#legal dispute preparation

[aiolegalservices]

Pre-Action Protocols, Expert Evidence, and Alternative Dispute Resolution: A Guide to Efficient Legal Dispute Management

  Paragraph 6 of the Pre-action Conduct of all proceedings confirms that if a relevant pre-action protocol exists, parties are required to follow it before initiating legal action. This ensures that both sides take certain preliminary steps, such as sharing information and exploring potential settlements, to possibly resolve the dispute without court intervention. If no specific protocol applies,…

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The far right grows through “disaster fantasies”

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

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/25/mall-ninja-prophecy/#mano-a-mano">https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/25/mall-ninja-prophecy/#mano-a-mano

The core of the prepper fantasy: "What if the world ended in the precise way that made me the most important person?" The ultra-rich fantasize about emerging from luxury bunkers with an army of mercs and thumbdrives full of bitcoin to a world in ruins that they restructure using their "leadership skills."

The ethnographer Rich Miller spent his career embedding with preppers, eventually writing the canonical book of the fantasies that power their obsessions, Dancing at Armageddon: Survivalism and Chaos in Modern Times:

https://www.press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/D/bo3637295.html

Miller recounts how the disasters that preppers prepare for are the disasters that will call upon their skills, like the water chemist who's devoted his life to preparing to help his community recover from a terrorist attack on its water supply; and who, when pressed, has no theory as to why any terrorist would stage such an attack:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/22/preppers-are-larpers/#preppers-unprepared

Prepping is what happens when you are consumed by the fantasy of a terrible omnicrisis that you can solve, personally. It's an individualistic fantasy, and that makes it inherently neoliberal. Neoliberalism's mind-zap is to convince us all that our only role in society is as an individual ("There is no such thing as society" – M. Thatcher). If we have a workplace problem, we must bargain with our bosses, and if we lose, our choices are to quit or eat shit. Under no circumstances should we solve labor disputes through a union, especially not one that wins strong legal protections for workers and then holds the government's feet to the fire.

Same with bad corporate conduct: getting ripped off? Caveat emptor! Vote with your wallet and take your business elsewhere. Elections are slow and politics are boring. But "vote with your wallet" turns retail therapy into a form of civics.

This individualistic approach to problem solving does useful work for powerful people, because it keeps the rest of us thoroughly powerless. Voting with your wallet is casting a ballot in a rigged election that's always won by the people with the thickest wallets, and statistically, that's never you. That's why the right is so obsessed with removing barriers to election spending: the wealthy can't win a one-person/one-vote election (to be in the 1% is to be outnumbered 99:1), but unlimited campaign spending lets the wealthy vote in real elections using their wallets, not just just ballots.

You can't recycle your way out of the climate emergency. Practically speaking, you can't even recycle. All those plastics you lovingly washed and sorted ended up in a landfill or floating in the ocean. Plastics recycling is a hoax perpetrated by the petrochemical industry, who knew all along that their products would never be recycled. These despoilers convinced us to view the systemic rot of corporate ecocide as an individual matter, chiding us about "littering" and exhorting us to sort our garbage:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/14/they-knew/#doing-it-again

We are bombarded by real problems that require urgent solutions that can only be resolved through collective action, which we are told is impossible. This is an objectively frightening state of affairs, and it makes people go nuts.

At the start of this century, in the weeks before 9/11, a message-board poster calling himself Gecko45 went Web 1.0 viral by earnestly bullshitting about his job as a mall security guard, doing battle with heavily armed gangs, human traffickers, and ravening monsters. Gecko45's posts were unhinged: he started out seeking advice for doubling up on body-armor to protect him while he deployed his smoke bombs and his partner assembled a high-powered rifle. Though Gecko45 was apparently sincere, he drew tongue-in-cheek replies from the other posters on GlockTalk, who soon dubbed him the "Mall Ninja":

https://lonelymachines.org/mall-ninjas/

The Mall Ninja professed to patrolling a suburban shopping mall while armed with 15 firearms as he carried out his duties as "Sergeant of a three-man Rapid Tactical Force at one of America’s largest indoor retail shopping areas." His qualifications? Mastery "of three martial arts including ninjitsu, which means I can wear the special boots to climb walls."

The Mall Ninja's fantasy of a single brave individual, defending the sleepy populace from violent, armed mobs is instantly recognizable as an ancestor to today's right wing fantasy of America's cities as "no-go zones" filled with "open air drug markets," patrolled by MS-13 and antifa super-soldiers. And while the Mall Ninja drew derision – even from the kinds of people who hang out on a message board called "GlockTalk" – today, his brand of fantasy wins elections.

On Jacobin, Olly Haynes interviews the political writer Richard Seymour about this phenomenon:

https://jacobin.com/2024/11/disaster-nationalism-fantasies-far-right/

Seymour's latest book is Disaster Nationalism:The Downfall of Liberal Civilization, an exploration of the strange obsessions of the right with imaginary disasters in the midst of real ones:

https://www.versobooks.com/en-gb/products/3147-disaster-nationalism

You know these imaginary disasters: "FEMA death camps, 'great replacement theory,' the 'Great Reset,' fifteen-minute cities, 5G towers being beacons of mind control, and microchips installed in people through vaccines." As Seymour writes, these conspiracy fantasies are proliferated by authoritarian regimes and their supporters, especially as real disasters rage around them.

For example, during the Oregon wildfires, people who were threatened by blazing forests that hit 800'C refused to evacuate because they'd been convinced that the fires were set by antifa arsonists in a bid to "wipe out white conservative Christians." They barricaded themselves in their fire-threatened homes, brandishing guns and prepping for the antifa mob.

Seymour says that this "disaster nationalism" "processes disaster in a way that is actually quite enlivening." Confronted with the helplessness of a real disaster that can only be solved through the collective action you've been told is both impossible and a Communist plot, you retreat to an individualistic disaster fantasy that you can play an outsized role in. Every crisis – the climate emergency, poverty, a toxic environment – is replaced by "bad people" and you can go get them.

For authoritarian politicians, a world of bad people at the gates who can only be stopped by "the good guys" makes for great politics. It impels proto-fascist movements to electoral victories, all over the world: in the US, of course, but Seymour also analyzes this as the phenomenon behind the electoral victories of authoritarian ethno-nationalists in India, Israel, Brazil, and all over the world.

I find Seymour's analysis bracing and clarifying. It explains the right's tendency to obsess over the imaginary at the expense of the real. Think of conservatives' obsession with imaginary and hypothetical children, from Qanon's child trafficking conspiracies to the forced birth movement's fixation on "the unborn."

It's not just that these kids don't exist – it's that the right is either indifferent or actively hostile to real children. Qanon peaked at the same time as Trump's "kids in cages" family separation policy, which saw thousands of kids separated from their parents, many forever, as a deliberate policy.

The forced birth movement spent decades fighting to overturn Roe in the name of saving "the unborn" – even as its leaders were also overturning the Child Tax Credit, the most successful child poverty alleviation measure in American history. Actual children were left to sink into food insecurity and precarity, to be enlisted to work overnight shifts in meat-packing plants, to fall into homelessness – even as the movement celebrated the "culture of life" that would rescue hypothetical children.

Lifting kids out of poverty and building a world where parents can afford to raise as many children as they care to have is a collective endeavor. Firebombing abortion clinics or storming into a pizza parlor with an assault rifle is an individual rescue fantasy that escapes into the world.

Mall Ninja politics are winning.

[stclaretarot]

PICK A CARD ⭒ which ancestor is reaching out to you?

reminder that this is a general reading and messages found here may not apply to everyone. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, and don't force anything if it does not fit.

BOOK A READING WITH ME · LINKTREE · 18+ PATREON · SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC · TIPS ♡ tips, bookings, and feedback are highly appreciated!

GROUP ONE

cards · the high priestess, queen of wands, king of pentacles, page of pentacles

channelled songs · stand by me by wayv. gangsta luv by snoop dogg & the-dream. i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie.

hey there group one ♡ this is a paternal ancestor, a female ancestor from your father’s side. she is slavic, scandinavian or an indigenous person in this general area of europe.

sami, kurdish, and uyghur also come to mind.

this ancestor may be your father’s grandmother, or the grandmother of a grandmother for example.

because of this, this is likely not someone you have met -- though she has watched over you since you were born. no, since earlier. since before your conception. she has prayed and willed you into existence.

GROUP TWO

cards · the lovers, the world, nine of swords, six of pentacles.

channelled songs · bodak yellow by cardi b. restraint by florence + the machine. eternal sunshine by ambré & g-eazy.

hey there group two ♡ this is someone who died for love. suddenly, i keep thinking about the movies ‘bladerunner 2049’ and ‘mulan’. in both movies we see characters who are driven by love, who go on these grand journeys and fight these battles so much bigger than them all because of love. love in whatever shape or form.

this ancestor is someone who died at war. they may have been a general, for some of you, while for others of you they were a common soldier. they were likely drafted, or had a legal or familial obligation to fulfil, and the only thing that got them through this was the love for a woman.

he would sit up at night thinking of her, looking at the picture he carried around of her, and telling himself he had to make it out to get back to her.

this ancestor is likely japanese (specifically ainu), chinese, brazilian or cuban.

GROUP THREE

cards · ten of challenges, page of cups, ten of pentacles, the fool.

channelled songs · i’m that girl by beyoncé. que me quedes tú by shakira. just the lonely talking again by whitney houston.

hey there group three ♡ this is not really an ancestor… as, ancestor -- at least to me -- denotes someone who died many, many, many years ago. decades and centuries ago. but this person who is reaching out to you is someone who died fairly recently, as this is your father.

in life, your father may have been a man overburdened by stress and worry. he aged fast and young because of the hard life he lived, and died young because of it.

he had a lot of love for you and your family, and took a lot of pride in the life he was trying to build for you, but it was harder than he ever could have ever expected.

he had never been prepared for the harsh reality of life, but he did the best he could with the hand he was given.

GROUP FOUR

cards · queen of pentacles, king of pentacles, the devil, the magician.

channelled songs · a departue - audiotree live version by la dispute. the lady in my life by michael jackson. the bomb dot come v2.0 by sleeping with sirens.

hey there group four ♡ instead of just one ancestor, this is two ancestors who are reaching out to you. a pair of ancestors. soulmates. two people who lived together and died together; who gave their all to each other until the very end.

and then even after the end, in the divine realm as your guides watching over you.

they may have been star-crossed lovers, forbidden to be together by their respective families -- or by the culture and society in which they were born and in which they had to live. and so they ran away.

for some of you, this effort to run away was futile and they decided to take their lives, together, to end this once and for all. for others of you, they were able to get away and have their happy ending.

these ancestors may be from mexico, bosnia, greece. america especially during the antebellum period also comes to mind.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Law Reader x Record of Ragnarok

Where they fight in Ragnarok and stun many with their powers.

And Corazaon, I forgot how to spell his name-, is in the Audience as well-

-Bepo was snoring quietly behind you as you were leaning against him, your hat pulled over your eyes, as you were relaxing for a short while, preparing in advance for your battle.

-Brunnhilde asked you to fight for humanity in Ragnarok, to ensure humanities’ salvation, and while at first you weren’t going to accept, because you had questioned what humanity had done for you, thinking back to your childhood when you were still alive.

-However, when Corazon, who had been walking over to meet up with you and the rest of your crew, slipping on nothing and falling backwards and somehow set himself on fire, you agreed to fight, as you didn’t want to lose those you were closest to, not again.

-Now backstage, waiting for your turn, only Bepo was with you, serving as your pillow, but also as your security blanket, keeping you calm. You had faith in your skills and abilities, especially after Brunnhilde told you that your abilities with your Devil Fruit could be used, since it was a part of you when you died, so you knew that you were going to win, but there was always a chance, and that had you a bit nervous.

-When it was time, Bepo hugged you, not wanting you to go, but you just smiled, “I’ve got this- go join Cora-san and the others.” He sniffled softly, agreeing to your command and he headed off as you headed out into the arena.

-You were different than the warriors who came before you, you didn’t seem as jacked as many of them were, despite the long sword you held to your shoulder and your cocky but mysterious looking smile on your lips.

-Your opponent was arrogant and rude, reminding you a bit of men you had met in the past, as he laughed at you, thinking you were a weakling due to your smaller size compared to other competitors.

-You weren’t bothered, a soft chuckle leaving you while you heard Bepo, Cora-san and the others all shouting behind you, being irate for you, calling your opponent names. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at their antics.

-When the match started, you smirked, holding your free hand out in front of you, “Room!” a dome appeared around the two of you as many shouted, wondering what it was before you quickly charged, drawing your sword and sliced through your opponent, but there was no blood, and he wasn’t dead.

-your crew cheered as you tossed your opponent’s head up and down like a ball, making him yell, “What the hell did you do? Put my body back together and fight me like a warrior!!”

-You did as he asked, reforming his body before you were quickly on him, not giving him a chance as a smirk appeared on your face, “I’m a pirate- not a warrior.” Before you took his head from his shoulders, the correct way this time.

-Your crew cheered loudly, and you rolled your eyes as Cora-san slipped and fell into the arena, landing hard and you came over to help him up, dragging him backstage to patch him up again.

-Zeus was furious at the outcome, seeing the ability you used, and tried to dispute the result with Brunnhilde, who provided him proof that your Devil Fruit ability was something you had when you died and ascended to Valhalla- it was legal as it was a part of you.

-While your crew was celebrating in your waiting room, with you just nursing a mug of booze, being held in Bepo’s arms, the tournament came to a standstill as they had to go over the rules on what was allowed or not, but that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying your drink and the antics of your crew.

[five-rivers]

Cracked Clay Cup

for @greatbigolhampuckjustforme

“Are you awake?”

Until he heard that question, the answer to it would have been a resounding no.  However, he was awake now, so he pried his eyes open to squint at whoever had interrupted his sleep.  

“Maybe,” he mumbled into a fluffy pillow.  

“Excellent.  Then we can start the questionnaire.”

In his opinion, it was far too early for a questionnaire.  On the other hand, the creeping feeling that something wasn't quite right was creeping its way up his spine.  He levered himself out of his blanket cocoon and into a sitting position.  Then he retrieved his blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders.  He wanted to be cozy.  

“Questionnaire?” he asked.  

“Indeed.  It’s not long.”

“Um, okay.  What are you doing in, um…”  This… wasn’t his bedroom.  He was pretty sure this wasn’t his bedroom.  Or any place he’d seen before.  

He also didn’t think he’d seen the ghost before, which added an air of surrealism to the whole situation.  

“Who are you?” he asked, looking the ghost up and down.  He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in purple, with a hooded cloak thrown around his shoulders.  There was a rectangular hole in his chest, and in the hole was a pendulum and clock face.

“That is, in fact, one of the questions I have to ask you.”  The ghost showed him the back of a clipboard and produced a pen from thin air.

“Um, that, um.”  He frowned.  “Who am I, or who are you?”

“Yes,” said the ghost.  “But let us start at the beginning.  Do you know who you are?”

“Well, yeah, sure, I’m… Um.  I’m.  I…”  It should have been an easy question.  It should have been a question he didn’t even have to think about, which is why he didn’t.  But he didn’t even have the echo of an answer.

“I will mark that down as a no.”

“Wait, wait,” he said, “what’s going on, who am I?”

“I have to go through the whole questionnaire before I answer your questions, I’m afraid.  Those are the rules.”

“I… okay?”

“Do you recognize me in any capacity?”

“Nope.  Am I supposed to?”

“Excellent.  Next question, do you know where you are?”

He shook his head.  “Somewhere in the Ghost Zone, I think.”

“Do you know what year it is?”

“Um.  Two thousand five?  Or, uh, six?”  He shrugged.  Something like that.  It was a little blurry.  

“How old are you?”

“Teenage?”

“Can you describe yourself?”

“Um…  Forgetful?”

“Physically,” clarified the ghost.

He looked down.  He was covered in blankets and therefore unable to see so much as an inch of skin.  He crossed his eyes to look at his nose.  “White,” he said, finally.  “Probably.  And a guy.  Is that a physical thing?”

The ghost made a note on the clipboard.  “And how would you describe your parents?  Your family?”

“Uh.  They probably… exist.”

“Very good.  Favorite band?”

“Dumpty Humpty.  Why do I know that and not my name?”

“Please hold your questions until the end.  Favorite food?”

“Milkshake.  Kiwi fudge.  That’s weird.  That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“No weirder than a cheese puff and bacon milkshake.”

“Huh.  Is it weird that I want to try that now?”

“Somewhat, but not horribly so.”

He gazed at the ghost silently for several long seconds.  The ghost gazed back.  This was already an awkward situation, but it was getting worse by the second.  

“So… what’s the next question?”

“That was the last question. As you can doubtlessly tell, I am now answering your questions.”

He probably should have noticed that, actually.  He leaned forward, eager.  “Great, so, uh, what’s going on?  Why don’t I remember anything?”

“Your memory was removed in preparation for legal proceedings.”  Was it just him, or did the ghost seem… displeased about that?

“Uh… that seems sort of backwards, doesn’t it?  If I’m supposed to testify or defend myself, shouldn’t I at least remember what it is I’m doing?”

“That would be true if you were testifying or defending yourself.”

“Okay…  So…  What am I doing?”

“You are the subject of an extensive custody dispute.”

“And… that means I need to get my memory erased why?”

“We ghosts have a different method of settling custody disputes.  We prefer it if the child in question decides who to be with.”

“I kind of feel as if that’d also be easier with my memories.”

“On the contrary, memories can often lead to people choosing to stay in unpleasant situations.  For example, memories might create a sense of debt, sentiment, or honor that would prevent an objective decision based on current reality.”  The ghost said this as if he was reciting the phrase from rote memory.  

“That seems… wrong, somehow.  Like, there’s a missed assumption or something.”

“Be that as it may be, it is how we do things.”

“‘We’ being ghosts.”

“Correct.”

“Am I a ghost?”  This felt like another of those things he should just know, but, as before, he just didn't. 

“An unusual kind, but yes.”

“I'm dead?”  

“You died, yes.  Whether or not ghosts count as dead is a matter of scholarly debate.”

Well.  Okay, then.  He didn’t know what to say to that.  He sort of thought being dead would have more impact, but maybe it was hard to mourn for a life he didn't remember.  Or maybe he'd been dead for long enough that he'd already processed all the implications, and that had stuck around subconsciously.  Like the name of his favorite band.  

That was still weird.  

“So… What happens now?  Do you lead me out into the courtroom, see who I run to?  Do some kind of genetic test?  What are the rules here?”

“On the contrary, we have taken measures to keep your biological family from having an unfair advantage based on resemblance.  No.  What will happen is that, as a trial, you will spend a few days with each group that put themselves forward as potential guardians.  They have acquired housing appropriate for a young ghost, and have been… reviewed… to prevent abuses or other troubles.  You may leave their temporary guardianship whenever you choose.  However, once you leave, you will not be able to return to them until and unless you choose them at the end of these trials.  Between the potential guardians, you will stay here with me.”

There were so many troubling things in that explanation that he didn’t even know where to start.  

“So… the courtroom thing, but drawn out.”

“I suppose so, if you choose to look at it that way.”

“Right.  So, um.  What’s my name?”

“It’s Daniel.”

“Great.  Okay.  Cool.”  Daniel rubbed his eyes.  Despite all the heart-attack inducing things he was learning about today, he was still half-asleep.  Maybe it was a memory-wipe side-effect.  “You know, this is kind of messed up.  Some kind of weird reverse fairy tale kind of thing.  Like that story where someone has to pick the right girl when she’s been turned into a flower and there are two other flowers.  Why do I know that?”

“Unfortunately, I am not allowed to give you that information.  I am here to tell you the rules and make sure you are… able to do this.”

“To make sure you guys didn’t nuke my brain, you mean?”

“To some degree, yes.  But this is also frequently rather emotional, at least that is my understanding.  You are handling it remarkably well.”

“Oh, I’m just delaying my breakdown until after I see what I look like.  Better to have some idea of what my body is capable of in terms of punching walls and all that.”

“Wise,” said the ghost, with a small smile.  “There is a bathroom just through that door if you wish to examine yourself physically.”

“I’ll do that, in a bit.  But, first, um.  You keep saying we and us.  Who is that?  Who’s doing this?  I mean, ghosts, sure, but more specifically?”

“The legal system of the Ghost Zone.”

“Which is… Who?  Exactly?  The Observants?”

“You remember that.  Interesting.  But, yes, they are, for better or worse.”

“And you?  What's your position?”

“I am merely a neutral monitor selected by the Observants.”

“Monitor, huh?”

“I feel as though it would be misleading of me to call myself an observer under these circumstances.”

Daniel nodded.  “I can understand that.  I guess.  Is that, um, your usual job?  Taking care of kids like this?”

“I’m afraid not.  I work for the Observants in another capacity.”

“What capacity?”

“That would be one of the things I am not permitted to tell you.”

“Okay, and what’s up with that?  Why can’t you tell me things?”

“I am not allowed to give you information regarding your own past, including contextual information.”

Daniel frowned at the ghost.  “That sort of implies that I knew you, though, doesn’t it?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“Cool,” said Daniel.  “That’s helpful.  You’re not in the running for my… whatever I should call this.  My guardianship?”

The ghost nodded.  “That is an acceptable term, but I must remind you that I am a neutral monitor.”

“Sure.  Right.”  There were other questions he could ask, other questions he should ask, but his brain felt fried.  Did he have a brain, being a ghost and all?  Or was he just, like… goo?

Yeah, no, he wasn’t going to ask that.  He was going to go do something more… concrete.  Bathroom time.  He was sure it would be just as harrowing, especially with the implication that his appearance had been changed somehow, but he could be brave.

He shuffled to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over.  He frowned at the cold floor and decided to take the blankets with him.  Then, he realized one of his questions had gone unanswered.

“Hey, um.  What’s your name? You never did say.”

“You can call me Clockwork.  And when you are done in the bathroom, I have breakfast waiting downstairs.”

Daniel heaved himself up and went to the bathroom, looking over his shoulder at Clockwork as he went.  

This was just… really weird.  Should he try to escape?  Like, even if Clockwork was telling the truth about everything, this wasn’t exactly what he would call a good situation.  But if this was the lie, then what was the truth?  The truth was always worse, when people were lying like that.

… Not that Daniel could come up with any specific examples of that.  It was more of a feeling.  

Soft lights came on in the bathroom as he stepped in.  It was… a bathroom.  He was sure he’d been in other bathrooms before.  This one had a purple-on-lavender color scheme and a large bathtub.  The fixtures were brass.  In other words, it resembled Clockwork to a surprisingly high degree.  Daniel wondered if he lived here normally, or if he’d just been the one to decorate.  Or if someone with a sense of irony had decorated it for him.  

Whichever.  Maybe he’d ask Clockwork about it and see if he answered.  It was harmless enough, compared to some of the questions he could ask.  

There was also a mirror.  He stared at it.  

His skin was a sort of tan pink, awash with freckles.  His hair was white.  His eyes were glowing and green.  His ears were long and pointed, curving up around the sides of his face to sit on the top of his head.  The blankets were also purple, funnily enough.  Huh.  

He leaned closer, squinting.  What kind of ears were those, anyway?  He had to assume he didn’t have them when he was alive and human.  Cat?  Dog?  Fox?  It wasn’t an automatic ghost thing, either, since Clockwork didn’t seem to have them, although that hood could likely hide a lot.  

If he had animal ears, did he have anything else?  Maybe some cool slit pupils?  He leaned even closer, over the counter.  Maybe?  They might be slitted?  He alternately blinked and widened his eyes, trying to make his pupils change sizes.  

Yes!  They were slitted!  Cool!

Which put better odds on this being a fox or cat thing than a dog thing.  Dogs had round pupils.  

Next question: did he have a tail?

He swung the blankets off his shoulders and folded them up so he could set them on the counter.  He was, surprise surprise, wearing purple pajamas.  But he also had a large, fluffy tail.  He petted it.  It was very fluffy.  

Excellent.  He’d always wanted a tail.  Well, he’d wanted one for the few minutes he’d been aware there was a possibility he could have one.  Very nice.  Good feeling.  Soft.  

It also seemed very unfamiliar.

Precautions.  

Right.  

The smile slid off his face.  Well.  On reflection, he didn’t think Clockwork was lying to him, but he really needed to know more about him to make a real determination.  Just like he needed to make a determination about his potential ‘guardians.’  

This was giving him real adoption scam vibes.  Which was weird, because he’d’ve thought that’d be one of the memories they’d erase if they wanted to do that.  Maybe memory erasure was just… really inexact.  That sounded like a possibility.  Maybe there was some other weird scam going on.  

Only one way to find out.  He washed up, then left the bathroom and navigated towards the stairs.  

The stairs were also purple.  

Daniel was definitely leaning towards this place being decorated by someone with a weird sense of humor.  A non-Clockwork someone.  There weren’t nearly enough clocks for this place to have been designed by someone named Clockwork.  You had to be really into clocks to name yourself Clockwork.  

“Welcome,” said Clockwork, smiling at Daniel from the center of the purple kitchen.  “There are pancakes.”  He gestured to the table.  “And the file next to them has the names of your potential guardians.  Why don’t you read through them and see who you might like to stay with first.”

“You want me gone so soon?” asked Daniel, sliding into his seat.  

“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you want, but then you won’t get your memories back.”

“I can get my memories back?” asked Daniel, looking up sharply.  

“Yes, they will be returned after you make your choice,” said Clockwork.  He turned back to the stove.  “Hashbrowns?  Eggs?  Sausage?”

“Um,” said Daniel, who was gradually realizing how hungry he was.  “All of them?”

“Of course.”

Daniel turned his attention back to the file folder, then flipped it open.  Time to see who he was being… adopted by?  Was that the right term here?  

The first page had seven groups of names, bullet pointed.  It was also done in calligraphy, which was certainly a contrast to the plain manila folder it was stored in.  

“Anyone catch your eye?” asked Clockwork, setting down a plate with eggs and sausage on it.  

“Does it matter which order I do this in?”

“Not at all.”

“So I could start at the end.”

“Indeed.”

“Great,” said Daniel.  “Then let’s start there.  After breakfast.”

[goodqueenaly]

One aspect of Baelor’s reign that I am very fascinated to learn more about is the lead-up to his death. Not only has GRRM quite deliberately presented the actual cause of Baelor’s death as something of a mystery, but I think the information we have been given about the last portion of Baelor’s reign suggests a time of great unease, anxiety, and uncertainty about the future. This was, I think, a period of real politico-dynastic crisis, in which the king’s death was both the climactic resolution and, perhaps, what one or more of his contemporaries saw as the only viable solution to prevent catastrophe. 

Of course, a major issue of Baelor’s reign had been present almost from the first moment - the lack of a clear successor. Having dissolved his own marriage and taken the vows of a septon, Baelor was very obviously not going to father his own heir. Too, because he had imprisoned his sisters and had no living brothers, Baelor had no legitimate (male) heirs of his immediate family positioned to assume the throne automatically at his death, as he had from Daeron I. His closest relatives, and the only remaining descendants of Aegon III, were the king’s three sisters. Their imprisonment since the early part of Baelor’s reign had left them politically atrophied, without powerful allies or marital factions ready to support their right to the throne; what’s more, Daena’s extramarital son provided an opportunity for Westerosi misogynistic pillorying against her, and by extension her royal claim. However, Baelor's sisters were also Rhaenyra’s granddaughters, princesses who had a model of female royal power, even if ultimately unsuccessful, not even half a century in the past. Could any onlooker be sure that, at the moment Baelor died, any one of his sisters would not appear to be the most rightful heir to the late king?

Moreover, given Baelor’s agreement with the Unnamed Prince of Dorne to have Prince Daeron marry Princess Myriah, I think it’s very possible if not probable that Baelor acknowledged, if perhaps semi-officially or unofficially, young Daeron as his eventual successor. Yet even if Baelor had formally declared Prince Daeron to be his successor, recent Westerosi history would have suggested the riskiness of such a decision: after all, the formal declaration by King Viserys I in 105 AC that Rhaenyra was his heiress did not at all guarantee her position once a trueborn son was born to the king. In a world where Laenor had failed to be acclaimed at the Great Council of 101 AC, would Prince Daeron have sufficient backing to become king ahead of two princes with arguably far better claims - that is, his own father and grandfather? 

In fact, situation may well have reminded the king's contemporaries of the reign of Baelor’s own great-grandfather Viserys I. The king’s court had been dominated by increasingly violent factionalism, in which the black and green parties both vehemently insisted on the superior claims of their respective claimants. Only the naive king himself would have ignored the virtual certainty of a succession crisis breaking out at that same king’s death: with both Aegon the Elder and Rhaenyra having colorable legal arguments behind their claims, and neither the blacks nor the greens being prepared to recognize the other’s claimant as king or queen, respectively, the question of succession was far from settled. That factional dispute had of course erupted into civil war soon after the king had breathed his last - and if defined factions behind certain claimants were not quite as apparent or public as they had been in King Viserys’ day, the unanswered question of the succession left civil war a grim possibility. 

Yet there was a key difference between the end of Viserys I’s reign and the end of Baelor’s - the understanding of when the king would die. For Viserys I, his physical decline had been in evidence for nearly a decade prior to his death: Gyldayn reports that by 120 AC King Viserys was “afflicted by gout, aching joints, back pain, and a tightness in the chest that came and went and oft left him red-faced and short of breath”. These health issues only worsened in the handful of years before his passing, and especially in the king’s last few months and weeks. Gyldayn describes Viserys I as during the Vaemond Velaryon affair as “scarce [having] the strength to mount the steps to the Iron Throne”, and by the coming of 129 AC Viserys’ “chest pains had grown so severe that he could no longer climb a flight of steps, and had to be carried about the Red Keep in a chair”, until shortly thereafter the king “lost all appetite and was ruling the realm from his bed … [sic] when he felt strong enough to rule at all”. While neither the black nor the green faction could have known in advance the exact hour the king would die, all signs were present, especially in the last weeks of his life, that Viserys was not long for his world. That clear awareness of the king’s decline positioned the green faction, living with Viserys in the capital, to act within moments of the king’s death to (attempt to) secure Aegon II’s accession. 

By contrast, even by 171 AC Baelor presented no such clear sign that he would be dying soon. To be sure, Baelor had done himself no favors with his health by his increasingly frequent fasting: Yandel reports that “[t]oward the end of his reign Baelor began to spend more and more time fasting and praying”, and that the king “had already nearly killed himself some years before [i.e. before the birth of Daemon Waters], when he fasted for a moon's turn following the deaths of his cousin Princess Naerys's twins shortly after their delivery”. However, Baelor was still a young man even by Westerosi standards - only about 26 or 27 when he died; by contrast, his great-grandfather Viserys had been 52, middle-aged by Westerosi standards (and even Baelor’s own father, Aegon III, had survived to the age of 36 before being killed by consumption). Nor indeed did his subjects lack evidence for Baelor’s seemingly miraculous ability to survive the impossible: Baelor had, after all, emerged from the Wyl viper pit to live and reign for 10 more years. Would any of Baelor's contemporaries have assumed, given this history, that Baelor would obviously die sooner rather than later?

Taken on their own, the question of the succession and the uncertainty of the hour of the king’s death may have caused only vague unease among his subjects; anyone or everyone (again, save perhaps the king himself) might have recognized the troubles potentially ahead if Baelor died suddenly and the realm was not prepared to acclaim a widely accepted heir, but because no one could say when the king’s death would occur, the issue may have only seemed a distantly looming threat rather than a present crisis. However, the king’s own choices, I think, had heightened that sense of immediate danger to and in the realm. Baelor had never been shy about imposing his will on his kingdom, or ruling as he personally saw fit, no matter how his courtiers and family felt: putting an abrupt end on his brother’s war of conquest in Dorne, imprisoning his own sisters, dispensing with both the trappings of regal power and the wealth of the crown, humbling the Most Devout as well as his arrogant aristocratic subjects. By 171 AC, however, Baelor had taken a step which I think may have made his other decrees seem modest by comparison: according to Yandel, toward the end of his reign Baelor “had come to believe that the Seven called on him to convert all the unbelievers in his realm” - in other words, “a war with the North and the Iron Islands”. 

By planning a crusade to formally convert those throughout Westeros who did not follow the Faith of the Seven, Baelor was committing himself to tyranny. Not since the days of Maegor the Cruel had the king on the Iron Throne so openly and personally declared war on his own people: those “unbelievers” Baelor prepared to convert by force were not rebels rejecting the authority of the crown or enemy combatants (as leaders in prior Targaryen wars and conflicts might have rationalized for their acts of destruction), but subjects granted the right to practice their respective faiths by the tolerant conquest of Aegon I. Baelor may not have had the draconic power of Maegor to incinerate huge numbers of his subjects, but Baelor’s contemporaries did not need only the example of Maegor to demonstrate how terrible such a zealous tyranny could be for king and kingdom. When the pious King Humfrey Teague, last of the native Kings of the Trident, “attempted to repress the worship of the old gods within his realm”, and allied with the Faith Militant to crush his perceived enemies, the king faced rebellion by his vassals - not just the old gods-worshiping Blackwoods, but also the Vances of Atranta and the Tullys of Riverrun, who I think correctly saw in King Humfrey a liege lord who had no qualms about running roughshod over the rights of even the most blue-blooded of his bannermen. It would not have been too far a leap in logic to suppose that if King Baelor declared war against “unbelievers”, he would face the same sort of rebellions which rose up against the tyranny of Humfrey Teague and King Maegor - and just as Humfrey’s war had ended with the collapse of the Teague dynasty and the (temporary) end of Riverlands political independence and existence, and Maegor’s war had ended with the effective deposition of the king (prevented completely only by his suicide), so Baelor's war, his contemporaries may have feared, would mean the end of Baelor, House Targaryen, and/or the kingdom forged by Aegon and his sisters.

Indeed, this determination by Baelor to make war on the North and Iron Islands may have appeared particularly disastrous for his contemporaries given the legacy of the Dance. It is no exaggeration, I think, to say that the Dance had brought the Targaryen dynasty as close as it had ever come to implosion: the war costs the dynasty all but four of its members and all but one of its bred and “tame” dragons.  Nor would anyone have needed to be reminded of the awesome level of destruction the realm suffered during the Dance - the tens of thousands of people who died, the towns and settlements burned and leveled. If the Targaryens did not have dragons any longer, this fact might have seemed cold comfort to a realm which, having begun the healing process under Aegon III, now faced a new civil war prosecuted by his son. 

This was Baelor’s event horizon - and though he could not have known it, I think this was the moment various among his courtiers, most specifically his uncle Viserys, decided that Baelor’s reign had to come to an end, forcibly and deliberately. Baelor had not just left the succession worryingly vague, in a reign whose “natural” conclusion was almost totally unpredictable - he was now prepared to throw the welfare of the realm out the window for the sake of his fervent piety. Though the choice may not have seemed easy, Viserys I think decided that only he could save the realm from both the dynastic and politico-military threats Baelor represented - and that he himself, as a well-positioned dynastic heir, had to be the one to do so.

[anghraine]

On the one hand, I absolutely love the high tragedy of Denethor's arc in the book, think it's amazingly well-written, and that he is one of the most complex and fascinating characters that Tolkien ever wrote.

On the other, there's part of me that's also a little frustrated by how much it has to happen because Tolkien kind of wrote himself into a corner with the Ruling Stewards. He's insistent on a few things about them:

Their initial rise to power as perma-regents of Gondor was squeaky-clean. Mardil was a paragon of virtue, he tried to prevent Eärnur from getting himself killed, there were no clear successors, and retaining the regency prevented another Kinstrife and created a stable institution that would hold Gondor together for 900+ years after the failure of the kings.

They are a high Númenórean family descended from Elendil, even if they're not formally of the line of Elendil (for unknown reasons, but most likely because they're descended through women).

Denethor is notably very similar to Aragorn, in intellect, wisdom, stature, ability, even appearance. He is a towering and respected figure, and he and his sons are highly popular with their people (even with children).

Denethor's military tactics in the book are very good, and UT says Sauron hoped Denethor would be less prepared than he actually was.

Denethor is proud, unbending, and personally dislikes and distrusts Aragorn. He thinks Gandalf is using him against Sauron for now while planning for Aragorn to take power later (this is filtered through his pride but ... um, is he wrong?).

Faramir, now Denethor's last heir, is a fantastic if reluctant warrior and captain, a super special Númenórean throwback, and a thoughtful, intelligent, and wise person who is humbler than Denethor, but also established as wary about Aragorn.

Gondor formally rejected the claim of Aragorn's family before the Ruling Stewardship even existed.

What all this means is that Denethor, if alive, is someone who will never willingly give way to Aragorn. Denethor has legal precedent on his side, he is himself a perfectly good ruler from a long-standing, stable, legitimate ruling family and a highly capable military leader in war, he is liked by his people, and he even has a viable heir regardless of the personal strain between him and Faramir.

There's just no reason for Aragorn to take power that Denethor, as written, would find remotely persuasive. But Denethor is also too noble and capable and special for a power grab on Aragorn's side to feel right, esp given how destructive it would be in the middle of a war (as Aragorn acknowledges!). Despite the sparkly kingliness and mystical airs, this is fundamentally a dynastic dispute between two different houses descended from Elendil, based on the minutia of Gondorian and Númenórean law and precedent, and a fight over that is ... not the kind of story this is.

Denethor has to be driven to self-destruction by the plot so that Aragorn's rise can happen. It simply would not occur if Denethor was alive and in his right mind. Faramir has to be mystically healed by Aragorn so that his reservations will dissolve and he will voluntarily remove himself from the picture in a way that doesn't feel bad.

And both scenes are fantastic, and make sense for the characters. But I do feel that they kind of get steamrollered by the plot to make way for Aragorn.

The thing that makes that doubly fascinating, though, is that Tolkien didn't have to prop the House of the Stewards up so thoroughly. He could have written a version where the Stewards are inadequate or really sketchy or simply can't be compared to Aragorn's greatness and it's clear why they should be replaced by him and his house. Tolkien could have made this a lot easier for himself! And I do respect the more difficult and nuanced approach Tolkien took with the Stewards by making them genuinely impressive and noble and capable in their own right and not just cardboard-cutouts for Aragorn to kick over.

But, well.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Robert Tait at The Guardian:

Republicans are already laying the ground for rejecting the result of next week’s US presidential election in the event Donald Trump loses, with early lawsuits baselessly alleging fraud and polls from right-leaning groups that analysts say may be exaggerating his popularity and could be used by Trump to claim only cheating prevented him from returning to the White House.

The warnings – from Democrats and anti-Trump Republicans – come as Americans prepare to vote on Tuesday in the most consequential presidential contest in generations. Most polls show Trump running neck and neck with Kamala Harris, the vice-president and Democratic nominee, with the two candidates seemingly evenly matched in seven key swing states. But suspicions have been voiced over a spate of recent polls, mostly commissioned in battleground states from groups with Republican links, that mainly show Trump leading. The projection of surging Trump support as election day nears has drawn confident predictions from him and his supporters. “We’re leading big in the polls, all of the polls,” Trump told a rally in New Mexico on Thursday. “I can’t believe it’s a close race,” he told a separate rally in North Carolina, a swing state where polls show he and Harris are in a virtual dead heat.

An internal memo sent to Trump by his chief pollster is confirming that story to him, with Tony Fabrizio declaring the ex-president’s “position nationally and in every single battleground state is SIGNIFICANTLY better today than it was four years ago”. Pro-Trump influencers, too, have strengthened the impression of inevitable victory with social media posts citing anonymous White House officials predicting Harris’s defeat. “Biden is telling advisers the election is ‘dead and buried’ and called Harris an innate sucker,” the conspiracy theorist Jack Posobiec posted this week. GOP-aligned polling groups have released 37 polls in the final stretch of the campaign, according to a study by the New York Times, during a period when longstanding pollsters have been curtailing their voter surveys. All but seven showed a lead for Trump, in contrast to the findings of long-established non-partisan pollsters, which have shown a more mixed picture – often with Harris leading, albeit within error margins.

[...] Trump, who falsely claims that Joe Biden stole the 2020 election, is also paving the way for repeating the accusation via legal means. He told a rally in Pennsylvania that Democrats were “cheating” in the state, and on Wednesday his campaign took legal action against election officials in Bucks County, where voters waiting to submit early mail-in ballots were turned away because the deadline had expired. A judge later ordered the county to extend early voting by one day. There is no evidence of widespread cheating in elections in Pennsylvania or any other state, and mail-in ballots are in high demand in part because Trump himself has encouraged early voting. Suing to allege – without evidence – that there has been voting fraud is part of a well-worn pattern of Trump disputing election results that do not go his way. In the aftermath of the 2020 election, his team filed 60 lawsuits disputing the results, all of which were forcefully thrown out in court. Anti-Trump Republicans have expressed similar concerns to Democrats about Trump’s actions. Michael Steele, a former Republican national committee chair and Trump critic, told the New Republic that the GOP-commissioned polls were gamed to favour Trump. “You find different ways to weight the participants, and that changes the results you’re going to get,” he said. “They’re gamed on the back end so Maga can make the claim that the election was stolen.”

[...] Trump-leaning surveys have influenced the polling averages published by sites such as Real Clear Politics, which has incorporated the results into its projected electoral map on election night, forecasting a win for the former president. Elon Musk, Trump’s wealthiest backer and surrogate, posted the map to his 202 million followers on his own X platform, proclaiming: “The trend will continue.” Trump and Musk have also promoted online betting platforms, which have bolstered the impression of a surge for the Republican candidate stemming from hefty bets on him winning. A small number of high-value wagers from four accounts linked to a French national appeared to be responsible for $28m gambled on a Trump victory on the Polymarket platform, the New York Times reported.

Republicans prepping to be sore losers by rejecting the results if Donald Trump loses.

[exoluxionlove]

[INFO] EXO Chen, Baekhyun, and Xiumin file lawsuit to terminate exclusive contract with SM.

Rough translation via Papago:

"◆ The full text of the group EXO's members Baekhyun, Xiumin, and Chen (Byun Baekhyun, Kim Minseok, and Kim Jongdae)'s notice of termination of the exclusive contract against SM Entertainment.

━

This is Lee Jae-hak, a lawyer for Lin, a law firm that acted as legal representatives for Baekhyun, Xiumin, and Chen (Byun Baek-hyun, Kim Min-seok, Kim Jong-dae, hereinafter referred to as "artists"). In the following, the legal representative would like to share the artist's position on the exclusive contract between the artists and SM Entertainment Co., Ltd. (hereinafter referred to as "SM"). Artists have previously sent content certificates to SM seven times from March 21 to recently through our legal representative, and through this, we have repeatedly requested transparent settlement data and copies of settlement grounds.

It is the artist's minimum right to request an accurate and transparent basis for settlement of accounts that have been unclear, and SM is also an obligation to comply with the exclusive contract and the Pop Culture and Arts Industry Development Act. However, SM maintained its unfair position that it could not provide a copy of the data.

At the same time, SM has repeatedly committed extremely unfair tyranny, claiming a long contract period of at least 17 or 18 years by signing a long-term contract with artists for more than 12 to 13 years and then having them sign a follow-up exclusive contract again.

Artists feel that SM is forcing artists to sign so-called slave contracts based on their superior status for more than 20 years, including a considerable amount of training.

I would like to convey the various injustices that artists have not been able to tell you through the position below.

<1> Artists' position on activities so far and SM's refusal to provide settlement data

1. Artists have previously signed a long-term exclusive contract with SM for more than 12 to 13 years and have been working diligently as members of EXO.

2. During the long-term exclusive contract period as above, artists have only trusted SM's explanation of the settlement amount that is settled every time, and have received the settlement amount by looking at the data unilaterally prepared by SM without specific and objective evidence. In response, artists have recently formally requested copies of settlement data and settlement grounds several times through their agents, but SM replied that they cannot provide copies of the data.

3. SM is obligated to provide artists with settlement data and settlement grounds, including total income details, expenses subject to deduction, and amount subject to deduction, under the existing exclusive contract, under the Pop Culture and Arts Industry Development Act. In addition, the settlement cycle under the above exclusive contract arrives twice a year, so the above settlement data and settlement basis must also be provided twice a year. However, during the exclusive contract period of 12 or 13 years, SM has not properly provided such settlement data and settlement grounds to artists.

4. According to the precedent, the exclusive contract is based on a high degree of trust. If the agency fails to fulfill its obligation to provide settlement data, the celebrity will not be properly guaranteed the right to review and dispute the profit settlement. In addition, despite several requests through an agent's lawyer, SM has already failed to comply with the obligation to provide data, resulting in a reason for termination of the existing exclusive contract.

5. Despite the artists' earnest request to provide a copy of the settlement data by May 31st through several proofs of contents, SM was forced to notify SM that the existing exclusive contract would be terminated on June 1st.

6. If SM paid the artist the settlement money accurately, there would be no reason not to provide the settlement data and settlement basis. SM's failure to provide these settlement data and settlement grounds is a strong proof that SM did not pay the artists properly, and the artists will take all civil and criminal legal actions against SM, including filing a settlement claim.

7. Also, if you haven't provided settlement data and settlement basis to other SM artists, as in the case of artists (Baekhyun, Xiumin, Chen), this may not just be a problem for Baekhyun, Xiumin, and Chen, but for all SM artists in the end.

8. In fact, it is very difficult for Baekhyun, Xiumin, and Chen to file a legal dispute against SM, a large company, but they started with the heart and courage to replace the various doubts that many SM artists have.

<2 > Artist's position on unreasonably long-term contracts and further extension attempts

1. Previously, artists have signed exclusive contracts with SM for more than 12 to 13 years. This is too different from the standard contract for pop culture artists (singer-centered) announced by the Fair Trade Commission based on the seven-year contract period, and it is unilaterally disadvantageous to artists beyond the minimum reasonable extent.

2. SM already has 13 years of contract, including an extended period in the provisional disposition of the TVXQ case, and the reasonable violation of the Seoul Central Law is that SM uses its superior position to exercise unfair control and excessively violate its economic freedom and basic rights. In the case, the court again pointed out that it is very difficult for idol stars, such as applicants (TVX members), to continue their popularity in their 30s and beyond.

3. As such, the existing exclusive contract seriously restricts personal rights for an excessively long period of time and constitutes "an act of unfairly using the position of the transaction" in Article 45 (1) 6 of the Monopoly Regulation and Fair Trade Act. In addition, due to the type of unfair trade practices in attached Table 2 of the Enforcement Decree of the same Act, such a long-term compulsion corresponds to "compelling profit provision" or "providing disadvantages (setting unfavorable transaction conditions)" in the above attached Table.

4. Furthermore, SM made artists sign an exclusive contract to extend their debut date by 7 years and an additional 3 years if they are overseas. However, in the case of K-pop artists in Korea, it takes at least months and years to make their debut, and overseas activities are a natural premise. Furthermore, even though Xiumin and Chen were members who planned to work in China from the beginning, the exclusive contract, which adds three years if they work abroad, forced them to sign a long-term contract of more than 10 years based on the date of the exclusive contract from the beginning.

5. On the other hand, SM is trying to claim a minimum contract period of 17 years or 18 years by having artists sign a follow-up exclusive contract again, not even enough to sign an exclusive contract for 12 to 13 years as above. This is SM's repeatedly committing extremely unjust tyranny against artists.

6. In the process of sealing a subsequent exclusive contract, the artists were unable to negotiate properly under the existing exclusive contract, and it was difficult to set the terms of the contract or reflect their wishes on an equal footing. In the case of a provisional disposition in the TVXQ case, the court should have been able to stop the existing negotiations and negotiate with other entertainment agencies other than SM if the applicants (TV TVXQ members) only passively signed the exclusive contract form presented by SM, Even if an extension agreement was reached after the applicants (TVXI members) established their position as entertainers, applicants who were already bound by the existing exclusive contract could not strengthen their bargaining power. (Refer to the Seoul Central District Court on February 15, 2011).

7. It is also pointed out that such subsequent signing of exclusive contracts constitutes "an act of unfairly using the status of the transaction" in Article 45 (1) 6 of the Monopoly Regulation and Fair Trade Act. As such, the long-term compulsion using a subsequent exclusive contract is considered to correspond separately to the "compulsory provision of profits" or "unprofitable provision of transaction conditions" in attached Table 2 of the Enforcement Decree of the same Act.

8. Also, I understand that this long-term exclusive contract is in a similar situation not only for Baekhyun, Xiumin, and Chen, but also for most artists from SM.

9. Baekhyun, Xiumin, and Chen are seriously considering filing a lawsuit against the Fair Trade Commission for the long-term signing of existing exclusive contracts and subsequent exclusive contracts.

<3> A message to the fans

1. I'm sorry for causing so much concern to the fans about this, and I can't help but feel sorry.

2. Due to the difference in position with SM, we are inevitably pushing for legal action, but we will do our best to find wise measures so that fans do not worry too much and resolve the dispute well.

3. In fact, we are very scared and scared of this moment because we want to make a small voice about injustice that we have not been able to tell you before.

4. We hope you will be interested in our words and our hard courage. Once again, we sincerely thank our fans for supporting us for a long time."

Source

[veeisdunn]

can you write something to do with exam stress, loneliness and suicidal thoughts (if you're comfortable with it) finals season is coming and it would comfort me a lot. could it be a tommy x sister reader? Maybe the reader is stressed about her exams and is being bullied in school. I really enjoyed your first two fics (the sh ones) and I would really appreciate this. Lots of love xxx

Bargain

Tommy Shelby x sister!reader

I'm sorry that this took so long! It is kind of ironic as I'm also going through this right now with my A-Level exams. I understand how dark things tend to be getting in these times and you sound like you've got a lot on your plate. I really hope you enjoy this, I made it especially for you! ♡

warning: suicidal thoughts and actions

WC: 3.6K

MASTERLIST

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

One day, though you couldn't remember when, the jokes stopped being funny. Your classmates were relentless - to them you were gypsy scum, the spawn of a criminal family. You used to laugh along but the taunting wore you down. 

It didn't help that you began to shut your family out as well. Ever since you passed the entrance exam at that God forsaken grammar school, you withdrew. Too much reading and research to tally up the betting books and mediate domestic disputes.

As you moved onto your final years of education, you saw a way out of your family's situation - if you got into university then you wouldn't need to join the family company or marry a rich man to escape. You could have your own career which didn't break the law.

Of course, in the 1920s, this was no easy feat for a woman - or anyone. Luckily for you, you were attending one of the best grammar schools in the country, but, though you weren't in poverty, you were at a disadvantage with your peers. Most of your classmates had options: they had a dad with a PhD, a legal family business or an arranged marriage with a wealthy man lined up in case they failed their studies.

The pressure seemed never ending. You needed this, there simply was no other option. You had to grapple with this reality as well as deal with the tormenting of your classmates and the fear that one of your family members would end up with a bullet in their heads. 

You didn't speak to anyone in your family about your crippling concerns. You didn't think they'd see the value in a university education - especially for a woman. 

School work distracted you to such a point where you didn't even notice Tommy's concerned presence shadowing you most days. He just kept popping up everywhere you went. 

School gate? Tommy.

Library? Tommy.

The kitchen at 3am? Tommy.

Did that man even fucking sleep? 

Eventually, you "confronted" him. You had a tradition of being in Charlie's Yard on a Friday night. You would sit and look into the water - laughing, crying, sometimes screaming in frustration. This was a solitary activity, but one particular Friday, Tommy was already waiting there for you.

"(Y/N)!, you're late!" He shouted across the yard, taking a puff of his cigarette with a cheeky grin.

Fuck’s sake.

You hurry your pace, slushing your boots in the mud making your way to the wooden dock. “What are you doing?” you call out, frustrated.

“Is a man not able to sit, eh?” Tommy shuffled over and gestured for you to sit. You just huffed in response and remained standing.

“Look, Y/N/N, I can leave if you want, but I just wanted to see you? You’re always buried in a book these days.” His tone turned more sympathetic. You relented and sunk down next to him.

“I can’t be long. I have an essay, Tommy.” You spoke timidly, you were mentally prepared to break down alone but now you had to hold yourself together.

“You have the weekend.” He turned to look at you but you turned away.

“No. I have more work for the weekend.” You choked and turned your body so you were facing away from his stare, “I have a lot of work to do. I’m bloody drowning in it Tommy.”

He took a deep, prolonged breath and discarded his cigarette. “I think, Y/N, I think you need to spend a lot less time on work. Aren’t your friends all out on a Friday night? Why don’t you join them?”

You scoffed. “Friends? No one wants to be friends with a gypsy, or a Shelby.”

This struck a nerve with Tommy, he was also both of those things, yet he was respected and you were isolated. “Yeah? Say’s fucking who?” 

“People at school.” “And why are you listening to them?” “Because - it’s just hard. You wouldn’t get it. I’m so fucking worn down.”

The man took another sigh, realising he was fighting an uphill battle. “Your classmates aren’t in Small Heath, you don’t need to prove yourself to anyone here, you know that?”

You shook your head rapidly “No. No Tom, I don’t care about my social life. If I don’t do well in my exams, I’ll never get into University. I need to go, I want it so bloody bad.” You were so engrossed in your emotions that you didn’t even feel the salty tears run down your cheeks.

Tommy was taken aback by your reaction. He couldn’t fathom why you were putting so much pressure on yourself. Of course, he would rather you made your goal something a bit easier than perfect grades, but then whatever you dream was became his by proxy. He had spoken to your teachers, they were certain you’d get the grades you needed. They had even mentioned your tendency to overdo things, but things weren’t nearly as bad at home at that time so he disregarded it. What a stupid mistake that was.

He was about to reach out to touch your hand, but you could feel the floodgates bursting, so you tried to leave. 

“Y/N!” He shouted, following close behind you.

Go away. Go away. Go away.

“Look, I didn’t fucking ask you to come here.” You snapped as he grabbed your arm.

“You didn’t need to. Your my fucking sister, you don’t need to ask. I didn’t want to be so blunt but you need to calm the fuck down with the books, ay?" 

"No. You don't understand." You shook your head adamantly , "if I don't do well in my exams, then what's the fucking point in anything anymore?" 

—

"So, how'd your chat with Y/N go?” Polly asked her nephew as the evening dawned.

He settled into the sofa and took a deep inhale, rubbing his cold, sweaty palms together. “She didn’t take it very well. She probably just came back here to study more upstairs.

Polly leaned forward in her seat: “she never came home.”

Shit.

“Did you upset her, Thomas?”

“I couldn’t tell you. She’s hard to get these days.”

—

Tommy thought little of her absence. The library closed at 6PM - she’d be home by 7.

7:30. Still no Y/N. 

He went to check your room to see if you’d slipped in and snuck to bed. Your room looked like it had been ransacked. Books, pencils, papers, and clothes covered every surface. Your bed was unmade and the curtains were drawn. It reminded the man of a house that had been robbed. The air was stagnant and cold.

On your bed, a book stood out to Tommy. It wasn’t a textbook or workbook, it was a small leather-bound diary with fraying ribbons pulling it shut. Without much thought, he settled down onto the bed and yanked the curtain open, amber sunset pouring in. The book felt heavy and the spine was stressed. He noticed that lots of other papers had been shoved between the pages.The edges of some were visible, your handwriting adorning them. He pulled the end of the matted ribbon firmly undoing the knot and allowing him access to what he came to realise was your diary. He flicked to the latest entry and saw it was dated for just the day before. He skimmed your scrawls: I will never be good enough, I just can't do it. I can't do anything anymore.

After freezing for a second he slammed it shut and threw it against the wall. He was fuming with the situation, and with himself. He knew you were struggling but he thought it was your need to prove yourself to your bullying peers - he could have never dreamed that you hated yourself this much.

Without much more thought, Tommy grabbed his coat and practically launched himself out of the door. He wasn't going to come home until he had you with him.

—

After your altercation with Tommy, you found yourself back by the cut. Your emotions were always heightened there, you tried not to go to the part where your mother jumped in, that was usually reserved for the anniversary of her death, but for some reason your feet carried you down there. You never knew her and by the sounds of things, you were very different people. You didn't even know why she did what she did, you were too young back then to understand. One thing you did know was how she must have felt. The feeling of utter despair. The loneliness. 

You'd had a serious case of suicidal ideation since the start of your new school. In the back of your mind you always knew what to do if everything became too much. You had written letters to everyone and stuffed them under your pillow. You were ready. Perhaps tonight was the night?

This revelation almost gave you a twisted sense of euphoria. I don't need to go home again. I never have to write another essay. I never need to be called another name. No one will need to look after me. I can just end it all. 

These thoughts carried you to the edge of the water. You thought about how your mother would have felt drowning and freezing. Calm, hopefully. Release. 

You collected some large stones from the dusty mud around you and stuffed them in your coat pockets. You figured that being pulled down would make you go quicker. You knew that your brothers would be sad but you also knew that they'd move on. They'd done it once before, they could do it again. After all, they all had lives and you had nothing but stress and pain and anguish. 

Looking down into the gloomy water you could feel cool droplets splashing onto your face and mixing with your tears. The abyss was inviting, your doubtful thoughts that had stopped you in the past were whispering to you but you told yourself that you wanted this. You wanted this, right?

You took your shoes off and laid them neatly at the edge of the water. 

A leap. A splash. A scream.

Cold.

Then you felt someone grab you.

—

Tommy had barely made it in time. He saw you, shoeless, on the edge of the cut. He could only shout and run after you as you descended into the water. Without hesitation, he jumped in after you and grabbed you. He tried to pull your body up to the surface with him but you were fighting him. Your coat was sinking first, weighing the both of you down, so he wrestled it off you. All either of you could hear was splashes and all you could feel was the paralysing blanket of cold.

Holding onto your wrists, he went up for air to gather strength, before diving back under to pull you up. You were barely underwater for a few minutes but the frigid water had knocked you out. Tommy paddled to the steps a few metres away from where you'd jumped and pulled his drenched body onto them. He wheezed and gasped for air then dragged you up the steps by your armpits. The water level was particularly low so the steps seemed to go on forever. He'd boarded boats from these steps but never did he think he'd be ascending them with your limp body.

Your breathing was shaky and erratic. Tommy was just glad you were breathing at all. He laid you down in the dirt and rolled you onto your side just in time for you to involuntary convulse and cough up water while he hyperventilated. He firmly patted your back as your lungs cleared. Despite the heaving, you were still unconscious. Your lips were going a dusky shade of blue and the skin around your eyes was darkening, either from the cold or the lack of oxygen, he wasn't sure. 

Tommy desperately tried to get control of his breathing so he could compose himself but his body was viscerally reacting to the shock of the cold water overwhelming his senses. He was in such physical anguish that his emotions had completely dulled. He'd honed the ability to turn his thoughts off while in the trenches and it often came in handy. 

His main priority was getting you warm and dry. He tried to drag you up but didn't have the strength in his cold and wet state. Instead he had to resort to shouting for help, knowing that there were Blinders at the entrance to the docks. A few of Tommy's associates came around the corner, their coats flying in the wind behind them and the group of them managed to carry you back to Watery Lane while your body continued to involuntary spasm due to the cold. 

Nobody else was in the house so Tommy flung your body on the floor in front of the fireplace and set a copious pile of logs on fire. He hunched over you and basked in the heat, ripping off his coat, hat, and suit and discarding them into a pile. After sitting for a moment shivering in a vest and underwear, he ran to the kitchen and grabbed a towel.

In the living room, you'd rolled over so you could be closer to the heat, you weren't entirely sure what was going on but you liked the feeling of the warmth against you.

He ripped your drenched shirt off you and tried to ring your hair out with the towel. You were mumbling something incoherent but he ignored it. Your body laid next to the fire as he dried himself off. 

You awoke when he accidentally knocked a book off the coffee table. Your body felt numb and you were extremely confused. He rushed over as you tried to roll away from the fire.

"Tommy?" you croaked, even more confused than you already were. What was he doing here? The look on his face then reminded you. He was drenched. You'd actually done it. You'd actually done it and he stopped you.

You ignored his demanding stare and sat up, coughing. You wheezed, holding your hands around your neck to reassure yourself that you weren't drowning. 

You didn't drown, but you were soaked to the bone. 

"What were you thinking, eh?" Tommy studied your startled expression, you couldn’t tell if he was mad, disappointed, or feeling sorry for you, "What the hell is going on with you?" 

You remained silent and refused to look up at him. 

"Y/N, what did you just do? And don't tell me that you fell. Your coat was full of stones." 

He was going to make you say it. Dick.

You could only think of two words: “I’m sorry.”

Tommy scoffed and sat down in front of you. “You’re sorry? You are sorry?”

Did he want to know why? “I’m sorry that you jumped in and got wet. You look cold.”

He was physically taken aback by your words. “The only thing you should be sorry for is not talking to me.” He picked up the towel and began to dry you, understanding that trying to reason with you in this state was no better than arguing with a brick wall. After your hair was no longer dripping, he brought you dry clothes and made you discard your wet ones in the bathroom while he pressed his ear up against the wall to listen to your every move.

Tommy was angry with himself. He’d sat back and watched the pressure on you accumulate, only realising when it was too late. You’d nearly died. Y/N. His baby sister. The girl he held as a baby. The girl he read bedtime stories to. The girl he taught to ride horses. The girl he loved unconditionally. It was fate that had just saved your life - he very easily could have looked for you somewhere else and that would have cost your life. The thought made his heart hurt. You’d nearly died. You’d nearly died. Before he’d even realised, he was crying against the doorframe as you left the bathroom. 

You tried to apologise again but he ignored you and wrapped you in the tightest hug you’d ever felt. He was scared to loosen his grip as he feared you would slip away. He cried gut-wrenching sobs into your shoulder. You gave in and began to cry as well. You couldn’t even figure out why. You were plagued with a viscous mixture of anguish and guilt - you were also still really fucking cold, the pair of your shivered in eachother’s arms. 

Tommy pulled away and stared directly into your eyes. Instinctively your gaze turned to break the exchange. You couldn’t stand his distraught stare, it made you want to vomit.

“Y/N” He took a deep breath, “I’m here now and I’m not leaving you ever again, so you better tell me what the fuck is going on inside that head, eh?” You gulped. Only one coherent thought was running through your head. “Cold.”

With those words, the pair of you were huddled next to the fire.

“I’m gonna fail, Tommy.” The admission slipped out.

He held back his rant he’d repeated to you countless times and let you continue. All he wanted to do was scream and shout, to tell you and the rest of the bloody street how talented and capable you are.

“I want to make something for myself just like you have but I can’t do it. I just feel like I can’t do anything right. If I’m a good person then why do people hate me?” You took shaky breaths to process the thoughts you’d aired. Tommy pulled you in so you were resting on his side while the fire crackled in front of you. He waited to say anything until he could be sure that you were finished.

“Look, Y/N. Some people in this world are just full of hate, they wouldn’t know kindness if it hit them between the eyes. You just want to make everyone happy but you can’t because some people are gonna fucking resist until they die. I’m so proud of you, Y/N, you have grown up to be a talented and smart woman. You will make a life for yourself as long as you remember that. If you want to do that through school then, by all means, go for it, but there are other ways. What you need is some time to rest, and you need to get away from that fucking school. You’re in your final year, just finish things off at home, I’ll get you a tutor or anything you need as long as you never go back.”

He leaned back against the sofa to physically recover from his speech. He couldn’t see your face but he watched as you curled your body into a tight ball and leaned in even closer to you.

“It’s like I don’t even know who I am anymore. Everything is so dull. I’m not happy.” No shit. And then you began to cry for what felt like the millionth time.

He just held you and stared into the flames. “Shh shh, no, it’s alright. you’re fine, shh. No more anything for the rest of the weekend, Dr Shelby’s orders, alright?” You chuckled lightly while he remained serious,  “Over my many, many years, I’ve realised that if you work on something forever it never gets done well, but if you take enough breaks and are kind to yourself, it will get done. I can bet everything that you will become a strong and independent woman one day.”

After a few more back and forths, you spilling your negative thoughts and him retorting with a classic Tommy speech, the two of you fell asleep by the fire, the heat thawing the pain you’d both felt. Tommy came to the conclusion that you were simply too good for this world, but he knew you better than anyone and was certain it would all work out for you in the end.

The next morning, the pair of you made a deal that you would tell him about all the bad thoughts you were having and he promised he’d always be there to listen. After a few meetings with a doctor and your school, Tommy set you up a study area in his office. The two of you would work during the morning, eat lunch together, then you’d shadow him in the afternoon to - as he put it - “learn from the master”. 

You took time to reflect on the things that really mattered to you - not the things that really mattered to the girl who was hated by her peers and would have died for flawless grades - the things that mattered to you, Y/N Shelby. You cared deeply about those around you. Seeing how broken Tommy was after your attempt made you want to cooperate with him and your doctor to become well enough to live the life you so desperately craved. It was almost ironic that you’d nearly taken that opportunity from yourself.

You still had days when the light at the end of the tunnel faded and you’d again lose sight of your future, but keeping up with his side of the deal, Tommy was always there to coax you out of it. 

When you were younger, your brother taught you lots of things, and now he felt like he was giving you a final, important lesson. To learn to use your life, because he could so clearly see the potential you have.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

please drop me a comment or message with any feedback or suggestions! I'd love to hear from you ♡

Vee x

MASTERLIST

[paigesbasketball]

Under Oath

Chapter 4: Bonded at blood, Broken at trust Paige x oc black!lawyer warnings: none I think

The conference room buzzed with anticipation as I took my place at the head of the table. I could feel the eyes of the UConn team on me, waiting for my next move. The weight of the situation was heavy, but I thrived under pressure. My sister had crossed a line, and now, it was my job to fix this mess—no matter what it took.

I wasn’t here to coddle anyone. This was a contract dispute, a broken promise, and I was about to take this fight head-on. If my sister thought she could ruin UConn’s reputation, she had another thing coming. I wasn’t just protecting a university—I was going to defend the truth.

“Alright,” I started, my tone commanding. “Jessa, I need you to go over every contract my sister was involved in during her time at UConn. Specifically, the one she’s suing over. Find every detail, every clause, every loophole that might give us an edge. I need a full analysis, and I need it fast. This isn’t just about what’s written—it’s about what can be proven. We’re going to show that UConn’s actions were justified, and that’s our defense.”

Jessa immediately started pulling up files on her laptop. I could feel the room settle into a sense of urgency, everyone getting to work.

“Peter, you’re going to handle the witness statements. I want to know everything about what went on behind closed doors during the time my sister was dismissed from the team. Coaches, staff, teammates—everyone who was involved. I want to know their thoughts, their comments, and if they saw any performance issues with my sister. Dig deep. We need to make sure the story we’re telling is airtight.”

Peter nodded, taking notes quickly. “Got it. I’ll start contacting everyone involved.”

I turned to Kendra, who had been quiet up until now. She was one of UConn’s toughest players, and I knew I could rely on her to handle the delicate conversations.

“Kendra,” I said firmly, “I want you to reach out to the university’s legal department. Find out if they’re open to a settlement, or if they’re preparing for a full trial. Keep things cordial, but make it clear that we’re not backing down. If we need to settle, we will. But if not, I want us ready to go to war. We don’t let them control this narrative.”

Kendra leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a confident smile. “Understood. I’ll handle it.”

“Marco,” I said, turning to my tech expert, “you’re going to dig through every single digital communication related to my sister’s time at UConn. Emails, internal messages, social media—whatever you can find. If there’s anything in there that contradicts her story or helps our case, we’re using it. We need to know who knew what and when.”

Marco tapped his fingers on the table, his expression serious. “I’m on it. I’ll get you everything.”

I then turned to Emily, my lead investigator. “I need you to track my sister’s public statements and her social media activity. If she’s been trying to paint herself as the victim or get sympathy from the media, I need to know. Look into her interactions with former teammates and the press. If she’s planting stories, we’re going to counteract them with the truth.”

Emily nodded, pulling out her phone. “You’ll have the information soon.”

The team was already breaking into action, each of them heading off to handle their part of the plan. The UConn players in the room were all watching me, their expressions a mix of awe and surprise. They hadn’t seen me like this before—this focused, this assertive. They had no idea what kind of lawyer they had in their corner.

“Caty, you really are something,” Kendra said, shaking her head, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I told y’all,” she added with a grin, leaning back in her chair. “She’s the best lawyer we’ve got.”

The respect was obvious, but the real work was just beginning. I took a deep breath and prepared to give my final instructions.

“And me and Kim,” I said, my voice unwavering, “are going to question the players. I want every detail—their memories of the situation, what they saw, what they heard. We can’t let any stone go unturned. All cylinders, people. Let’s move before this hits the courts.”

The room was silent for a moment. Everyone understood the gravity of the situation. They were all in, ready to go full force. But before they could scatter to their tasks, Kim, my ever-loyal assistant, walked in with a grim look on her face. She handed me her phone without a word, her eyes filled with concern.

I took it from her, glancing at the screen. The title of a pre-published article caught my eye: "Law Firm: Lawson and Boyle Betrays Trust with Local Companies They Signed With". It was from an anonymous source, and it immediately set my nerves on edge.

But it wasn’t just the title that made my heart race. It was the description below it. I read aloud, my voice growing cold with each word:

"Catayela Lawson betrays her OWN sister to defend UConn’s enemy and bully."

“WHAT?” I screamed, my blood boiling. Not only was someone coming after my firm, but they were attacking my sister-. I gripped the phone tighter, feeling my anger swell inside me at the realization.

Kim, standing next to me, watched me carefully. “Cat, I don’t think this is a coincidence. Whoever wrote this—”

“I don’t need a reminder,” I interrupted sharply, my voice quiet and menacing. I took a slow breath, my mind racing. After everything I had done for her... all the times I’d stood by her—this? This was how she repaid me?

I turned to Kim, my voice icy. “I want you to research everything about my sister’s company. I want to know every lawsuit they’ve had, every business deal that went sour. We’re going to hit them where it hurts. It’s time to take the gloves off.”

Kim looked at me, her expression conflicted. “You really wanna go after your own sister?”

I turned to her with a hard, determined look in my eyes. “It doesn’t take rocket science to understand who wrote that article—or who wanted it written. And if they think they can threaten me like this, they’ve got another thing coming.”

I paused for a moment, letting the gravity of my words sink in. “This isn’t just about UConn anymore. It’s personal.”

Kim didn’t say another word. She simply nodded and headed out to get to work.

I turned and walked toward the binder I had prepared for the interviews with the players. I wasn’t going to let this slide. I blocked Paige for her, stood by her when no one else would. But now she was coming after my company—after me?

No.

I grabbed the binder and made my way toward the door, the weight of the case and the new threat pressing down on me. The last time I’d made this decision, it had been for my sister. This time, I was done being nice.

I worked to hard and I was going to crush anyone who thought they could take me down.

And that included my sister.

No more playing nice

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Demons [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left and Right (Google) Center (@hotchs-big-hands [my beloved])

Prompt: The team is forced into very close quarters during a case on an offshore oil rig in Alaska. It’s bitterly cold and there’s nowhere to go, and three men have been beaten and stabbed to death. The team must solve the mystery before it’s too late. A mix-up in rooms also has Aaron and the reader closer than ever. It allows him to learn something new about her. 

Category: Angst/comfort 

Word Count: 15.6K 

Content Warnings: Sleep paralysis, canon typical violence, death (of a victim and unsub), beating (with a blunt object), choking (briefly described), mention of death by stabbing, the threat of death by knife/gun, mention of drowning (unsub), mention of abuse (in the past [Hotch]), slight mention of blood, language, hospitals, slight body image issues (Hotch). Please let me know if I missed any. 

A/N: Ahhhh, hi loves. Did anyone ask for something this long? No. Did I expect to write this much? No. But the scenes kept coming, and I kept writing them down. I just love the writing process. It’s so cool. But enough of that. This story’s mostly based on a northern gothic vibe and the age-old, ‘only one bed’ trope. I am very happy with how this turned out and I hope you all like it too. You could read this as a stand-alone or as a prequel to my story, Unwanted Attention (linked). A huge thank you to my top hype woman @sadgirlzluvdilfs (ILY) If you like this story as well, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you all have a great Friday night! - Love Levi. 

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

_y/e/c_ = your eye color 

Hotch got a call from Strauss in his office. He had hoped that Monday would be a quiet work day for himself and the team. He was currently drowning in paperwork, and as he glanced down at the bullpen. He could see his team trying to do their best to also catch up on the more clerical side of their jobs as FBI agents. Strauss had told him to meet her in her office immediately. He replied, “Yes, Ma’am. I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone, grabbed his shoulder bag, and moved toward the elevator. It was a short ride up to the twentieth floor of their building, and Aaron wondered what he should prepare for when he arrived at Struas’s office.

He walked down the long hallway and knocked twice on his boss’s door before opening it. Aaron was not expecting to see The Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, Frank Ridgewell, seated across from Strauss. Both the Commissioner and Strauss stood when he entered her office.  Erin gestured to Ridgewell and said, “Agent Hotchner, I’m sure you know Commissioner Ridgewell.” Aaron nodded. He had never met the man in person before, but he was aware of who he was, and how important he was to the United States. Aaron extended a hand and Mr. Ridgewell took it, giving it a firm shake. Once the quick introduction was done, Strauss said, “Let’s all have a seat.” From Erin’s tone, whatever was happening here was important. Strauss indicated to the other man in the room, and Frank turned toward Aaron asking, “Are you aware of the new offshore drilling operation in Alaska?” Hotch furrowed his brow and replied, “Only tangentially. I understand that the rig was built quickly and there was a land dispute. I’m also aware that there were environmental protests over beginning new drilling so close to a naturally preserved site.” Ridgewell nodded and said, “You’re correct. As of three months ago, the oil rig has been fully operational. The rig employs sixty-seven people in total. Fourty-four of those individuals are employed part-time or have shift work on the operation. The other twenty-three are full-time employees that work one month on-site and three weeks off.” Aaron had his legal pad out and was taking a few notes as the Commissioner spoke. He was waiting for the important information with a bit of impatience. This had to be important if it wasn’t coming from JJ. If it was coming from the top, he needed to be meticulous in his work and the various details being thrown at him. 

After another minute of the smaller details about the rig and its crew. Ridgewell’s tone changed. The man said, “Well all that preliminary information is building up to say that within the first three months of operation, three men have been killed. Only one of the twenty-five men working full time on shift could be responsible for the deaths. The three victims were found beaten and stabbed to death at various locations on the job site. The first victim was found by one of the security guards and the next two were found by workmen.” Aaron nodded, finally understanding the gravity of the situation, and asked, “And you believe that the BAU can assist you in finding the unsub on this oil rig?” Frank looked confused as Hotch said, “Unsub,” and Aaron clarified, “The Behavioral Analysis Team calls potential murderers Unknown Subjects, or unsubs for short.” At hearing this, Ridgewell nodded and replied, “Yes, yes I do, but there’s more to it than just the killings.” Aaron raised an eyebrow and Strauss chimed in for the first time during the meeting, saying, “Take a look at these Agent Hotchner.”

Strauss pushed a file labeled ‘Classified,” in front of the Unit Chief. Hotch opened the folders and inside found a dozen or so copies of transcripts and pictures of messages that had been unencrypted. The jist of all of them was that the three deaths had been an intentional attack on the U.S. oil and gas industry. After Aaron had carefully examined these pictures, he looked over to Strauss and then Ridgewell. He asked, “So you believe there is credibility to these claims?” Ridgewell gave a half-shrug before answering, “We can’t be sure yet, but if this information got and with the new site already having a negative reputation, there would be dire consequences. The current administration is desperate to keep prices on gas and oil low and even a momentary shutdown of operations would affect the bottom line. And heaven forbid those messages leaked to the public. Half of the States would be in a panic, and there'll be a run on fuel.”

Hotch nodded. This case was more complicated than he had first expected. Strauss looked at her Senior Agent and stated, “We need you and the team in Alaska as soon as possible. This is a matter of national security. Agent Hotchner. You and the BAU will need to be extremely careful.” Aaron replied, “Yes, Ma’am.” He then turned to Ridgewell and said, “I’ll need to brief my team. We’ll be headed to the site by the afternoon.” Frank looked relieved and replied, “Thank you, Agent Hotchner. I’ll email you the file with the current crew of the rig and their supervisor. I should warn you that it’s going to be close quarters up there.” Aaron nodded. He didn’t ask for elaboration about the space, he was going to be there by the end of the day anyway, and he didn’t have time to think about it right now. Hotch stood and shook hands with Ridgewell and Strauss before straightening his jacket and moving outside to the hallway again. 

Back in the bullpen, he moved to his office, He would need to check his email and do a bit of research before calling the team to the briefing room. He moved toward his office and Rossi passed him. Dave looked over his neutral expression. Though Aaron rarely showed his emotions openly, Rossi knew him well enough to know that something was amiss. David flashed him his, ‘New case?” Look, to which he nodded affirmatively. Aaron could see Rossi’s shoulders fall slightly. Hotch understood that his friend had also wanted a break. The caseload had been extra heavy over the last month and a half, and the team was aching for a break.

As the two men passed each other on the stairs, the sound of laughter caught Aaron’s attention. He knew the laugh well. Better than he should. Aaron turned and saw y/n sitting at her desk. She had a file slightly covering her face and her _y/e/c_ eyes were bright and wide. Emily and Derek were standing beside her having made some joke that he hadn’t heard. Looking at her like this, as a casual observer made a small flame in his chest flicker slightly, like a lighter being turned on by an unsteady hand. Aaron had begun to recognize that the small attraction that he had for y/n had grown. Now every time he looked at her, he felt the need to stifle a sigh.

For now, he was safe. y/n hadn’t shown any particular interest in him, that he could tell. Or maybe he was just pretending to not notice when _y/n_ looked at him for longer than necessary, or how she checked in on him often, just to make sure he was really doing alright. Hotch turned away as another peal of laughter emerged from the group downstairs. In his office, he turned on his lamps and opened his email inbox for the new information Strauss had CC’d him. It was a good 110 pages of personnel files and maps of the site. More important for the team was when the supply boat schedule which went to the rig in the morning and early evening. It took Hotch a full hour to skim all of the new information. He sent Garcia an SOS to get as much dirt off the Northern Oil and Gas Supply LLC as she could. Particularly the new oil site called Farpoint 52, -153. The name was unassuming, and the first thing Penelope told him was that the numbers were latitude and longitude points in Alaska, but not those of the actual site. 

When Aaron was ready, he had seven file folders with all the most important information accumulated including pictures of the victims that the local PD in Anchorage had just sent over. The attacks were brutal. The injuries on the three bodies seemed to be caused by blunt force trauma, and as Ridgewell had said, there were multiple stab wounds on the victims as well. Hotch took a long breath as he got up and moved outside his office. He knocked on JJ and Rossi’s doors and gave them their files. JJ said, “I’ll get Garcia to come and set up the screen in the briefing room.” Aaron thanked her, and she and Rossi moved out of his way.

Hotch placed his hands on the railing of the stairs and called out for his agents saying, “BAU team, I need you in the conference room.” As all four members of the team looked up to him, the mood of the room changed, dimming from how lively it had just been. Hotch turned toward the meeting room before he could see their faces fall once more. Sometimes he thought that he couldn’t keep doing this to them. To himself. The isolation he felt when he was home alone left him a breathless aching mess. It was rare when he allowed those feelings to overwhelm him, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. When this happened, he often found himself in a steaming hot shower. So hot that it hurt. When he couldn’t control his emotions, he felt like a kid again after his father had gone on either a verbal or physical diatribe about his perceived shortcomings. The reminders of the abuse he endured for years would flare up and make him feel a different kind of shame and hurt than letting his team down. By the end of the shower, he had normally excised these emotions and feelings of weakness and would fall into a fitful sleep afterward. 

y/n watched Aaron turn quickly. She let out a long sigh at the announcement about a new case. Everyone on the team was exhausted, and it seemed that Hotch was the most exhausted of them all. She had watched him closely over the last month. Something about his demeanor had shifted. y/n wondered if it was the two-year anniversary of Hailey leaving him that had initiated the change, or if it was something else personal or professional. She wanted to ask him what was wrong. How she could soothe him from the stress she could sense coming off of him. But she assumed that might be stepping over some personal work line, and she was still relatively new to the team. She didn’t want to risk any consequences for being overly personal. For now, all she could do was watch and wait for a time that seemed appropriate. She was fully aware that that time may never come and would have to be okay with just being near someone as commanding and steady as Aaron. 

In the briefing room, everyone but Hotch and JJ sat. Aaron moved to the head of the table and said, “This morning I got a call from Director Strauss. When I got to her office, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commissioner was waiting for me. He has a case for us in Alaska that is a top priority. And…” Hotch paused as seven pairs of eyes waited for more details. Realizing that it might be more efficient to have his agents just read the brief in their files, he said, “Actually, why don’t you just turn to page one in your files and read over the case notes so far? I’ll give you a few moments.”

The team opened the files in front of them and read the 1,000-ish word briefing on the first page. They were all aware that this case was different than the rest and that the brief hadn’t been written by JJ. Spencer and y/n could tell it was Hotch’s writing almost immediately. The tense use and wording were very direct and blunt, just as Aaron was. Not that JJ added fluff, just that she took a few more words to make a point than their Unit Chief. Once those seated at the table had read over the first page and taken a look at the victim's pictures, Aaron moved forward and said, “Well as you can see, this latest case doesn’t have a lot of victims, but the timeline is progressing quickly and given that the crew is so small, these deaths have caused issues in the operation of the rig. On top of this, it seems that foreign agents are claiming they are playing a part in these deaths. If this is true or not; we can’t be sure until we find the Unsub.” Rossi tossed in the comment, “If it is foreign agents, they are most likely to come from Russia or the Middle East where much of the oil in the U.S. comes from. We should look at the crew and see if there are any potential ties to those countries.” Hotch inclined his head at the suggestion. It was a good one. With the primary details being said and a long flight ahead of them, Aaron concluded the information session by saying, “I recommend bringing the warmest clothes you have in your go bags, and something waterproof if you have it; I’m sure you can guess that it will be cold and wet where we’re headed.”

Aaron looked at his team as they started standing, and he added one last thing that stilled the team and drew their attention to him again. He simply said, “I understand that this team has gone through a lot in the last few cases. I know you’re tired. After this case, I’m going to do my best to find some time for us to be off and recuperate for a bit. Please know that your efforts and work don’t go unnoticed by me. That’s all.” With his mini pep-talk finished, the team moved into action again. Aaron had meant what he said of course, but had also said it for himself too. 

As everyone filed out of the room, y/n approached Aaron and just barely touched his forearm to get his attention. Hotch looked down at her and asked, “What is it, y/n?” Sometimes when y/n looked at him specifically, intentionally, he thought he saw a flicker of something more in her eyes than just attention and respect. He thought he saw it now, but he cleared his head. Now wasn’t the time for those thoughts. y/n didn’t seem to notice how deeply he was looking at her when she said, “When you spoke to Strauss this morning, did she say anything more about the case? Is there anything else we need to know?” She hoped she wasn’t asking for information he couldn’t give. Hotch continued looking down at her for a moment before replying, “She just said that we needed to be safe. There are a lot of unknowns here. More than usual for a case.”

y/n acknowledged his statement and said softly, “Got it. See you in the parking lot.” With that, she quickly left to gather her go-bag and race to get some coffee if she could before the jet left for Anchorage. When y/n had gone, Aaron took another moment to minorly compose himself. Then he moved to catch up with Garcia. He was going to ask her to join the team on this case due to the technical aspects that might be involved. He had a sinking suspicion that getting her on wifi all the way out where they would be might be harder than on the mainland. If foreign assets were involved or there was tampering with the equipment of the rig’s systems, Penelope was the most capable of any of them to lend a hand. 

Thirty minutes later, the team piled into the jet with their go bags and files. Garcia was a balm to what seemed to be an already dreary case. As everyone sat, the ideas started flowing about motive and the type of unsub that they were dealing with. Spencer and Morgan were thinking about the physical elements of the unsub. Things like the impact of the wounds, the type of weapon being used to inflict them, and the force that would be needed to cause them. Their top ideas for weapons were a baseball bat or some other blunt object that had lots of fulcrum power. Meanwhile, JJ and Emily were looking through the personnel of the twenty-five full-time employees. Garcia was on every possible legal and illegal site that tracked energy and messages that could possibly correlate with countries like Russia, Iran, or Iraq. Rossi and Aaron were looking deeper into the oil company as a whole.

To them, it seemed a little sketchy and the fact that Mr. Ridgewell had asked for the team personally belied that there might be some shady business not only from outside but inside the company as well. Rossi was talking about a possible correlation with BP and their recent legal troubles. As all this was happening, y/n sat and listened to the cacophony of sounds bouncing around the plane. She had her notebook out and was taking her usual annotations on the case and jotting down when someone on the team said something she thought was important. She was feeling a bit overwhelmed with all the chatter happening around her, so she took a moment to grab a coffee from the back of the jet. The team had moved out so quickly that she didn’t get a chance to grab a cup in the office break room. She moved past Hotch and noticed he wasn’t holding a cup either. y/n stopped briefly in front of her boss, and he looked up at her. She made a hand motion to indicate ‘drink?’ Aaron gave her a small, grateful look and nodded his head yes. 

At the back of the jet across from the small sink and mirror, was the coffee machine. She put in the water and a capsule for the Keurig. y/n placed a cup under the dispenser and pushed run, on the machine. y/n somehow hated the Keurig coffee more than the office coffee. It managed to always taste burned and flavorless no matter which flavor of pod she picked. But the caffeine was a necessity at the start of a case for her. It was half ritual half desire, and she didn’t fight it. When her cup was finished, she started the process again for Aaron, who no matter what coffee he was drinking, seemed unfazed by the quality of the brew. As Hotch’s cup started filling, y/n doctored her own cup with milk and white sugar.

Once both drinks were ready, she placed lids on the cups and moved back to the cabin of the plane. As she passed Hotch, she seamlessly handed his cup to him, as she settled back to her own spot further down the row. Garcia watched as this happened. It was like moving a baton between two runners in a relay. ‘They hardly looked at each other while it happened!’ The technical analyst thought. Penelope hadn’t been on a case since y/n had joined, and this behavior was new and exciting for someone like Hotch.

Garcia had taken special care with y/n. The newest BAU agent was young, and she knew more about y/n’s background than most of the team. Because of this, Garcia had done her best to uplift and support y/n. But it seems that y/n was supporting the team in small ways too. Penelope knew that _y/n_ was attentive and sharp in her mind and actions if she needed to be. But this was generally hidden beneath her gentle warm exterior. But seeing y/n meet even the smallest needs without even being asked to was such her thing; at least, that was what Penelope thought. Now that she was here seeing this, Garcia was going to have to pay more attention to y/n and Hotch. Because she wanted to know if this was just a them thing, or was y/n acting like this with the whole team? 

y/n sat and took a sip of the coffee that was a little too hot. The liquid burned her tongue and she made a small face of pain. Thankfully no one was looking at her at the time. y/n set the cup in the cupholder next to her seat and looked at the picture of the rig itself again. This setting was so bizarre for a crime. Even the photos of the outside of the rig made her feel unnerved. y/n tried to think of any prior cases like this. There had to be some. y/n was fiercely thinking about old cases. Old old cases even. This case was going to require thinking outside the box. Finally, with eyes closed and brows pinched, some ideas started coming to her. With some inspiration, she began writing quickly on a new page of her notepad As this was happening, Aaron looked around the cabin. Everyone was still intensely focused, and he walked around each group to see what they had come up with so far.

Spencer and Morgan had surmised that the unsub was probably smaller than they might assume. Given that they used blunt objects to kill the victim. If the unsub had a lot of strength, they should be able to kill their victims without the need for an object. Between JJ and Emily, they had pinpointed a few possible workers who might fit certain profile types and those specifically seemed to be linked to odd organizations or firms that could be linked to terrorist organizations. As Aaron moved to ask Garcia how it was going, she shooed him away with a tut-tut indicating that she was too busy for a check-in at the moment. 

The last person he needed to see was y/n. As he approached her, she seemed deep in thought, and he sat across from her and sat for a minute or two in silence as he let her wrap up whatever she was writing. When y/n’s pen stilled, she looked up at him and he asked, “You seem to be having some ideas overhear. Mind sharing them with me?” y/n nodded, looking down to her notes. She resisted the urge to say, ‘I don’t feel good about this case. I can’t pinpoint it, but something feels off here.’ Instead, she said, “I was thinking about the setting; the rig. Looking at the ariel photographs, the maps of the interior, and the security footage from the main hallways made me think about something. It’s so isolated. If you work there then it’s a tight space, and you work a dangerous job, and you see the same twenty or so people day after day for three to four weeks.”

Hotch nodded along, getting a feeling for where she was going. When they made eye contact again, he said, “And?” He was encouraging her to finish her thought. y/n gave a soft sigh as if she was doubting herself. Whether there was doubt or not, y/n continued, saying, “Well those working conditions can’t be good for one’s psyche. I was considering some old cases. I know that Cabin Fever isn’t a diagnosable psychological condition, but there’s a history of those symptoms manifesting in groups of isolated people. I’m thinking as far back as the Donner party in 1846. There was the Highcliff’s in 1980, and more recently the Smith and Wess party in 1992. I know these are ancient cases for the team but it seems to fit to me. I know this case could be way more complex given the terrorism element, but just looking at the brief you wrote, I think this might be a case of insanity due to the location. I could be wrong. I could be totally off here, but it’s what I’ve got so far.”

Aaron thought about what y/n had said and replied, “I’m not saying that that train of thought is not out there, but given the novelty of this case, I think we need someone who is thinking with a separate mind frame. Once we’re on site, keep what you have here in the back of your mind. If you see anything that relates to this theory let me know immediately.” y/n nodded at him in agreement as he stood and made his way back to Rossi. Sometimes when Hotch or anyone asked her her thoughts early on, she feared that she sounded unhinged, or worse, stupid. y/n was still finding solid footing with the team, but Hotch never dismissed her ideas unless they were fully implausible, and she appreciated that about him. 

The flight moved quickly after this. Although there were five hours left, the team regrouped and shared what they knew before touchdown in Anchorage. When the jet landed, the sun was already setting in the West although it was only 5:30 p.m. It only took a few minutes before they arrived in the SUVs at the dock with the resupply boat that would take them to the rig thirty minutes offshore. The team turned in all three sets of keys to the cars to the police officer waiting for them at the dock. Aaron promised to call the local LEO when the team was ready for their return to the small airstrip.

The team pulled their go bags from the back of the cars. Derek was kind enough to carry Garcia’s pink and sparkly duffle on top of his small carry-on suitcase. The team had bundled up in their jackets and they were buffeted by the harsh northern winds beating them from all sides. As they boarded the gangway, Hotch momentarily steadied y/n who he was walking next to. Though she seemed okay, it seemed to him that she could use a steadying hand for a moment as she battled the wind. When she felt Aaron approach her and then place a steadying hand just barely against her back she looked at him. He wore that expression that just said, ‘I’m here.’ y/n gave him a nod, indicating that she appreciated the gesture. Aaron kept his hand where it was until they got on deck.

Once they were on a more sturdy surface, Hotch removed his hand but moved to take the handle of y/n’s small wheeled case in his open left hand. Their hands brushed briefly as they exchanged the weight of her luggage. Neither Aaron nor y/n said anything at the exchange, but she gave him a soft smile as he moved toward the stairway that led to the passenger area of the ship. This had become a little pattern of theirs over the past few months. There was a kind of shared understanding of care between them. Aaron told himself that this was him taking care of his newest agent, and _y/n_ told herself that this was her trying to prove that she noticed the small needs of the team; both of them were lying to themselves. 

Once the team was downstairs, y/n took charge of her case again, as Aaron and JJ moved to the control room to introduce themselves to the captain and get some relevant information. While the team waited to start moving, they all settled into the uncomfortable benches either in the center of the boat or those near the sides of the room that had a few windows looking out onto the choppy Alaskan Sea. After a few minutes, the boat motors started roaring to life and the resupply vessel moved toward the open water. Garcia moved to sit next to y/n who had slumped down on a bench next to one of the windows. The waves were a dark green and blue, and the clouds had turned a charcoal grey as the sun started to dip below the horizon. Penelope looked over to y/n and asked, “How are you holding up, friend?”

y/n looked over to Garcia and said, “I don’t like this Penelope. This feels off to me. This case.” Garcia nodded along and said, “Trust your gut y/n. You know yourself better than anyone else. If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you.” y/n nodded and both she and the tech whizz turned to look as Hotch and JJ returned from the bridge.

Aaron stepped into the center of the room. The boat listed up and down slightly, but he seemed perfectly stable even as the boat took on a large wave. In his smooth voice, Aaron said, “According to the skipper we should be at the rig in around twenty-five minutes. Apparently, the seas are pretty rough tonight. Once we get there, the boat will take a few minutes to dock. A worker on the rig is going to get our luggage for us, so leave it here by the door when we disembark. Once we’re on the rig the first thing we'll do is meet the foreman. As you saw in the file, his man is Mr. Obermann. Once I’ve introduced us all, we’ll get a tour of the rig. Find rooms and then debrief if that sounds alright?” Everyone agreed and said so in some way or another. y/n always found it interesting that he said things like, ‘If that’s alright with you.’ To the team. It’s not exactly like they had a choice on what happened at the start of a case. y/n hypothesized that he did this to give them an allusion of control. Also, if someone did really have a suggestion that the team do something differently -- like asking to go to a crime scene or the hospital or something like that -- then he would consider it. However, Aaron was usually good at predicting the needs of the team and the case. He was their leader after all. 

The resupply boat arrived at the rig and the size of the massive object that was being buffeted by the cold waves was more massive than any of them had imagined. The rig wasn’t the only thing being pushed by the harsh wind. As the team got outside and made it to the short ladder they would need to climb to get to the main platform. Derek helped y/n and Garcia get to the ladder while Aaron helped JJ, and Rossi provided Emily a steadying hand. The whole team pulled their jackets tighter around themselves as they made it to the main door. A worker pulled the heavy metal door open for them. The door led directly to the crew’s rec room. Mr. Obermann was waiting for them and stood as the team entered the room.

Aaron moved to the front of the pack and introduced himself and the team quickly. Mr. Obermann looked stressed and worn out which was understandable given the circumstances. The man said, “Well I appreciate you all coming so far. If this doesn’t get fixed it will be hell for the company, but more importantly to me twenty-five good hard-working men. Because you’ve all come I’ve sent all the temp workers home until you find our guy. What did you call him again?” Aaron replied, “The unknown subject, or unsub for short.” Obermann nodded and said, “Yeah. That. The men that are still here are freaked. They all think they’re going to be the next victim. It’s not good for the job as they need to pay full attention to what they are doing. Risk of injury on offshore rigs are thirty-three percent more likely than those on land.” Obermann stopped to take a breath before continuing, “Now I’ll give you a tour of the place. I need you all to put on hard hats. 

The protective headwear was passed out, and the team put the hats on. JJ, Penelope, and y/n struggled not to laugh at the look of all the men on the team wearing the hats. Particularly Rossi, Morgan, and Aaron. Hotch looked like a midwestern politician trying to get votes from the rustbelt to y/n, and she actually had to cough to hide her laugh. She was fully aware that she must also look like a fool, but she just couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. Once they were equipped, the team and Mr. Obermann moved through an internal door that led to a long hallway. The foreman moved through each of the rooms on that floor, including his small office, the mess hall, the laundry room, and some of the sleeping quarters. They moved outside, and the team looked at the helipad, and the derrick that brought the oil up to the surface. The team moved back inside and moved down the steps to the first level of the rig.

The lower floor was very dark and close to the water level. The sound of the waves could be heard through the thick steel and concrete which spoke to the power of the water surrounding them. Obermann guided through the more mechanical side of the rigs. The communal showers for the crew were also located on the second level. As they walked through the mechanical room, Obermann said, “This room is generally off limits, but as you know, the first victim was found here. I ask that if you need to be in here, let me know and I’ll send someone to open it for you.” The tour took a long time as the space was cramped and a lot of the rooms required them to be careful. Obermann led them back to the rec room where their luggage was waiting for them. Oberman said, “I’ll give you all a few minutes to pick rooms for yourself. The rooms that are free are downstairs. With all of you here, you’ll have to double up. The keys to the rooms are on the table and are labeled with the number that matches the door. Now I have some paperwork to attend to, but I’ll be in my office for any questions you have.” 

As Obermann moved to his office, the team looked at each other. Having to share rooms was never something they enjoyed. Though the team was close, it was an entirely different thing to have to share a room. The team's cases often brought a lot of stress and little sleep, and having the privacy of their own space let them decompress in their own form or fashion was needed. On the rare occasions that the team did share rooms, it was fine, but everyone was far more comfortable alone. But, the work needed to be done, and they needed to start quickly, so no one made a fuss. With that out of the way, the team paired up. Derek, Spencer, and Rossi shared one of the rooms that had three beds, and JJ, Emily, and Garcia took the other room with three beds. Emily offered to share her bed with y/n but y/n said that she was alright being with Hotch in the room with two beds. If it meant having her own bed she would be fine.

Aaron overheard y/n and Prentiss’s conversation, and he felt a tug in his chest. He wasn’t sure if the feeling was because y/n seemed so okay with sharing a room with him, or the fact that he was even thinking about it. Hotch had noticed his feelings change toward y/n in the last few months. He wasn’t sure what was pulling him to her, but in some tiny way, things seemed to have shifted in the air for them. And Aaron knew that it wasn’t just him that felt the change. y/n had started to adapt around him. Doing things for him she didn’t need to but that he wanted. He had started reciprocating the gestures and it just kind of clicked in place. Hotch hadn’t given this much thought yet. There hadn’t been time, and he wanted to wait before he did anything more. The fact that he was thinking this now felt like he was breaking some kind of supervisory rule. Even if y/n seemed completely fine with sharing a room with him, he wanted to check in personally. As the rest of the groups moved down the stairs with their suitcases, Hotch stepped toward her. 

When Aaron was next to her, he looked down into her eyes and said, “y/n, you don’t have to share a room with me. I can make another arraignment or sleep on one of the couches in here if you prefer.” y/n appreciated the gesture, and she looked over what appeared to be the most old, decrepit, and uncomfortable couches she had seen in her life. Not only would Hotch’s sleep be compromised, but he honestly might be unsafe here given that the rec room was open 24/7. With the killings happening, she would never risk him like that. Even if she was uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping in the same room as her boss, she still wouldn’t make him sleep in a space like this. Although y/n didn’t find the idea of sleeping in the same room as Hotch uncomfortable, she did find it a bit awkward. Over the past few months, she had had some less-than-professional thoughts about her Unit Chief. None of them had strayed into the lewd, lurid, or vulgar, but even so, being that close to Aaron made her insides flutter slightly.

She told the butterflies just trying to take flight for the first time to slow down. For now, she was just thinking about this situation by internally telling herself, ‘It’s just Hotch.’ y/n didn’t mean this in a demeaning way. Many of her close relationships or intimate moments with men were marred by pain or betrayal. So for her to simply and honestly say, ‘It’s just Hotch,’ meant a great deal. “Alright, but if at any time you feel like you need space during the night, just tell me and I’ll give it to you.” y/n smiled and nodded, saying, “I will, Hotch. Now, maybe we should put our stuff away so we can get to work?” Aaron nodded in agreement and he stood more straight. The pair grabbed the last room key and their cases. The duo moved down the stairs and to the end of the hallway where their room was. 

Hotch pulled the door’s key from his pants pocket and fitted it into the lock. There was the pleasant sound of the bolt clicking back. Aaron took the metal handle in his large hand. The door swung outward, and he froze momentarily as he looked into the room. y/n noticed his shift in demeanor and softly asked, “What is it?” She pressed closer to him, and she realized why he had reacted as he had. The room they were supposed to share only had one bed and from the size of it, there was no space for another mattress. Aaron muttered something she couldn’t hear under his breath before he more loudly articulated, “There must be a mistake. I’ll talk to Obermann. Or we can talk to someone on the team. Emily will still let you sleep with her. I’m sure of it.”

While he said this, two thoughts were happening simultaneously in y/n’s head. The first was that her work phone had vibrated in her pocket about ten times since she and Hotch had been trying to negotiate about the room. y/n took a moment to look through her messages. It seemed the other team members were ready to start building the profile for the unsub and were waiting for her and Hotch. This meant she had little time to think about the second thought running through her head like a fire. Imagining sleeping in the same bed as Aaron, even momentarily pulled a light flush to her face. She pushed the latter thought back for later and said, “Hotch, we can figure it out later. I think the team is waiting for us in the rec room. Em said there’s coffee. Let’s just put our cases inside and you and I can figure this out later.”

Aaron turned to y/n with a furrowed brow. For a second he could see the flush on her skin but moved to look away not ready to acknowledge that fact yet. Though he wanted to rectify this situation immediately, y/n was right. He gave a small sigh and said, “You’re right. We can figure it out later." With that Aaron and y/n moved into the small space. Hotch pushed his suitcase under the small space of the bed while y/n placed her smaller case in the only open storage area the room had. When this was done, they both left the room; Aaron switched off the light and locked the door behind him. As they made their way back up to the first floor, Aaron sighed. This wasn’t particularly Obermann’s fault, but it was a unique situation for sure. One that he would resolve to make sure y/n was comfortable. For some reason when he saw her in pain or discomfort, it really ate at him. This had only happened twice, but those were two times he did not want to repeat. And he certainly wasn’t going to be the cause of her discomfort. 

The pair moved back to the team and settled into the open spots at one of the tables in the rec room. The darkness outside the windows of the rec room seemed to try and penetrate through and around the lights on the rig, and the howl of the wind crashed with the waves as the team worked late into the night. They bounced ideas off each other and looked at the first three spots where the victims had been found. By 2:40 a.m. the team had a basic profile down. They assumed the unsub was around forty to fifty-five years old, which eliminated a little less than half of the twenty-five workers. They also assumed the man was important and potentially used violence as a substitute for sex and a form of release. y/n kept the idea of cabin fever in the back of her head and suggested acts of hysteria or depression for the profile. She clarified, “We wouldn’t see that behavior here, but while this unsub is not on the rig I think bouts of anger and depression might be a pattern. He might have even lost jobs because of this before.” Rossi agreed and said, “We can ask Mr. Obermann about people with those traits tomorrow morning. We also know the attacks happen at night when most of the crew are asleep and only the night shift workers are awake.”

Derek tacked on, “And they happen where there aren’t cameras or the lighting is too dark to see clearly. It’s often near the machinery to drown out any screaming.” Now that the preliminary profile was created, it would give the team a better chance to look over all the workers tomorrow who they were meeting in the morning. They had only met two men officially that night and it was the two security guards. One was a younger man in his thirties named Joe, and the other was in his fifties named Pete. The team had met the two while they changed shifts. Both men had introduced themselves and told the members of the BAU to call them at any time if they needed help. Derek and Aaron both clocked that neither man carried a gun, but did have retractable nightsticks in their belts. 

By this point, it was nearly three, and many members of the team decided to call it a night. They needed to wake up at five a.m. to meet the oil workers before their shift started at 6:00 a.m. It was only Rossi, Garcia, Aaron, and y/n left awake. y/n could feel the weight of her exhaustion pulling at her. Her mind was foggy and looking at the files actually hurt her eyes. The lights on the rig at night were a bit dimmed and she longed to get to sleep. She pushed away from the table and Garcia looked up and asked, “Are you going to bed, darling?” y/n nodded. At hearing this, Aaron looked over to her and she approached him.

Mr. Obermann had retired hours ago and y/n was sure Emily was out like a light by now. She could see Hotch eyeing the couches again and she just barely touched his shoulder. He looked over to her and she nodded her head toward his phone, which pinged once. Aaron picked up the device and swiped up on _y/n_’s text message. He quickly read it over. The message read: “Hotch. I guarantee that sleeping in the same room, even the same bed as you doesn’t make me uncomfortable. It may be unorthodox by FBI standards, but I’m tired and I don’t to wake JJ or Emily. Please don’t sleep on those couches or stay up all night to try and make tonight better for me. You need rest too. If sleeping with me makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take the couch, just wake me up and let me know.” Hotch turned back to y/n and could see that she was being honest, about all of it. That she wasn’t uncomfortable, and that she would take the couch if he wanted to be alone. Again he had that feeling that he was being cared for by y/n. And even though he felt uncertain for some unknown reason, he couldn’t deny he’d rather be on a bed than the couches. Finally, he gave her a small nod letting her know that he would be down at the room later. Silently, y/n mouthed, “Night Aaron.” With that, she slipped into the corridor and out of sight. Garcia had observed whatever that odd interaction was between her two friends and she was sure something was happening. What that was, she couldn’t say yet, but with her snooping and pleading skills, she hoped to find out soon enough. 

After another hour, Aaron was the only one still up. He was stalling and he knew it. With a sigh, Hotch put his loose papers in his file. He picked up the manila folder and moved downstairs. The grimy, dim hall lights flickered and the shadows seemed to move as Hotch walked down the small corridor. Hotch stopped outside the showers and considered taking one. Again he was stalling. He didn’t need a shower, he needed sleep. He passed the showers and tried to unlock the door as quietly as he could. It was dark in the room and he felt around the dark space for the edge of the bed. y/n’s slow breathing filled the room along with the sound of the wave slapping the sides of the rig.

Aaron knelt down and tried to quietly remove his suitcase from under the bed. He stopped once it was out and listened. From her breathing, it seemed that y/n was still asleep. He unzipped the case and at this point, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He found his grey sweatpants and a sleeping shirt. He couldn’t tell what color it was in the dark but it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Once he had the articles of clothing, he pushed his suitcase back under the bed. Once he was standing again, he considered moving back to the showers to change.

However, opening the door and letting in the light from the hall might wake y/n. He looked over at his agent who was turned away from him facing the wall. She was obviously asleep, and he decided to just quickly change in the room. He placed his pajamas on the empty side of the twin bed. He faced the other direction and quietly undid the buckle of his belt. He slipped it out of his belt loops and when it was free, he silently placed the leather on the bed. With a fast intentional movement, he undid the button and zipper of his pants. He slipped off the fabric and when his legs were free, he grabbed his sweats and slipped them on. Somehow Aaron felt that it would be alright if y/n saw him in his undershirt or even bare-chested, but something about her seeing his legs or worse his groin -- even if it was covered with briefs was too embarrassing to think about. 

A tiny voice in his head said mockingly, “And you just thought ‘you weren’t trying to impress someone?’” Hotch grit his teeth, removed his shirt and undershirt, and put on the soft cotton of his sleeping shirt. Aaron folded the clothes that he had put on the bed and set them on top of y/n’s case. He would hang them up tomorrow. He slowly sat down on the edge of the mattress and it dipped slightly with his weight. Very slowly he moved his legs onto the bed and it was just long enough to fit his tall frame. He lay on his back. For his sake and y/n’s he decided to sleep on top of the covers, while y/n stayed bundled beneath them. This would at least give them a layer of separation between them. Aaron wasn’t sure if it was his stirring or even his body heat, but y/n seemed to momentarily wake, and in a sleep-heavy voice asked, “Hotch.” It was hard to tell if she was still asleep or not, but he softly replied, “It’s me.” This answer seemed to soothe her and y/n quickly fell back asleep. The exhaustion Aaron felt nearly made him fall asleep before he turned on his side to face the opposite direction from _y/n_. For once, he was grateful that he was so tired that his mind couldn’t wander to places he shouldn't let it. 

An hour or so later Aaron woke when y/n made a small sound in her sleep. It was like a little hum or maybe the softest “yes” he had heard in his life. As he came to a more conscious state he realized that he was warm. Warmer than he had been when he fell asleep. In his sleep, he had managed to get under the covers and he was nestled next to y/n. His right arm was around her waist and his face was pressed into the soft smooth skin of her neck. Hotch stilled his body. Apart from the fact that being pressed close to y/n felt good, he realized that he needed to move slowly or he might wake her while he disentangled his body from hers. Hotch pulled his face back first, and in his tired mind, he thought about how he missed y/n’s crisp scent. Next, he removed his arm from her waist. y/n made another noise at this retraction but still didn’t wake. Aaron thanked the gods for apparently making y/n a deep sleeper. Finally, Aaron rolled onto his back and then to his original position facing the other wall. He was too drained to try and get out and above the covers again, and anyway, the warmth from both the blankets and y/n who was only an inch or so away from him felt good, and he fell back into unconsciousness after a few minutes. 

In the morning, neither Aaron nor y/n had the time to reflect that they had ended up in each other's arms again during the night because they were jolted awake by the sound of someone screaming. y/n said, “It’s Garcia.” Both Aaron and y/n quickly put on their shoes and grabbed their guns in case there was any danger. Aaron moved out the door first and y/n followed closely after. The sound had come from the nearby showers. Mr. Obermann had set up for the showers to be open from six to seven a.m. each morning for the BAU women to shower safely and with the guarantee that a man wouldn’t interrupt them. This was something JJ had set up on the flight over to Alaska. JJ had ensured that the same was promised for the men on the team, but their hours were in the evening.

As Aaron and y/n arrived outside the showers, Morgan was gently guiding Penelope from outside. The technical analyst was sobbing and Derek sort of passed her over to y/n who put her gun away. Morgan firmly said, “Get her away from here, y/n. We have a new victim.” y/n nodded and she tried to comfort Garcia as they moved away from the new scene. Hotch slipped past them and at his point the whole team assembled. Rossi was acting as a guard against the workers who wondered what was going on, and if someone had been killed. As y/n passed JJ, she asked the media liaison to come with her and Garcia to provide another more comforting presence for Penelope. JJ nodded and they moved back to the women’s room. 

It was a hectic three hours at the start of the morning as a coroner and the local authorities were called. The oil workers became increasingly restless with all of the authorities and the BAU around. To the men, so far these newcomers hadn’t done anything to protect them yet. Once Penelope had calmed, y/n sat on Emily’s bed and thought to the morning. To Hotch in his sneakers and grey sweatpants and dark blue shirt with his gun drawn. To Rossi in a dressing gown and undershirt, and Morgan in a tank and sweats. In fact, they had all been in sleeping clothes except for Spencer.

y/n expected that the young genius had stayed up all night. The sight of all of them with guns in such casual clothing would have been funny if it was in a dream or something. But this wasn’t a dream. They were isolated in the middle of nowhere. So far away from civilization that it took an hour for the coroner to arrive. y/n thought back to her isolation theory. She looked forward to speaking with Obermann when she got the chance to see what he had to say. She could also get JJ to look over the personnel files with her for clues as well. After Emily dropped off a soda for Garcia, y/n asked Garcia if she could describe what had happened in the morning and any clues she might have seen or observed. y/n had her pen and pad ready when her friend began to speak. Finally, the police left, the coroner took the body, and the team changed into their professional clothes and assembled in the rec space. Obermann and all the workers minus the fourth victim were assembled. 

Obermann spoke first and said, “Alright, new rule. Teams of three only. No one moves alone, even to piss. No teams of two, teams of three. I’ve called corporate and am waiting for a response. If they tell us to leave today, we will. But until then we can still do our jobs. And if you can’t tell me. Before we get to today’s work, I’ll have Agent Hotchner speak to you. Listen to him and his team without any grumbling or complaints unless you want to be written up.”With that, Oberman stepped aside for Aaron. Hotch tried to make this quick. He could tell the men in front of him were angsty. He cleared his throat and said, “As Mr. Obermann said, I’m Agent Aaron Hotchner. I work for the FBI in the Behavioral Analysis  Unit. I and my team are here to find the person who is making this an even more dangerous place to work. I am sincerely sorry for your loss this morning. I and my team standing beside me will do everything we can to try and not allow something like that to happen again while we are here. If any of you see something off or suspicious, don’t hesitate to tell me, our Media Liaison, or anyone on the team. I promise we won’t get in your way. For now, that’s all.”

Aaron stepped back and motioned for the team to move further back into the room as Obermann started giving the instructions for the day's labor. Aaron had cut out a lot of the formalities, his title, and the science behind the team's work. It wasn’t needed now. He had been speaking to hardened working men, not cops, and sounding fancy or professional wouldn’t make their opinions of him or the team any higher. As Obermann gave orders, Aaron similarly divvied up tasks for the team. Garcia, who had much recovered from her shocking morning would continue looking at the terror element and online leads. He and Morgan would look at the crime scenes. Rossi volunteered to watch the men at work and see if he saw anything that fit the profile. JJ, y/n, and Emily volunteered to look at the files of the employees again, as well as rewatch any relevant footage, and Spencer would work on a geographic profile if that was even possible in a space this small. Hotch, like Obermann, told his team that he wanted them in pairs. The events of the morning were a clear reminder that there was significant danger for everyone on the rig. 

The team worked tirelessly through the day. They all even missed breakfast and lunch. They reconvened at mid-day and shared what they had. Rossi had suspicions about two men, Baker and Price. Em, JJ, and y/n had thoughts about three men: Slainfield, Parkins, and Jotenson. y/n also had a bad feeling about Pete. However, Pete was standing by them so she didn’t say anything to the whole team. But once the man was gone, she approached Aaron. He was leaning over his and Rossi’s notes on the table, but he acknowledged her presence by turning his head to her for a moment. y/n said, “I think that there’s something off about Pete. He seems to match the profile well and…” She paused momentarily and Hotch looked at her closely, saying, “And?” y/n swallowed and said, “Maybe this is silly but he gives me a bad feeling.” Hotch nodded and said, “It’s not silly. We’ll keep an eye on him.” 

The team worked through the afternoon and into the evening. Every now and then they would update the group as they discovered new things. Morgan and Hotch had looked at the crime scene and the pictures of the victim. It was clear that this murder was faster and more reckless. It had happened in a more public place unlike the last three and there was less bruising which meant the death had been rushed. Hotch and Rossi made two hypotheses: one was that the killer was trying to show dominance to the team. To demonstrate that he could kill even with them watching. The second was that he was getting sloppy. He might be trying to show strength, but it was evident in the victim’s body that he was slipping. In the evening the team met for dinner with the rest of the workers.

The BAU members all sat together at a table on the far side of the room. Clear cliques could be seen in the oil men as the group sat and chattered softly. None of the men looked at the team and they clearly didn’t want to be overheard. It was clear that the team's presence and the fact that a killer was among them was altering their behavior. As y/n looked over the group and then to her friends it all suddenly felt like high school. And in a moment that felt like a bad teen romance, y/n thought of the morning, before Garcia had shifted the course of events for the day with her discovery. y/n had woken early. She wanted a shower even if she didn’t really need it. She had not expected to wake up warm and cozily tucked in Aaron’s arms with his face pressed into her hair. The comfort she found in his embrace knocked the senses out of her for a moment before she realized he was her boss and any feeling that might or might not been growing in her would be rejected. Not that she’d ever have the nerve to say or do anything. She liked her job too much to do something stupid. She liked Aaron too. As a colleague and friend, she wouldn’t want to make things awkward between them.

y/n came back to herself and wondered how she could navigate out of the small bed and his warm, strong arms to get to the showers. Just then Penelope had screamed and saved her from having to think about it. y/n snapped back to reality as Emily said something to her. y/n looked over at Prentiss and said, “Sorry, come again?” As she picked up her pizza for another bite. 

To call the food good would be hyperbole, but the team was so famished the cafeteria-grade food tasted amazing. The workmen moved to finish their tasks for the night before turning in. The team continued working for an hour or so before many members also turned in for the night. Perhaps it was the cramped space or the fact that the daylight faded quickly leaving the rig in darkness much of the time, or just the sounds of the waves that made them all a little more sleepy than usual.

Emily, Garcia, y/n, and JJ were one of the groups to turn in early. _y/n_ could tell that Garcia was going to start asking her questions about what the night with Aaron had been like. To avoid having that personal conversation right now, y/n faked a yawn to indicate that she was really sleepy, which she was. Her strategy worked and Garcia, who was actively going to ask y/n about her night yesterday stopped herself realizing that her friend was tired. Each of the women moved to their rooms and got ready for bed. When the lights were off and y/n was under the blanket and her breathing was the only sound in the room, she thought she heard a creaking from the corner of the small space. y/n sat up, but there was obviously no one there. She lay back down and pulled the covers over her head like a little girl. The place unnerved her. It was like an isolated haunted British mansion with a vengeful ghost roaming the corridors. Except this ghost was real and would do more than scare you to death. y/n let out a sigh at her silly thoughts. She cleared her head and actually focused on getting some rest. 

Aaron was not the last one up this time. That honor went to Derek who was chatting with Garcia about something technical that he wasn’t sure he fully understood. Hotch stood and excused himself. Aaron was smarter the second night, and he had set out a clean pair of pajamas and his toiletries for his shower night. Aaron grabbed the items and moved back to the shower room. Hotch stripped and moved into one of the communal showers. He pulled the frosted plastic curtain back for privacy. He turned on the water and flinched as the ice-cold water hit his skin. It took a moment before the warm water replaced the frigid.

When the hot water did come, he let out a little sigh. He didn’t know where it had come from. He assumed it was from being so tired. From the real and present danger his team was in, and also that there had been a dead body in this very space many hours earlier. As he reflected, he thought, ‘These cases certainly make strange bedfellows of places.’ And it was true. Where hadn’t he seen a crime? Churches, dressing rooms, parks, campgrounds, strip clubs, showers, houses, houses, houses… Aaron tried to not focus on the morbidity of his job. He was actually thinking about the ‘bedfellows’ part of his thought. Because this case was making him have a strange bedfellow in y/n.

In what world would something like this happen? In what twisted world was he so comfortable with it happening? He thought back to when he woke up holding y/n. Now Aaron actually stopped himself from groaning. ‘You’re tired,’ Aaron reassured himself. He more quickly worked through his routine of thoroughly cleaning his skin and washing his hair. After drying off with a towel and changing. He moved back into the room and settled into the bed. As he lay down, he looked at the metal ceiling painted an unimaginative hospital beige. He silently said, ‘You won’t hold y/n tonight.’ He repeated it a few times. It was a technique he used with Jack when he had bad dreams. Aaron told his son that if you say something while you’re awake, like, “I won’t have a nightmare tonight,” that it will happen in your sleep too. Hotch softly chuckled at the fact that he was using a comforting technique for his son on himself. As his thoughts shifted to Jack, he slipped into sleep. 

It was the middle of the night, Aaron woke when he felt like all the air had been sucked from the room and a heavy weight seemed to press down on him. He shifted up and looked at y/n. He was surprised when he saw her eyes wide open apparently looking at the foot of the bed. He could tell something was off. Her body was stiff like a board. Aaron tried to get her to relax by gently shaking her shoulder and calling her name, but this had no response. Hotch swallowed and placed his fingers over her pulse. It was a bit elevated, but he could see her breathing normally. Her condition scared him, and he called her name again. After a moment y/n’s eyes shifted from the edge of the bed and up to the ceiling. Aaron knew there was nothing there, but he looked up at the flat surface anyway.

He tried shaking her again. He was wondering if she was having a stroke, but the odd symptoms didn’t look like those of a stroke, and y/n was far too young and healthy to have a stroke. He would have seen it in her medical history and not let her on the team. For another agonizing minute, y/n lay still. y/n seemed to snap out of whatever this episode was. She quite literally collapsed into the mattress, and she took large unsteady breaths like she was panicking or had been unable to breathe over the last few minutes. Aaron’s voice was filled with concern and worry, as he brushed his hand over her arm and said, y/n. What was that?”

In a strained voice, y/n said, “Lights. Give me a minute.” Hotch nodded, and he felt relieved hearing her voice, even if it did sound distressed. He leaned over to his side of the wall and flipped the light switch on. The low-level fluorescent glow of the overhead made Hotch blink a few times. When his eyes had adjusted, he watched y/n. Her eyes were closed and she was clearly doing some breathing techniques to calm herself and her nervous system down. Aaron’s hand briefly ghosted over her upright palm. For a moment he wanted the take it in his own hand, but he stopped himself. He grabbed at the sheets of the bed and made a fist with the fabric instead. After a few minutes, _y/n_ sat up. One of her legs was bent to her chest, and she placed her forehead in her right hand. Aaron cleared his throat and as if she just now remembered he was there, she turned her head to look at him with her forehead still in her hand. She looked so scared. Her eyes shone with it. After a final beat of silence, y/n said, “Do you know what sleep paralysis is?” Her voice was slightly hoarse, lower than its normal register. Hotch thought about what he knew about the condition. He’d heard of it before, but never experienced it himself. Softly, he replied, “I have. Though I don’t know a lot about it.” y/n nodded and then said, “Well now you’ve seen it.” Seeing y/n like this pulled at his insides, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He moved his hand to the small of her back to provide some comfort. 

y/n seemed to settle with his touch, and she took her head out of her hand. Aaron wanted, needed some answers. So as kindly as he could, he asked, “What is that like exactly? You were so stiff for about three minutes.” y/n’s brow pinched for a moment and she replied, “It’s like locked-in syndrome a bit. You’re aware, awake but there's no moving or being able to snap out of it. You’re trapped until the episode is over. People see, hear, or feel things. One or all of those things can happen.” Hotch’s mind went back to while the episode was happening. She had clearly been looking at something at the foot of the bed and then at the ceiling. He asked, “Do you see things?”

y/n nodded and said, “Yeah.” Aaron could see the discomfort as she thought about it. Aaron wasn’t going to press, but he did wonder what she had seen. His unspoken question was answered by y/n, who said, “For me, I… I see a man. He’s large and cloaked in a kind of shadow. Like his body is there but not there. He smiles at me but other than his mouth there’s no face.” y/n swallowed thickly and said, “Normally he’s at the foot of my bed, but sometimes he’s near my face. Tonight he crawled up the wall and looked down at me from the ceiling.” While she spoke about the figure, her voice hitched and Aaron noticed the small sob she was trying to hide. Her description of sleep paralysis sounded horrible. His bouts of insomnia felt like nothing compared to what she described. It was an actual living nightmare. Hotch took a breath and started running a gentle circle on her back with his thumb. He wanted to know more. Like how often does this happen? Or if there’s something that causes these events. But right now he was more concerned about making sure y/n was comfortable and felt safe. 

Aaron removed his hand from her back, and this made her look at him more intently. He first acknowledged how frightening that sounded, and he said, “I’m sorry you’ve gone through this. It sounds, scary. Is there anything you do that helps you calm down? Is there anything I can do to help? I could grab you a coffee, or give you space if you need.” y/n gave Hotch one of those small half smiles that she flashed him when he was doing something for her that he didn’t need to exactly. She replied, with a more stable voice, “I, um actually think that coffee might make it worse. Trying to stay up and outlast the feelings doesn’t normally help with anything. But maybe some water would be nice.” Hotch nodded and turned toward the small nightstand on his side of the bed. He grabbed the water bottle that he had taken from dinner. He had only taken a sip or two, and he offered it over to y/n saying, “Is this okay? I just had a sip, but I can get you a new one if you prefer.”

y/n chuckled lightly as she unscrewed the cap and took a drink. She really wasn’t worried about germs from Aaron. After a few sips, she put the cap back on and Aaron placed it back on the table. Aaron then asked, “Is there anything else?” y/n continued looking at him and said, “Normally I just grab a weighted blanket and and try and get back to sleep and pray it doesn’t happen again.” The idea that something like this would happen more than once in a night was abhorrent to Hotch. He looked around the room for anything that might act like a weighted blanket even though there wasn’t anything of the kind around. Aaron’s brain came up with an idea and his mouth voiced the thought before he could stop himself. He said, “Maybe I can hold you? It’s not a weighted blanket, but maybe it could help?” There was a silence after the offer was out there. Both Aaron and y/n were a bit surprised. Aaron bit the inside of his mouth at what he had said. He feared that he had crossed a line, and y/n looked at him like she was surprised that he had offered. However, much to Hotch’s relief, she said, “I’d like that, actually.” Aaron nodded and softly replied, “Okay. Do you want me to turn off the lights?” y/n nodded and laid back on the mattress. 

Aaron switched off the light and lay flush with the mattress as well. He wasn’t exactly sure how to start what he had offered without it being awkward or uncomfortable. So he started by just taking y/n’s hand in the darkness. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and she let out a breath at his touch. His hand trailed up her arm to her bicep where he ran his pointer and middle fingers up and down the area gently. He wanted to ensure that she was okay with this. After a minute of this, y/n softly said, “Aaron, please.” Maybe it was the way he said his first name or the fact that he wanted to provide the comfort that gave him the courage to move his body close to hers. He placed a hand on her hip and asked, “Do you want to face my chest or face the wall?” Her comfort was most important to him. _y/n_ thought for a moment and said, “I’d like the face the wall.” Aaron hummed and positioned himself so his chest was against her back as she turned on her side. With his left arm, he wrapped his arm over her. It rested on her waistline. He didn’t add any pressure, but let the weight of his arm rest on the side of her body. y/n could feel that he was tense; he might even be flexing. She didn’t mention this and after a few minutes, he relaxed like her. When he did this she could fully feel him pressed against her. The soft area of this stomach pressed against her lower back. Before she fell asleep she said, “Thanks Hotch.” With that, she slipped into oblivion. 

In the morning it wasn’t odd as they got up. Aaron checked in to see how she was, and y/n said, “I’m alright. I rested pretty well thanks to you. I really appreciate it, Hotch.” Aaron nodded and more nonchalantly than he really felt he said, “I’m just happy that I could help.” y/n moved to grab her towel, her work clothes, and her toiletries bag. She stepped into the shower and told JJ good morning. The media liaison was humming some county song behind her privacy curtain and told _y/n_ “Good morning,” as well. _y/n_ and JJ moved to the rec room together. The rest of the team was grabbing breakfast. As soon as Garcia saw _y/n_, she knew something had happened the previous night. The technical analyst and Emily approached y/n, and Penelope asked her, “Baby, did something happen? You don’t look well.” y/n shook her head and quietly told her friends, “I had another episode last night. It was a lot worse than the recent ones.” Garcia looked at y/n sympathetically and pulled her into a hug saying, “I’m so sorry, y/n. It’s gotta be this place. It’s giving me the heebie-jeebies too.”

Aaron watched on as Em, Garcia, and y/n had a quiet conversation near the serving table. He could just hear some of their conversation, and for a moment, he felt left out because y/n hadn’t told him about her sleep paralysis but had clearly let Penelope and Prentiss in on the secret. Aaron realized that immediately that was stupid because the conversation about her sleeping habits didn’t normally just pop up around him. What would she possibly say, “Oh yeah, every now and then a literal sleep demon shows up by my bed, and he doesn’t have a face. Also, I can’t move when it happens. And it could happen anytime I sleep.” Aaron chastised himself and stabbed another bite of eggs onto his fork. At least now he knew about one of the challenges that seemed to haunt y/n outside the job, and he now would do what he could to make her life easier while they were on cases. 

The day moved quickly as some leads dropped cold and the pressure was on to get results. There hadn’t been a new attack which indicated that either the unsub was getting scared, or the fact that the team and the workmen being in teams of two and three had stopped them from being able to act. If the pattern of the last two killings heald, the unsub was likely to attack again today. During the afternoon, Spencer and y/n were discussing her theory and the idea that the unsub was impotent. Spencer said, “What if he’s not important at all, but has a pain fetish or something?” y/n looked at Spencer with apprehension, and she replied, “But the impotence matches with the profile. The bat or blunt object is clearly a replacement for the phallus. If the unsub has a pain fetish I think he would take much more time with the victim. Granted in a place like this, there can’t be a lot of time spent on each victim. I’m not sure, now it feels off.” Spencer leaned against the wall and said, “Let’s re-examine that part of the profile in a bit. I have some thoughts about your cabin fever theory.” y/n gave the genius a small smile and said, “Shot. I’m all ears.” What both agents were missing about the first subject of discussion was that it was possible that more than one person was influencing the way the victims were being killed. 

It was late, again and Em and y/n were calling it a night. y/n had tried to get to bed before Hotch while they shared the bed. She hoped that if she was asleep when he got back, he would be more comfortable because they wouldn’t have to have any potential awkward ‘good nights’ or shifting around in the bed to try and get comfortable. y/n for one, took what felt like half an hour to find a comfy position and actually get to sleep. The hallway to their room was cloaked in oddly long shadows. For a second Emily thought she heard a dripping sound and looked around for the source of the noise, but she couldn’t see anything from the darkened hall. Emily looked over to y/n and said, “I don’t know about you, but I want to get the fuck off this rig.” y/n nodded in agreement and said, “That gets an Amen from me.” As Prentiss approached her door, she fished for her keys and muttered, “Shit,” under her breath. _y/n_ looked over to Emily and asked, “What is it?” Emily said, “I left my keys on the table.” y/n looked at her friend and then at her own door. It was only ten or so feet away and Em said, “You go to bed. I’ll be fine by myself getting my keys. JJ was planning on heading to bed soon too, so I’ll just walk back with her.” y/n said, “You’re sure?” Prentiss nodded and both women headed their separate ways. Emily moved with determination, wanting to get to bed as quickly as possible. 

y/n moved down the hallway and passed the showers. Once she was past the site of the latest victim, a figure emerged from the entrance behind her. y/n wasn’t aware of the man’s presence until he spoke, saying, “Ma’am, you shouldn’t be walking alone.” y/n whipped around and saw the security guard, Joe. y/n suddenly felt a dread build in her stomach, and Joe stepped toward her saying, “Let me walk you to your room at least.” Just as y/n was about to say something, the man lunged at her. His strong hands found their grip on her neck and she choked as he restricted her airway and pushed her harshly against the metal wall. y/n tried to fight the unsub, but her lack of air was making it hard. In an act of desperation, she used her right hand to find the man’s groin and she took his manhood in her hand squeezing the area tightly. Joe removed his hands from her body and said, “Bitch,” as he moved back covering his groin with his hands.

y/n tried to catch her breath. She pulled for the gun in her holster with shaking fingers, but Joe was quicker with his nightstick. As he extended the weapon it gave a little swishing sound. Before y/n could fully protect her face with her hands the nightstick made painful contact on the side of her head. y/n reeled, and she saw stars for a second. y/n tried to stay upright, but the pain and confusion had her collapse against the wall. As she crumpled, she could hear Joe say, “How fucking dare you say I’m impotent. You’re going to regret that comment you little bitch.” y/n closed her eyes as she saw the man’s hand holding the weapon raise and lower with considerable force. 

Hotch moved down the hallway and stairs that led to the first level of the rig. He was in desperate need of a shower and a distraction. The day had been rough on him. He had had to speak to Obermann about the men suddenly acting different, even with hostility toward the team. They were obviously all on edge, but that didn’t give them a right to badmouth his team. He had also had a very choppy call with Strauss and Mr. Ridgewell. Both were disappointed that he hadn’t found anything yet. Aaron had to explain to Ridgewell specifically how unique a case this was. Aaron wondered why Erin hadn’t told the Commissioner this information before. Was his boss angry with him as well? Making him do this sort of soft groveling as a sort of punishment? To prove that he and the team were valuable?

Aaron had also had a long conversation with Garcia about more messages that had been shared from the alleged foreign agents. Hotch was beginning to think that this part of the case was all a ruse by the unsub to distract the team’s time and energy. As Hotch got lower on the stairs, he heard a snapping sound and the small moan of pain that came after a particularly loud cracking sound had his hand on his gun in an instant. Aaron quietly moved down the final steps and he saw the younger security guard leaning over a prone figure that he recognized as y/n. Aaron authoritatively said, “I have a gun pointed at the back of your skull. Unless you want your brains decorating these walls, I’d put your hands behind your head and slowly stand.”

Unfortunately for Aaron, Joe had heard Hotch’s footsteps and had grabbed his knife, which he kept hidden in his back pocket, and pressed it close to y/n’s neck. Joe called back, “I wouldn’t if I were you, Agent Hotchner. I have my knife pressed to your agent's neck. So unless you want her bleeding out from her carotid artery, I’d put down your gun, and kick it toward me.” Aaron clenched his jaw but replied, “Alright. I’m doing it now.” Hotch would never jeopardize a member of his team. The fact that he couldn’t see how hurt y/n was and the fact that she wasn’t moving almost made him sick. He slowly moved his center of gravity down and set his handgun on the cold smooth floor. Aaron pushed the weapon toward Joe. The unsub felt behind himself until his hands found the gun. Joe moved to face Aaron, dropped the knife, and grabbed his nightstick instead. Joe commanded Aaron to raise his hands and put them behind his head. Hotch did as told and when the unsub was a foot away from Aaron, Joe quickly raised his nightstick and hit Aaron on the side of the face. The blow wasn’t well aimed, and it didn’t have as much power as he had used with y/n, but it was still enough to incapacitate the FBI agent for a moment. As Hotch slumped against the wall, Joe pushed past him and ran to an external door at the end of the hallway.

After a second, Aaron came back to himself and he clicked on his open communication channel with the team and he said, “The unsub is Joe Pabst. He just attacked y/n. He exited the southwest door. The channel came to life as Aaron moved toward y/n on unsteady feet. He collapsed next to y/n and checked her breathing and pulse. It was clear that she was unconscious and battered, but her pulse seemed alright. She seemed to be struggling to breathe due to the trauma on her nose. Aaron couldn’t tell if it was broken or not, but the blood leaking from it and the bruising already there told him that it was hard for her to breathe through it. Thankfully Rossi and Garcia came to his side in a second. Rossi motioned that he would stay with y/n and at seeing this, Aaron got to his feet to pursue the unsub. He listened as Derek, Spencer, and Emily approached the man who had harmed y/n.

Outside on the slick side of the rig, Aaron fought the wind. He moved up to the top platform and saw Derek and Spencer in a stand-off with the unsub who was on the rigging of the derrick itself. A light shone out, highlighting the unsubs form standing high above the waves. Hotch lined up a shot with the second gun he wore on his left ankle. Just as he was preparing to fire an incapacitating shot, Joe moved to the edge of the small platform, and by some twist of fate, or a simple design flaw, the chain railing slipped from one of its posts, and because Joe was leaning his weight on the barrier, he flailed wildly before plummeting into the choppy sea below. Aaron called Morgan on the secure channel and said, “Go see if you can find Joe. I’ll wake Obermann and let him know what’s just happened.” Derek confirmed Hotch’s directions. As much as Aaron would like the unsub to drown, it was still his job to make sure monsters like Joe faced the full weight of justice if possible. 

A half-hour later Aaron was back by _y/n_’s side. Rossi had moved y/n to the rec room and the travel medical evacuation team was en route. y/n hadn’t woken yet and Aaron feared a bad concussion or worse, something like a brain bleed from the head trauma she had received. Aaron also couldn’t deny that he was feeling unwell. The lights were a bit bright for him, but he ignored his own pain to be seated next to y/n. When the helicopter came, Rossi insisted that Aaron ride with _y/n_ to the nearest hospital because he might also need medical care. Hotch acquiesced and boarded the helicopter with the paramedics and pilot. The sun was just rising above the horizon line as the chopper moved up and over where the Alaskan sea met the cold,  hard land. At the hospital Aaron reluctantly submitted himself to an exam, but he only had thoughts for y/n who was seen a few rooms down. 

When y/n woke a few hours later, her head pounded in pain. Even though she was hurting, she could sense that she was somewhere new. Her last memories were of Joe approaching her. As someone near her shifted, she opened her eyes and tried to see through the glare of her blurry vision. Aaron sat up as y/n stirred. His head was lightly bandaged to stop the bleeding from his temple. y/n struggled to say, “It was Joe.” Aaron nodded and said, “Yeah. Joe and Pete, but we can talk about that later. I’m going to call the doctor for you.” As Aaron waited for Dr. Ramirez to come and check in on y/n he looked her over again. Her face was deeply bruised. There were other sites of trauma on her body including a fractured wrist and some bruised ribs. The doctors assumed that she had a grade III concussion due to the fact that she had been unconscious for as long as she had.

Hotch could see the pain in her eyes, but even so, she said, “It’s nice to have someone I really like be beside my bad instead of shadow man.” y/n cringed slightly from the pain and how stupid ‘shadow man,’ sounded to her. She had never named her sleep paralysis demon. She refused to give it an identity. She looked at Aaron who was also a bit damaged. She wanted him to hold her again, but due to the fact that they were in a hospital, and he was her boss, that seemed a bit implausable. So she extended her hand out to him. Aaron took it in both of his hands, and his calloused fingers moved gently over her knuckles and palm. Before she closed her eyes against the brightness of the room, she saw a ghost of a smile on Hotch’s face. It always showed up in the crow's feet by his eyes. 

A day and a half later, the team was headed back home. Joe’s body still hadn’t been found in the rough sea. It was possible that it may never be recovered. Aaron was fine with this. Pete, who had influenced Joe had been taken into custody and was awaiting a hearing. The doctors had recommended a three-day leave of absence for Aaron and a week-long recovery period for y/n for both of their healing. Aaron was going to insist on a longer break for y/n. And if he was medically forced from the office, that should give the team a bit of a reprieve as well.

As the team settled on the jet, Aaron found himself seated next to y/n. Discretely, his left hand found its place close to her thigh. The tips of his fingers softly touched y/n’s upper leg. y/n seemed to be asleep, and Aaron looked over her face which was bandaging on her nose, crown, and temple. At his touch, y/n shifted her body towards his in her sleep. The part of Aaron that was growing fonder and fonder for y/n contentedly filled his chest. He would have to do some self-reflection once he was home about these feelings. Once his hand was a bit more firmly planted on y/n’s leg, Hotch thought about how demons really were real. Either those who showed up unwanted in horrifying waking nightmares, or people like Joe, who had been influenced by the older, isolated, and impotent Pete, who had told his protege to enact violence for him. But as  Aaron looked over the dimmed jet cabin at his team --all of whom were asleep except for Garcia and Rossi. Aaron thought of them as his gaze returned to y/n. Yes, demons were real, but he was there to take care of them, whatever form they took. And that gave him the strength to keep going.

[haggishlyhagging]

On March 9, 1977, Francine Hughes returned from business college to her Dansville, Michigan, home and put a frozen dinner in the oven for her husband, James. He didn't like it. Francine, he said, should be at home preparing meals for him, not running off to school. He beat her up, as he had done many times before; and to drive home his point he tore up her schoolbooks and term papers and forced her to burn them in the trash barrel. Twelve-year-old Christy Hughes called the police, who came to the house long enough to calm James down but declined, as they had many times before, to arrest him. They left James, tired from beating Francine, asleep in his bedroom. Determined to "just drive away," Francine piled the children into the family car. "Let's not come back this time, Mommy," they said. She carried a gasoline can to the bedroom, poured the contents around the bed where James lay asleep, backed out of the room, and set a match to it The rust of flame sucked the door shut.

Francine Hughes drove immediately to the Ingham County sheriffs office, crying hysterically, "I did it. I did it." She was charged with first-degree murder.

Dansville adjoins East Lansing, home of Michigan State University and consequently of many social-action groups. Within two months feminists and other interested people in the Lansing area had formed the Francine Hughes Defense Committee to raise money and public awareness for her defense. They were careful to say that they neither advocated nor condoned murder, but they held that women confronted with violence have a right to defend themselves. They argued that "Francine Hughes—and many other women facing similar charges—should be free from the threat of punishment," for Francine Hughes was a battered woman.

At the time wife-beating was a growing feminist issue, following close on the heels of feminist attacks upon rape, a crime it resembles in many ways. Both rape and wife-beating are crimes of violence against women. Both are widespread, underreported, trivialized, and inadequately punished by the legal system. Both are acts of terrorism intended to keep all women in their place through intimidation. In fact, rape is often part of wife abuse, though so far only a few states acknowledge even the possibility of rape within marriage. The chief difference between the two crimes is that while the victim of nonmarital rape must live with a terrifying memory, the abused wife lives with her assailant. Rapists are, in Susan Brownmiller's phrase, the "shock troops" of male supremacy. Wife-beaters are the home guard.

American feminists took up the issue of wife-beating when they learned in 1971 of the work of Erin Pizzey, founder of Chiswick Women's Aid, the first shelter house in England exclusively for battered women and their children. Rainbow Retreat, the first American shelter for abused families of alcoholics opened in Phoenix, Arizona, on November 1, 1973; and in St. Paul, Minnesota, Women's Advocates, a collective that began with a phone service in 1972, opened Women's House to battered women and their children in October 1974. Rainbow Retreat, during its first two and a half years, sheltered more than six hundred women and children. In St. Paul the five-bedroom Women's House sheltered twenty-two women and fifteen children during its first month of operation; less than a year later Women's Advocates were negotiating to buy a second house. Across the country the shelter movement spread to Pasadena, San Francisco, Seattle, Boise, Albuquerque, Pittsburgh, Ann Arbor, Boston, New York. To open a shelter was to fill it beyond capacity almost overnight. Suddenly it seemed that battered women were everywhere.

While activists opened shelters, researchers and writers set about documenting the problem of wife-beating or, as it came to be called more euphemistically in the academic literature, "domestic violence." The records showed that 60 percent of night calls in Atlanta concerned domestic disputes. In Fairfax County, Virginia, one of the nation's wealthiest counties, police received 4,073 disturbance calls in 1974. During ten months in 1975-76 the Dade County Florida Citizens Dispute Settlement Center handled nearly 1,000 wife-beating cases. Seventy percent of all assault cases received in the emergency room at hospitals in Boston and Omaha were women who had been attacked in their homes. Eighty percent of divorce cases in Wayne County, Michigan, involved charges of abuse. Ninety-nine percent of female Legal Aid clients in Milwaukee were abused by men.

The FBI guessed that a million women each year—women of every race and social class—would be victims of wife-beating. Journalists Roger Langley and Richard C. Levy put the figure at more than 28 million. Some said that one in four women married to or cohabiting with a man would become a victim; others said one in three. In some areas the incidence seemed even greater. In California the experts said one of every two women would be beaten. And in Omaha, the Mayor's Commission on the Status of Women estimated that 95 percent of women would be abused at some time. There scarcely seemed need of additional evidence, so the same statistics began to turn up in every new account, but repetitious as they were, they showed all too clearly that wife-beating is a social problem of astounding dimensions.

-Ann Jones, Women Who Kill

[girlactionfigure]

Our Repeated Strategic Failures, or How We Never Learn from Experience

1. Failure to understand and respect our enemies.

Since before the founding of the State of Israel, Palestinian Arab leaders have been saying that the land between the river and the sea is Arab land, land in which non-Arab (and usually non-Muslim) sovereignty is intolerable. They opposed Jewish immigration from the turn of the 20th century because they correctly saw, even when many Jews did not, that sovereignty was the eventual outcome of Zionism. Leaders from Amin al-Husseini through Yasir Arafat to Mahmoud Abbas made countless statements to this effect, and repeatedly rejected offers of Palestinian statehood because they required the acceptance of a Jewish state as well. Jews and others with a Western outlook were repeatedly surprised when this happened, unable to grasp that the Arab objectives were not a mirror image of those of the Jews, who wanted a peaceful sovereign state and were prepared to compromise on land in order to get or keep it. For both secular and religious Palestinian movements like Fatah and Hamas respectively (although at the grass roots no Palestinian Arab movement is truly secular), the presence of a Jewish entity on what they believe is Arab/Muslim land is a painful violation of honor and doctrine. Over the years their belief in the absolute rightness of their position, their shame of having been victimized by the Jews, and their steadfastness in working toward their goal has only increased.

How many times have we heard that “what they want is to improve their lives and the prospects of their children?” That if only they could see a “horizon” of self-determination and prosperity, they would end their hostility to the Jewish state? Nothing could be more wrong – or more contemptuous of them. We are asking them, in other words, to abandon what they believe is their birthright to the land, to give up their honor (to Jews!), and to violate the principles of their religion, in return for scraps from our table. They would sooner die (and they do, often taking some of us with them).

Perhaps we are misled by the amount of corruption that exists in the political structures of peoples whose loyalties are primarily tribal, and think that the Arabs are weak and can be bought. Perhaps this is the source of the conceptzia that stupidly tried to buy quiet from Hamas with suitcases of dollars from Qatar, or thought that the billions of dollars siphoned off by Yasir Arafat would somehow make a peace partner out of him. Arafat took aid money to pay terrorists and fill his Swiss bank accounts, while Hamas leaders dug attack tunnels and built themselves mansions. But despite their corruption, neither neglected their main goal.

This strategic error has been repeated over and over, and has been responsible for two of Israel’s most painful failures: the Oslo Accords and the Second Intifada that followed, and the 7 October pogrom.

Give the Arabs the respect they deserve. Listen to what they say, and believe them when they say they are our enemies. They aren’t for sale.

2. Failure to Punish Those Who Hurt Us

We live in the Middle East. In the Middle East, when someone murders one of your people, you kill him. When someone invades your land, you take his land and you don’t give it back. Maybe you don’t agree with these principles and think that murderers can be rehabilitated, or that you can settle disputes over land legally or diplomatically; but the Middle East doesn’t care what you think. If you don’t protect your honor when you are victimized, it is a demonstration of weakness, and will be exploited. Recently the Iranian regime launched over 300 weapons including some 120 ballistic missiles at Israel, the largest attack of its kind in military history. The amount of death and destruction that it could have caused was enormous; only luck, the skill of our pilots, $1.35 billion in defensive weapons, and the help of the US (that we will pay for in loss of sovereignty) saved us. We responded by destroying a radar installation, to “send a message” that we could have attacked the nuclear installation it was protecting. Are we joking? They tried to kill us and instead of “rising up to kill them” as the sages of the Talmud recommend (Sanhedrin 72a-b), we send a message that we could have hurt them? That is not a Middle Eastern response, and it will be interpreted to mean that we are too weak or constrained (by the US) to strike back. This will encourage Iran to hit us again.

3. Failure to Maintain Deterrence

Israel’s response to rocket attacks and terrorism has tended to concentrate on parrying the enemy’s strikes rather than retaliating disproportionately (in the Middle East, the “disproportionately” part is important). While a purely defensive strategy (e.g., Iron Dome) results in less disruption to the home front, the enemy is not deterred from trying again and applying lessons learned from previous rounds of fighting. Psychologically, it normalizes the act of trying to kill Jews. A powerful retaliatory strike, on the other hand, makes the enemy pay a high cost for its aggression and deters future attacks. And it transmits the message that Jewish blood isn’t cheap.

4. Failure to Maintain Independence and Sovereignty

A small country can only control its own destiny by staying independent of any one great power or camp of powers. Such a country must maintain relations with all sides in the great power conflicts and play one side off the other. Israel successfully did this for a time, but by the 1980s, she was entirely dependent on the US, both diplomatically and as a source of military hardware. A key point of inflection was in 1987, when the project to build the Lavie fighter aircraft was cancelled. Today, although Israel’s economy is strong enough that she could pay for her own defense needs without American military aid, her procurement has been skewed for many years to extremely expensive American systems that may not be best suited for her needs (e.g., the F-35). It should have been obvious decades ago, and even more so with the election of Barack Obama in 2016, that American interests may diverge significantly from those of Israel, and that Israel should not put all her eggs in America’s basket. But our government and military took the easy way out, and allowed the addiction to US military aid to grow. Today we have the American Secretary of State sitting in on war cabinet meetings, and fine-tuning our military tactics – and very possibly preventing us from defeating Hamas and removing it from power.

The Consequences

All these failures work together to create disastrous situations for the state. The present situation in Gaza is a direct result of several strategic failures. The failure to understand that Hamas’ top priority was always going to be trying to destroy Israel and kill Jews, and that its leadership could not be sidetracked into providing for the welfare of its population or developing a real economy, led to the policy of allowing large amounts of cash from Qatar to reach the Hamas leadership. But rather than using the money to build civilian infrastructure, it plowed it into rockets and tunnels (after skimming a portion for the personal enrichment of its leaders). The conceptzia contributed to the IDF’s inattention and intelligence failures that allowed 7 October to happen.

Lack of punishment did damage on both an individual and organizational level. The fact that the death penalty (or even permanent imprisonment) for terrorist murderers wasn’t applied led to the release of Yahya Sinwar himself, the architect of 7 October, as part of an exchange of 1026 Palestinian prisoners for one kidnapped Israeli. Sinwar was serving four life sentences for murder. Hamas prisoners developed an autonomy within the Israeli prison system. In a particularly embarrassing affair, some prisoners arranged for attractive female soldiers to be assigned to their areas, exposing them to sexual harassment. Since the Palestinian Authority paid salaries to the families of all prisoners, prison was more like an extended work assignment than a punishment to be feared.

Over the past decade, there have been several limited wars or “operations” in Gaza in response to rocket attacks. In many cases, empty buildings have been hit, sometimes along with a few targeted killings, in order to “mow the grass” for a few years. The government could justify this weak response to attacks that could have been deadly, because most Hamas missiles were intercepted by Iron Dome. But our passive defense did not deter Hamas from trying again, as soon as they were able to do so, often with improved rockets and terror strategies. The 7 October attack was the result of the application of lessons learned from previous rounds.

After 7 October, the government realized that our strategy had to change, and that only a true victory over Hamas would prevent future disasters. But since the beginning of the war, we’ve seen increasingly intrusive interference and micromanagement by the Biden administration, which apparently does not want to see a complete Israeli victory. Because of our absolute dependence on the US for military supplies and protection from Security Council-imposed sanctions, Israel’s freedom of action has been severely limited. Failure to remove Hamas from power will be a victory for Hamas in the war that they started on 7 October.

A similar analysis can be applied to our conflicts with Hezbollah, and of course with Iran. After the war there will be elections, and most Israelis believe that wholesale change is needed. It is to be hoped that the new leadership will learn from our failures and reverse these disastrous policies.

[collapsedsquid]

In Turkey in mid-1993 I also found slums, but of a completely different sort. There was poverty, but no crime or social dissolution. As I wrote in another lengthy part of “The Coming Anarchy:” Slums are litmus tests for innate cultural strengths and weaknesses. Those peoples whose cultures can harbor extensive slum life without decomposing will be, relatively speaking, the future’s winners. Those whose cultures cannot will be the future’s victims. Slums—in the sociological sense—do not exist in Turkish cities. The mortar between people and family groups is stronger here than in Africa. Resurgent Islam and Turkic cultural identity have produced a civilization with natural muscle tone. Turks, history’s perennial nomads, take disruption in stride. My take was that Turkish geopolitical power would grow in coordination with a rising Islamic identity. At the time, Turkey had been a secular republic for sixty years already. The idea that Turkey would emerge as an Islamic power—with a religious, authoritarian firebrand in control—was not on the horizon in 1994. As I wrote then: Islam’s very militancy makes it attractive to the downtrodden. It is the one religion that is prepared to fight. A political era driven by environmental stress, increased cultural sensitivity, unregulated urbanization, and refugee migrations is an era divinely created for the spread and intensification of Islam . . .  Moreover, in the course of arguing how maps lie, and how legal borders would become increasingly less meaningful, I stated that the Turkish-Kurdish frontier dispute would eventually become more central to the Middle East than the Israeli-Palestinian one.

Robert Kaplan wrote a follow-up to "The Coming Anarchy" in 2018 but it still reads so fucking 90s

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 22

First / Previous / Next

"Uh, One moment please!" Fen flicked through the screen at her chair. What was this ship called? She found that it had no official name yet, and she was the legal owner of "Frigate 2233" She didn't have time to think of a name - nor knowledge yet on how to change it - so she had to go with it. Traffic Control's accent was pretty thick as well. Fen rolled the dice and switched to K'inmar "This is... Frigate 2233, Captain Fenchurch Whitehorse in command. I am requesting permission to enter K'laxi space and dock at Minaren."

Minaren was the name of the K'laxi main starbase that sat at the L1 point of their homeworld. It housed the K'laxi authorities and was a major seat of offworld government.

"Acknowledged... Frigate 2233. You are cleared to dock at bay 344. The Discoverers will be waiting to speak with you. Be prepared to debrief them."

The Discoverers were the investigative police and worked directly with the Grand Council - the 4 K'laxi elders that represented their people among the stars. Fen had only heard about them from her adoptive family and always in the context of someone you did not want to meet.

There was still half a day or so before she reached Minaren, so Fen spent her time getting familiar with her ship and working on her story. Everyone who could dispute it was conveniently dead, so Fen decided to go with simple and believable. She and 'her' Frigate had chartered Dreams to carry them from the Shipyard to K'lax where she could enter the Gate system and make her way to the larger Galaxy. She was aboard the ship when Something Happened on Dreams and she was told to leave. As she soared away she saw the same thing the K'laxi did and she was just as confused as they were. Simple enough to remember, didn't require any fancy embellishments and she could repeat it with enough confidence that the Discoverers should accept it as the truth. After all, the frigate was legally hers, as well as all the guns and money she now had. Just the thing you need when you're going out to form a mercenary group.

Before she docked, Fen also had a meal and tried out the kitchen. The frigate was small, designed for less than a dozen people total, but the kitchen was well appointed, and Dreams had made sure it was stocked and ready to go. It was nice to be cooking for herself again.

She even took a nap in her quarters before the docking completed. She didn't have time to get a full night's sleep, and she wasn't sure what time it was on the station anyway, but she had enough to be refreshed, and she was so tired she didn't even dream of anything she saw onboard Dreams. It was going to be different the next time she got a full rest.

Refreshed, in clean clothes, and her hair combed, she stood by the airlock as Frigate 2233 was brought into the docking area of Minaren. Before the docking fields even set her down all the way, the ramp was lowering and the door sliding up. Fen decided that the only way to play this was confident. If she didn't act like there was anything out of the ordinary, then there wasn't, right?

"Right!" Fen said to the empty airlock.

As she strode down the ramp, she saw three K'laxi standing at the foot of the ramp. Two wore complicated looking armored spacesuits - with their helmets tipped back - and the one in the middle wore a very dressy uniform. It was cut asymmetrically, brown with a pale blue trim. As Fen came into view, the middle K'laxi's ears flattened for a split second, then they recovered and smiled widely, human style, and bowed.

Why were they surprised? Fen wondered.

"Welcome to Minaren, the home of the Grand Council and the K'laxi. I am Zherun, with The Discoverers. I trust Traffic Control let you know we would be speaking?" Zherun was a young female K'laxi, maybe a little older than Ma-ren was. Her ears were highly pierced and the earrings flashed under the harsh lights of the hangar.

"I greet you friend Zherun, I am Fenchurch, raised by Group Gen'mil." Fen decided to pull out all the stops. She made the gesture of welcome, she bowed low and she spoke the traditional K'laxi greeting in K'inmar. She even let her slight northern accent come through.

The Discoverers trained Zherun well. She barely even reacted when Fen gave the traditional greeting. She flicked her tail in amusement and continued in K'inmar. "Well then friend Fenchurch, please accompany me." Zherun turned on her feel and walked away, without checking to see if Fen was following. The two guards flicked their ears and subtly gestured for her to follow. Fen trotted behind Zhe and they entered Minaren proper.

Fen had heard that nearly the whole station was a forest, but she was unprepared for how... literal that was. When they stepped through the hangar doors, Fen would have sworn she was planetside. Light from their star streamed in overhead, trees all and spindly grew, stretching towards the light. The whole area was warm and moist and smelled of the forest and water. People walked everywhere on footpaths that looked like they were worn into the forest floor from scores of feet. It was all a carefully crafted illusion of course, but it was masterfully done. Fen didn't even try to hide her amazement.

"This is your first time on Minaren, Fenchurch." It wasn't a question.

"Please, Zherun, I prefer to go by Fen."

"You may call me Zhe then."

"Thank you Zhe. Yes, this is my first time on Minaren. I had heard of your forest, but hearing it described does not do it justice!"

Zhe's tail flicked and she smiled. "It never does. We are very proud of our forest. It's nearly six hundred years old."

K'lax orbited their star slower than Earth, so their 'year' worked out to about two Earth years, which means the forest was already old and established before the K'laxi and Humans ever met.

Zhe led Fen across the main floor of Minaren towards a small elevator seemingly built into a tree. As she approached, a guard saluted, and stepped aside just as the door slid open. The four of them stepped into the elevator and one of the guards pressed his palm against a panel. Fen felt movement and her ears popped as the pressure changed.

"Sorry Fen, the top floor is for the tourists and Grand Council. We're going to a place with a much more humble decor."

The elevator door opened with a soft chime, and the guards stepped out. As Fen and Zhe exited, they saluted, and stepped back into the elevator. Fen craned her head back as they walked. "No more guards?"

"Oh, we don't need them down here. Once you've made it this far we can... take care of things if necessary."

Fen glanced up and saw panels recessed into the ceiling at regular intervals. Slug throwers. "Ah."

"Indeed." Zhe led them down the hall a little ways and opened a door with her own palm into a bright conference room. Inside was another K'laxi, wearing a much simpler uniform. They were looking down at a pad, frowning. A steaming pot of tea and three cups were next to them on a elegant wooden tray. "Councilor." Zhe saluted and waited.

The Councilor raised one of their fingers while they finished the paragraph they were reading, and then looked up. "Ah, Zhe, thank you for bringing out guest." They turned to Fen. "Fenchurch? Please sit. Would you like some tea?"

Fen did as she was told. "Yes please, thank you, er Councilor."

"Councilor Tavren Oreni, Councilor of Stations and Starbases." The inclined their head slightly. "I must say I am impressed. I did not expect a human to know proper manners and to speak in such a refined way."

Fen blushed slightly. "I was raised by Group Gen'mil, and my wife was K'laxi. I must admit that K'inmar is my first language."

"Ah, yes, that is why you speak so eloquently. Wonderful!" Tavren's ears flicked. "I find Colonic much too difficult to get... subtleties across. This will be much better. But first, my manners! Let me pour you some tea"

Fen blinked. The fact that the Councilor of Stations and Starbases was pouring her tea meant that she was truly an esteemed guest. Normally, Fen would offer to pour for Tavren.

Tavren picked up the teapot and with a minimum of motions filled the three cups. She slid one towards Fen first, then herself, and finally Zhe. That was also odd. Zhe was the lowest social rank here?

Being first served, that meant that Fen needed to drink first. Neither could do anything else until she did. She should also say something. Fen picked up the small cup and smelled it. It was chamomile and it was perfect. She took a small sip and inclined her head.

The rite performed, Tavren picked up her tea and did the same thing. Once she was finished Zhe completed the ritual.

"Now then." Tavren spun around her pad. On screen was a still from a long range telescope, showing the moment when Dreams detonated. "Please tell us how you destroyed three Imperial Super Dreadnoughts."