will not take orders. This is a stone best left unturned. 

_______________

 “Director Fury will be pleased with your progress. I think you’ve earned some time off, take a week and when you get back we’ll have more work for you.” Coulson told you in early February as you handed over all your research. You quirked an eyebrow.

“Now that you’ve run out of things for me to do? Am I allowed to visit my old team?” You asked, as he began to leave.  Phil turned back to you, with a smile that almost reminded you of a younger version of Rossi. 

“As long as you don’t compromise SHIELD intelligence, I don’t care what you do.” He assured, closing the door on his way out. You breathed a laugh, pulling your old go-bag out from under your desk- old habits die hard. 

____

more BAU interaction in the next part I promise!! 

[queen-defender-on-ice]

Hello could you answers asks 1-98

uwu 1-98 answered below (link to ‘weird asks that say a lot’)

water bottles are far superior

chocolate bars; although I do like the occasional blueberry lollipop

cotton candy; no gum, gum bad

I was “a pleasure to have in class”.

I prefer to drink soda out of anything that is not a can. Ranked: 1) bottles, 2) glass cup, 3) plastic cup, 4) c a n

sportswear??

headphones; earbuds are painful and never fit right, less volume control too, and lower quality noise cancellation

tv shows over movies I guess; that doesn’t mean I don’t like movies tho

favorite smell in summer...idk bro

girl from mars boy from mars OR capture the royal chicken

cereal

2020 playlist...

key ring, lanyards are annoying

nerds

Pride & Prejudice; 1984

one knee (the surgery knee) up

the only pair of wearable tennis shoes I have, unless you count flip flops as shoes

I don’t care, all weather is good

laying on my right side so that all my organs don’t fall into the big gaping hole on my left side :)

I send kakao chats to myself for reminders, saving links, photos etc. Sometimes I use discord for the same purpose.

pick any of my current obsessions, childhood obsessions are back baby (doctor who, httyd, legend of the seeker, arthur, scooby doo; nearly everything I reblog; I am a person who does not change)

10th doctor?? idk who my role models are

I frequently have a tooth picker in my mouth; like right now

I don’t have a favorite crystal, all crystals are great.

It was the song Something by The Beatles

I like to walk up mountains in warm weather or go on the swings.

idk bro, I like to drink cocoa in cold weather.

1) Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller, 2) In the Mood by Glenn Miller, 3) Five Spot After Dark by Curtis Fuller, 4) Johnny B. Goode by Chuck Berry, 5) Echoes in Rain by Enya, 6) Left Hand Free by alt-J, 7) Once There Were Dragons by John Powell, 8) Doctor Who Theme - Album Version, 9) Song of Freedom by Murray Gold, 10) Oh Death by Rising Appalachia (Yes I know that was more than 5)

There is no best way to bond with me, I’m un-bondable. (watch tv with me I guess)

I don’t know

I wear clothing

1) Uh, yeah I sure hope it does; 2) Scooter time <and variations>; 3) No off topic question, you have been stopped; 4) two bros sittin’ in a hot tub; 5) What up, I'm Jared, I'm 19, and I never f*cking learned how to read; {anything with the x-files music overlayed}

 XD

geico commercials

probably 12:30 am

those really bad doctor who memes (go home TARDIS, you’re drunk) or the pepe the frog memes

suitcase

lemonade

I’ve never had lemon meringue pie, but Amelia Bedelia recommends it so...

nothing, nothing has ever happened at my school; oh wait, a blind person shaved a tuba player’s hair

FirstPrimeOfApophis

jacket pockets, especially if they have zippers or buttons for closure

hoodie, but any jacket is great

I HATE scented soap.

sci-fi or fantasy, don’t really care about superhero

clothing

colby jack

a kiwi? or a banana?

I don’t really live by any quote or saying...

I don’t remember...

finding a job

not times new roman

left pointer finger is in pain from supporting the weight of my flute

how to be fake :)

shrek

breathing

idk, I don’t consider any of my struggles ‘big’

drawing??, flute playing??, being able to lace my toes together??, programming??

Fantastic! (idk...)

sci-fi and/or psychological thriller

You’re asking me to pick a favorite line??? There are too many... 1) Keep the change, ya filthy animal; 2) If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot. -John Cooper Clarke, 3) Rose, I'm trying to resonate concrete -9th Doctor, 4) the entire httyd transcript, {many many many more}

10th Doctor, 9th Doctor, 8th Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Donna Noble, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the 3rd, Shaggy Rogers, Francine Frensky, Murray (Stranger Things), Cara Mason (Legend of the Seeker) {basically any character I reblog...I don’t have a personality; yes I know that’s more than 7}

see my 2019/2020 playlists

coloring sheet websites

surgery scars

california poppies, sunflowers

I have a box of trinkets with ‘special powers’

idk...I forget

uh, idk again

right

zebra print

english; writing; language arts

hot cheetos and tiramisu (this became 2 favorite foods)

8 I can take the pain baby

I don’t remember, I do remember that I lost some teeth at school tho.

tater tots, fries, chips

pea plant

sushi from a grocery store

school id photo

earth tones

aren’t they the same thing?? fireflies

pc

drawing

podcasts or talk radio? no, audiobooks

(uh 84 was listed twice; all numbers are now offset by 1) polly pocket

both, fairy tales and mythology

cookies (I don’t like the frosting on cupcakes)

getting in trouble; seeing things in mirrors that shouldn’t be there (you can’t trust mirrors folks); seeing things in windows/reflected in windows that shouldn’t be there; something behind me

to travel in time and space

Davy

I have no idea

boxes?

lamps or sunlight

snickers

whatever season is current; or s1 of nuWho

kakao & tumblr

right now it’s a slideshow between clovers and a drawing of a forest

2 phone numbers, but I can recognize many

80s? I don’t know much history

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― II.iii. The Beginning of the End

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Trinity’s enemies grow in number.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Three nights before…

Old wood and old metal and bones older still take refuge from the bitter night rain.

In the shadows Cynbel waits, watches. The smith brings down his hammer against white-hot metal clang. clang. clang. Hunting like a different kind of predator and oh he has been so many that this… this he barely feels in the shift of his skin.

Steam erupts into the air, filled with the foul smell of a burning port where the worker submerges his latest creation beneath the water’s surface. Ignorant; blissfully ignorant.

“One would think after a long day’s toiling away, any opportunity for respite would be welcomed.”

Surprise catches in the mortal’s bones. Makes him release his work from the grasp of rusted tongs. He spins around, looks this way and that, but is no better than a blind man in his efforts.

“Who goes there?” Then, once the young man catches himself, “We are closed for the night. Please, return tomorrow at dawn.”

Does he think he plays at manhood? But this new age of innovation demands it of such boys, does it not. He might feel pity for them — if he could.

“Alas,” and when he replies his voice wraps around the small hovel; an embrace from Winter herself, “I cannot.”

Still the boy persists. “I insist, monsieur.”

“Who are you to insist of me?”

It’s advantageous; the hesitation that follows. Gives Cynbel a chance to emerge from his not-so-hidden refuge beside a basket of ores. He A shine catches his eye and he plucks it from the dark and misshapen pile, raises it against the light of the furnace to marvel at the gemstone’s glossy sheen.

He pockets it with little thought. A token of affection for his darling girl — so recently bored of diadems and jewelry and smitten with such… imperfections.

“Hey, that doesn’t bel—”

“Sssh…” The vampire presses a finger to his lips and the human goes quiet. Good, he likes them obedient.

This part of the workshop, back and away from the street where the front room displays the prides of masters and apprentices alike, requires a bit of meandering. But he’s an opportunistic man and takes what is offered for his own uses. Sways his hips with every movement slow, seductive.

Every good hunter knows his prey.

And indeed — when Cynbel comes to tower over the young man’s figure he can see each bead of sweat that rolls down his temples. Not just from the room’s stifling heat. Watches one bead along a shaven chin and glisten over the lump in his throat.

Here, and now in the light, things are different. Aren’t they?

Here every pump of the mortal’s racing heart threatens to deafen him in the best of ways. Here he is illuminated in fire’s heavenly glow; and recognized.

Cynbel lets his finger fall in unspoken permission. Watches as he’s taken in rapturously and in ways he has only seen between the pious and their places of worship… in ways he, too, has found rapture from his own religion.

When the human finally speaks it is rushed; exhaled, “I-worried-you-would-not-come…”

“For you,” and he weaves his fingers through locks of mousy hair, uses it as a master to his hound to pull him forward; breathes his honey-drenched words against peeling lips, “always.”

Their kiss is desperate, fervent with inevitability. Smoke-stained hands smeared over his jaw and Cynbel resists the urge to bite out his inexperienced tongue as a second gift for his beloved. Lets himself be defiled with the touches of a young man craven for affection and so so alone… unable to give it.

He would call this creature pitiful but even that would be too kind. That the mortal is too obsessed with his own gratification to realize every drop of passion is entirely from his own cup, that Cynbel’s cup could not be more barren in his presence, is nothing short of pathetic.

He pulls back as he always does. Stops those dirty wandering fingers as he always does. Kisses the day’s work from trembling knuckles as he always does.

“What kept you away?” The mortal whimpers.

And as he always does Cynbel lies through his teeth. “It matters not — that you stand before me now is more than enough.”

The mortal beams with pride. Though that is not the only vice Cynbel has been able to impart on him.

Everything in the smithy is exactly the same as he had left it a fortnight ago — well, almost.

He doesn’t have to pretend in this. The way he (none too) gently urges the wayward man aside to cross the room in several strides. Among the hammers and horseshoes the work done here is for the meager rank and file of Paris. Nothing as flashy as settings for gems or swords for battle. Cynbel knows this because his time has been well-spent these last months. Because the thing that separates the hunters who fail from the ones who survive is found in the little things.

Surveying the prey. Entering its nest. Staking its claim over the carcass before it has even been devoured.

Knowing all that he does — it begs the question of the mannequin—freshly carved—and the armor—freshly polished—settled snug upon it.

“Is this your work?”

He looks back and hears the skip in the mortal’s heart as he nods. “Indeed. Are you taken with it?”

“As taken as I am with you,” he croons in response; and knows the flush in living cheeks is not from the heat.

“That is why I am still here, actually,” he remembers his work then, and plucks the now solid metal from the bucket to wipe it dry with his sleeve. Small, in comparison to the rest of the pieces, but Cynbel takes it when it is offered; lets their touch linger in a promise he does not intend to keep.

The fastening is crude; its finer points interrupted by Cynbel’s arrival. But the sigil would be difficult not to recognize — especially for his kind. The halo around the center meant to be the sun. The fleur de lis enshrined within it in need of a little more dedication to be perfect.

More likely than not his little apprentice smith knows not what he is being asked to make. The holy war he is urging forward in his own way. A suspicion confirmed as Cynbel offers the work back and allows the mortal to continue to hold his hand.

“This is the only thing left. The master had just arranged contract with the Duke who ordered it when he fell ill,” —he explains this like Cynbel doesn’t know, like he didn’t ensure it— “and as his eldest apprentice the duty fell to me. I don’t know what overcame me, my love… it was as though the muses of old inspired my every movement.

“I missed you terribly, Claude, but I was fortunate there was this work to help me pass the time.”

Should he never hear the false name given for this ruse again it would be too soon.

Cynbel gestures to the armor, a “may I?” whispered reverent on his lips. With the human’s permission he steps closer, ghosts his touch over the refined metal. Imagines all the ways he will go about tearing it from whatever unfortunate soul it is given to limb from bloody, gory limb.

“You have outdone yourself.”

“Truly?”

Is the first of his praises not enough? Disgusting whelp. “Truly and more. I dare say whomever commissioned this will command any battlefield.”

Warm arms encircle his waist. The tack of the human’s sweating forehead presses against his doublet and already Cynbel begins practicing the apologies he will give to his beloveds upon his return. No doubt his Lord and Love will banish him from the apartment for the stench.

It is torture, pure and simple.

“May I confess something to you, Claude?”

Cynbel swallows back his bile. “Anything, always.” And he doesn’t need to see the human’s face to hear his pathetic ‘secret.’

“The Duke has sent word he will arrive in Paris tomorrow — and he hopes to see how the piece is coming along. I hope to convince him of my skill… perhaps even take some of the spoils for myself.”

Greed. One of the few things that make his presence bearable against all his shortcomings.

Cynbel turns in his arms; feigns as though he could never imagine such a scandal. “And what of your master? Will he not cast you out for the gall of it?”

“Perhaps he may not be around long enough to do such.”

“Don’t sound so hopeful.”

“Why not, when you inspire in me such a wonderful hope?”

Their second kiss is far more chaste, entirely so on part of the vampire. The disappointment on the other’s face is impossible to miss.

“Something the matter?”

“I would not have your well-earned pride ruined for it. Pay me no mind.”

“Claude,” Cynbel’s cheeks are taken in grimy mortal hands and he shivers, lets him take it as he wishes, “there is no joy I can bask in without you. Let me ease the weight on your chest. Please.”

Let it be known that he does not give in to the mortal’s whims. But with demons of the night leaping from shadow to shadow among the rafters, with every horrendous and degrading sentiment forced through his teeth; then and there Cynbel has had enough. Enough pretending, enough disgust.

Enough with feeling somehow unworthy of the love bestowed upon him when he returns to the arms of the ones with whom he truly belongs. Oh they placate him dutifully but he sees the twitch of a sensitive nose — a touch moved elsewhere at the last moment. These things are their prey; no better than chattel.

He was amusing at first. But…

“You have simply outlived your usefulness to me.” With no risk comes no reward they say but there is no risk here. He might be inclined to entertain it further if there was.

And like a child the human seems only to hear the kindly things. Continues to hold him, to adore him. To sicken him.

So he continues. “There is no risk, here. Only the continued debasement of the Golden Son, of the first of Valdemaras’ blood. If, when all the ages wither, I find in my soul no love of self then I must at least continue to love the part of me that is my God. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Sure enough that rouses him. As if from a slumber. The masquerade finally coming to a close.

“I don’t understand.”

“Was I not speaking French?” Which could have been a possibility. As it is his muscles tense, predatory, in preparation of the first violent act that comes to mind.

“Yes, Claude, but — what you are saying makes little sense.”

So simpering, so pitiful that Cynbel actually stomachs the will to kiss him again. If only to whisper the insult to his lips; “I would expect nothing less of such a feeble mind.”

He’s seen heartbreak before. This is not it. This is a pantomime—what the inexperienced whelp believes heartbreak to be. Tries, so fleetingly, to wrench himself from Cynbel’s grasp but the charade is finally over. And with it the need to disguise his true strength.

“I had hoped you would have completed all of the armor in time, and maybe had I a stronger constitution one more night would have done the trick.” He looks back to the suit with true critique in his newfound eyes. Such a waste — talent like that in the hands of a worm. “But their sigil is clear enough that any member would recognize it as their own. I suppose there’s a poetic drama to the incomplete set.

“Isseya would know of such things better than I. She’s quite taken with the stage. She is the voice behind my tender affections towards you in fact.”

All the while the human tries to free himself to no avail. His workman’s hands are used to shaping manacles but have never been imprisoned by them after all.

Finally some sense comes about the man. All the telltale signs of a scream; flared nostrils, flushed pallor, the sour odor of fear near his knocking knees. Too late.

“HE—!”

Valdas would be proud how he silences any cry and practices for the upcoming ball in one swift movement. Pulling so hard he feels the joint come loose in a feeble shoulder and presses them close as lovers, back to front; molded against every vibrating measure of him and a hand tight over his lips.

“Ah ah ah…” He turns them both to face his work. Will give him that final gift of his life’s work burned behind his eyelids in the moments before death. “Don’t you want to know, my love? To understand?”

The fussy little fucker actually shakes his head. As though that will save him. As if he is held captive only until Cynbel has given him light where there was previously only darkness.

But that light is not for him. It belongs to them.

He belongs to them.

“If that is what you wish, fine. Throw away my gift, and your life with it.”

“Mmmph!”

“No no taking it back now. My mind is made up.”

“MMmnpm…” A needling heat pierces his skin. The sight of it makes the vampire laugh.

“A tear, really? And here I thought it was quite impossible for me to think less of you.”

He wrestles the human’s head to position; nearly breaks his neck several times in the process. Forces him to take in the splendor that will soon serve as a crafted casket for whatever heathen is suffered to wear it.

Unsympathetic, Cynbel places a final kiss to his temple. “Everything is in place now darling. I want you to know I could not have done it without you. Well—no—I just cannot help myself but lie to you it seems.” Another wave of muffled whimpers drowned in his laughter. “But you have made it easier on me. The Knights will collect your work and your corpse with it. One little life — that’s all it will take to earn their ire. Clever little hellions that they are… they’ll follow every crumb I’ve left. All. the way. to me.

“If my beloved is correct—if the Godmaker graces the evening with his vile presence—then I may finally have the opportunity to rid the world of two evils. Can you imagine? No longer looking over our shoulders… no longer fearing unholy wrath…” The very thought has him in near ecstasy. Actually—quite close to the real thing.

But thoughts of a life free of the Knights draw him, as they inevitably do, to a darker place.

To the cursed memories of Isseya prone, neck bare… to the taste of steel on his tongue and the delicious smell of roasted game—but he was the meal of bubbling blistering flesh and every tear he shed—she shed a fresh wave of agon—

“The events that will unfold will ensure their safety. No one will dare to take them from me ever again…” Cynbel surprises them both in that his voice breaks with unbridled fury, with withheld anguish.

“Lest they remember what befell the last to even try.”

Countless hours spend seducing the young smith who surely had a name that he hadn’t bothered to remember go to waste, then. Such a fragile neck in his grasp — the way it sounds when it snaps is like the first notes of a sonnet.

But there’s still one crucial crumb that needs leaving. One that will ensure the Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn know exactly who has courted them such.

One that will ensure they amass their armies beneath Paris in droves.

One fallen innocent is a message.

A slaughtered horde—that’s a warning.

He takes his leave of the workshop in much the same way as he entered; undetected by any soul living or dead. The mortal’s blood is tacky on his soaked hands the long walk back to their lodgings. He wants his lovers to taste of the wretched little cur so they know; so they understand.

Their sigil—the Brand of the Made-God Valdemaras—left to dry red on the breastplate. The unfinished clasp fastened neatly in the middle.

It was not unheard of for the vampires of Paris to think themselves important. Far more relevant than they actually are. Cynbel had gazed upon the half-masque of Serafine Dupont in the halls below and assumed her prestige nothing more than vanity; the hostess putting on airs for her guests.

But he’s a big enough man to admit when he’s wrong.

It takes a skill honed from centuries for the discipline she shows now. All of her remaining strength fixated on her injuries, on the effort to stand and set the bone to heal. A wound that would cripple a mortal—and even a younger vampire—rendered fruitless as muscle and flesh knit together in the tapestry of her dedication.

They watch the show of her impressed — but never intimidated. They will give credit where it is due.

With a vengeful cry she lunges forward and all credit is lost when her open palm meets his face.

Cynbel reaches up, feels the heat of the sting on his cheek with a shiver down his spine. Like all pain it fades too fast — but while there may be no more Knights in vain attempts to slay him Serafine still stands there and she looks positively craven for the excuse to strike again.

A look seen by more than just him. One that lands her pinned to a building exterior with splayed limbs and Valdas’ hand around her throat.

“Apologize.”

Yet even as his darling’s softer hands skirt feather-light touches over his healed skin Cynbel laughs. Laughs and laughs and adjusts his hair where the whore had sent it askew.

“No no, let her come for me. The Knights proved no real contest, maybe she’ll last a moment or two longer than they.”

“How dare you mock them,” seethes the woman with labored breaths; and because it isn’t the apology he asked for Valdas only tightens his grip, only strains her further in a wraithish rasp, “have you no grief for our brothers, our sisters who were slaughtered?!”

“They are no kin of ours.” Isseya answers for him. He snakes an arm around her waist and squeezes.

“Forgive her, my God,” he croons, would rather keep his lovers close than risk their already fractured good luck, “the poor thing seems to be under the impression we are on some equal standing.”

And he does, eventually, let her go. But only when it takes longer than a passing moment for the carvings of his nails at her neck to heal.

“A mistake she would do well not to make again.”

Serafine’s eyes are wild; a frightened animal that takes them in all at once. The way they were meant to be understood — the way they had always been understood. Her voiceless words aren’t worth the effort it would take to even try to comprehend her.

“The same blood runs through your veins that does mine, le tueur.” She snarls.

Isseya’s eyes narrow. “Not for long. Not with that foul tongue.”

“Now now, Iss’, let the little thing mourn.” Cynbel attempts to placate her with long, slow pets to her hair.

“She dare call you the killer when those sycophants live?”

She turns her face away from their accuser, tucked into the ridge of his shoulder and Cynbel holds her tighter for it. Knows that she, too, is plagued with memory. That if he coaxed her face up he would see the shine of unshed tears in her beautiful eyes.

“Less of them now,” he whispers, “thanks to us.” For now it is all he can offer her. And for now it is enough. They only have this thorn to deal with before he can comfort Isseya—both of his lovers—properly and as they deserve.

“And while the Knights posed an entertaining foe, I’ll admit there were far more of our kind in attendance tonight than I thought there would be. The cost should have dwarfed the rewards.”

“What rewards? What reward could there possibly be for the senseless murder of our kind?!”

“Victory over the Knights of course.”

The noise she makes; strangled and not quite fully alive before it died in her throat, only amuses the woman on his arm. Has her reaching out for their God like she wants to mock Serafine. And that may very well be the case.

Here is my salvation. Where is yours?

“How was this to be a victory? You speak like —”

“Like he tipped the scales of this war with a battlefield of his own choosing?” offers Valdas -- now comfortable against his surviving lovers. “A soldier ‘til the end, my golden boy.”

Here he thought the deaths of the Knights would not be the only victory this night — the next to come much later and wrapped in sheets of the finest imported silk. But here stands another much to his surprise, crept up out of the gutters like vermin.

It is with utter delight that Cynbel watches Serafine come to understand the truth of the matter; watches the horror and disgust twist upon her beautiful features somehow made better by all-consuming sorrow.

Fills him with an arousal usually reserved for carnage and lovemaking; but this works too.

“You— You… brought the Knights of the Dawn to the crypts?”

“I didn’t hold their hands, no, though I almost needed to. Fucking simpletons.”

The woman’s voice catches. “How?”

“The righteous are terribly predictable. A few bodies here, a few whispers there. If they think their cause to be one of justice they’re akin to a persistent plague.”

Serafine is less an annoyance now; more a festering wound. Really, must she take the fun out of it? As it is he has to reconcile with the Godmaker surviving — no doubt leagues from Paris by now with his Bloodqueen in tow. Can he not just have this?

“You orchestrated this… this culling?”

“Those who died did so because of their own weakness.”

“You willingly led our enemies straight to us!”

“And now they are an army fewer in number.”

The look he gives her — disinterest, boredom. If you seek to make me remorseful you seek in vain.

“Monsters,” Serafine finally chokes out; said to them all but Cynbel takes it just a tad personally, “monsters… the three of you. Les Trois Amants no more than old, cruel, mindless creatures of bloodshed.”

“Not quite,” Cynbel’s hand stays his Maker from attacking her, allows him to meet her gaze level and calm with a lover on each arm. United; permanent.

“Where they seek justice I gave vengeance. That I was able to lead them to us at all says all the things you wish to ignore—to put as blame upon my shoulders. The Knights would have eventually discovered the catacombs our refuge. If not tonight then tomorrow, or a fortnight from now. Would you rather that, mademoiselle? Would you rather they have had the time to plan, to cut off completely all means of escape?

“You should be thanking me that the living outnumber the dead. And that you may count yourself among them.” And with his victory inevitably wilted Cynbel has had enough of her accusations. “But yes — I would watch every vampire alive burn at the hands of the Knights themselves so long as my beloveds are by my side.”

With the last of her strength the vampiress snarls with fangs bared. Such a pitiful portrait she paints of herself; he knows it, all three of them do. It doesn’t even warrant Valdas’ reaction and isn’t that saying something.

“You will see justice at the hands of your enemies.”

“Four centuries and the bastards have yet to do any lasting damage.” An amusing thought, too.

“The Holy Knights are not your only enemy today.”

He can see it, too. A hotter, blinding flame burning inside of her far stronger than the ones that ravage underneath their feet. Give it a century or two, he thinks, and it will be snuffed out with the rest.

Two sets of hands try to keep him close but he gently coaxes them aside. Approaches the tempest before him with her wild eyes and wild hair and finds satisfaction in the flinch of her when his fingertips graze her silken chin.

“My victory is—has always been—inevitable, ma chérie. And I look forward to the prestige it will bring.”

[aftermathdb]

DEATH BATTLE Review: Sasuke vs. Hiei

Some demon shits eye each other for a DEATH BATTLE!

Sasuke′s Preview.

Long ago, the Uchiha clan helped create the Hidden Leaf Village, and they were outcast… Mostly because they unleashed the Nine Tailed Fox on the village, which probably didn’t help their street cred.

But the firstborn son of the head of the clan, Itachi did something daring. He killed them all. Except for his younger brother Sasuke.

Since this is Shonen, Sasuke decided to avenge his family. Because  I  guess he didn’t have anything better to do. The hosts go over his progress, and his abilities.

From the Mystic abilities of Ninjutsu, to the mind alteration of Genjutsu, to the hand-to-hand prowess of Taijutsu, Sasuke is an intense fighter.

From his favorite Fire Jutsu, to various other elemental Jutsus, Sasuke is well-equipped for many fights.

Along his path to vengeance, Sasuke perfected many techniques, even managing to infuse his abilities with the five primary elements of Fire, Wind,  Water, Earth, Fire, and Heart Lightning. 

Of course, the hosts have to  go over the thing Sasuke’s most famous for: The Sharingan (I’m just going to say this now: Really sorry for any misspellings of names of techniques that I do).

Apparently, you have to go through a crap ton of trauma to unlock this power, so Itachi planned  for Sasuke to witnessthe horrors that he did, and planned for Sasuke to swear vengeance. The hosts go over the abilities of the Sharingan,  like how it lets him see Chakra, copy other jutsu techniques, trap opponents in hallucinations. Worth noting: That’s all standard stuff.

We eventually get into a more detailed explanation in a neat little Wiz and Boomstick animated section.

Masashi Kishimoto, Boomstick. Masashi Kishimoto.

The hosts go into more detail about the Susano, and before anyone complains, I recently finished Okami, so that’s why I’m going with that spelling.

Going onto the Rennegan stuff, Sasuke is far more powerful. He can pull off a crazy technique that Boomstick isn’t even going to try to pronounce, that lets him teleport by bending space and time.

More than that though, Sasuke has way more powers whenn channeling his Rennegan abilities.

This lets Sasuke access the other six paths, and greatly enhance his abilities. He can manipulate gravity, drain energy, or even rip out souls.

Since Sasuke can use the gravity version to manipulate his surroundings for attacks, he’s managed a powerful explosion that’s worth several billion times more powerful than the Tsar Bomb. A bomb that these guys should be experts on at this point, given how much it comes up.

And then we get a sheet for all of Sasuke’s crazy feats.

Now, since Sasuke stalemated Naruto, that means that he reasonably scales to him. Remember that moon thing Naruto survived?- The one that was brought up in Naruto vs. Ichigo?

Well, Sasuke can reasonably get close, or even match that.

And the end line is some big speech that took a long time to put down here. And I decided that since these are edgelords, their text gets a black boarder rather than a grey one. But it shows just how much edge Sasuke exudes, even though he managed to have a kid and is still protecting his village.

Hiei′s Preview.

Thankfully, Hiei’s preview is much more simple and straightforward. As yet another demon shit that sought vengeance, Hiei had arguably a rougher childhood. Not only was he thrown off a cliff because of how he was conceived, he remembered every bit of it, and got raised by bandits.

Hiei was already a powerful warrior with tremendous athletic ability, abilities that only got better after he joined forces with Yusuke, the Spirit detective.

But since Hiei was still bitter about the whole “Being throw off a cliff thing” he went to some mad doctor and got himself a new eye: The Jagan.

The Jagan is more than just a neat little forehead accessory though. As the hosts note,this new power grants Hiei  the ability to spy on people great distances away, read minds and protect his own from mental attacks, use telekinesis, and so much more.

We even get a neat page for what Hiei brings into a fight. Especially since he found out that he had a twin sister that he sought to protect.

The most notable being the “Dragon of the Darkness Flame”, a fire that burns other fire. And one that Hiei decided to master despite it having never been done before.

Thanks to his demon heritage, Hiei can power through most elemental attacks non problem, and is in essence, immune to fire and ice. He can absorb the DotDF to empower himself after going full-power mode in his Jaganshi mode… I hope I’m spelling that right.

Yusuke is fast enough to dodge lightning, and Hiei once moved so fast that the former couldn’t really see how many slashes he did.

Hiei and Yusuke scale a lot together, by the way. But more importantly, this was when Hiei was  just a C-Class Demon. By ranking up, Hiei gets better speed and strength feats.

Oh, and remember how it was mentioned that Hiei could manipulate the DotDF into weapons?- Well, Hiei once cut and burned an opponent who had evolved specifically to counter such damage. How that works, Boomstick has no idea.

And as an S-Class Demon, Hiei has been said to be capable of destroying planets. Other S-Class beings in this world have been said to be able to cause major damage just by using 50%, and typical S-Classes can take down three A-Classes with minimal effort. Hiei took on 500 just by himself.

Now, the whole “Busting up a planet” thing might seem like boasting until…

This. This is Yusuke. Hiei’s rival and equal, who took on another demon and caused this massive energy output. All from a single punch clash. Worth noting, Yusuke wasn’t at top form at the time, and he survived the blast.

Given how Hiei is faster than Yusuke, and how they’ve constantly shown that they’re equals in combat, they’re at least in the same ballpark in terms of power.

And despite his horrendous upbringing, Hiei found a family. And unlike Sasuke, he managed to maintain better contact with them. Even if he hasn’t told his sister of their actual relation.

The Battle Itself.

Luis, Kiid, Kayas on animation. Sasuke will be voiced by Kyle Phillips and Hiei will be voiced by Howard Wang. Dangerous Gaze by Brandon Yates. And Chris Kokkinos lead on sound.

If there’s any reason two edgelords would duke it out, it would be because they would want to out-edge the other. Hiei seems to be minding his own business, until Sasuke edges in, and pretty much gets in Hiei’s face.

So the two go at it.

Sasuke, for all credit due, manages to survive this attack, and starts  using his blade to counter.

So Hiei responds in kind.

(Look at this animation!)

We get a really nice back and forth until Sasuke uses his speed to knock Hiei back to unleash his lightning attack, right after throwing his sword at the demon kid.

(Again: Look at this animation!)

Hiei, however, uses his power to break the blade and render Sasuke’s attack pointless.

Sasuke uses this opportunity to use his Genjutsu and other powers to trap Hiei in a hallucination that seems like the end.

Until you remember that Hiei has resistances to this kid of attack.

Sasuke, on the other hand, is a bit shocked that Hiei managed to escape.

So it’s back to the clash.

The Dragon of the Darkness Flame makes an appearance, as does the Susano.

(Have I mentioned how good this animation is?- It’s gorgeous!)

Hiei uses his super mode to blast the two out, though.

Sasuke manages to stand up, as does Hiei. Though, Sasuke stands first.

So the two go in for one final sword clash.

Finishing blow in

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

Verdict + Explanation.

So, right off the bat, even Boomstick is skeptical of Hiei’s victory.

But, as it turns out, this battle wasn’t as clear-cut as it seems. Sasuke had the speed and experience advantage, as well as a larger range of techniques. But Hiei is essentially an Anti-Sasuke.

The Jagan could counter any Genjutsu attack that Sasuke could throw at Hiei, and the Amaterasu is similar enough to the Darkness Flame that it’s likely that Hiei could counter it. Especially since it’s been done before.

Telekinesis could even prove an effective counter to the gravity manipulation. And as Boomstick notes, ripping out the soul wouldn’t do much since Hiei would still be able to fight despite that.

And speed isn’t that big of a factor since Hiei’s best speed feat was an early thing. And it’s hard to quantify how much faster he got since ranking up isn’t exactly like getting a x100 for each level up.

And believe it or not, Hiei is actually stronger that Sasuke.

Take the Susano slicing meteors feats as an example.

After a bit of math, Sasuke’s best feat comes out to 364 Teratons  of TNT.  And  thanks to the magic of scaling, the moon feat is also in play.

That’s  27 Exatons of TNT.

Now, as for Hiei, he also goes through scaling.

Recall the energy that was output by Yusuke and that other demon?

That comes out to…

285 Zettatons of TNT.

That’s nine more zeros that Yusuke, and by extension, Hiei, has to work with.

Even if you cut in half due to there being two people causing that blast, Hiei still has more to work with.

And it’s entirely likely that the tree that Yomi and Yusuke were fighting on was at a shorter height than originally calculated. So the blast could have been even greater. Plus, Sasuke doesn’t exactly scale to any planet buster in his world. At least, not on his own.

Sasuke was faster, but he had a real hard time landing a fatal blow.

The winner is Hiei.

Overall impression.

Overall, this actually makes me want to watch and read Yu Yu Hakusho. And I feel that it might make some holdouts want to watch it too. I feel as if battles that give people interest in other series are really great.

The  animation is awesome, and the music definitely has a really good beat to it. While I can’t say the same about the voice acting of the fighters, mostly due to the limited lines, they had some awesome moments.

Though, I do have to file a complaint in the “We didn’t get to see how Hiei would counter a Shadow Clone technique from Sasuke” department.

Other than that though, 8.7/10, would watch again.

Next Time…

When I saw the castle, I was honestly expecting a Belmont.

But this works too. Maybe we’ll get the premiere date of Season 3 around the time of the episode’s release.

Is there a fight that you want me to review? - Send an ask/request, and I’ll look into it!

Do you want to read my fanfic based around DEATH BATTLE itself? click here!

Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you next time for…

Powers of Darkness.

[shanastoryteller]

mmmmmmmkay okay so, you know, what if sion had been just a little smarter about how he handled the nezumi situation when he was twelve? like i get his naïve innocence is part of his charm and all, but this kid is also supposedly a genius, so, you know, i don’t think i’m going too far out of left field here.

so his mom tells him there’s a security alert about an escaped criminal and to acknowledge it when he goes back to his room, except this time shion puts two and two together and doesn’t bother, he knows who the security alert is about. so he goes back with dinner and gives it to nezumi, is just as kind and flaily and awkward and endearing as before. he still gives nezumi his sweater and holds his hand and curls in bed with him. nezumi turns into shion’s warmth, and that’s how they sleep, tangled up in each other. nezumi’s fever breaks in the middle of the night, and they get up just before dawn, when it’s still dark out. before nezumi goes, shion asks a favor – he has nezumi tie him up. and nezumi’s eyes widen, and he smiles again, because hey, that’s not a bad idea.

so when the security bureau shows up, karan shows them to her son’s room, and screams at what she find – her son bound and gagged, tear tracks down his face. he says the escaped prisoner came in and restrained him, and left a few hours ago, all of which is technically true, and he never opened the security alert, so they don’t question it – why would they? he’s part of the elite, and going to the advanced track, he’s going to be the best of them. so a criminal got the drop on him, he’s twelve after all. and the incident gets marked in his file, but he’s not found guilty of anything, they don’t suspect him of being a dissenter. because he’s not, not yet, he’s just a boy who saw someone in need of help and gave it, that’s all.

shion follows his path, going into the special curriculum with sefu, majoring in ecology. but he’s – well, he’s looking, not sure for what, but he is looking. and he sees it, eventually, and he sees what happens to people who know too much, and he says nothing. shion graduates early, and is given a prestigious position in the upper management of the parks maintenance center. and he’s only junior level, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out that something’s amiss.

the earth is dying.

not the whole earth, not the planet, but their corner of it is slowly fading, is unsustainable even though it shouldn’t be, even though the science says they should be fine. and, look, he’s karan’s son, right? he’s the son of one of the people who helped found no. 6. it’s why they’re elites in the first place. so when he warily starts poking around, all concern for their city and not even a whiff of disapproval over the things he knows, the stuff he’s figured out – well, they welcome him right into the inner circle, he’s eighteen and the youngest among them by thirty years, but he’s a genius and he’s loyal and his mother did so much for them, for this city, it seems only right that he give back too.

so, nezumi.

he tries to keep tabs on shion, but it���s hard. maybe if he’d gotten caught and lost some status he could have managed it, but information about elites is locked up tight, it’s a lot harder to get access to it. he knows he’s alive, that he got into that advanced school, but that’s it, that’s all he’s managed to figure out. but he’s still him, still closed off and angry, still so desperate for love and absolutely terrified at the prospect of caring about anyone and being cared about in return.

but he’s still an actor, is the leading lady in every shakespeare play that is performed, and a few others because he’s just that popular, is famous through his stage name eve, and he makes a tidy sum from his job and he’s still a fighter, of course, because he remembers what happened to him when he couldn’t fight, when he couldn’t defend himself.

anyway, he gets himself in a tough spot somehow, i don’t know. inukashi saves his ass, or bails him out of something, and he owes her big. and he hates owing inukashi anything, the girl who saw what was coming for them, coming for the forest folk, and ran. he can never decide if he’s jealous, or if he just hates her. it’s not fair. she got burned too, and in more ways than one. she survived, and didn’t suffer like he did, wasn’t traumatized like he was, because the dogs took her in. while he was captured for experiments in no. 6, she lived among the dogs, and learned to survive the only way she knew how – by turning her back on their life, and maybe that’s why he hates her so much, actually, even though it’s not fair. she was only a baby when it happened, when their forest was destroyed, their land taken from them, their people murdered. but he offered to teach her, once, when he found her and saw her burns, but she refused. she feels the clawing need for his songs, but doesn’t understand them, refuses to understand them. there was a time when the whole forest sang for them, and he wants so desperately to tell someone about it, wants so desperately to connect to this person who was like him, who was born of the forest folk even if she wasn’t raised among them, wants so desperately to help someone like shion helped him. but inukashi rejects all of it, rejects their whole heritage, and fair or not, he hates her for it.

so he owes inukashi. owing her makes his stomach flip, it makes him so uncomfortable he’d rather peel away his skin than deal with it. so, he did what he swore he would never do, and he goes to rikiga.

rikiga, who sells girls to high ranking no. 6 officials who like a taste of the wild side, who get off on pitying the girl they’re fucking. rikiga who once told him he’d make a lot more money working for him than he did as an actor.

“one night,” he says, and he hates this, but he hates it less than owing inukashi anything. “one night, and that’s it.”

he’d thought rikiga would be thrilled, but he actually looks conflicted. “if you need money, i can lend it to you,” he says.

nezumi blinks, taken aback, “why?”

“my girls make good money. they do it because they want to, because they’d rather work for me than do something else,” he says bluntly, “i don’t like taking people on who are too desperate for it. this is a business, not a slave trade.”

and, against his will and expectations, nezumi thinks for a moment that rikiga isn’t the worst person. “i don’t want to trade one debt for another. i’m the top paid actor in this place, i don’t need money that badly. it’s not you or death. it’s you or something deeply unpleasant, and i’d rather take you.”

rikiga signs and nods, and then that smarmy grin comes across his face, and nezumi’s more familiar with that, at least. “lucky for you, i have the perfect customer in mind, and his standing appointment is two days away.”

so, that’s that. nezumi shows up at rikiga’s business house in the place between their home and no. 6, and he’s given some clothes and make up, and he does his best not to scowl. he doesn’t mind the dress, he wears dresses all the time for his job, but he minds the point of the dress. it’s short and black, and too tight, and he does his makeup like he’s actually a girl, doesn’t put on stage make up because that looks horrendous face to face, and he doesn’t want to scare this guy off. or well, he wants to punch him in the face repeatedly, but if he does that not only will he not get paid, but he’ll owe rikiga too, which he doesn’t want.

the thought of letting a no. 6 official touch him makes him want to vomit and maybe kill someone, but it’s still not as bad as being in inukashi’s debt. he’s done worse for less.

he’s sitting on the bed, waiting, his hair loose around his face. he hears two sets of footsteps, and covetous whispering. then a light male voice he doesn’t recognize, “rikaga, who is this? i’m not going to talk in front of a stranger, i have you tell the girls to wait in your office for a reason.”

“i thought you might like this one,” rikaga says smugly, “you’re always paying premium price for my best girls, and you just send them away so we can talk. you should get your money’s worth for once.”

what is rikaga saying? why would someone pay that much money to not have sex?

“i come here to talk, not for sex, and you know it,” the man snaps, and nezumi thinks that voice almost sounds familiar. is it once of the people who had captured him when he was a kid, maybe? “you know coming to see you is the only way my coming here doesn’t raise suspicion. i’m here too often as it is. they think i’m a deviant.”

“and it makes them like you even more,” rikaga says dryly. “are you sure you won’t even take a look? i picked this one out special, just for you.”

“pay her and get her out of here,” the man says. “i’m paying for her time, and i’m not interested in having sex with her, so she can do whatever the hell she wants for the next couple of hours. my business is with you.”

they finally round the corner, and rikaga opens the cell door and they step inside. nezumi doesn’t look up, tense, because he knows what he looks like, he knows how attractive he is, and if this stranger is going to let him off the hook he doesn’t want to give him a reason to change his mind, and his face is a very good reason for this guy to change his mind. he makes his living off this face, he knows he’s beautiful.

“i’m sorry about this, there’s been a misunderstanding,” the man says kindly, and nezumi flinches. since when do no. 6 official actually sound kind? “you’re free to go. you will, of course, be compensated for your time.”

he finally risks a glance up, and his eyes meet soft brown eyes, and his mouth falls open. then he snarls and gets to his feet, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and slamming him against the wall. “you became one of them? you – you know, you must know, you’re an upper level official, and you still – i thought you were different.”

wide brown eyes stare at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and this is somehow worse than inukaisha, to find out the soft, kind boy who helped him so long ago became – this.

shion’s eyes finally light up with recognition. “nezumi! you’re okay! i never knew - i hoped, and,” he twists his head to glare at rikaga, “i asked about nezumi and you said you’d never heard of him!”

“nezumi?” he asks, confused. “that’s eve.”

“eve is my stage name, you idiot,” he snarls. “what are you doing with him?”

rikiga goes cold. “none of your business. if you’re not wanted, then get out of here. we have important things to discuss.”

“he can stay, if he wants,” shion says, beaming. he covers nezumi’s hands with his own, and he’s not afraid, he should be afraid. nezumi wants to murder him, and then maybe find a hole to cry in, since apparently there’s not a single decent person left in the world, and if that’s the case then what is he living for, anyway. “we’re planning a revolution. want to help?”

“shion!” rikaga shouts, “you can’t just say things like that!”

nezumi’s grip slackens in surprise, and shion doesn’t hesitate. he throws himself at nezumi, wrapping his arms around him, unconcerned when nezumi stands stiff and still in his arms. he pulls back, but he keeps his warm hands curled around nezumi’s upper arms. his smile is warm too. “we’re going to destroy no. 6 from the inside out. i’ve put a lot effort in getting where i am today – a place where i have access to almost everything, where i know enough to actually do something about all of this. and i will do something. no. 6 has ran unchecked for too long, and it’s time for it to end.”

“i,” he licks his lips, “i don’t understand.”

shion goes harder then, something like steel in his eyes. “i don’t want what happened to you to happen to anyone else. you – you opened my eyes, nezumi, to everying i didn’t know, you were the one that led me down the path to discovering what was really going on in no. 6, to be becoming the person i am today.” he slides his hands down to nezumi’s arms to squeeze his hands. “help me again. help me destroy no. 6, and build something better in it’s place.”

“okay,” he says, a harsh whisper, because is this a dream, it feels like a dream, “okay.”

and that’s exactly what they did. and fell in love along the way while they were at it, of course.

[vapemarketing]

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[ramajmedia]

10 Craziest Fringe Cases, Ranked | ScreenRant

J.J. Abrams’ Fringe was an extraordinarily innovative sci-fi series, filled with mind-blowing pseudo-science, heart, and slick action. However, its first season was a procedural, in order to feel more accessible. And yet, even after breaking that conventional formula in season two, some incredible investigations still emerged. It is surprisingly easy to invest in the ensemble of fantastical characters, for their comedy, determination, and flaws. This keeps everything grounded, no matter how bizarre the cases get.

It’s quite the magic trick, how this show consistently translated the impossible with fun, convincing theories. Here’s the ten wildest cases that ever boggled our minds—something this show achieved with unique dexterity. Spoilers!

RELATED: Lost: The 10 Most Heartbreaking Deaths, Ranked

10 Bound

The first season bears many “traditional” cases which established the tone of this show, if not its truest identity. But this episode has a simple, creative, and certainly repulsive concept. In this episode, Olivia gets some great action as she escapes capture. While investigating her abduction, the team runs into a related murder. Someone has used a supersized cold virus to kill someone.

The lecture sequence is especially memorable, as the CGI and sound effects are gleefully disgusting. The slimy virus pushes its way out of the victim’s mouth and slithers away. It’s so effective, the concept was totally replicated with a giant roundworm in the second-season episode “Snakehead”. Unfortunately, there’s certainly no cure for the common cold.

9 Jacksonville

The parallel universe was a crucial, innovative addition to the series’ mythology, frequently inspiring the best the show could offer. Alternate timelines are innately intriguing already, but the deliberate line between just two similar universes created superb drama. In this stunning premise, the connective tissue between the two universes has merged building and people together.

It’s visually arresting, and a conceptually thrilling issue. The ticking clock of an impending follow-up disaster also drives some great backstory for Olivia’s childhood. This adds context to Walter’s ethical mishaps in the past. Also, Olivia finally learned the truth about Peter, which gradually fueled great character development.

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8 The Ghost Network

The main premise of this case isn’t quite as groundbreaking as later investigations. At some point, Walter helped to create a secret frequency range for covert messages. One unlucky man has happened to tap into it, and he’s suffering.

However, the disasters he envisions are truly startling. This was the first appearance of “amber”, wherein a gas erupts and solidifies everything within its grasp. It’s a very creative crime scene, and ultimately, this becomes absolutely central to the show’s mythology. It was vital to the alternate universe, and even in season five’s plans. Amber was a frightening, inventive, and iconic addition to the show.

7 Through the Looking Glass and What Walter Found There

The fifth season’s taut storytelling provided some of the show’s brightest moments. The pacing was improved, the family dynamic was stressed, and the Observer plot was terrific. In this episode, Walter removes a tape from amber that sends him on a wild journey into a pocket universe. This pocket universe is a disorienting, surreal place, and Walter runs into the strange Observer-like boy from season one. The fifth season was heavy on well-executed fan service.

The brisk pace of this episode is incredible, as our team races the Observers to find Walter. Natural laws of reality are totally distorted. We also get Observer-vision for a minute, and Peter’s foray into Observer abilities is definitely striking.

RELATED: 10 Burning Questions That Fringe Never Answered

6 The Day We Died

Brad Dourif, known as Chucky from the Child’s Play franchise, superbly plays the leader of a cult. Rather than a Cult of Chucky, his followers bear the lame moniker “End of Dayers”. However, their intent and methods are interesting nonetheless. At the behest of “Walternate”, they are intentionally destabilizing the universe’s soft spots. This season three finale was a complete flashforward, but it isn’t just a vision.

Peter actually lives through the horrendous events that will occur, and a temporal paradox is the only way to prevent them. The Doomsday Machine turned out to provide some inventive storytelling. We also learn the truth of the First People legend, and Peter’s abrupt disappearance was a very creative cliffhanger.

5 White Tulip

Peter Weller is a fantastic character actor, known best for Robocop. But he’s shown up in Star Trek Into Darkness as well, establishing the J.J. Abrams connection. In this episode, the series flaunts how well it can handle time travel. Weller’s character is attempting to rescue his wife using the technology, which has grotesquely mutilated his body. But it also accidentally kills an entire train of people, while draining the power from everything on board.

It’s a great setup, and although the situation seems rote, it’s handled very well. It also serves as a great parallel to Walter’s ethical issues about Peter. The result is one of the most meaningful episodes of the entire show.

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4 The Road Not Taken

In this memorable episode, the case itself is once again more of an aside to the craziest ingredients. Although, the show did find a pseudo-scientific theory for spontaneous combustion, which is undeniably impressive. It’s ultimately a result of experimental attempts to generate pyrokinesis.

However, the most mind-blowing thing about this episode is undoubtedly Olivia’s strange visions throughout. It was in this episode that all the clues come together, and establish the possibility of the parallel universe for the first time. At first, fans wouldn’t realize just how significant this turn of events truly was. But it was certainly the most appealing way to introduce such a fantastic theory.

3 Letters of Transit

Without warning, an abrupt glimpse of the future is thrust upon the audience. The entire concept of season five was established in a single, compelling story with a great protagonist. Etta isn’t just a great actress, but very well casted for her likeness to Peter and Olivia. This episode promised the network and fans what was in store, sans cancellation. It’s a bold move, and the Observer plot is an ingenious use of time travel.

As dark as this show could be, this dystopian future is easily the darkest chapter for our heroes. The episode was totally unexpected, creative, and action-packed. It would have been an absolute shame if we didn’t have the opportunity to explore this terrifying vision.

RELATED: 10 Best X-Files Episodes (According to IMDb)

2 The Arrival

There’s no question that the Observers were the greatest mystery of the show. This is because they were generally an aside, rather than directly incorporated into the plot. Their behavior and appearance is strange, to be sure. But the Observers’ actual purpose and origin remain concealed for quite a while.

In this early episode, a strange “Beacon” device is the driving plot. Its design is unsettling, and its intent is certainly confusing. Further, Walter eventually reveals that these strange people have ties to his past, regarding Peter. This episode establishes the course for a very convoluted history of Peter’s origin and future Observer mythology.

1 Lysergic Acid Diethylamide

Ah, yes, the continued tradition of the nineteenth episode being utterly bonkers. This is the episode with all of the animation. Olivia has been possessed, and in order to rescue her mind, Walter and Peter have to literally enter it. And in order to do that, they take LSD. This is easily the most bizarre case of all, and it involves Olivia herself. The mind is always a unique, unnatural, haphazard place to visit.

Few things feel assembled and cohesive there, so much of this story is consequently abstract. Besides the concept of possession itself, the journey through Olivia’s mind was a brave risk and resulted in absolute craziness.

NEXT: 10 Best Fringe Episodes, According To IMDB

source https://screenrant.com/craziest-fringe-cases-ranked/