#made me proper suicidal to the point of me considering asking my father to just shoot me with the revolver i know he has lol

[robinsnest2111]

ah, the current intensity of the curse inflicted pain reminds me of my youth when I would have to spend several days curled up in bed, totally incapacitated by it. I don't like the direction my body is going with this tbh

[callsign-magnolia]

Undiagnosed // Ch. 21

Mature Content 18+

Jake Seresin x Neurodivergent OC

Summary: Katie Blair grew up trying to be the perfect daughter. She always struggled to be the prim and proper little girl her parents wanted. Big personality as a kid, but now at 25, she's the shy admiral's daughter who just keeps her head down and tries to get through law school. So what happens when she's had enough and with help from a certain Lieutenant, she gets out.

Warnings: Emotional abuse, trauma response, abusive parents, smut, mentions of thoughts of suicide.

Word Count: 3.6k

Chapter 20 | Masterlist

“Who do you think you are-” “Shut up!” I yelled as I turned to face her. She closed the door a shocked look on her face. “How fucking dare you.” I said as I pointed at her. “How dare I?” I nodded. “Yeah. As I grew up I realized what a shitty mother you were but I never expected this kind of low from you!” She was reeling. “Shitty mother? You should be grateful to us! We raised you with only the best-” “AND I WAS MISERABLE!” I screamed. “You raised me with so much fucking trauma! You want to know why I was so ‘emotional’? Maybe you should read these!” I tossed the papers at her, the paper clip keeping them together. She grabbed them and within a second her face fell. “How did you get these?” She asked. “My doctor gave them to me when I went to see her today. Asked me of I was taking anything for my ADHD and depression.” I’m sure my face was tinged red, showing how angry I am and I hope she understands the severity of this. “You didn’t tell me.” I seethed. “You didn’t tell me when you knew of ways to help me.” I said as I stepped closer. “Instead you let me suffer and struggle and be made fun of and called the weird kid my entire childhood.” I was in her face by the time I finished. “You let me suffer and consider suicide at fucking thirteen years old when I could’ve been in therapy and on medications to make me function better!” “They only gave us this diagnosis to shove pills down your throat! You don’t have any of this! You were and are just a bad misbehaved child! You needed what our parents gave and that was a good ass whooping! I messed up with you because I was too soft on you.” She stepped past me and I was shocked. 

“Too soft on me?! Smacking me in the face was too soft? Daddy beating the hell out of me with a belt was too soft?! You’re sick in the head!” I said and she scoffed. “I did what I had to do-” “No, you did what you thought was easy! Because you couldn’t buck up and be a decent person or a good mother! Because having patience for your child was too hard!” “WE COULDN’T HANDLE YOU!” She screamed in response. “YOU WERE THE WORST BEHAVED CHILD I HAD EVER MET!” It shouldn’t have but it stung. “We couldn’t handle you! I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with you! Especially when you were a baby! You would just cry and cry and I almost just stopped taking care of you all together but I knew if you died your father and I would be in prison!” My chest heaved at her words. It hit me hard how little she truly cared. I walked over and snatched the papers as a coughing fit hit me. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll drop dead. It’s the least you deserve after all these years of torture and abuse.” She laughed loudly at my words. “I’ll be here good and long after you’re dead. If I’m lucky I’ll watch them lower your casket.” I stopped in my tracks at her words. “No, you won’t. Because now I have a happy life and I’m away from the misery you’ve inflicted on me!” I said as I turned away from her and headed for the door. “Oh by the way, I was at the doctors for a flu diagnosis. Hopefully one of your lungs will collapse and you’ll suffer on the floor.” Her face dropped. My mom rarely got sick but she’s in her sixties so she’s more susceptible. “You little bitch!” She rushed forward and raised her hand but my fingers wrapped around her wrist, effectively stopping her. My free hand came back before my own palm connected with her face and she stumbled back. 

My chest heaved as I looked at her down on the floor, holding her face as she breathed heavily. “It hurts doesn’t it?” I asked and she moved her hand, revealing a red mark. “All the times you and daddy hit me, it didn’t just hurt physically. I sat there and I wondered what I could’ve done to deserve it, what made you hate me. But now I know all I had to do was be born. Don’t worry, you’ll never see or hear from me again. You can start pretending I never existed.” With that I walked out the front door, slamming it on my way out. I got in the truck and immediately left. I picked up my medicine before going home. As soon as I was home I grabbed all my stuff and went inside. When I got the door closed and latched everything hit me at once. I leaned against the door as the sobs hit and sunk down till my knees were against my chest. I almost feel like it would be better if I did something to make them hate me, but simply my mere existence made my mother want to go as far as kill me. Having my mother confirm they never loved me hit hard and I feel like my heart is being split apart. Eventually I got up and took a shower, knowing it may make me feel a little better. Once I was out I dried off, took my medicine and crawled into the spare bed in the guest room. I wanted to do my best to keep Jake from getting sick and that meant sleeping in here for a while. My mind raced with all the thoughts and memories of my parents, how I never truly did anything, they just hated me. Tears ran down my face, soaking my neck and pillow as I cried myself to sleep. 

Fingers ran through my hair and roused me from my sleep. “Hey, darlin’. Why you in here?” Jake whispered, leaning down to kiss my temple. “I didn’t wanna get you sick.” I mumbled. “I appreciate that. What did the doctor say?” Everything came rushing back and tears came to my eyes. I sat straight up, keeping the covers against my chest as I looked away from him. “I-I do have the flu.” I said as I rubbed my eyes. He hummed and kissed my bare shoulder. “I’ll make some soup for dinner.” I shook my head. “You don’t have to. I’m not hungry.” He raised a brow at me. “Are you sure?” I nodded, giving him a small smile. “I’m sure.” He sighed and kissed my head again. “Okay, you’ll holler if you need me right?” I nodded as I laid back down and he stood. “I love you, Jake.” I whispered as he walked towards the door. “I love you too, Katie.” He closed the door behind him and my tears came back. I leaned over to my purse in the chair next to the bed and pulled out my diagnosis papers. I read over them the words depression, attention deficit hyperactive disorder, and autism glared at me from the white paper. If Jake saw this would he change his mind? Would he no longer love me? The thought terrified me. I couldn’t lose him. He’s a big part of me figuring out who I am without my parents, I’m not sure I could turn around and figure out who I am without him. “I won’t tell him. He can’t know.” I said as I stuffed the papers back in my purse, laying down again. “I can’t tell him. �� I muttered, fingers gripping my pillow tightly. 

Two days later I still felt like shit and I haven’t eaten. “Katie darlin’, you have to eat. You’re starving yourself right now.” Jake muttered as he came into the guest room. “Jake, I’m just not hungry.” I was sitting up in bed doing some school work and this was the third time today he’s asked me to eat. I’ve been drinking a bunch of water but I had no appetite. “You’re not going to get any better just sitting there and not eating. You’re only gonna get weaker and it’ll take you longer to get over this.” I huffed, closing my eyes. “Jake. I am not hungry. Now please, stop pestering me about it.” I said. “Katie, you have to eat.” I slammed the lid of my laptop closed. “Jake! I am not hungry! Now for the love of God JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” I yelled and he stepped back in surprise. I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Jake, I'm sorry. I just don’t feel good and I just want to be left alone.” I set my laptop on the table and laid back down, my back to him and the door. He sighed before leaving and closing the door and more tears streamed down my face. Another day passed by, it was almost time for Jake to come home from work and I was in the kitchen finally trying to make myself something to eat. 

I had decided to just do some noodles with a little chicken and tomato sauce. The chicken was already cooked so I just tossed it into the pan with the sauce. I leaned against the counter reading as I waited and when the timer went off for the noodles I heard the front door open. I grabbed the pot and walked it to the sink to drain them but as I went to tilt it I lost my grip and the pot went into the floor spilling noodles and boiling water everywhere. “Katie?” Jake sounded concerned and came into the kitchen. I just stared at my food on the ground and everything within me broke. “Dammit!” I screamed, grabbing the pot and slamming it down onto the counter. “I can’t even just make fucking pasta!” I felt like all of my emotions were just gonna explode out of me. “What dumbass can’t make pasta?!” My hands went into my hair as tears burst from my eyes. I felt like I was having a complete breakdown. “Katie, darlin’. Your feet!” My feet had been covered in boiling water but I honestly couldn’t bring myself to care. Jake rushed over, lifting me till I was sat on the counter. “Oh, Katie, your feet.” They were an ugly shade of red and I could feel them throbbing. Jake cut the sink on and turned me till he could stick my feet under the cool water. “Stay there while I clean this up.” I just stared at my feet in the sink. Jake cleaned up my mess and took my chicken off the stove before turning to me. He cut the water off and grabbed a paper towel to dry my feet. “I’m sorry.” 

He looked at me with raised brows. “Why are you sorry?” He asked as I started to cry. “You just got home and I made a mess and I just let you clean it up. I should’ve stopped you and done it myself. God I’m such an awful person! I can’t even cook for myself without making a huge ass mess and I’ve been so mean to you when all you’ve tried to do is help me and-” I was startled when his large hands gently grabbed my face. “Hey, hey. Where is all this coming from?” He asked as he stared into my eyes and I started sobbing. I was sobbing hard and he just pulled me into him and held me. I clutched to him like a child as my tears soaked his clothes. His hand rubbed my back and he whispered soothing words to me as he held me. “I’m sorry!” I cried into his shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He held me for a few more minutes until I calmed down and I sat up and looked him in the eyes. “I went and saw my mother a few days ago.” His eyes widened and his face turned red. “Katie, why would you do that?” He didn’t sound mad, but he looked it. “I-I had to confront her. I couldn’t go the rest of my life without talking to her.” I spit out, hoping to ease his anger but I realized I had brought up a whole other situation with it. “Confront her about what?” He asked, confusion all over his face. I bit my lip, not knowing how to tell him. “Katie, what is going on? Is this part of why you’ve been acting weird the last few days?” He asked as his hands slid from my face to my neck. 

I slid off the counter and walked away, up to my room and he followed close behind. “Katie.” He asked as he stopped in the doorway. I had the paper in my hands and I stared at it. “When I went to the doctor I discovered a few things about myself. Things my parents never told me. N-no matter how you feel about this I’ll respect it. If you want to break up we can, if you want me to leave I will-” “Darlin’.” He walked over and grabbed my hand, pulling me to sit on the bed next to him. “You need to talk to me, Katie.” I sighed, holding the paper out to him. I buried my face in my hands as he read it. I’m not sure how long we sat in silence for but when I sat up his arms were hanging down between his legs as he stared straight ahead. “Jake?” I asked. “I can’t believe this.” He muttered, looking down at the paper again. “Jake, I’m sorry-” “You’re sorry?!” He jumped up and I got scared, he stood over me and I could swear smoke was coming out of his ears. “How can you be sorry when you have nothing to be sorry for?!” He asked and I was confused. “Your parents, the two people who were supposed to love you and take care of you kept something this big from you? Your entire life?” He asked, staring at the paper again. “Yeah.” I muttered, looking down at my hands, not wanting to meet his gaze but I yelped when I was grabbed and he pulled me into him. He squeezed me and I stood still for a second before hugging him back. 

“Katie, I swear to you, your parents will never be able to hurt you again.” I pulled away, meeting his gaze. “Yo-you don’t think I’m weird or want to break up?” I asked and he set the papers down before pulling me into him again, one arm around my waist, the other cradling my face. “Katie, I fell in love with you. Everything about you. Every little quirk in your personality, all of it. Katie, all of this is what makes you you and I fell in love with every bit of it. Now there’s just a name for all of it.” Tears soaked my cheeks as I bit my lip. “I love you, too.” I said before squeezing him to me. He held me as I cried, rubbing my back. “Is this what you confronted your mom about?” I nodded, wiping my eyes. “I was so angry when I found out I barged my way into her house and yelled at her.” He cracked a small smile. “And I hit her.” I confessed and his face fell. “I’m going to assume she hit you first?” I tilted my head side to side. “She attempted but I stopped her and then hit her.” My face burned with a blush. “Well it was self defense.” I hummed as my eyes locked on the door behind him. “I asked her if it hurt. I hope it did. I want them both to hurt like I have my entire life.” Jake’s face fell and he tilted my chin so I was looking at him. “They’ll get what they deserve Katie, but it’s also not good to wish harm on people.” I knew he was right, it would only tank my mental health. “You’re right.” I muttered and he held the back of my neck, pulling me towards him till his lips pressed against my forehead. “Why don’t you go put some burn cream on your feet, crawl in bed with some socks, and I’ll make your food and bring it to you.” I shook my head. “My feet don’t hurt, and I can make my food. You just got home from work-” He stopped me, shaking his head. “I just got home from work and I want to make you food. You’re exhausted from being sick and constantly thinking about what’s on these papers.” He said as he shook said papers. “I want you to relax and finally get some rest.” I sighed, giving in. “Okay.” I said and he smiled. “And you need to go get in our bed, I haven’t been sleeping right with you in here.” I pursed my lips. “Jake, I’m still sick.” I said and he shrugged. “If I haven’t gotten it yet, I won’t now.” I sighed again and nodded. “Okay. Where’s the burn cream?” I asked and he grinned. “Under the cabinet, in the first aid kit.” I nodded, trudging out. 

I did as he asked and put the cream on my feet and slid some fuzzy socks over them  before crawling in bed. I curled up facing Jake’s side, his smell wafting into my nose and I quickly drifted off. “Darlin’.” I immediately woke up, looking up at him as he held a tray. “Sorry, it was so easy to fall asleep.” I said as I sat up. He set the tray next to me and chuckled. “You’re exhausted. I reheated some of that tomato soup you had in the freezer, and made you a grilled cheese.” He said before kissing my temple. “Mm, thank you.” I muttered. I set the tray in my lap as he stood from kneeling on his side of the bed. “I’ll be back, gonna get you something to drink.” I just hummed as I started eating. It was good and I could already tell I was starting to feel better. After a minute Jake came back in with ginger ale and a second tray. “Here.” He sat the drink on my tray and sat next to me before kicking off his shoes. I watched as he wandered around the room, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and kicking off his jeans and longhorn shirt before slipping the sweatpatns on and crawling in bed with me. “Thank you for this, Jake.” I said as I leaned back against the pillows. “You’re welcome, darlin’.” He grabbed my hand, kissing it gently before letting go and grabbing the remote. “Okay, let’s see what movie we can find.” 

The following week I was much better and went back to school although I was shaking on Tuesday for clinicals. “Hey, glad to see your feeling better.” I was startled by Crystal’s voice as I walked into the break room. “Oh, yeah. The flu really kicked my butt.” I pulled out the breakfast sanwich Jake made for me before he went to work and sat across from her. “Last time I had it I didn’t think I was gonna make it out alive.” She said and chuckled. “Thankfully mine wasn’t that bad.” I told her. “Well let me know when you’re done and we can get started.” I furrowed my brows in confusion. “Get started?” She nodded. “Yeah, you’re with me. I was the only one who didn’t get one of you so you’re with me.” She smiled at me and I felt so relieved. “Oh, thank god. I was scared I was going to be paired up with someone mean.” I laughed. I had heard from Starla that the nurse she was paired up with was awful towards her and she left here crying on the second day of clinicals. Crystal chuckled and shook her head. “No, just me. Meet me out at the nurse’s station once your done.” I nodded and continued eating. Soon others filed in including Annie. “I’m so glad you’re back. Brooke and I are studying at her apartment tonight, we wnated to know if you wanted to join?” I nodded. “Let me see how I feel after today and I’ll let you know before we leave.” She gave me a thumbs up before walking out. 

Once I was done I cleaned up and walked out towards the nurse’s station. Most of the rooms were dark and empty as I walked by and rounded the corner to see Crystal in front of a computer. “Okay, have a seat.” She said as she rolled a chair over. “Kim is going to review all of our patients with us.” I nodded and sat down with my notepad and pen. Once we got everything I blinked rapidly. “You okay?” Kim asked and I nodded. “Yeah, it’s just a lot to take in and I already feel like I’ve missed so much.” Kim and Crystal both nodded. “Well better get used to it sweetheart. It’s all fast paced around here.” I nodded and she smiled before standing. “I’m getting out of here. I have the next three days off and I’m only going to use them to sleep.” Crystal and I both said our goodbye’s before she stood. “So, you wanna go check some vitals with me?” I nodded rapidly, excited to get started.

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[sflow-er]

would kill to know more about august’s relationship with his mom like youre telling me your son gets caught for committing a crime and you still dont care enough to even come see him and see whats going on 😭 maybe im looking too much into it bc i wanna dissect him like a lab rat but really like she seems so neglectful

Hello anon! Thank you for the ask 💜

I've felt since first watching S1 that August's mother Louise really is neglectful. Let's look at the glimpses we get of her:

Erik says to Wille in S1E2 that she sent August to Hillerska shortly after his dad's suicide. Fair enough, I'm sure August wanted to go and probably lashed out at her for "not making life easier" for Carl Johan. But she seems to have essentially just left him there without any proper followup on how he was dealing with everything. His grief, their financial situation, his sudden responsibility having to take over from his father... As his mother, she should have made sure he got some help - counselling with Boris for example, but that clearly didn't happen. Based on all the issues August developed in the time leading up to canon, he has dealt with precisely none of his trauma, which also left him so very open to Erik's abuse and influence at Hillerska (as we now know).

She let August believe she would get the boarding money for him up until S1E3, only to turn up at Parents' Day and tell him to get it himself. By selling some of his father's belongings that she must have known meant everything to him. Yeah, that was probably the best and only solution, but the way she handled it was abysmal. And then she seemed surprised that August was angry and disappointed... Whereas August's reaction seemed to hint that this wasn't the first time she let him down (at least in my interpretation).

She was nowhere to be found in the aftermath of the video. August returned to Hillerska early from Christmas break, and it was plain to see he wasn't doing well at all. But we didn't get a single hint of her trying to reach out, nor did she seem all that worried when he suddenly called her weeks later and told her to buy a random horse (despite saying before that he would rather die than tap into his inheritance). She did ask why, but when he said "because I want to", she just dropped the subject.

And as you pointed out, we also didn't see her after he was caught. I'm sure we're meant to infer that August has been in touch with both her and Rickard since Rickard is representing him, but her absence from our screens or even the dialogue leaves a very specific taste. He may be 18, but he's still her son, and she should be there when he fucks up to the point of committing an actual crime. Asking what the hell he was thinking and demanding that he talk to someone about all his problems. This could've been brought up when he had to start seeing Boris after his fight with Wille, for example.

(Not to mention the missed opportunity of having her ask how he feels about having to sell Årnäs for the settlement! I will forever be bitter that this happened off camera and we didn't see August's reaction at all. It would've benefited the story on several levels to actually show his pain.)

So yeah. We could well see Louise again in the finale, but considering August still considers Sara the only person he's ever really been able to talk to... His mother definitely hasn't been there for him enough. I do not blame her for wanting to live her own life at all, especially as her marriage to Carl Johan was probably hell towards the end, but it sure seems like August is yet another example of how the adults in YR have let their children down.

[world-of-wales]

Hey Ash! I hope your exams are going well!

I’m curious about where you stand on the spectrum of “this will soon blow over” to “monarchy ending crisis”? Many fans seem to be at the latter end of the spectrum. I agree that there were some mistakes made, and it looks really bad to outsiders right now (just considering the random tweets that pop up on my tl with 50k + likes believing some of the worst theories), but it just feels like such an overboiling pot in a quiet kitchen situation, the fact that it all came to a head over a photograph??

I think the worst thing that will come of it is that so many neutrals will take certain things to be “fact”, some of the WORST include that W has a mistress, he has fathered her children, he is a raging alcoholic, and (shudders) he is a domestic abuser, and Catherine attempted suicide. How are people with a huge reach even allowed to state these things with no evidence or consequences?? But then, what can WC even do? Any statement won’t be believed, and suing as we know will lead to a never-ending spiral of litigation and questions over what they don’t sue against. Maybe legal papers is the answer (to some of the bigger sources, like Stephen Colbert for one). It still wouldn’t be well received at this point.

I don’t quite think it’s a no-return catastrophe yet, but a lot depends on what happens when Catherine returns. That’s huge pressure on her, especially after her ongoing health issues! Honestly the craziness gets too much for me sometimes😅

Hi, they are going well thanks for asking. The one in afternoon tmrw is actually my last one for this exam session. The rest are in April & then in May. Out uni is weird like that, they take exams in stages.

I honestly think, and this is my honest opinion, people blow things out of proportion a lot, just as the people on the internet who are spreading all these theories. Sometimes, the Royal fandom also takes things on the extreme. It's not monarchy ending, if it was so easy to change the whole political system of a country, then the monarchy would have gone with diana but it didn't.

And people on social media sparking ridiculous notions and conspiracies isn't going to be able to being that political system down because like I said we might consider royal-watching as our hobby but in reality the monarchy is intertwined with UK as Sovereign State. And that doesn't go away just because people, most of them from outside of that country, are crying wolf online.

What I don't think they realise is that, at the core of it, the monarchy is the integral part of the UK's structure. That's the head of state, same as a president. And nobody can just change it on a whim. In fact, this is one of my issues with the Republican movement in the UK at times. A lot of them want to remove the monarchy. That I get, but where's the tangible alternative? And a proper plan to execute it. It's not child's play. It's a whole institution around which a political system - a state system is built.

I never found Stephen colbert funny, and tbh I didn't even know who he was when I was young because our parents were placed mostly in countries in Asia and like man's not a popculture figure here. Kimmel, Fallon people know, but not him. It's got to do with him and seth meyers both catering to the american political spheres, and honestly, that's not what most of the population are interested in here. I found out about him when I got into American politics and elections. Anyway, I don't know what he said exactly, but I saw on one of the other blogs what he was insinuating. And yk what? FUCK HIM. Not just for spewing tabloid bullshit & lies about people. For dragging and bullying a woman going through a fucking health crisis for tv, for dragging another woman who's a private citizen and defaming her, for making it possible that 6 children who are all at an age where they can access internet will be able to read lies about their parents and disgusting things being said about them, don't even get me started on all the other ways they'll might have to deal with these allegations. Truly and utterly repulsed by this whole segment, which was done for fun. And yk what? Legal letters are the least of things he deserves.

Yk, I have been saying this, but they could have posted a picture. They could have done a video. They could have done an engagement. But whatever they did? The people online would have said or done something to find some sort of discrepancy. The regular sane people I know or have been following online have only said that this whole thing is a joke, and the way people are blowing it out of proportion is just plain bullying with a nice sprinkling of misogyny added in. I was actually talking about this with my dad on call last night, and he and i both landed on the same thing, that it's just simple economics. The whole problem with the photo for the press is that they didn't get to click it. Hence, they don't get rights, so there's no cash for them. Another thing media doesn't have things to report rn, they could easily cover other royals and not wade into conspiracy theories but they know what sells. And people online are just plain fucking crazy, these people will always say something or have some conspiracy theory. I mean flat earthers, the lizard people thing, the ones about Obama etc are just some of the properly wild, idiotic, and completely untrue things people actually believe are true.

An average voter/citizen in the UK with a real life outside of the twitter bubble doesn't give a fuck about it all. Heck most people including royalists don't even pay attention to royals as much as royal fandom thinks they do irl. I'll speak from personal experience, I end up chatting more about the royals with my mum's side of the fam than my dad's, and the latter are actually uk citizens. The royals exist for them, and thats it. They literally couldn't care less about this online drama, and they dont. Do they pay attention to the imp events like the jubilee or the coronation or the Christmas addresses? Yes, but not what the gossip people are up to online. So it's a complete non-issue. Also, most of this is just the twitter echo chamber which has 368 million users out of a 7.8 almost 7.9 billion population. Most of whom I.e. 77.75 are from the USA. Even the stats don't support the idea that we aren't gonna have a monarchy coz of this. A constitutional monarchy which is a state system might I add, coming down in the UK because a bunch of idiots from Murica online is quite literally not in the cards rn.

I don't want Catherine to come back if she isn't 100 percent well and I have seen people say she should just do the parade on st. Patrick's etc etc just to put the conspiracy theories to rest. And I don't in any way agree with it. A woman taking time for her health being expected to come out as a show pony for deranged idiots is not what I believe is right. Which I'll never believe is right. She's not just taking time for her health, she's had a major surgery one which probably doesn't even let her walk comfortably because everytime she tries to, her muscles contract and expand leading to pain and discomfort on the wound/stitches. Even smaller abdominal surgeries are literal bitches to get over let alone one with a long recovery period like this.

All this hoopla will die down as soon as she comes out. Why because most people spreading these rumors want them to be true, e.g. the Sussex squad and a lot more people who like 'drama' as they say themselves. And the rest of them are chronically online people who most likely don't have any life irl at all. And if institutions like Harvard and oxford are to be believed the most likely candidates for having distress, depression and other problems because of all of their personality being about the internet and their inability to connect with people irl. And the press will be all going gaga over her the day she steps out because they finally get their top cash source back. That woman has been used by the press for clicks and cash for the past 20 years and if they want to cry about it rn then they can, they arent the victims. They never were. Even a lot of british press members have been like you have all lost the plot if you believe all the conspiracy and what you're doing is not journalism at all, just plain fucking bullying. Watch all these papers and journalists calling her out rn change their tone post easter, just less than 3 weeks and watch it happen.

Omfg I just realised how long this turned out, I'm so sorry.

I'll just end it by saying that I completely get you when you say the drama and the noise gets to you because I have the same problem too. I just shut off everything and just come on here to post if I want, but mostly just to talk shit about stuff bothering me with a few very kind people I have been very fortunate to find here. If it gets too much and you just want to chat, about anything really, the ask box is always open and so are the private messages if you don't feel comfortable talking about it in front of everyone 💗💗

[narrators-journal]

Step one

Hoo boy, this one is potentially dark as fuck, so remember that this is entirely fantasy. Do not think this is healthy or copy anything here.

Cw: heavy heavy nsfw. Drugging, b+e, somnophilia, Illumi gets possessive lowkey

previous part: here

First part: here

Illumi used the month or so you were closed off and mourning to try and dig up as much intimate info on you as he could, from childhood fears to how many times you've had sex. With this knowledge added to his collection, the last thing he needed to do was set up a cover story, than introduce himself. If this fails, she can be killed, or trained He told himself as he read through your social media on his laptop, ignoring a nagging sense of dread he hadn't felt since his first solo kill as a child.

The cover story was easy enough, murdering the people across the street from your home was boringly simple, setting them up to die of heart attacks and a break in, waiting out the investigation, nothing new to the assassin. By the time things had cleared up there, you were beginning to cheer up anyway, which was good, it'd be easier for Illumi to court you if you weren't verging into suicidal territory. Finally, the day came when he moved into the home, much to the teary refusal of his mother.       "I'm not leaving permanently," Illumi assured her the day he moved out, taking only a duffel bag of clothing with him, the issue was that his mother was holding him in a hug and refusing to let go. "You were so excited for me to be courting a woman, you can't sob and cling to me when I need to move out to properly 'woo' her." His voice was level and uninterested, as always, though on the inside he did feel a bit of reluctance at leaving, which was why he guessed he didn't use a lot of force to remove his mother's iron grip.        "I know, but why can't you go about the process from home?" she blubbered, Illumi's father standing a bit behind her sighing at her antics,              "To build up proper propinquity I need to be near her a lot, I cannot do that from here while also doing my work. Besides, it is relatively frowned upon for a 24 year old to still be living with their parents, so I need to have my own place for...the later portion." Sadly, even logic didn't calm Kikyo down, so Silva was forced to pry her from Illumi and simply wished the long haired assassin well as the man left. To atone for the sin of leaving the Zoldyck estate, Illumi was required to call his mother at least once a day, but other than that, he was free to live across the street from you when he wasn't working. This set up proved to be very useful, as it allowed him to linger on the street without suspicion, watch you from his windows, and it gave him more opportunities to run into you 'organically', despite having your meager outing schedule memorized already, and more. The day he moved in properly, Illumi was helping a trio of butlers move furniture in, trying to seem as normal as possible since he could see you sitting on your porch, getting some fresh air while also watching your new neighbor curiously. It's good to see her out at least, vitamin D is necessary for good health. he thought as he moved the last bit of strategically aged furniture into the home, letting the butlers return home after that. If he was to blend in, he'd have to slum it for a while after all. Though, he could put up with that as long as you stayed as friendly as you were the first night he was there. It was pretty late, the dark hours cooling the relatively warm air of the late spring day when he heard a knock at the door, but when he opened, there you were, your (h/l), (h/c) hair pulled away from your face, in a (f/c) jacket and some of your nicer casual clothes,       "Hello! I'm sorry if you were asleep or anything, but I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!" you chirped, your kind smile making something weird happen to his heart, but he hid that, not wanting to scare you by saying he was having a heart attack,      "Ah, hello miss. No, I was just trying to cook some dinner, not to worry." he assured, watching you relax a bit before tilting his head, "I'm sorry if this is curt, but have we met?" he asked, your (e/c) eyes shining with confusion for a moment before realization washed that away,       "Oh! you're the man I bumped into at that party!" he mimicked your stunned reaction, chatting a bit before you heard angry sizzling from his kitchen, the sound earning a concerned look from you. "Um?? Should you step outside?" you suggested, and when he looked in your eyes again, he saw that undeserved concern in those captivating orbs. That weird feeling returned in response, but Illumi repressed it once again,        "No, I believe that's just my food," he said nonchalantly, watching your expression change to panic, it was so intriguing to see how expressive you were compared to his family,        "Maybe you should go check on it??" you urged gently, the panicked look in your eyes compelling the empathy-less assassin to do as you said, so he nodded simply and returned to the pot of boiling water that was leaking with angry bubbles splashing water onto the burner. He simply turned the stove off and returned to you once the water had settled again. You were still there, nervously peeking in to try and check on him he assumed.        "Why didn't you come in?" He asked, making you jump,        "I-I wasn't invited, it's rude to just walk in." you pointed out, and he mentally kicked himself for forgetting that fact briefly. Though he verbally just sighed in defeat, running a hand through his long, silky hair.         "Actually, would it be uncouth of me to maybe ask if you would help me with something?" He asked, and when you shook your head he reluctantly continued, "You see, my family is rather well off, so I've...never learned to cook. Would you maybe teach me how to make the food?" He asked, and he liked to think it was the power of his natural charm that made you agree, not the pitiful mask of helplessness he put on. Either way though, you were now inside of his new home. Could this be considered a date? Illumi mused as he followed your instructions to bring the water to a boil again and put the store-bought noodles into the rolling liquid, People cook together as a date, so this should count as a date. He decided after a moment of watching you prepare food, following your orders until the two of you had managed to make a rather respectable looking dinner. He cemented this occassion's 'date' status by handing you a plate,          "It's fair that since you helped make it, you eat some of it with me." he pointed out when you went to refuse his offering. After that, the two of you sat in his living room in silence, neither making the first move to speak. For Illumi, the silence was comfortable, it gave him time to judge the weird thing that had happened with his insides. He wasn't dead, and the warm, fluttery sensation was fading, so it didn't seem to be fatal. I should get the family doctor to check me over. he decided as he ate, finally glancing over at you while you sat on the opposite end of the couch. Judging by the tension in your limbs and how you radiated discomfort, you were about to bolt like a scared rabbit. That's not good...

        "so." He hummed, hoping to ease your anxiety with some conversation, plus it'd give him a chance to dig into you, "why were you at that party?" There was a stretch of silence, your mood falling again for a moment, but than you seemed to put on a fake smile for him, how sweet.         "I'm a bit shy, so my friend decided to try and hook me up with a man she worked with." you explained, shrugging it off, "He ended up ditching me for some friends when we got there, so I didn't ask for a second date." Well of course your date went badly, you're supposed to be with me, not some stranger. a dark part of him thought, than stopped. What brought that up? I haven't even decided if she's really worth 'dating'. He reminded himself, but that possessive thought still lingered a bit more than he would've liked. However, that issue was for later, right now he wanted to see just how much information he could get you to willingly tell him.       "So, are you looking for a partner?" he asked, and he just caught a bit of a flustered epression on your (s/c) face at his question. He was beginning to enjoy seeing such an expression.        "R-right now? Um..not actively, b-but I'm not against a relationship." you said, not looking at him as you spoke, your body language screaming how flustered you were. After that, the two of you simply chatted, Illumi enjoying when you fully relaxed and opened up a bit more, but what felt like only a short time later, you were thanking him for the food and leaving for your own home. The tall man was polite back, but for the third time that night, his torso felt odd inside. He wanted to ask you to stay, maybe offer you a drink and slip a sedative into it, that way you'd stay the night, but no, he refrained from stopping you. If you drug her, she'll wake up tomorrow and be terrified of you. Maybe even call the cops. He told himself as he shut his door behind you. However, the thoughts were already there, making him groan. What is going on with me?! I'm losing control of myself so easily now. he thought, rubbing his face as if that would wipe away the bubbling waves of dark lust that were once again flooding his mind with images of you naked beneath him, calling out his name, mixing with the urge to control that he usually kept a close eye on. This is absolutely pathetic. She's not even that attractive! He chided himself, glaring down at the growing bulge in his pants as if it were to blame for his urges. Which, to a point was true, but either way it still twitched, demanding to be tended to. However, he refused to masturbate again. His sperm was precious, and while he could produce quite enough to impregnate a woman despite such a shameful act, he didn't like wasting his DNA. So, for a bit, he tried to cook up ways to relieve himself, unable to shake the lustful thoughts of you. Could he wait until tomorrow and lure you over again? No, that'd leave a horrid impression of him in your mind. Maybe he could sneak some aphrodisiacs into your food and than offer to help? No, that'd take too long, and he didn't know how long he could control his lust. Around eleven or so, Illumi finally came up with a satisfactory method. So, he turned his lights off and slipped out into the cool night to slither across the street and into your dark home. It was late enough that he knew you were asleep, so he was free to make his way in and towards your bedroom, What he wasn't expecting though, was to find you sleeping on your couch, your blanket fallen to the floor, revealing your pajamas to him. The sight only seemed to throw gasoline on the fire of neglected needs within him.       "now this is simply inappropriate," he breathed, shaking his head at your baggy t-shirt and (random color) panties, "(y/n), you should know better. Such outfits should be saved for your husband." He kept his voice low, making sure not to wake you as he chided you and his lightless eyes zeroed in on the bit of panty he could see with the way your shirt was ridden up ever so slightly. teasingly. He sighed, this would make his plan easier anyway. So, he just pulled out a needle of sedative and carefully moved you so that he could get access to your neck without waking you, sticking the needle in and injecting you with the fast acting drug. Within a few moments you were certain to stir for nothing less than a natural disaster, so he was free to do whatever he wished. The assassin's body burned with lust, his cock throbbing within his pants while he moved your thighs apart, revealing more of your panties. You weren't much to look at, he'd seen prettier women, but the feeling of your perfectly malleable thigh in his hand, seeing you so complacent and welcoming for him while his hormones were so out of control, you could've passed as a goddess in that moment. He wasted no time in removing your underwear, leaving your shirt and bra on so it'd be less work afterwards, revealing your most intimate parts to him with no arguments. It gave him such a rush to see you so obediently laying on your back, your legs apart and welcoming. your vulnerability was like a form of foreplay for him, but when he ran a slender finger up your slit and realized just how dry you were, it ruined his fantasy. Though, not enough to deter him. Instead of stopping, Illumi simply pushed your shirt up with your bra, using one hand to massage your breast while he kissed down your sternum and up the soft mound of flesh. His free hand slipped between the two of you, rubbing slow circles around your clit until breathy whines and moans slipped from your lips. Carefully, he teased your nipple between his fingers, simultaneously moving up to your throat until he found the spot that made you gasp and whine in your sleep again. The only downside was despite how badly he wanted to mark you, he couldn't. He had to wait until he securely had you, until then he couldn't leave any visual evidence of his actions. So, he nibbled and kissed the spot, but didn't bite too roughly and claim you. He simply teased you, rubbing your clit, massaging your breasts or hip, and pressing hungry kisses to your unresponsive lips until he could dip his fingers down into your warmth and pull them back coated with a healthy amount of slick. With you properly aroused, he eagerly freed his throbbing dick from his pants, giving himself a few pumps before running the head up and down your slit, making you hum at the stimulation. God, how he relished how your face twitched and you groaned at the feeling of him grabbing one of your legs with one of his hands before pushing into you. God the tight warmth alone could've made him cum, but he once again held himself back. He'd gone this far, he wasn't about to squander the opportunity to indulge himself by not savoring it. No, He simply grabbed your hips once fully inside and began moving, pretty soon slapping his hips into yours roughly. He might regret being so aggressive later, when it undoubtedly left you sore, or at the very least left bruises and scratches, but right now he just enjoyed the way your pussy squeezed around him and your breasts bounced with each rough thrust into your womb. He let out a few soft noises after a bit when the waves of pleasure began fogging over his mind again. The combination of your breathy moans, your warmth squeezing around him, begging to be filled, and the possessive urge to claim you continuously driving him forward, encouraging him to go until the blinding waves of pleasure erupted and he stilled himself so that every drop of cum was safely inside of your womb. It took him longer than usual to regain his composure afterwards, but when he did he swiftly pulled out, pulling his pants up and slipping your panties back onto you before too much of his essence escaped. He grimaced at the marks of his nails on your (s/c) flesh, though hopefully they would fade before you noticed. Right now though, his main priority was to get out of your home, and leave as little evidence as possible, save for his cum. He refused to feel sorry for filling his obviously needy wife with perfectly good semen. That's right. his wife. The phrase seemed to fit perfectly.

[otnesse]

Commentary on Peace Walker’s lionization of Che Guevara

Well, guys, as I promised earlier, I’m going to do coverage on a particularly infamous aspect of Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker, and quite frankly if you ask me, one of its worst elements. Sorry for the delay, didn’t realize that Peace Walker was actually released on April 29 in Japan and not the 30th. I’m basically going to cover the game’s lionization of Che Guevara in the various briefing files, and in particular Big Boss and Kazuhira Miller’s lionizing of that monster. For a bit of background, Peace Walker was the second canon PSP entry into the Metal Gear series, after Portable Ops (yes, Portable Ops is in fact canon, and if you ask me was a superior game to Peace Walker in terms of story and characterizations at least, but I digress…). The game has some controversial elements, namely it being very overtly anti-American even by its usual standards, not to mention pushing left-wing values to a far greater degree. One of these values is in the blatant promotion of Che Guevara in the briefing files (in the main story itself, ie, strictly going by the actual missions you undergo, the Che love was at least limited to the Sandinistas and to Vladimir Zadornov, with it being left ambiguous as to whether Snake and Miller actually were fond of him, and while you could argue that the Sandinistas’ sympathetic portrayal could point toward a promotion, Zadornov’s promotion was definitely meant to be a negative since he was planning on having Big Boss reenact Che’s well deserved execution after successfully changing Peace Walker’s target to Cuba in a disinformation op. The Briefing Files, however, aside from obviously Amanda and Chico, members of the Sandinistas, they also had Big Boss and Miller singing praises for that jerk.).

My commentary is on how Big Boss and Miller’s promotion of the guy was a complete and total betrayal of their characters, and also a betrayal of the explicit themes of the game, and also how it’s just one sign of Kojima just being a hack writer, not to mention was extremely poorly done even if we were to assume Kojima intended for Big Boss and Miller to be seen as the villains.

Out of character

For the first part, I’ll cover how the gushing for Che Guevara was completely out of character for Big Boss, and especially for Kazuhira Miller, aka, Master Miller from MG2 and MGS, not just going by past entries, but even when taking into account Peace Walker itself and any supplementary materials. I’ll give separate sections for the two of them, since it’s going to be lengthy.

Big Boss

For Big Boss, I’ll acknowledge that he was meant to be the main villain in the MSX2 games, or at least the main antagonist. However, his singing praises for Che Guevara even knowing that tidbit still didn’t make any sense at all, for a variety of reasons. First off, the games, namely Metal Gear Solid 2, strongly implied that Big Boss adhered to a more, for lack of a better term, right wing outlook. For starters, the New York Mirror review for Nastasha Romanenko’s book gave brief coverage on the official reports of what went down on Shadow Moses. In particular, as you can see with the screencaps down below, they specifically called the Sons of Big Boss a “radical right-wing group”, and the group itself for all intents and purposes, was modeled after Big Boss (even Liquid, despite hating his father, nevertheless was influenced by his ideology).

And then we get into the character Solidus, who unlike Liquid, or even Solid Snake, practically idolized his “father” (I put it in quotes since Solidus is a clone of Big Boss, as are Liquid and Solid), to the extent that he was practically ecstatic that Raiden shot out his eye and made him look even MORE like his dad. Aside from that, as you can see below with these screencaps, he was also depicted as a proto-Tea Party type, heck, a proto-MAGA type even, basically wanting America to return to the way the Founding Fathers envisioned it. There’s definitely no way Solidus would have been the type to sing praises for a scumbag like Che Guevara, knowing that, and considering his idolization of Big Boss, it’s also unlikely Big Boss would have sang praises for that creep either.

There’s also the fact that in MGS3, he wasn’t fond of Communism at all, and had already interacted with a guy similar to Che in many respects (well, other than maybe in terms of sexuality), Colonel Yevgeny Borisovitch Volgin, as both were renowned sadists, and even directly attempted to cause nuclear war. In fact, even before the torture, Big Boss, more accurately Naked Snake at that time, learned a bit about Volgin’s past, in particular his involvement in Katyn, and presumably Bykivnia and Kurapaty as well due to EVA’s references to similar massacres occurring in Western Belarus and the Ukraine, as you can see below:

His reaction in that conversation with EVA, in particular Volgin’s personal role in executing those guys, had him downright horrified. Bear in mind that Che Guevara actually DID do several of those things himself, shot innocent and unarmed people, and if anything, unlike Volgin who at least allowed Snake to have weapons on hand to fight him, Che outright dithers when confronted with people using guns, even if they’re his own allies based on his interaction with Jorges Sotus, and to a lesser extent Jesus Carreras. It says a lot when even someone like Volgin, a psychopathic mutant, had more honor than Che Guevara. Plus, in Peace Walker, Big Boss when recalling the Cuban Missile Crisis implied that he blamed that event for his ultimately having to kill The Boss (with Miller even noting it was uncharacteristic of him to get into hypotheticals), as you can see in these screencaps below.

The reason that ties in to Che Guevara is because, believe it or not, Che is the reason why the CMC nearly caused the Cold War to become hot. He and Castro even attempted to launch nukes at the United States, and it actually spooked Khrushchev enough that he had to muzzle Che and agree to end the standoff with the United States via the Turkey Deal (or retrieving Sokolov). Knowing that bit, it’s extremely unlikely Big Boss would have been particularly fond of the guy who essentially set the ground for Operation Snake Eater and his having to kill The Boss. And that’s not even getting into how he tried to stop a nuke being launched not just once in the game, but TWICE, and the second time was a perfect opportunity for him to emulate Che Guevara and succeed where Che failed. When Paz hijacked ZEKE, she revealed that she intended to nuke the Eastern Seaboard and pin the blame on MSF under Cipher’s orders, and yet Big Boss fought her in an attempt to stop her. That definitely wouldn’t have been something Che Guevara would have done, and if anything, he bragged to the London Daily Worker that he WOULD have launched the nukes at America preemptively had they been allowed to remain.

Heck, in Portable Ops and even Peace Walker, or at least the backstory for those games, Big Boss specifically served western interests after Operation Snake Eater. In the former, Big Boss was revealed to have participated in the Mozambique War of Independence, and a comment made by Null, aka, Gray Fox, aka, Frank Jaegar, after being bested the second time around, implied that Big Boss had fought alongside the Portugese during that time (Jaegar at that time was siding with FRELIMO), as you can see from the following screencaps:

And in the tape detailing how he and Miller met (not to mention the extended version included in the Peace and Harmony Blues drama tape that was later included in the Japanese version of Ground Zeroes, specifically chapters 1 and 2), it was mentioned that Kazuhira Miller at the time was a mercenary operating with an implied communist rebel group in Colombia, while Big Boss was clearly siding with the Western-backed government.

I think the events proper for Peace Walker was the first time Big Boss explicitly sided with Communists (not counting Portable Ops, since it’s implied the Russian soldiers renounced their Communism after being abandoned by the Soviet government), and even there, he did it more out of his own personal motives of getting closure regarding The Boss’s true motives after learning she may have somehow survived Snake Eater than out of any liking of Mena/Zadornov’s objectives.

Besides, Big Boss is former CIA, and grunt or not, he'd still need to have at least some degree of knowledge about Che, namely stuff like how Che tried to commit to the Cuban Missile Crisis and make it a hot war, among other things like his instituting gulags in Cuba. And let's not forget, when Gene in Portable Ops tried to pull a similar stunt, Big Boss was genuinely horrified by what he was planning to do.

Kazuhira Miller

Now we get to Kazuhira Miller, aka, Master McDonnell Benedict Miller. Unlike Big Boss, Miller was consistently up to that point depicted as a good guy (probably the closest he got to engaging in villainy was in MGS1 regarding manipulating Snake into arming REX, and even there, he was dead three days before the events of the game, and that had been Liquid who did so). He was also shown to be a huge Che fanboy, and if anything he was depicted as being an even bigger fanboy than Big Boss himself in that game. And Peace Walker also retconned his origins by revealing he was in fact born in Japan with bi-racial ancestry (Japanese and American Caucasian), as he originally was third-generation Japanese American. He was made clear to have more love for America than his own home country of Japan, and only recognized the meaning of peace when talking to his hospitalized mom. He also was mentioned to have been influenced to get into the mercenary business by Yukio Mishima’s suicide, though he does imply that he wasn’t on the same political spectrum as him. Him singing praises for Che Guevara doesn’t work well at all, especially considering that he repeatedly stressed that they not allow another Cuban Missile Crisis to happen, and going by his comments in these screencaps below (in the same briefing file as Big Boss’s uncharacteristically going into hypotheticals, and if anything happened immediately before then), he was fully aware about how Japan itself was almost nuked again thanks to that event (with the only difference being that the Soviets were more likely to nuke them), as you can see with the following screencaps.

Having him sing praises for Che Guevara, whom as I pointed out earlier actually attempted to launch nukes and jumpstart World War III, comes across as ESPECIALLY distasteful knowing that bit, since it comes across as him basically cheering for the guy who tried to wipe out his fellow Japanese, to say little about the Americans, whom back then, he idolized. It would be the same thing as a Holocaust survivor singing praises for Adolf Hitler after narrowly surviving being killed by him. It also doesn’t match up at all with his characterization in MG2 or even MGS1 (and believe me, Liquid posing as Miller or not, his statements to Snake would have been what Miller himself would have said since Snake didn’t seem suspicious at all about him.), the latter regarding the bit about Meryl after she was captured. Even his not being fond of Japan doesn’t cut it, especially when, ignoring that he put that to the side after his mom was hospitalized, the character Sokolov ALSO wasn’t fond of the Soviet Union at all, risked crossing the iron curtain alongside his family to get away from it, and would have been free as a bird had the CMC not happened, and almost got away again until The Boss interfered. Even THERE, however, he still retained at least some degree of love for Russia itself, as when Gene decided to try to nuke Russia (or at least, that’s what Gene led everyone to believe at the time), he secretly went against Gene and adopted the alias of Ghost to aid Big Boss specifically to prevent a nuke from being launched there, being THAT against harming Russia despite hating the Soviet policies. I would have expected Miller to not be fond of Che Guevara at all for that reason.

Overall

The whole thing also didn’t work since if they were meant to be seen as heroes, it ticks off a whole lot of players who are fully aware of some of the crap Che Guevara caused and know his true nature, and regarding painting them as a villain, the problem is that the story DOESN’T depict them as villains for that. Heck, they don’t even STATE any bad things Che did other than maybe dying, and if anything, the way everyone was talking, you’d think he’d walk on water. If Kojima wanted to depict Big Boss and Miller as villains by having him sing praises for Che, the very least he could have done was make sure to specifically reference Che Guevara’s role in nearly causing the Cold War to go Hot by the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis and his being upset at the nukes being removed.

Apparently, if Kojima’s secretary is of any indication, the reason the Che love was in the game was because Kojima himself tried to force in his socio-political views into the game in blatant disregard for the narrative and characterizations therein, as you can see below with links (screencaps will have to be in an addendum post since, unfortunately, I've hit my limit regarding screencap postings):

https://twitter.com/Kaizerkunkun/status/900937994143649792

https://twitter.com/Kaizerkunkun/status/1179860611297153038

https://twitter.com/Kaizerkunkun/status/1190763430497542144

Themes

The Che praise doesn’t work too well with the themes either, since he was not a peaceful man, even called himself the opposite of Christ, and tried to start a nuclear war. It definitely goes against the stated themes of the game, which was peace, not to mention the anti-nuke themes of the overall franchise. Heck, if anything, specifically referencing Che’s attempt at nuking the US and causing Nuclear War, and by extension outright condemning him for it would have worked much better with the themes of anti-nukes, especially considering that they made sure to reference Vasily Arkhipov’s actions during the Cuban Missile Crisis at one point, not to mention referenced both Katyn and the fact that the Turkey silos were already rendered obsolete even before the Turkey Deal made removing them required due to the advent of nuclear subs in Snake Eater earlier. And without the references to that, or any other bad stuff, you’re literally left thinking that he must be a good guy. I’d know because I fell for that myself, especially after getting the game (I didn’t follow the briefing files, but I did follow the cutscenes on YouTube back when it was still in Japan, and I also was baffled as to how people were talking about Big Boss and Miller were Che fanboys since the cutscenes never even pointed in either direction, and if anything, Big Boss nearly being killed by Zadornov would probably point to him NOT liking Che afterwards due to nearly being forced into Che’s fate).

The only thing it did was just have Kojima force in his political and social views, and I’ll be blunt, that kind of crap is something I have distaste in, I hate having propaganda pushed onto me. Ironically, Kojima or at least the Benson books for MGS1 and MGS2, instilled that view onto me. So my anger at Kojima doing that, after learning what Che was truly like in one of the Politically Incorrect Books (either Vietnam War or the 1960s one), is very much personal as well as political and social.

Aftermath

Well, as I said, I did buy into the narrative around the time Peace Walker was released, but then I learned I was being tricked by Kojima after reading the PIG books. I’d argue that event definitely was a watershed event for me. Not only did it have me lose any respect I might have had for Kojima, it also influenced my outlook on life, left me becoming distrustful the second I started picking up how they’re trying to push an agenda instead of, say, actually teaching the material in college. It also may have influenced my later views on Star Wars and Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (specifically, George Luca’s open admission to basing the Ewoks/Rebels on the Vietcong, and especially modeling the Galactic Empire after American soldiers; and Linda Woolverton admitting that she was trying to push a radical feminist agenda in Beauty and the Beast, the same one she tried to push in that awful Maleficent movie. Though I also was becoming disturbed with Belle for reasons other than that bit due to researching the French Revolution, though I will acknowledge Big Boss and Kazuhira Miller’s fanboying of Che Guevara, and in particular their reference to Sartre and his infamously singing praises for Che as “the most complete human being of the century”, certainly worsened my views on Belle, thinking that she may turn out like Sartre and throw her lot with the Jacobins and other groups.). It also left me distrusting of whatever Metal Gear had to say, may have also led to my not liking Chris Redfield after Resident Evil 5, or heck, some of the more anti-American commentary in 5 and other games, and also Dead Rising. It also influenced my decision to become a Dead or Alive fan (especially when before, I wasn’t particularly fond of the game due to the fanservice stuff), and in particular a Tina and Bass fan. May have also influenced my later distaste of Greg Berlanti’s writing of Arrowverse shows, in particular Supergirl starting with Season 2 (though that also had Heroes Redemption as a factor, which predated Peace Walker, thanks to how it changed Claire Bennet).

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Getting back at writing, is, well, hard. My grammar and vocabulary and basically everything is messed up so I apologize in advance for that. It's been, almost a year ever since my last written fic. That time I was still crazy with Kimetsu no Yaiba and the KyoTan ship. I'll post it some other time ^^.

Anyways, I present to you my attempt in making a plotted work from a random thought that came over me this morning.

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: Basically none. Except for some curse words.

UD 01/10/21: Cleaned and revised some parts! Tried my best, hope it was enough.

•

Of Ice and Blood

Part 1

Quick backstory and some details I left out in the main work.

It was in summer, 28th of July, when Pearl Blackbell turned 19. She left her home and moved closer to the university she’ll be going to. She rented an apartment about five blocks from the school. Albeit small, it was cozy and proper, having what she needed: a kitchen, a decent-sized bedroom, a small living area with a worn but comfy couch, and a bathroom.

When she was younger, her parents started training her in martial arts and the use self-defense weapons. They needed to make sure she knew how to protect herself against assaulters and dangerous people, she was after all, their only child and baby girl . They want their daughter to be strong, both inside and outside, by the time she sets out on her own and leaves home.

Her favorite self-defense weapon was brass knuckles, despite her parents’ protests. She enjoys punching nasty people and feel the crunch of their bones beneath her fists, especially racists, sexists, bullies, and the lot. The main reason why she got into detention multiple times.

Painting it with a ruddy color, she keeps it in her person, no matter where she goes. She has two, one is for extreme situations, while the other has only two knuckles. It stills maximizes the damage dealt but it is relatively less dangerous than the full dusters. The second one is usually a spare, though she rarely uses it.

She also occasionally carries a pair of retractable nunchucks, which she designed to be hidden within her regular baggy clothes. Her father had trained her vigorously with them and she even bested him in a match before she left for the city.

Selkoth, the city of marvels.

Distant sounds of buzzing cars reached my ears as I opened my eyes and blinked away the sleepiness, the light shining from the spaces in my curtains rather helping, together with the warmth it brought to my chilled tawny skin.

[Start of the actual work]

I fully woke up as I registered the sound of my phone alarm, shortly getting up to prepare when I realized what day it was.

Monday, the first day of my college life.

I stepped into the bathroom and took a quick shower, knowing I bathed thoroughly last night to save some time today.

Time management is key.

I dried myself down, turned to my closet and started putting on the outfit I picked out the night before.

Prioritizing comfortability over appearance, I wore my favorite orange cotton shirt, my blackish-blue hoodie (that had been stained with blood some time ago, but don’t worry, I know how to clean out blood. Mama raised no fool.) over it, together with a pair of black skinny jeans. And of course, tight black sports bra and boxers, even mentioning my underwear yes?

I looked over to my mirror and it was—

Simple. And I loved it. The more simple it is the better.

'“Keep a low profile over there, sweetie. Don’t get into fights when you can help it okay??? We already taught you and prepared you to the best of our abilities. Promise to us that you’ll stay safe, and healthy. Okay? And don’t forget to call sometime.”' I sighed, remembering my mother’s words.

"Yes mama, I will.”

With a smile, I did my hair and went for a tight Dutch braid, it going down between my shoulder blades and ending a little above my waist. I ran to my kitchen to eat breakfast, satisfied with my look.

I eat fast okay

Backpack, check. White sneakers, check. Phone and keys, check. Airpods on, playlist shuffled, I bolted out of my apartment and jogged all 50 blocks to school.

Exercise is always important, and what other way to utilize time for exercising than to do it while heading to your destination, right?

I snickered.

As I made my way to the university, I saw bizarre creatures and monsters of different sizes, coexisting, and interacting with humans. Even so, I noticed other people’s disdain and bitterness towards them when I passed by. My nose is awfully sensitive to scents that sometimes the ones their body releases tells me what they feel at the moment. It’s all science, I guess. I was made extra susceptible to these, so I wear a mask everywhere and every time I go out just to partly block most of the smells.

My first day at a university open to everyone across the country gets my blood pumping with excitement. To think that I’m going to study at Ernestine State University, the Ernestine State University!

I first heard about the uni back when I was a child. News broke out about Victor Ernestine, committing suicide by driving his car off a cliff because he couldn’t accept that his daughter was one of the major leaders who made the unity of all people, of all races, possible.

Dramatic.

Months after Mr. Ernestine died, all his properties and riches were passed down to her daughter, who took over as the new founder of the university and rebuilt it to accommodate everyone, no matter the size and shape.

The strictly all-human school, renovated, reshaped, and repurposed, was now the first university to open its gates to everyone in the country of Yundomia.

I’ve always yearned to get to know other species in this world. I didn’t get the chance previously because my parents sent me to an all-human, local high school. Which sucks. I hated how everyone had a certain hatred for the other races, especially orcs. They keep talking about how they are wild beasts and savages that aren’t meant to be in society.

They treated them like animals that are void of emotions and intelligence.

Come to think of it, I mostly fought with humans who were either racist, bullies, bastards trying to hit on me, or a mix of all of them together.

I chuckled, remembering how many times I got counseled on not punching people in the face.

High school was pure torture, being a human-exclusive campus making it worse, considering how everybody smells so horrible and the principal was an egoistic dumbass I was a hair away from gutting him. My poor nose.

But now I’m done with that! I’m starting anew in this school, in this city. Perhaps make some friends along the way.

Which is kinda problematic.

I’m not the social type. I tend to keep things to myself and hardly open up to anybody. I wanna make at least one friend that isn’t human! Or just, one good friend. I didn’t have or made any friends in the past since people tend to shun me out just because I can tell how they are feeling and find it creepy.

Or they’re afraid to get punched in the face.

Entering the campus gates was like stepping into another world. I was met with the sight of humans and monsters walking together and conversing! It was nice, and I don’t get to see this much often.

I walked around and took in the landscape of the campus. It was huge! And beautifully designed to have a great number of trees and plants, while also having space more than enough to accommodate every student going to their respective classrooms.

I was minding my own business and it was all serene, until some bastards pushed past through me and knocking me to the side. I stumbled but didn’t fall. I was gonna say something, but I shut my mouth. I didn’t want to cause any trouble on the first day for goodness’ sake. So I brushed it off and went straight to the gym for the orientation.

*************************************

The orientation was, intriguing. The dean seems nice, though I couldn't smell him from where I sat. There's also a student council made up of both humans and monsters which is a good sign. The student council president was a Minotaur with a dark brown coat and horns curving front and pointing up. The vice-president was a male student who looked decent enough. The secretary was an elf. The treasurer, a dwarf. And the rest were humans. I couldn't scent any of them to tell me what they were feeling at the moment, but the Minotaur looked uncomfortable, his hands behind his back, body going stiff when they were introduced to the freshmen. There was a larger numbr of humans than monsters, which was expected. I also noticed how both were grouped, a white line in the middle of the gym separating us from them.

Maybe to avoid any misunderstandings?

We were informed that today will be for introductions to your classmates and subject teachers so there will be no lessons at all. Hooray!

I was walking to my first classroom when a damned familiar smell attacked my nose. I stopped to stand for a moment and adjusted my mask. I looked around to spot the one emitting it and of course, saw a human. He looked, well, the typical playboy cool boy who used too much body spray on himself.

Not wanting to stand there like an idiot and prolong my suffering, I speed walk to my classroom and planned to sit at the back hoping no one would notice or ask why I’m wearing a mask.

That's always what they ask first. Not my name or how I was doing.

I expected to find no one inside since it was still early, but I was startled to see a massive orc sitting at the back looking out at the window. He was wearing a dark gray knitted sweater that was hugging his hulking frame very…well. Along with what looked like thick cargo pants and black boots.

He turned to look at me when I let out a small yelp, greeting me with his piercing, blue eyes.

Beautiful.

The orc had long, braided, jet-black locks. Two of them had distinct beads that trailed down from the side of his face and down to his chest, the rest of his hair behind him braided with intricacy and tied and ended halfway down his back.

I was pushed out of my trance when a person entered and crashed into me, swearing under my breath that it was intentional, nearly making me plant face-first on the trash bins if I hadn’t changed my footing at the last moment.

“Watch it, bitch, you’re gonna ruin my make-up,” she snapped.

Wow. She dared to call me that and not apologize like I’m the one who shoved her. Just wow. Usually at this point, I would have planted her face on the floor, but I stopped myself.

Low profile! Low profile Pearl! You’re in college now! You definitely don’t want to get suspended on the first fucking day of class now do you?? Keep it together.

Straightening up, I walked towards the back and sat beside the orc. Whose gaze fell on me, curious, when I wasn’t looking.

I made myself settled in my seat before the professor came in.

There were other races in my class. A blue tiefling sat three rows in front, wearing a casual outfit. A black-haired elf who looked and dressed clever, a row away. A cute pink pixie on my far right. A satyr wearing glasses, two seats in front of me, and a female lizardfolk a seat from of the pixie.

"Are you...alright?"

I almost jumped from my seat when the orc beside me spoke. I couldn’t help but admire how deep his voice was. I tried not to appear flustered, my mask helped with that.

“Uh…yes?”

The orc regarded me for a second before continuing.

“You were pushed earlier.”

Oh. He saw that?

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay.” I smiled at him. Then I remembered he can’t see my face. But I hoped the crinkling of my eyes gave it away.

“I’m Pearl, by the way.” I reached out my hand to him, socializing not my best suit but at least I tried.

He paused for a second before taking it into his bigger one, engulfing mine and shook it slowly. I was again, surprised by how gentle he was.

“Tai'chi.”

Interesting.

“Nice to meet you, Tai'chi.”

He lets go of my hand when the professor started talking up front.

“Nice to meet you too, Pearl."

***************************************

Thoughts? I am wide open for constructive criticism :D

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Check pinned post for latest chapter updates💕

[kittybellestark]

Hi ! I don't know if this is where you send requests, but maybe a fic where peter gets all jealous of Morgan and Harley, and its fathers day, but he feels like he shouldn't be there and stays in the room the Stark's have for him- (Tony lives) OH! and maybe Mays dead idk whatever ya want thank you ! <3 Oh! and can I be on the taglist?

hi milove sorry for taking literal months to do your request i recognize you requesting this on nov 18th and it is now February so i hope this is smth that was worth the wait !! 

So I played with the timelines a lil bit bc i suck and i also just kinda took this to a place i don’t think you were asking me to do whoops, it’s not just some cute sibling jealously

also not very irondad based, like sprinkle amounts. also no comfort. my bad 

Post-endgame, Tony lives, Harley & Peter are the same age, Peter got snapped Harley didn’t 

TW: Grief, implication of suicide(minor character), suicidal thoughts,  

-

There wasn’t many things Peter liked. He remembers liking a lot of things, life, school, home, himself. But that was years ago, and yet it was only a few months for Peter. The world was different now, older.

Those who survived held grief in their eyes, they moved slow and while they have grown since the loss of their world, they also had survived the return. They mourned and grew older, making new family and friends. But some who survived couldn’t hold the weight of their loss, and in the 5 years their family was gone, they went to be with them.

The returned came back, and lived in denial. Their eyes were empty, and every movement was carefully thought through. They were left behind, monuments in their place. Those who returned saw how the survived struggled to cope, and in turn they struggled as well. There was no place for them anymore. Especially when they didn’t have a family to go to.

Like Peter.

Peter returned to the world five years later to find May was gone. She was one of those who survived the initial snap, only to not be able to carry the grief. He hated that he came back to life and had no home, no family. Peter was alone.

Tony was nice enough to offer Peter a place to live with his own family. But they couldn’t relate to him, they didn’t know what it felt like to be left behind like this, to be dropped in the future and expected to be okay. Tony had a family now. A child born in an empty world, and another kid, Harley. He was barely a teenager before the snap and now he was 17, just as old as Peter.

He couldn’t help but hate living with them. Harley’s family had returned, but he wasn’t going home. Morgan was a child who was scared by Peter. Tony and Pepper sometimes forgot Peter was there, after spending so long without him they would act as if they’ve seen a ghost when Peter rounds the corner and into whatever room they’re occupying.

Peter missed May. He wished that he could still be in Queens, living in their apartment. Peter missed Ben and he missed the idea of his parents. He should have never returned. There’s no room for him in this world.

He hated how Harley took advantage of their situation. He hated that Harley had a family, a mother and a sister who returned and are alone and he didn’t go back to them. His family returned to him and yet he’s here with Tony. And he hated how Morgan took her family- her full, completed family for granted.

If Peter’s family came back to life there wouldn’t be anything stopping him from being with them. He would cherish every single nano-second if they were alive again.

And yet they all expected Peter to be okay. Adapted. Used to the future like he didn’t just blink and find himself lost and alone. He brings up that he misses May and someone frowns and tells him how long ago she died. How was that supposed to help him? No one even brought him to the cemetery. How is Peter meant to move on from a life that was stolen from him?

It’s not like any of them were okay. Tony and Pepper and Harley all crumbled as whenever there was a reminder of everything that they lost. Peter, unfortunately happened to be one of those reminders.

Tony and Pepper tried their best. They involved Peter in family bonding time and they tried their best not to flinch when Peter is unexpectedly there. Because they survived, they didn’t understand and talking to them led to dead ends.

He tried communicating with them. Cried over May’s death, had been confused about these new things that are actually years old. For them it was so long ago, a literal lifetime ago, so they never really saw the point in talking about these things. It wasn’t that they thought Peter would figure this out, they just assumed he already knew.

Talking to Harley didn’t really work that well either. He didn’t want to talk about the things Peter missed out on and when asked about his family he would shrug and say that he’s moved on.

And, well, Morgan was a kid. She was born in an empty world, told stories of people that she never should have met and now faced with the world doubling and not understanding any of it. Peter Parker was just a character is bedtime stories and now he’s a ghost who wants her home. She used to cry whenever Peter is around and still tries to hide behind people’s legs. 

God, he hated being this kid. Never wanted to be the one who envied others. Before- when it was still just May and Peter, he didn’t feel this gnawing inside him, while they didn’t have much Peter still had someone who fit all the rolls he needed. He hated being jealous, he didn’t feel this when he used to look at anyone who had two living parents.

He shouldn’t be here. Not in this room, which came decorated with everything Peter had loved before he died- and not alive. He didn’t fit. Not into this family who struggles with the idea he’s alive and not on this planet where the world is still mourning the people who came back. 

“Are you coming downstairs?” Harley asked.

Peter can’t be here. He had no right.

“I have a taxi coming to get me.” 

That wasn’t a lie. Something he scheduled last night at some point, between the tears and holding his breath. Peter didn’t think anyone would be awake at this time, Sunday’s were always the day that everyone slept in and Peter could just be alone outside of his room.  Sometimes he would just sit in the living room and other times he’d wander around the property, often ending up by the lake. By the time everyone would start waking up Peter would be back in his room with some breakfast and try not to bother anyone. 

“Okay, well it’s fathers day, so I think they might be expecting your presence in some form. We have plans and all that.” 

Of course they do. They always make plans where Peter only finds out the day before or day of. Maybe Peter has plans. They could consider that. Okay, maybe Peter never really has any plans, nothing more than trying to understand this new world. And maybe he didn’t make the active effort to find where he fit in this home, but he is the child and it shouldn’t really be up to him. Harley probably didn’t have to engage with the adults first. Tony and Pepper more than likely got input from Harley on their plans. 

With a sigh Peter nodded. “I’ll cancel the taxi.”

“Cool! I’ll tell everyone you’ll be down soon.”

Harley made sure to give a big smile, before heading downstairs, a bounce in each step he took. Peter really hated Harley for his happiness. 

Taking a moment after canceling the taxi, Peter tried to pull himself together. He forced a smile and pulled his shoulders back. All that needs to be done is sit and nod, occasionally laugh. Pay no mind to the way Morgan looks at him in fear, and don’t see the look of mourning on Tony and Pepper’s face. He needs to not remember Harley’s family alone in Tennessee. 

He went down the stairs and followed the noise to the kitchen. There was laughter and the sounds of dishes clinking against one another. It smelt of pancakes and cinnamon and hash browns and coffee. Standing here Peter could close his eyes and pretend this was seven years in the past, with him and May and Ben. He could imagine Ben making the food and singing along to the radio with May dancing along as she sets the table. But this wasn’t 2016, this was 2023. Instead it was a finished family forced to bring him in, a harsh reminder that he doesn’t belong.

Peter stepped into the kitchen, Pepper was just finishing up breakfast and Harley was setting the table. Morgan was sitting on Tony’s lap whispering into her fathers ear. Food was laid out ready to be served, with orange juice, iced tea and coffee all in their own pitchers waiting to be poured. He moved through the room, trying to not to intrude before sitting down at the table. It didn’t take much longer for Pepper and Harley to sit down as well, Tony moving Morgan into her proper chair. 

Everyone around Peter fell into easy conversation while he stayed silent, trying to focus on his food instead of the way Morgan was starring daggers at him. They talked about their favourite family vacations and laughed at their own jokes. Peter couldn’t help but feel like he was actually sitting out on the porch. This family had five years together, five years of memories and laughter, of love and pain, and Peter wasn’t apart of any of it. He wasn’t a part of any family, his own buried and far too dead.

“Peter, what about you? Did you have any Father’s Day traditions?” 

Hearing Harley address Peter pulled him back to this world, and welcomed in his deep rooted desire to have his family back. Harley had two families now and he left one completely. Abandoned them when they came back to life. And Morgan was sitting here glaring at Peter completely oblivious to the fact that she has her entire family and how privileged she was for it.

“Well I don’t have any memories of my parents, so I don’t think there were any traditions with them. The only people I could ask about that are now dead. Unless you consider going to the cemetery to go visit your dead father you can’t remember a father’s day tradition, then no.”

The entire table stopped eating, all sounds coming to a complete end. Everyone stayed still as if Peter was some volatile bomb that would explode if anyone nearby breathed too hard. He could feel his jaw clench, as he tried to breathe in and out. It wasn’t working.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I not bring up my very dead family? Was that inappropriate to say that my father is dead I have no memories? My absolute bad! Next time I’ll consider how uncomfortable it makes everyone here. I mean jeez, Harley has a whole family in Tennessee he hasn’t seen since they reappeared. You’ve got two whole families to choose from, Harls! What an accomplishment. And Morgan, well she’s older than I was when my parents died, so she’s definitely on the right track. And wow, I got a whole second set of parents out of May and Ben. Which was great until I watched Ben die. Until I die and find out while my death was temporary, May’s wasn’t. Whenever I want to be with my family I have to go all the way back to Queens and visit the cemetery. But you all just live in the same house. So genuinely, I’m sorry for not considering your emotions about my dead family.”

“Peter...” Tony whispered, reaching his one hand out to Peter.

Peter shook his head, pulling away, he didn’t want to see the empty eyes starring back at him. He didn’t want to acknowledge the way Tony looks at him with regret and how Pepper looks at him like he’s lost. He didn’t want to see how the three that lived through both snaps always held pain in their eyes. And Peter most certainly didn’t want to see Morgan, who had no idea how lucky she is, that she was born never knowing loss.

Peter didn’t want to see a family who was pulled together in a time of pain. He wanted to see his family. Peter wanted to look across the table and see Ben and May throwing little balls of napkins at each other. He wanted to be Harley and be able to go home and see his family whenever he wants. He wanted to be Morgan and do science experiments with his parents. Peter wanted the one thing he didn’t have, something that Harley and Morgan had an abundance of.

“I don’t have a family anymore. I never got to say goodbye to May. I would give up the rest of my life to see them again. And you guys just can’t understand that. You have you family. You get to see them whenever you want. I can’t ever see mine again. I can never go home. They’re gone.”

After all, Peter was just a ghost, another person who returned, who had been dead for too long. He didn’t belong in a world of survivors. Peter was just another person long gone who no longer fits into the world around him.

-

Taglist: Ask/DM to be added

@peter-is-a-bean @jean-and-diet-coke @dead-inside-pt2 @they-were-cloudsinmycoffee @parkersjiggle @7peternotparker7 @thatonecrackheadshipper @kevinthewoman @faline4you @lynxshinon @narutoyaoifan @pastelwheeler @thecrazymarvelfan @bonjour-gays @thebestqueenoftheworld

[inessencedevided]

Oh yeah, titles are totes valid. I like yiling patriarch cos when you think about it it doesn't make sense. He didn't create the town of yiling, and he technically doesn't even live there. He sould be called burial mounds patriarch or smth.

Anyway, enough about titles (also if I have made a mistake due to translation error or misunderstanding, whoops). Which OG sect leader do you think was the worst, and which one was the best? And which next gen sect leader is best and worst?

I dislike jgs most, cos yikes. Wrh might have been a tirant and war criminal, but at least he wasn't as big of a dick as jgs. Can't really decide who the best is, cos they all had issues, you know?

Worst next gen would have to be jgy, not cos I dislike him as a person but because he definitely commited war crime and genocide. Idk best here either cos once again, *slaps top of cgl* these cultivators can fit so much trauma and issues. I do like imagining how the now sect is run. One twink mastermind and his hunk retinue? Love that for them

-the axe cultivator

Argh, 🪓-cultivator (there's an emoji! :D). I'm so sorry! I'm terribly behind again in answering you. I promise, I like your asks but I want to give them proper attention and the holidays were surprisingly busy this year.

That question is very creative! And hard ^^ I had to think about all my answers, even the seemingly easy "worst sect leader of the OG". Because while jin Guangshan is definitely a pompous ass and overall shitty person who is more concerned with sleeping with every woman in Lanling than his duties and who didn't step up during the sunshot campaign and then decided to use the power vacuum afterwards to his advantage, he at least, you know, did some sect leading. Which is not something that can be said about one Qingheng-Jun. That guy just left his brother and eventually and increasingly his teenage son in charge. Now what is worse? Bad sect leading or no sect leading at all? I don't know if I can decide ^^

Ah yeah and Wen Ruohan ... 🤷‍♀️ obviously he wasn't great, but he's also the least three-dimensional "villain" so I never really bother with him ^^

The best og sect leader? Does lan qiren as an acting sect leader count? ^^ obviously he too has issues, as you said. I believe lan qiren, as a leader, as an uncle and as an educator was deeply influenced by the things that happened with his brother. I can only imagine how deeply it must have hurt him to see his brother abandon both his people, him, his brother and his own children for the sake of one woman. Whatever your opinion on qingheng-jun, I believe we can all agree that his actions must have deeply hurt and disappointed lan qiren. We don't know what he was like before those events, so we don't know just how mich of his extreme rigidity is due to those events, but I do believe that they hardened him and made him more inflexible. Maybe he was much more of a free spirit before. Maybe he was a lot like Lan Wangji, but instead of loosening and expanding his understanding of the relationship between morality and rules, the events that shaped him let him to harden them. We don't know. But we do know that he picked up the pieces his brother left him. My point is, you can think about his style of leadership and teaching what you want but you cannot deny that he is devoted to the people in his care and that's not something you can say about a lot of the leaders of his generation.

Now, to the next gen leaders:

This is, in a way, even harder to decide ...

I wouldn't call jiggy the worst sect leader so easily. His record, imo, is very much mixed. The watchtowers, if I recall the novel correctly (it's been 6 months since I last read it ^^), were a pretty good way to get help to people who usually fall under the radar of the cultivation sects. So while he definitely sacrificed a lot in his rise to the top, he seems to have tried to help the common people (something that cannot be said about his two predecessors).

But ... who then? I thought a lot about it and I think I'm inclined to say Nie Huaisang. Don't get me wrong, I love him as much as anyone, but I also remember the part in the novel where, when wangxian investigate the "man eating bunker" (i wonder how accurate that translation is) a town's person sais that they don't expect help from the nie sect because ever since Nie Huaisang took over nothing gets done and they neglect to help the people within their territory. Now, we know that Nie huaisang cultivated a reputation of general incompetence so people wouldn't suspect him to scheme against jin guangyao, but in doing so, he obviously neglected his duty to the people under his care. Which is, imo, pretty consistent with his character. Nie Huaisang us ruthless when sufficiently angered and has no qualms to cause casual damage to achieve his goal (see Mo Xuanyu's suicide to bring wei wuxian back). His revenge was his first priority and so he placed being a good brother over being a good sect leader.

Best? Is also dificult. I honestly can't decide between Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng? There are so many factors to consider here! (There were already woth the ones above, really): what actions count towards the assessment of their leadership? What makes good leadership at all? (Which is funny because I'm doing my masters in political science rn and that's one of the biggest questions in political theory. But I only really know "Western" political theory. Chinese philosophy i have only ever graced the surface of) which is to say ... I can't really decide.

Jiang cheng put his sect above all else. While there's a lot of debate about whether that was morally right, it's certainly what helped him rebuild his sect as quickly as he did. He is brash and sometimes cruel, but his deciples clearly trust him and admire him.

Lan Xichen is an incredible diplomat. He is calm, fair (i.e. when he decides to listen to wangxians accusations against the sworn brother he loved and investigated them himself) and proactive when he needs to be. (I know, he is often accused of being too passive within the fandom, but I don't think that is necessarily the case. In a world where most leaders seem to base their judgement on rumor and hearsay more often than not, he withholds judgement until he listened to all sides. That is not a flaw in leadership) Now, in the end, he seemingly follows his father's footsteps by going into seclusion. I would argue, that still doesn't place them on the same step leadership wise. A. The situation with Jin Guangyao and madam lan, imo, aren't equivalent. It's hard to judge madam lan because we don't know what let her to kill the lan teacher, but I think it's unlikely she deceived qingheng-jun in the process. Jin Guangyao actively deceived kan xichen for years. When lan xichen learned this, he decided to investigate and was badly hurt in the process. The outcome, seclusion, may be the same, but the reasons are different. Also, the novel heavily implies that lan xichen will eventually emerge and take up his duties again.

All of this is to say... I can't decide ^^

I'll answer the other putstabding ask tomorrow. It's past midnight now and I should really sleep. Thank you for being so patient 💙

Btw, happy holidays, if you celebrate 🥰

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 25: Minimal Loss (S4E3)

[TW!!] Warnings: (This is the same content as found in the episode, so if you’ve seen it, don’t worry too much, but I find this one to deal with multiple sensitive topics at once, and I don’t gloss over it all, like I often do, so be careful) mentions of rape and pedophilia, depictions of torture, cults, murder-suicide

Ch 24 | Ch 26

A/N: Okay, so I’m four days late on posting this, but this is quite possibly the longest chapter I’ve posted, so hopefully that makes up for it?

~ ~ ~

Lydia’s family stayed for about a week, attached to Lydia at the hip the whole time. She loved her sister dearly and was glad to have some time with her father, but she could barely breathe by the time she was taking them to the airport. As she explained to Spencer, she was merely frustrated they didn’t give her any heads up.

Luckily, they left before her teaching schedule came back into full swing at the university. It was nice to get back into her routine and see some of her students and coworkers who were worried about her. She didn’t realize how close she’d gotten to the people there until the letters, phone calls, emails, and gifts started flooding in, telling her to take it easy and get back soon.

And then, in October, Hotch finally gave her a call for a case.

It was small, but she wanted to get out of her apartment so bad.

Hotch was sending Lydia and Prentiss to Colorado where there was a claim against a separation church leader raping young girls.

Spencer wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear Lydia was leaving, but the whole thing was fairly straight-forward: interview the kids, determine what they could about the cult itself, then see if there was reason to shut them down. Hotch knew that there wasn’t going to be any extraneous activity, so it was a perfect start to reintroducing Lydia to the field. Not to mention, she was very perceptive and a master manipulator.

“Tell us about the 911 call,” she said as she flipped through a file on the people of the church.

Emily was in the front seat with Nancy Lunde, from Child Protective Services. She was the head of the case and had the most prior knowledge on the group itself. “I believe the ‘he’ that they referred to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus.”

“Benjamin Cyrus,” Lydia mumbled, flipping to his page. “No criminal record. No record at all, really. I doubt it’s a real name. Correct me if I’m wrong, Emily, but Cyrus is a biblical name. A monarch. I’m seeing some subtle messages in there.”

“It translates to ‘sun’ in persian,” Emily agreed. “What else do you know about him?”

Lunde shook her head. “It’s rumored that he’s practicing polygamy and forced marriages,” she said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Any idea who the caller is?”

“Uh, Jessica Evanson is the one who the age fits, but… we can’t be sure. So I negotiated interviews with all the children. It wasn’t easy.”

“Well, considering their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI,” Emily explained and Lydia got to work on their covers. She took their guns, holsters, and badges, hiding them in the door of the car and handed Emily two fake IDs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.”

The Bureau had made them brand new drivers licences and CPS badges with Colorado addresses to complete their cover stories.

All too soon, they were approaching the front gate. The sign read ‘Liberty Church Ranch’ with a large cross beside it.

It was hot outside and Lydia could feel the dust coating her nose and throat as she exited the car, approaching a set of stairs leading up to the church.

“I’m looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus?” Lunde called to a figure on the steps.

“You found him.”

Cyrus wore a light flannel and jeans, with reading glasses perched on his nose and a book in his lap. Lydia had to hold herself back from calling him out on framing the scene. Oh, look how kind and relaxed we are. Our leader sits outside and reads books all day blahblahblahbl-

Open mind, Lydia.

“I’m Nancy Lunde. We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.”

He got up and approached the three of them. “‘Savages they call us. ‘Cause our manners differ from theirs.’”

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus,” the red-headed woman huffed.

“Actually, that’s Benjamin Franklin,” he sneered.

Nancy ignored this, and began introducing them. “Emily Prentiss, Lydia Ambers. They’re child victim interview experts.”

“How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be the need to invent a job called child victim interview expert?” Cyrus wondered.

“We wish we didn’t have to be here,” Emily said.

“So do we. But you are welcome, nonetheless. The children are in the school as I indicated.”

“Thank you.”

Lydia nodded and followed Emily off to the school building.

~ ~ ~

Jessica Evanson was not the kid they were looking for. Lydia could tell the moment she walked into the interview room. She was completely calm, the perfect child. Her hair was neatly brushed back, her polo shirt well ironed, and her hands folded neatly in front of her.

Her mother, Kathy, stood beside her, petting her hair gently, as if to reassure her, but Jessica clearly didn’t need it. She wasn’t intimidated by their presence at all.

“We go to school. We do our chores. And we treat ourselves and each other with the respect God demands.”

Emily sat across from her, conducting the interview, and Lydia stood beside her.

“But you’ve never been off of the ranch?” Emily asked.

“I brought Jessie here when she was two,” Kathy explained.

Jessica clearly was not having any of this. “You’ve talked to lots of children in your work. Tell me, are their lives somehow better than ours?”

“We devote ourselves to God,” Kathy continued. “That doesn’t mean we’re not devoted to our children.”

“We are not here because of your religious beliefs,” Emily reasoned.

“Why are you here?” Jessica demanded.

She was starting to become hostile. She grew up in a cult that taught her to hate outsiders, so Lydia couldn’t blame her for her behavior. But her mother was clearly a peacemaker, so where did she learn it from? It wasn’t defiance from her family, because that would put her against the group, not for it.

“We received a phone call alleging that an adult male member of your church was having inappropriate relations with the younger women here.”

“You’re talking about Cyrus,” she responded, almost immediately.

“What makes you say that?” Emily asked.

Her mother immediately became defensive, trying to get her daughter to be quiet, but Jessica was still determined to make a point.

“Is it inappropriate for a husband to share a bed with his wife?”

Lydia’s eyes shot open. His what?

“You are married to Cyrus?” Emily spoke slowly, as if worried that the question would escalate the situation, but Jessica stayed proper in stance, if not in tongue.

“Yes. Cyrus is my husband and a prophet. It’s an honor to bear his children.”

It took everything in Lydia not to look disgusted by the thought and keep the interview going. “Jessica, you aren’t old enough to get married without parental consent.”

Emily nodded at the mother. “She gave consent.”

Before anyone could continue, a loud sound from outside got their attention. There was some yelling and suddenly Cyrus and a few other men were rushing in, machine guns in hand.

Lydia let her shock show on her face. Not just that they had the weapons, but that they would carry them around a school where CPS workers were present.

“Get up!” Cyrus demanded, turning on her and Emily. “Get up! Move!”

On the other side of the room, Nancy was entertaining the other kids. “What’s going on?” she asked softly.

“We just got a very strange phone call from a news reporter,” Cyrus began and a man walked around Emily and started to pat her down for weapons.

They were both unarmed, but Lydia was starting to regret that. These men were clearly threatened by their presence. What the hell had happened?

Another man walked around to check her and unceremoniously smacked her in the side, causing her to wince involuntarily. Cyrus clearly noticed this, but said nothing, continuing on with his point.

“Is there anything you want to tell me? About a raid, maybe?”

She and Emily exchanged a concerned look. A raid? They weren’t prepared for that. They had checked in with the state before joining child services to the ranch, there shouldn’t have been a raid on this church.

Luckily for them, Cyrus took their concern for fear and nodded. “They don’t know,” he determined. “Bring them along.”

A man grabbed Lydia’s arm and dragged her across the room, where another armed man was opening a hatch in the wall. A tunnel. A few guards went first, then they started ushering the people in. Women with their kids, Nancy, Emily, and Lydia all surrounded by machine guns, leaping into a dark hole underneath the church.

The passage underneath the buildings was too thin to walk side by side, so the guards let them go on by themselves.

“What’s going on?” Nancy whispered to the two FBI members ahead of her.

“We’re not sure yet,” Emily hissed. “Just stay calm.”

As they reached a large opening directly underneath the chapel, they could hear gunfire from above ground.

Prentiss pulled Lydia aside, trying to get as far away from the crowd as possible. “If this escalates, Cyrus is going to put this place on lockdown. The FBI is going to be in charge of negotiations as long as we’re inside. Do you know the Critical Incident Response Group handbook?”

Lydia shook her head quickly. God, it would be helpful if Spencer were here. He probably knew that book front and back. Lydia didn’t know what she was doing.

“Okay.” Emily fumbled, trying to determine what was important for Lydia to know before they had to revert back to their covers. “CIRG will bug all the windows and anything else they can get to. So, anything you need them to know, find a way to say it out loud. Keep the inside members talking. We won’t be able to know what the team already knows so tell them everything. If there are blinds on a window, they might be blocking the sound, so try and get them out of the way before speaking.”

“Best hope it doesn’t come to that,” Lydia argued, but the sound of the gunfire overhead was diminishing her hopes of getting out any time soon. She just hoped Spencer didn’t know what was going on.

At the sound of Cyrus’s voice, the two girls stepped away from one another, trying to blend in with the crowd.

“Alright! Move quietly! Quickly, go to the left! Everybody stay together!” he ordered, pushing his way through the room. “Children, listen to your parents. Have faith.”

“Where did these guns come from?” Emily whispered hurriedly and Lydia glanced around her to see what she was looking at.

Wooden crates lined the walls, each labelled as bullets or magazines. Leaning into the corners were more machine guns. Buckets of them.

“I thought Garcia checked with the state police to see if they were involved in…” Lydia trailed off, not sure how to frame the inquiry, but luckily Emily was on the same page.

“Someone lied to us. You don’t just lose track of these weapons, not when you’re already watching this group.”

“At least the raid is unrelated to the FBI,” Lydia reasoned. “Our cover is still intact. But you’re right… someone from the Colorado government just ruined their career. Once we’re back in Quantico, Hotch is going to lose his shit.”

Lunde approached the two of them once more. “This is ridiculous,” she sneered.

“It’s okay,” Emily tried again. “Just calm down.”

Cyrus continued to reassure his followers, telling them that God would look out for them as long as they stayed calm.

Once he had disappeared, Nancy was arguing with them once more. “It’s the state police. I’m an officer of the state.”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do right now.”

“I can talk to him.”

“No!” Emily rushed after her but Nancy was already halfway through the crowd of people. “You can’t. It’s dangerous. Nancy, stop!”

The woman rushed out of the room and before the two of them could follow, one of the guards blocked their way. The other went after Nancy, but she was booking it back up to the ground level of the chapel.

Shit. This was starting to look… bad.

She stood next to Emily at the front of the group, anxiously waiting for the battle to cease, but the hail of bullets above them never slowed. After a minute or two, Cyrus came stumbling back down the stairs.

“Do not fear! We are on the side of the righteous.”

Behind him was the guard that went after Nancy, but no Nancy herself.

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked him.

“It wasn’t us.”

“What?!” Lydia screeched, then quickly lowered her voice, seeing the attention she had attracted. “You can’t shoot it out with the cops! You have children here!”

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus argued back.

Emily was clearly distraught watching him reload his gun, then take off with the rest of the men to the roof.

“The BAU is coming,” she whispered.

~ ~ ~

“Reid!”

JJ’s voice reached Spencer from the center of the bullpen and he looked up from his email curiously. “Hm?”

Her eyes were on the TV she was in the process of starting up and he noticed that Morgan was also looking up at it intently. It lit up in the middle of a news report.

“...a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado child services-”

Colorado… that’s where Lydia and Prentiss were…

“-has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Separtarian Sect.”

Spencer jumped up, joining Morgan and JJ in the middle of the room, his mind still not coming to terms with what was happening.

“JJ,” Morgan breathed, standing up, his eyes not leaving the TV, “That’s not the ranch where Prentiss and Ambers-”

“They’re still inside,” she said, softly.

Spencer’s legs almost gave out underneath him.

“HOTCH!” Morgan screamed.

The unit chief was rushing out a moment later to see what was going on, but Spencer didn’t pay him any attention. His eyes were glued to the screen in front of him. Where’s Lydia? Where’s Lydia? Where’s Lydia???

“...While no one knows for sure how many people are inside, it is believed that at least three of the child service members are still trapped within the compound.”

~ ~ ~

Spencer sat on the couch of the jet, his head in his hands, listening intently to the ongoing news report on Morgan’s laptop.

“...turned deadly when the Colorado state police officers tried to serve a warrant. Colorado Attorney General Jim Wells says the reclusive cult has been the subject of a 6-month weapons investigation.”

“Six months,” Morgan repeated. “We didn’t check?”

“No. We checked,” JJ argued. “I had ATF call Wells. He told ATF there were no pending state investigations. He lied.”

“Why?” Rossi demanded.

“Wells is challenging the governor in the next election. He thought that ATF was about to poach his big election-launching weapons bust,” JJ explained. “Now, it’s clear he didn’t know there were FBI agents there. He just thought the best time to serve a state warrant was when the kids were safe inside the school being interviewed.”

“Agent,” Spencer corrected quietly, his head finally lifting from his own grasp.

“What was that?” JJ asked.

“There aren’t ‘FBI agents’ in there. There’s only one.”

It seemed to slip everyone’s mind that Lydia wasn’t an agent. They looked around nervously, noticing the edge in Spencer’s voice as he corrected them. Hotch was the first one to speak up.

“Ambers may not be an agent, but she’s not a civilian, Reid. She can look out for herself.”

“The FBI only worries about their own,” Spencer hissed.

“She is one of our own,” Morgan fired back. “We’re going to get her out of there, just like Prentiss.”

“Just like all of the hostages,” Hotch continued.

Not wanting to argue more, Spencer nodded at him, then jumped up from his seat and walked to the back of the plane, unable to listen to any more. The media wouldn’t be able to tell him what he wanted to know, anyway.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ called as she approached him at the refreshment table. “I know you’re worried about Lydia, but we need your help on this case. You gotta stay focused, okay?”

“JJ, she’s in the middle of a deadly standoff and she’s still recovering from getting shot last May. Injured tissue takes months to repair itself and it’s going to take even longer for her to regain abdominal strength.”

“I’m sure that she’s safe inside the church with the other hostages.”

“Even if that’s true, I-” He shook his head. “I always seem to be away from her when she needs me most. When that bomb went off in Annandale, when Sonia had a stroke, when Frank got her… Why does it always feel like I can’t reach her?”

JJ sighed, contemplating his question. “I don’t know, Spence. I wish I did.”

~ ~ ~

Once the police had fallen back, Cyrus brought the two of them into a seperate room. Clearly he wasn’t sure how to deal with outsiders being barricaded in with his people. As him and his men tried to assess the damage done to the church and get people back inside, Emily was prepping Lydia for the worst.

“Don’t antagonize them,” she tried to reason. “I know you’re not a fan, but we need to know everything we can. They won’t tell you anything if they don’t think they can trust you.”

“There are two ways to find things out, Em.”

“What are you talking about?” Her voice was sprinkled with annoyance. Emily knew that Lydia tended to be very blunt. She didn’t need to worry about Cyrus killing Lydia when she was supposed to be helping the team get these people out.

“You keep Cyrus’s favor. But someone here doesn’t believe him, or else we wouldn’t have gotten that phone call. They’re going to seek us out.”

It wasn’t a terrible plan, she realized. One of them learn from the higher ups, the other speak to the underdogs. “You want to play two different sides?”

Lydia nodded. “For the time being.”

“Okay. That means we have to distance ourselves, though. Act unfamiliar with one another.”

“Brief me faster, then.”

She was on top of it from that point on. “The hostage negotiator’s job is to slowly get the women and children out. They want as few innocent people inside when they raid. But if they think anyone inside is in danger, they’ll come in, no matter what. We can speak to them through the mics on the windows, but they have no way of talking to us. So if we need to know anything, they’ll tell us through other means. Look out for signs from them. They’ll be listening to our every word…”

~ ~ ~

Hotch had put Rossi in charge of being the lead negotiator, in the hopes that he was both objective enough to not be blinded by his care for Prentiss and Ambers, but also knew them well enough to predict how they’d react while still inside.

Frankly, Spencer wasn’t sure he could do either. He hoped that Lydia would play it safe, but a part of him knew that she was just too impulsive.

The entire team gathered around as Rossi made his first call to the church, waiting to find out what happened to their friends.

“You killed my mommy and daddy. Are you going to kill me too?”

A kid. A little girl had answered the phone. It wasn’t surprising that Cyrus had set something like this up, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

“No one is going to kill you, honey,” Rossi said calmly.

Then, there was a shift. A new voice. “This is Benjamin Cyrus. Who am I talking to?”

“David Rossi. I’m an FBI agent. We sent the state police away. There’s just us and the local sheriff. All we wanna do is resolve this before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Then leave us alone.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Benjamin. One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let’s just stop this before things get worse. Please, just put down your guns and come out.”

“We’re believers, Dave. We believe God says what he means and means what he says. His laws don’t depend on what state you live in.”

“I have no issue with your beliefs.”

“You don’t, but the state does.”

This was taking too long. Spencer needed to make sure they were okay. He needed to make sure Lydia was okay.

“I can’t answer for other people.”

“Oh, God will answer for everyone in the final battle I’ve foreseen.”

“That’s why I’m here. To make sure that this is not that battle.”

“We shall see.”

“Now, the three child service workers...” 

“One of them is dead.”

Everyone’s heads shot up. Dead. Dead…

“It wasn’t us.”

Rossi leaned away from the phone, trying to take in a deep breath before continuing. “I need a name to inform the family.”

“Her name was Nancy Lunde.”

The relief between them was almost a solid entity, letting their eyelids hang heavy as they realized neither of their friends had died. But someone had.

“Okay. Now, please, Benjamin, send out your wounded. I promise you they’ll be well taken care of.”

“With enough supplies we can tend to our own.”

“Okay. I need a few hours to put it together. I’ll bring them up myself at first light.”

With news that supplies was coming, Cyrus hung up the phone and the rest of the team was left to ponder what to do now.

~ ~ ~

Lydia and Emily didn’t know much about their situation until the next morning. Everyone was assembled in the chapel to pray. Cyrus had sent the two of them to the end of a row of chairs, trapped in by the wall. Not that there was any point in running anyway. There were men at all exits, guns at the ready.

A soft knocking came from the church entrance and to Lydia’s surprise, Cyrus opened the door. It was difficult to see at first, with all the armed men surrounding him, but after a moment of discussion, Lydia was able to make out Rossi walking through the front door, a box of bandages in his arms.

Despite everything Emily had told her, Lydia could feel a twist in her heart. The BAU was right outside. Spencer was here.

Dear lord, he was never going to let her leave their apartment again.

Lydia reminded herself to steady her facial expressions. Cyrus had no suspicions of their connection to the FBI yet and she wasn’t about to give him any. She silently prayed that whatever Rossi was bringing in was bugged, so that she wouldn’t have to make sure all the important dialogue happened by a window.

They took his supplies, patted him down, and then Cyrus walked him down the center isle. Lydia couldn’t make out much of their conversation, but it seemed like Rossi was trying to convince Cyrus to let some people go.

Their discussion took all of about 30 seconds, then Cyrus was ushering him back out the door. With Rossi gone, Cyrus started giving instructions to his right hand man, Cole, then indicated for Lydia and Emily to get up.

The two of them exchanged a look before standing and walking to the back of the chapel.

“We’re going to have communion,” Cyrus informed them. “Feel free to stand and watch for the time being.”

They nodded politely, noticing Cole at the front with a jug of wine and stacks of plastic cups. A few of the men went around, passing them out while Cyrus poured each person a sip of wine.

“We are celebrating,” he announced. “Everyone drinks. Everyone rejoices. Because today we are one day closer to being with Him.”

“Look at Jessica’s body language,” Emily whispered. “The way she looks at him.”

Lydia nodded. “She literally worships him. There’s no way she made that 911 call.”

“Trust in God with all your heart. Lean not on your own understandings. Trust in mine.”

As Cyrus kept talking, Kathy stood up and walked over to the row her daughter was sitting in, leaning over her and speaking quietly. Jessica tried multiple times to nod and turn her attention back to Cyrus, but her mother kept talking.

“Look at how she comes between Cyrus and her daughter,” Emily continued. “She’s inserted herself between them.”

“Acknowledge Him in all things and He will guide your way. Drink to acknowledge him and I will guide our way.”

Everyone lifted their cups together and followed Cyrus in raising it to their mouths. Men, women, and children alike drank the entirety of their share and watched him intently.

“We will be with him soon. We have drank the poison together.”

Lydia was almost too distracted by the audience's reactions to comprehend what this meant. Some seemed completely calm, maybe even relieved. While others gasped or looked around wildly. It was easy to see a line between the diehard believers and the… less-so believers.

“Mothers… Fathers… Children… Though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we fear no evil. For thou art with us. And God will wipe the tears from their eyes, and there will be no more death nor sorrow nor crying. And there will be no more pain. For all of the former things have passed away.”

Some families grouped together, mothers holding tight to their kids. A few of the loners cried silently while the rest nodded to Cyrus in admiration. It was a wild array of people he’d collected.

“What do we do?” Emily hissed.

Lydia blinked, beginning to realize that the team was probably thinking the same thing. They wanted to save these people. If the bugs were working, they could hear Cyrus announce their imminent death.

“I don’t think he’s telling the truth,” Lydia admitted, looking Emily in the eyes.

She looked frantic. Her instinct to help was kicking in, but there was no way for her to act on it. “What makes you so sure?”

“Look at Cole.” She nodded up to the stage. “He’s writing in a notebook. I think Cyrus told him to make note of the people who had a bad reaction to the news.”

Emily’s gaze followed that of Lydia’s. At that point, both Cole and Cyrus were scanning the crowd. “They’re writing down the names of the people who are crying,” Emily realized.

“It’s a loyalty list,” Lydia finished out. “He wants to know who will follow him to the end.”

“Be still.” Cyrus’s voice broke through their conversation just in time to confirm their theories. “There was no poison. Instead a test of faith. Because your adversary, the Devil, walketh about as a roaring lion! Choosing whom he may devour. Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother’s keeper.”

“What’s he going to do with those that the Devil has devoured?” Lydia asked slowly, but Emily shook her head, not ready to consider it yet.

~ ~ ~

“You exhausted yet?” Emily asked jokingly as the two of them lay up against the stone walls of the basement. Cyrus had brought the two of them back down there a few hours ago and left them on their own.

“You’ll excuse me if I didn't get much sleep last night,” Lydia shot back. “A cement bomb shelter isn’t exactly my idea of comfort.”

“No kidding.” She was on the opposite wall, one leg propped up on the wooden bench she had taken. “You should try to get some sleep now. We don’t know how long we’ll be here. I’d rather have you well rested when the raid starts.”

“I would try, but-”

They swiftly stopped their discussion as the sound of footsteps echoed through the halls. Cyrus was at the door and he looked pissed.

“Ambers. Stand up.”

Her and Emily shared a curious look, but she did as he said and got up from her bench.

“Lift up your shirt,” he ordered.

“What the hell?” she demanded, but Cyrus had already stepped between her and Emily, reaching for the hem of her shirt and pulling it up above her waist. “Hey! what are you-?”

“That’s what I thought,” he grumbled. “Child interviewers don’t often get shot, do they?”

Lydia glanced down nervously at the bullet wound on her side. She had seen the weird look he gave her when his men had searched her and hit it painfully, but she never would have thought it would lead to blowing her cover.

“I don’t know why you…”

Dropping the front of her shirt, he reached up and grabbed a chunk of her hair, pulling her head back painfully. “We just got word that there was an undercover FBI agent in our midst. Care to explain that?”

Lydia hissed through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

“You’re not CPS, are you?”

His grip was getting stronger by the minute. She didn’t like the idea of blowing her cover, but he already knew it was one of them. Might as well let him think it was only her.

“No. You were right,” she admitted. “I work for the FBI.”

Now, Lydia didn’t expect him to thank her for her honesty and let her go, but it still came as a shock when he walked off, while still holding her hair. Her feet were immediately yanked out from underneath her, not prepared enough to steady herself, but Cyrus just kept going, not deterred in the slightest by her weight.

Lydia groaned, her hands wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure, but it did very little. Luckily he didn’t take her very far, throwing her down on the ground inside a nearby supply closet.

“I told you not to put me in this position!”

She moved to look up at him, but he was faster, swinging an arm up to her chin and knocking her down onto her back. Upon her next attempt to stand, she received a swift kick in the stomach.

“Ugh.” Her left side lit on fire in an instant and she stayed on the ground, her arms and legs wrapping protectively around her abdomen.

“Get up!” Cyrus sneered.

He reached for one of her arms and pulled her to her feet. Lydia flinched away from him as he threw an arm above his head and brought it down against the side of her face. There was a mirror on the wall behind her which shattered as her right arm moved to steady herself.

“Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil.” As he said this, he held her still against the broken mirror so that she could see herself.

It wasn’t until she physically saw the blood dripping from her nose that she could taste its warmth on the edges of her mouth. The temple that he hit was tinged pink, but from the way it ached, Lydia knew it would be a dark purple by evening. And her right arm, which was still lodged in the remaining pieces of the mirror was staining the white sleeve of her shirt.

She shrieked as he threw her backwards again, running into the shelf of canned goods against the opposite wall.

The BAU is listening, she remembered. And Emily said that if they thought someone was in danger, they’d begin the raid.

They needed to prepare. They hadn’t gotten any of the children out yet. If the team could hear her and decided to come in prematurely, a lot of people would die. Lydia wasn’t about to let that happen.

There was a window towards the back of the closet she was in. She could only hope that Spencer was listening.

“Careful.” Her voice was shaky and unconvincing, but she made sure Cyrus saw the anger in her eyes. This message wasn’t for him. “Hit me too hard and everyone will see the bruises on your knuckles.”

“No one is going to care,” he replied calmly. “You came here to shut us down! I’m protecting them!”

“From me?” Her laugh came out almost maniacal with her bruised stomach and battered jaw. “I’m fine! I got bruises on my knuckles too! I can take it!”

“Pride comes before the fall.”

His next blow sent her into the metal shelf again, this time her skull ricocheting against one of the sides and knocking her to the floor. She was just able to see a few drops of blood land on the ground below her, though she couldn’t identify where exactly on her face they came from, before her arms shakily gave out and her cheek hit the cold cement.

She prayed silently to whoever may be listening that Spencer understood. She really hoped she didn’t face all that torment in vain.

~ ~ ~

“We’ve got audio!” Morgan called from across their tent set up.

Spencer ran as fast as he could to the panel controlling the microphone feedback, throwing on a set of headphones.

Hotch hadn’t let him do anything for the past day, claiming he was the most emotionally involved in the situation. And although he couldn’t argue with that fact, it killed him to sit and listen. Lydia was right there. She was in the building just over that hill. And he wasn’t allowed to see her, talk to her, call her, save her.

When the fact that an FBI agent was in the church hit the news, Spencer felt an anchor drop to the bottom of his stomach. She wasn’t even an agent. There was nothing to suggest Cyrus would target her. But his instincts screamed that Emily wouldn’t be the one in danger.

And unfortunately, he was right. When he set those headphones over his ears, he immediately recognized Lydia’s voice. She was moaning in pain.

“We gotta go in,” Hotch said, but Rossi stopped him from throwing off his headphones.

“We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.”

“Get up!” Cyrus’s words were followed by a crashing noise, like glass shattering.

Please be okay. Please don’t let it be as bad as it sounds.

“Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil.”

There was more struggling over the line and Spencer threw off his headphones, unable to bear it any more. She was in pain. He knew this would happen.

“How could you let this happen?” he demanded of Hotch. “We have to go in! She’s not-”

“Sh! Sh!” Rossi hissed, one hand over his earpiece, the other between the unit chief and the boy.

Both looked at him confused, but he just kept listening silently.

“Everyone will see the bruises on your knuckles,” he finally recited. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Spencer didn’t answer, but put his headphones back on swiftly.

“-protecting them!”

“From me?” Lydia’s laugh sounded more like a wail over the mic. “I’m fine! I got bruises on my knuckles too! I can take it!”

“She’s antagonizing him!” Morgan exclaimed, frustratedly.

“She’s not talking to him,” Rossi argued.

“Pride comes before the fall.”

There was one more grunt, then the line went quiet. When Spencer finally breathed in again, all eyes were on him.

“She gets bruises on her knuckles when she lets off steam on a case,” he explained quietly. “I always worry for her, but she says she’d rather hurt her hands for a little bit then do something rash or detrimental on a case.”

“So what she’s saying is-”

“Don’t come in,” he finished begrudgingly. “She’s telling us not to go in.”

~ ~ ~

Cole had to basically carry her to one of the upstairs bedrooms. Every breath was agony for her lungs and a violent sting for her nose and mouth. And she figured it was psychosomatic, but her bullet wound hurt as if she’d just been shot yet again.

Who would have thought this whole hostage thing could get ten times worse?

Cole tied her arms to the sides of the bed, though frankly, she didn’t think she’d have the abdominal strength to sit back up anyway. And she didn’t want to try.

Kathy Evanson came by with a washcloth to clean the blood away from her nose, mouth, and temple. She tried to warn Lydia against lying to Cyrus, to which Lydia snapped back, “Do you speak from personal experience?”

Kathy didn’t say another word before standing up and leaving. It was a clear sign that she was hiding something and Lydia could only hope Emily caught onto that too. ‘Cause Lydia… she wasn’t going anywhere fast.

Downstairs, Cyrus had pulled Emily into his office, using some of his only medical supplies to disinfect the tiny abrasions in his hand from his fight with Lydia.

“Did you know she was FBI?” he demanded, as Cole shut the door behind the three of them.

Emily quickly shook her head, but her heart was in her stomach with fear for Lydia. Lydia was strong. She could take a lot. But she was also far too defiant to make this easy on herself. Emily silently wished she’d been smart.

“Nancy told me the woman was a child abuse interview expert from Denver.” Emily hated to put the blame on someone else, but Cyrus couldn’t hurt Nancy anymore. Nancy was gone. Lydia was still here and if Emily made her sound worse, it could fuel Cyrus’s anger towards her. “In the 4 years I worked with her, Nancy had never lied to me before.”

“As far as you know,” Cyrus replied. “Their law says that a 15-year-old girl is a child. Fifty years ago, that same law said a 14-year-old was an adult. Have children changed so much in 50 years?”

No, but people have, Emily thought. It was frustrating. Hotch had chosen Lydia because she was so good at acting calm. At least… in the workplace. She could have any unsub they met trust her entirely, or keep them constantly on their toes. Now, Emily could act, but she couldn’t do that.

If anyone’s cover should have been blown, it should have been hers. Emily knew more about CIRG protocols. She could diffuse a situation. Acting like she wasn’t totally disgusted by Cyrus’s morals was not in her skill set.

“I think it’s a matter of trust. People have stopped believing that kids can make good decisions, they’ve stopped believing in selfless acts, and they stopped putting their trust and faith into God.”

Her appeal seemed to work. Cyrus looked intrigued. She hoped it would hold long enough to make a good argument in her favor. Now was the perfect time to build up Cyrus’s trust with the FBI, because he had brought in the medical supplies Rossi had given them. There was absolutely no way that the BAU wasn’t listening.

“On your next call, you should test them. Test the negotiator. Make him prove that he isn’t a liar.”

“How would you suggest I do that?”

“Ask for the identity of the FBI agent.”

Cole looked unamused. “No. We already know her identity.”

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but Cyrus beat her to it. “They don’t know that.”

“Yeah. But the FBI would never tell us.”

“They keep asking you to release people,” Emily argued. “Tell them you’ll release a kid and you won’t harm the agent. If they really care about the children, they’ll have to tell you.”

“You’re trying to get us to release a child!” Cole accused.

“It’s one kid! If they don’t hold up on their end of the deal, then you know they can’t be trusted!”

“She has a point,” Cyrus conceded much to Emily’s relief. “What is it, Christopher?”

Emily glanced over her shoulder to find Cole pacing the room.

“Some people have been talking about… leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Yeah.”

Cyrus glanced at his hands. “Wake the baby. Let’s let them meet the orphan that they’ve made.”

~ ~ ~

Cole held onto Lydia’s shoulder’s firmly as he led her back to the chapel. She’d been dozing for most of the day, unable to move from her bed, so her ability to process the situation was hazy.

Cyrus had everyone gathered in the pews. “It has come to my attention that some of our brothers and sisters have lost their faith in God. That they no longer love us. They want to abandon us. So, when I call out your name, please stand.”

Cole left her leaning up against one of the back walls as he went to usher the last of the people in and that’s when Lydia noticed Emily eyeing her, slowly creeping closer and closer while still looking as if she was listening to Cyrus.

“He looks pissed,” Lydia whispered to her when she was close enough. “He’s choosing the people who failed the loyalty test.”

“I’m so sorry,” was all Emily could say.

“Em, I’m okay,” she snapped, more forcefully than she meant. She knew she wasn’t okay. “You need to stay focused and tell me what to do. What does this mean?”

Emily cleared her throat quietly. “He’s releasing these people, because he knows it’s over. He’s getting rid of any possible threat to his mass suicide plan. I’ll try and figure out when it is and get word to the team. Be ready. There’s going to be a raid tonight.”

~ ~ ~

“Drugging the food’s not an option because of the children,” Hotch was saying as they passed around tubs of fried chicken. “We have to go in.”

“Best time to hit ‘em is when they’re least mentally prepared,” Rossi added.

“3 AM.” All eyes turned on Reid. “Biorhythms are at their low point then.”

“Reid, I told you to stay with JJ,” Hotch argued, already on his way to lead Spencer out of the room, but he stood firm.

“Please let me help. I can’t just sit here and pray that she’s going to walk back out of there. I need to do something.”

There was a moment of silent tension between the two of them. Hotch didn’t want him to go. Technically, he shouldn’t let him go. But he didn’t have the time to argue, and Spencer would no doubt be helpful when it came to setting up this plan.

“The plan depends on Ambers and Prentiss separating the diehards from the followers,” Hotch continued, turning back to the group.

“And delaying Cyrus’s diehards from reacting to our assault,” Morgan said.

“No, that’s not my main concern. Ambers and Prentiss know what they need to do. I don’t know how to tell them when we’re coming. This whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at 3 AM.”

“Reid? What the hell are you doing?”

Hotch and Rossi followed Morgan’s gaze to the young genius who was covering the top of one of the food trays with red sharpie.

When he stepped back, the tray read, ‘New owners! New hours! Open ‘til 3 AM!’ The time was underlined multiple times.

“They’ll recognize my writing,” he promised. “Just write this on a few different plates so that there’s a better chance they’re near someone with a sign.”

“Let’s just hope it’s that easy,” Morgan grumbled.

~ ~ ~

Lydia watched curiously as Emily slipped into her room and carefully shut the door. She wasn’t sure how Emily had gotten away from Cyrus’s men, but she was positive something big was happening, else she wouldn’t have taken such a risk.

“3 AM,” she said, reaching the bed and helping Lydia sit up. “We need to get all the women and children down to the basement before 3.”

Lydia had no clue what time it was, only that the sky was completely dark and their time frame was getting shorter. “Find Kathy,” she told Emily. “I’m pretty sure she made that 911 call.”

“Pretty sure?”

“She’s hiding something,” Lydia admitted. “But no, I’m not positive that that’s it.”

The unease was more than a little scary, but there wasn’t much else for them to do. These people wouldn’t trust her or Emily. The only way to save them was to find someone they trusted.

“Stay here. I’ll be back for you before 3.”

“Don’t get caught.”

~ ~ ~

“They’re setting the place to blow up,” Kathy said as she ran into Lydia’s room.

Lydia’s heart fell. “Where’s Emily?” she demanded.

“I told Jessie that Cyrus wanted the two of them to gather the women and children. She’s leading them to the basement now,” she explained, untying the ropes on Lydia’s wrists.

Oh, thank god. Lydia thought for sure when Emily didn’t come back that she’d been caught.

“It’s 2:45. We’ve got to hurry.”

Kathy pulled Lydia along by her arm, Lydia’s other hand wrapped around her waist. Her entire torso burned as she ran down the stairs towards the basement. Almost out. This was almost over.

The sound of gunfire was muted through the walls and Lydia didn’t have time to place where it was coming from.

Get out. Get out.

As they were reaching the door, Lydia could see Emily leading the group into the basement.

“Let’s go! This way!”

“Let’s go, kids!”

“This building’s going to blow up!”

There was shouting in all directions. Lydia’s legs barely held her steady as she ran alongside Kathy. The only thing that was keeping her from passing out was Spencer. He was just outside. She needed to see him.

“Lydia!” She looked up as she passed through the door frame and found herself face to face with Morgan. She didn’t have time to open her mouth before he had pulled her into his shoulder. “I’m going to kill Cyrus.”

“You don’t have long,” she said, almost jokingly, but the timing was badly placed. Not a moment later, the ground and walls began to shake and a deafening sound filled the basement.

Everyone still inside hit the floor, protecting their heads from possible falling debris, but the ceiling was solid. Lydia had been through earthquakes before, and she’d survived an explosion, but this was somehow worse than both. She felt so claustrophobic she didn’t even try to breathe, out of fear she’d find herself unable too. For many seconds, she stayed on the floor, unable to tell if the rumbling had stopped.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” She didn’t realize it was Emily who was talking until Morgan and Rossi were helping her off the ground. “That was the explosives. If Cyrus planned a second round, the basement might crumble too.”

The four of them made a run for the secret door in the school, Lydia now holding onto Rossi for support, so that Derek could lead the group and make sure the rest of the kids got out.

“How’s Spencer?” she asked as they climbed back into the school building.

“I imagine Hotch has got at least seven guys holding him down right now to keep him from running into the rubble to find you. How are you?”

Lydia didn’t want to answer that. Not only was she in a lot of physical pain, but after that explosion went off above her, her heart rate had been soaring.

Everyone’s eyes were on the smoking ruble that was the chapel, amazed by the destruction. Many kids were crying and women were no doubt waiting to see if their husbands had survived. Rossi kept pulling Lydia along, not letting her stop to watch. They walked through the barricade of armed men with ease.

“Lydia! Lydia!”

It was Spencer. He was looking for her. Lydia tried to yell back, but Rossi could tell she didn’t have it in her.

“I’ve got her, Reid!”

Not too long after, she saw her boyfriend pushing through the crowd, his eyes looking around frantically.

When their eyes met, it was like Lydia’s whole world muted to a dull roar. Three days. Three days she’d been trapped in that building, trying to reach the team and getting the shit kicked out of her. Three days she’d been quiet, accepting Cyrus’s blows. All to see him again.

She wanted to run to him, but she just didn’t have it in her. Luckily, he was eager enough for the both of them.

His arms were so tight around her that she felt like all her ribs would break at once and her nose was so deep in the side of his neck that the bruises burned. She couldn’t care less.

He pulled away all too fast and she was about to protest, when she realized why. As she looked up at him, a breeze hit her cheeks, making the wet trails going down her face apparent. She took in shuddering breaths.

She was crying.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say, the back of her hand reaching to wipe them away, but for some reason, it didn’t feel like they were gone. “Sorry, I can’t-”

Before she could finish, he leaned down and kissed her. He kissed her in front of the whole team. In front of everyone. He’d never done that before. PDA was a very rare thing for him. But all her shock died on her lips, suffocating between his own.

“I love you,” he whispered, barely moving an inch away. “I love you so very much. You don’t need to apologize for your tears.”

Such kind and affirming words should have quelled her tears, but she just sobbed harder. “I love you too. Please don’t ever leave me.”

Tags: @kris-stuff​, @wooya1224​, @bispences​, @anotherr-fine-mess​, @eddysocs​

[raspberryfanfics]

concepts (bonus part)—hizashi hyuga

REVIEW ON FFN PLEASE

Warning! This is half crack and also has nejiten. If you want to believe it happened in the story, believe it. Kind of 13+ for lots of innuendos and dirty talking.

“Is it wrong to wish him suffering so we have an excuse to see him?” Asuka asked.

“It feels wrong, but I wish it anyway.” Hizashi sighed.

They peered into the pool where Neji was sparring his teammate Tenten, in a very similar way to how they used to spar. He rotated and she threw weapons from every direction, flying like Asuka used to. Meanwhile, on the other side of the field were the other two of Team Gai, similar in concept to Kenji and Kazane-sensei, who had joined them as well.

Truth be told, though the company of their teammates were nice, it was horrible to see them there so early. It must have been because of the grief of losing two teammates in the same month. It wasn’t that they were suicidal, but they welcomed death by going on missions that were nearly impossible. Kazane-sensei died first as a hero, saving the other ANBU members on an S-rank mission. Kenji had been on an escort with the Third Hokage, and when the Hokage had died, he very willingly transferred his life force into the Sandaime, reuniting the team once more.

The four turned to the two clad in green, thankful that their teammates were not that insane. Gai wasn’t very great at ninjutsu and Lee had no talent for it whatsoever, kind of like how Kazane-sensei lost one appendage and Kenji lost two. Yet that was where their similarities ended. The most ridiculous thing their teammates ever did was throw their prosthetics while Neji’s teammates...well, they were a completely different story. Nonetheless, it was always entertaining to watch them.

In the blink of an eye, Neji had pinned Tenten to a tree, both panting in exhaustion. Their faces were red, they were sweating, and a kunai was still in the young kunoichi’s hand. Their eye contact was harsh and even if Tenten lost the spar, she was still determined to win the staring competition. They stayed in their close position for another minute, making Kazane-sensei yell in frustration.

“Holy us,” she sighed.

The other three groaned at the joke. Their sensei decided that because they were spirits, they were deemed “holy” and that saying “holy us” was the most hilarious thing in the world.

“WILL THEY JUST MAKE-OUT ALREADY?” she cried. “I swear they are even worse than you two and all of your sexual tension and that’s saying something!”

Hizashi grumbled. “You sure we had even half of the tension they had?”

“At least three quarters of it. They look like they’re going to fuck each other with their eyes.” Kenji said as-a-matter-of-a-factly. 

“I think they’re doing it right now. Having intercourse with their eyes.” Asuka noted as Tenten bit her lip and slowly looked down. Neji’s chest was slowly inching towards hers. 

“We should make sure Lee and Gai don’t interrupt. I swear to us that if they keep it up I’m gonna have flashbacks of when you kids were genin.”

“They aren’t gonna make-out, sensei. They don’t have the balls. It’s just their stupid flirting again, see?”

Just as Kenji said, Neji was asking why she had been distracted this whole training round, as they watched him struggle with his own desires. She was now reddening because of his comment. Tenten suddenly escaped his grip and grabbed his shirt, bringing his face dangerously close to his. Team Kazane could see the prodigy of the Hyuga clan tense up more than ever before.

His mouth was slightly parted and his breath was caught in his throat, to the amusement of the four. With the girl he had a huge crush on that close, he didn’t even see Tenten pull out a kunai and bring it up to his neck.

“Who’s distracted now?”

The weapon’s mistress smirked and Asuka cheered. “I love that girl! She’s perfect for him!”

“You’re supposed to be rooting for Neji.” Hizashi chuckled. 

Funny, because as babies in the orphanage, they were in this exact position, though it was clear that none of them had any burning desires at the time. It was just Tenten with a rubber kunai, Neji with his palms forwards in a stupid manner, and him trying to figure out whatever the hell the Byakagun made him see.

“He’s sucking in his emotions. That’s toxic masculinity right there. I expected more from a child of mine.”

“Like Tenten is? She appears to be doing the same.”

“It builds up sexual tension,” shrugged Kenji.

“Can we enter his conscience now?” Asuka mumbled. “I’d consider this a truly desperate moment. Besides, if we just talk to him, it doesn’t really count as actually appearing. You know what they say: bend the rules a little, cut the action a little.”

The former medical ninja sweatdropped. “Asuka dear, no one actually says that.”

“Let’s go screw with his head. This is pure torture.” he agreed.

Before they drifted down, Kazane said they would be listening closely to their “advice”.

Entering Neji’s mind was hilariously fun. The dead married couple were hissing at each other, trying to decide who should talk first. Apparently, their whispers were too loud and it almost ended up with Neji being hit by a kunai from the distraction. 

“Look what you did!” Asuka cried to Hizashi. “You almost got him hit.”

“Mother?Father?”

“Hey, Neji,” Hizashi said cheerfully.

“What the hell are you doing inside my head?”

“It’s a desperate time. We come to visit at truly desperate times. It’s just that we hadn’t seen you in over a decade because you weren’t desperate enough, but when you needed me you were actually dying so I had to push you back from the light!”

Asuka sighed. “He did a good job too. Do you know who didn’t do a good job? You. It’s been two years since that stunt you pulled and since the poor girl was weeping over your nearly-dead body, but apparently my son’s a relationship-phobe, so you haven’t even kissed her! You desperately need relationship advice and because even Hinata’s words aren’t working, here we are.”

“Why do I need rela—I’m sparring!”

“Wow, you should be grateful.” Hizashi sighed. “We can’t visit you a whole lot, you know. Can’t you greet your father with any more emotion?”

“I’ll greet you two with a lot more emotion when I join you after Tenten kills me.”

“I think he gets the sass from Kazane-sensei,” he said to his wife.

Neji nearly got hit by another kunai.

“Can’t you come back later? I’d love to talk when I’m not a human dartboard.”

Asuka sighed. “Looks like it’s time to tell you what we came here for. You better make a move, honey.”

A kunai cut a strand of hair.

“Careful there,”

“Shut up!”

“Wow, she’s really good.” said Hizashi. “You’re lucky to have such a talented teammate. She reminds me of your mother.”

“I—”

“She’s very pretty too. Good taste in weapons, great posture, hair looks good so you know she cares about how she presents herself, but practical as well. Perfect kunoichi.”

“This is so weird!”

“She’s pretty attractive. Don’t you think, Neji?”

He paused in his thoughts for a moment, avoiding her weapons. 

Hizashi smirked. “Tell her your Byakugan has different perks than seeing far.”

“No!”

“If she tried using her weapons in ways that didn’t inflict pain?”

“Is that even appropriate for a Hyuga to say”

“We have libidos, Neji. Oh! I have a really good one! Tell her that seeing tenketsu points isn’t just for disabling them!”

“Hell no!”

Asuka palmed her forehead at both father and son and sighed. 

“Why not?” he pressed, enjoying his son’s torture for the first time in his life.

“I don’t want a ticket to heaven, thank you very much.

“Do some taijutsu.” she suggested. “Left undercut.”

Neji followed his mother’s instructions and Tenten quickly took out a bo for close-combat.

“Hey guys!” a familiar voice said cheerfully.

“Kenji!” Asuka said. “Neji, remember Uncle Kenji? He’s here to help you notice your lovely teammate so you don’t feel awkward with us doing it.”

“Now’s not the time, mother.”

“Yea, says the one who’s constantly bringing his palm near her chest and poking her.”

“Shut up! Is having an uncle making dirty jokes to you even appropriate? Why is that so cliche? Well, besides the fact that traditionally the perverted uncle molests the niece, rather the nephew.”

“I was a medical ninja. I know all the proper terms. Would you like me to use something more scientific? Neji-kun, you just used your gentle fist method to target her 78th tenketsu, the one that is very close to her right breast. I’m sure your testosterone levels have been elevating every time your hand nearly comes into contact with her erogenous zones.”

“Kenji’s good.” mumbled Hizashi. “I’m impressed.”

“Lord Kami, just kiss her already.”

“I—”

“What, you’re telling me that you, a 17-year-old male, have no sexual desires for a hot teammate?”

“I never said she was hot!”

Asuka couldn’t resist. “Oh honey, your face says very much  otherwise.”

“MOTHER!”

At the same time, Tenten had been saying something that Neji didn’t catch.

Everyone froze. 

Everyone, even the dead spirits in his head, even Tenten, whose face was red in surprise, was frozen in shock. Her fists clenched around her weapons and she looked absolutely terrifying.

“Did you just call me “mother”?”

Neji was so screwed.

He tried to defend himself from the series of sharp weapons, but he was clearly distracted by her.

“Pretty hot when the girl’s mad, huh?” Hizashi spouted into his ear.

“She’s about to kill me!”

“We know.”

The jonin struggled to keep up and she was quickly starting to defeat him. With one last resort, Neji threw his body at her, catching one of the kunai to knock the other away and disabled her tenketsu. He pinned her shoulders to the grass, knees holding her legs to the ground so she couldn’t kick him. His hair was undone and it was hanging from the sides, brushing her face.

Hizashi smirked. “Kiss her, Neji, what are you waiting for?”

And that’s what he did.

The three drifted out of his mind and smiled to themselves. 

It was another mission well done by Team Kazane. The only thing was, the making out was much more serious than they anticipated and decided to look away before watching them became an activity that was rated R. Neji and Tenten definitely made-out harder than any of them did, and this was only in the first minute.

[teeforhee]

Fuck, I'm not sure I'll ever get over how much CAMHS (child and adolescent mental health service, it's the under-18s mental health service in Scotland) let me down as a kid.

It's like this. You're 11 and you're traumatised but you're scared of using that word, you don't know if you're allowed it, but you are traumatised. And you're so anxious you can't breathe most of the time, you can't sit down and speak to any of your friends, you can do your school work but you keep falling apart and everything feels like it's getting worse all the time. You don't fit in, you're weird and awkward but your schoolwork is good so you aren't worrying about your grades, you're not even sure why you feel this way (it's unprocessed trauma, but again, you don't feel like you're allowed that word). You're s/hing and struggling with suicidal ideation, and you're lucky enough to still trust authority figures, so you do what everyone says you should. You trust an adult. And she calls your GP, who is another adult you choose to trust, who you bare your heart to with all of these symptoms that make your feel sick to even acknowledge, and then they make you an appointment with CAMHS. You came in asking for treatment. They referred you to CAMHS. They did not explain what CAMHS was other than what the letters stood for. That's okay - it's treatment, right? They're gonna help. You can talk this through and they'll help- just gotta be careful you don't get institutionalised. You don't want that, yet.

You talk to a CAMHS worker. She's a psychologist. She says it's very likely you have autism to your mother after your first session. Your mother broaches the topic gently. You are overjoyed: there's an answer! oh fuck, this explains so much! but it's not treatment. It's a word. The psychologist puts you on a waiting list and you have 22 sessions of CBT with her, trying to unpack your trauma and trying to build up coping skills. So many of them feel like just denying the truth, so many of them feed into your magical thinking ("the one thing you can control is your thoughts, you must always control your thoughts, good things will happen when you control your thoughts and stop thinking the bad thoughts"), but it's treatment, mostly. You stop seeing her twice- once because you are trying to develop an eating disorder and having a mental health professional who wants to hear how you're doing is totally cramping your style (I wasn't actually trying to develop an ED really, I was trying to cope in ways other than s/h, in ways that felt honest to the situation and real and gave me a sense of control that "controling my thoughts" just wasn't doing). You come back for recovery. You tell her you want an eating plan. By the time she even considers an appointment with a nutritionist, you've moved past that stage in your recovery on your own. You stop seeing her again because you get into an abusive relationship who doesn't really like you having contact with people who aren't him, and he super super doesn't like you not being able to talk to him for a whole hour every week. That part isn't their fault: no one could be gotten me out of that until I decided to; believe me, everyone around me tried, and it didn't work until I wanted I to, the third time.

But I left, again, I was without support for 6 months, and when I came back it was after my father (the earliest source of my trauma) had died. They take 4 sessions compiling evidence as to what treatment i needed going forward, without telling me that was what they were doing (I was trying to build trust with an adult again after 6 months of constant reinforcing that I couldn't trust anyone but my abuser), and then an appointment with a psychiatrist and your mother and a new psychologist. They dismiss and justify the symptoms that most worry me, they have at this point turned down my request to be institutionalised multiple times (including after an aborted suicide attempt, I presume they thought that was fine because made it clear that I did want to live), and they say at the end of the meeting that they are going to give me an official diagnosis of autism and that after that CAMHS has nothing more to offer me.

They say that if after 22 sessions with a psychologist I am still struggling so much (bear in mind that probably close to half of those sessions I was concealing factors that were actively making my mental health worse and which were traumatising me) I clearly can't gain anything more from their service, and anyway, autism isn't a mental illness and CAMHS as a service can only help while waiting for/trying to get a diagnosis, or if you have a diagnosis or a disorder for which they could provide specialist treatment. My very obvious PTSD? nah, no big-T Traumas, and c-ptsd is way too hard to diagnose. I receive a hilarious letter detailing all of the evidence (I mean genuinely insightful but also fucking hilarious and I do want to note down funniest bits and post them hear at some point, stuff like "unusual speech was noted, (exclamations of 'wacky!' while describing his symptoms)") and then they refer me to a charity which, at time of writing, I have had 1 assessment phone call with, and am waiting for a call back for my next and first proper appointment.

They did not inform me when I was first referred that CAMHS is a diagnostic and specialist treatment service and if they did (this was well over two years ago now, I don't remember word-for-word what my GP told me), they did not tell me that meant that they would kick me out to a charity once they figured they couldn't label me with anything requiring specialist treatment. During our last sessions they were unyeildingly focussed on the trauma of my father dying and of the "shock" of my diagnosis (that I had been waiting for for 2 years. yes, very shocking/s) when those were not my biggest problems. My relationship with my father is complex and I won't get into it here, but suffice it to say that his death was the last step on a very, very long journey, and honestly one of the least traumatising.

I let them keep the focus there because I desperately hate talking about the actual, recent, debilitating trauma of being in lockdown with an abusive partner for 6 months. That shit hurts, I can't even say his name, but that is the thing that I need to unpack if I'm ever going to be able to go outside in the sun again.

Repeatedly ignoring the requests I made for specific treatment until past the point where I needed it anymore, not informing me how the service I was going to be working with for 2 years even worked in something so basic as "what is this for? what will happen to me if I get a diagnosis they can't give me specialised care for?", telling an 11 year old child that suicidal ideation is "not that serious", a fundamental misunderstanding of what I needed and wanted to hear ('normal' is not a helpful word. 'normal' tells me 'suck it up, everyone experiences this and they're all fine, you're normal, just think better' why are they all so adamant that I am normal? Not even considering my mental health I am an autistic bisexual gnc trans guy, we went past whatever 'normal' means a long time ago, fucking listen to me), at every single step of the way this system has left me in the same state I was before, the only improvement being through support from my friends, fucking Childline (gd fucking bless Childline volunteers, but still, I shouldn't have been getting so little support that that felt like my only option), mental health masterposts on Tumblr, chats with my (luckily) very nice guidance counselor (they're called pastoral teachers here but I know most folks reading this are American or are most familiar with the American school system) and what amounts to gritting my teeth and getting through it.

It was worth it, of course my life was worth it, of course I say the same thing every person who's attempted suicide says, I'm more grateful than words could possibly express that I survived, that I get to go home in a few minutes and feed my kitten and write and message my friends, but for fucks sake it didn't need to be this hard. And it doesn't need to be this hard. I'm not out of the woods yet, I'm still waiting on that second appointment with this charity, I'm still 3+ months behind at school, and I'm one of the lucky ones. My boyfriend has been hurt worse by CAMHS, left even more isolated than I was, even more traumatised by the way he was treated, and every single person I know who's been in this system agrees that it's deeply, deeply flawed.

I don't want people to have competitions over who's medical experiences are worse, who's country has the worst mental health system, who's been the most traumatised by their psychiatrists or lack thereof, please. Please don't make this the suffering Olympics. I'm just making this post cause I know, I know that other people have had similar experiences, whether with CAMHS or whatever their equivalent is. Mental health services need serious reform that puts patients first, listens to their needs and requests, that is well funded and well staffed by people who care about their patients wellbeing more than they care about controling other people's lives.

Austerity in the UK is a huge reason why this happened the way it did- my first psychologist left the service to go work somewhere that pays better, leaving just one newly-graduated psychologist that clearly had no idea what she was doing and didn't care to sympathise or show compassion for me.

This shit needs to change, because kids need help, and this is not good enough.

[the-healingprocess]

taking care of my caretakers

the flashbacks of my old friend’s suicide attempts force me to reflect on my childhood. mostly how it shaped the person I am, really. it is painfully obvious that I am an empath. 

I try to explain being an empath to people and sound nuts, but I guess this sums it up: 

The term empath comes from empathy, which is the ability to understand the experiences and feelings of others outside of your own perspective. You take things a step further. You actually sense and feel emotions as if they’re part of your own experience. In other words, someone else’s pain and happiness become your pain and happiness.

thats exactly it. I absorb someone else’s emotions as if they were my own experience. I understand and feel so deeply. I'm genuinely there with whoever is hurting or experiencing that emotion. I've always been like this. 

looking back on my life as a kid, I really didn’t get to be a kid. my younger sister did, though. she was perfect. her life was different. my mother is finally coming to terms with that, but that is a whole different can of worms. maggots, really. 

my mom struggled with mental health. she still does. she had a very hard life growing up, too. her relationship with my father was extremely toxic. they split up pretty early in my life. I was just a young kid but I remember it vividly. at the time, I was pretty close to my dad. he was worried I would let someone else “be my father” but he was my protector, especially when my mom had one of her manic, abusive freak outs. I think it’s bi-polar but she’s in denial. always has been. 

my dad protecting me changed when he moved out. I became bait. my mom immediately started seeing someone else. I assume it was infidelity considering the first time I met him, she had an engagement ring on her finger. there was infidelity on his side, too. they hated each other. my mom hated me because I looked like him as a kid. 

yes, hated me. and made it very clear. 

the years of mentally and emotionally scarring verbal, physical, and emotional abuse I endured from my mom due to her mental health issues is not really the point of this, although it has impacted my life greatly. 

my father being absent, using me to taunt my mother, stealing money from me since I was a child, lying through his teeth, and making it clear he never wanted me in the first place has also impacted my life greatly. he has set the bar extremely low for the qualities I have sought out in men. 

my mom and I have worked hard to heal our relationship, but it has not been easy. it has taken years. I don’t forget anything...I'm not sure if I even forgive. 

my father, on the other hand, I don’t have much emotional capacity for. he does not engage in me really. he told me not too long ago if it were up to him he would’ve “ran for the hills and never had a child.” I fear a man like him.

I fear being with anyone in case they are like him one day. they have made me feel that I am better off alone. maybe undeserving. I'm not sure. 

the point of this was to reflect on the way I had to nurse my mother’s pill addiction throughout the years, especially while she was abusive to me. 

when she was addicted to muscle relaxers, she was also pretty suicidal. she’d get into these blackout rage freak out episodes and tell me all the ways she plans to kill herself. where I could find her if I came home one day and she was gone. overdosed at the motel down the road or hanging from our front tree. 

she said it would be partially my fault. I made her hate her life. she said I disgusted her. this was my father’s fault. she doesn’t remember these things. she wasn’t in the right mind. I wholeheartedly believe that despite being unsure of where I am in the forgiveness process with her. I don’t forgive my father. he launched me into the water to see if I could swim with a shark and left me there. 

he never believed me either. 

the nights I spent for years pulling food out of her mouth when she was too high to swallow so she wouldn’t choke to death. or if she was choking, to save her. having to pretty much drag her up the stairs because she couldn’t walk. helping her throw up. forcing her to drink water. stationing her body in bed with proper pillows so she didn’t aspirate. 

I was just a kid going into my teenage years. 

I used to walk to the park at night and cry after these episodes. 

why was I taking care of my caretaker? I had to grow up so fast. 

I took care of her just for her to abuse me when she was sober. 

I prayed to whatever was up in the universe to push her to get help before it was too late. 

I protected my sister, despite the fact that she never protected me. 

she was diagnosed with anorexia. I helped her with fluids and sugars when she’d pass out in the kitchen or fall down. but when I was being beaten and called names, she just watched and let my mother shower her with love while I was left alone to sulk in pain. 

we hate each other. 

I was never enough. 

over the years, my mother recovered and was properly diagnosed and medicated. with time, she reflected on her actions. she has made steady progress. 

over the years, my father has dealt with several extreme illnesses and has nearly lost his life 7ish times or so. I can’t keep count. watching him on his death bed was mind numbing. begging him to try to take care of himself to stay alive and seeing him refuse to be healthy was exhausting. it still is. 

he does not care. sometimes I wonder if he even cares to see me be successful. I don’t even think he knows how to do anything but talk about himself sometimes. but I'd have to ask my sister since they’re great together, too. 

when I was hospitalized, he yelled at me for having to drive three hours to be with me. I “interrupted his poker tournament.” the flu had gone to my heart and lungs but, how dare I? typical me being useless. 

people say the middle kid is always the least loved or undesired one - like the red headed step child type of shit. that’s exactly it. 

he left me as soon as I got my own room and oxygen on me. he couldn’t miss the chance to win money. 

all he does is fuck me over financially. he has taken money from me since I was a kid. I helped my mom pay our bills since I was 8. I know how much money I have and when it goes missing. when I was hospitalized, despite me being on family health insurance, he managed to put thousands of dollars of hospital bills in my name, lied about paying them, and let me go to collections. he has signed things and put me in collections more than once, all because of lying. my biggest fear is being a financial fuck up like him. I work too hard. these are just some examples of his shadiness. 

he doesn’t call me, ever. I'm too exhausted to be the only one that tries. 

when he does call me, he’s the one high on pills now and can’t even function. he’s addicted but at least he admits it. he needs them to some extent because of all the surgeries, but he eats them like candy and gets them off the streets. he knows I have no tolerance for addiction. I don’t understand it. it ruined my life. 

the shit storm that has been my life has made me terrified to have my own family. the thought of bringing something so fragile into this world and having a broken home or putting it into harms way scares the hell out of me. I would never want my kid to feel even a fraction of the pain I felt growing up. I can’t imagine someone even loving me enough. 

my mom and I are extremely close. we work on communication a lot. she vents to me about her relationship with her mother and I hear my angry, hurt child self in her. my grandma put her through so much pain. my grandma makes it very clear she favorites my mom’s younger sister - she openly says it. they haven’t worked anything out. it kills my mother. her anger and tears - I feel it in my heart. but, that was me for years and years. sometimes it still is and my mom knows it. 

I am trying so hard to change my narrative. I deserve to. 

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (2/18)

Chapter 2: How to Be a Detective in 10 Easy Lessons

It’s a new year, and Madelyn is trying to stay busy. Hancock pays a visit to the Detective Agency with an olive branch in the guise of a case for Nick. On the beat, a former mercenary turns informant with more information about the mysterious Railroad. Nick and Madelyn track down their missing person while Eddie Winter makes his first deadly move.  

“Well, sure there is. It comes complete with diagrams, on page 47 of 'How to be a Detective in 10 Easy Lessons,' correspondence school text-book and, uh, your father offered me a drink.” - Philip Marlowe as played by Humphrey Bogart (The Big Sleep, 1946)

x - x

Without giving much away, this is a content warning for a minor character suicide that mirrors the canon in-game side quest.

[read on Ao3] ~ [chapter masterpost]

January 10th, 1958

Nick’s desk was covered in case files, whiskey and cigarette ash—an organized chaos was what he liked to call it, but all Madelyn saw was a fire hazard. This was the way Detective Valentine worked best, however, frazzled and hunched over his scattered notebooks, mumbling incoherently behind the wafting plumes of smoke. The agency was for many the one gleaming beacon of hope in an otherwise dark and dishonest world. Nick had proved his reputation with the people was well earned by helping the community the best he could with the limited resources he had, maintaining a network of clients that kept him in business over the years.

“Everybody deserves their fair chance,” Nick always said, so much so that Madelyn considered putting it on a plaque for his wall—if the walls weren’t covered in photos, wrinkled maps and scribbled handwritten notes.

She found it all admirable, part of the reason she agreed to work with him when initially assigned by the District Attorney’s office two years prior. She didn’t realize that by staying, she’d be forging one of her strongest friendships, discovering one of her most trusted of confidants. Yet, as Madelyn lingered in the doorway of his office, she found it difficult to find the right words to say. She wanted to tell Nick about the clandestine note she received on New Year’s Eve, tell him she felt paranoid about being followed and wanted another training session at the shooting range. Instead, she continued to worry at her bottom lip, awkwardly shuffling the small stack of papers in her hands.

“You can stand there lookin’ like a doll or you can come in here and help,” he spoke, not bothering to glance up at her. Still, she noted his little smirk, eyes lit up as he scrawled away on his notepad.

“I know you didn’t hire me to be a pretty face,” Madelyn bantered, knowing it was all in good, clean fun.  She crossed the small space, planting herself comfortably on the cushioned seat in front of his desk.  

Nick gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “I didn’t exactly hire you. You just showed up here on my doorstep like some kitten left out in the rain.”

She laughed, thinking back to the early days of their partnership. Providing legal aid to a private detective that didn’t always play by the rules—it wasn’t the easiest of jobs for Madelyn. It wasn’t until she realized Nick was forced into the unscrupulous position by the Boston Police Department, who saw his presence as interference rather than assistance, never giving the agency the insider access they desperately needed. Perhaps if they did, there wouldn’t be so many unsolved disappearances or murders plaguing the city. That being said, she made sure Nick stayed out of trouble, pulling in favors where she could, the two using their powers of persuasion to find answers to burning questions. It was easier to toe the line than cross it, but each day as the violence and corruption spread across the city, the line became harder to see.

“What’s on the docket for today?”

The question had barely left her lips when there was a commotion in the lobby, Ellie’s frantic voice calling out as her heels clicked across the wooden floors. “Sir, sir! You can’t just walk in there. You have to have an appointment and—"

“No worries, sister,” the familiar, dulcet voice approached. “They’ll be happy to see me.”

John McDonough—Hancock—strolled through the doorway like he owned the place, ignoring Ellie’s protests. The mayor’s younger brother looked considerably different than he did the night of the police gala—dressed in dark slacks and half-buttoned up shirt, a faded red jacket with golden, frilled trim more suited for Halloween than streetwear. He plopped into the empty armchair, hooking his knees over one side and glancing to Madelyn with a wink.

Nick’s demeanor immediately soured. He pointed at the other man. “Speak for yourself.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have come all this way if it weren’t for nothing, Nicky boy,” Hancock grinned. “Can’t you bend an ear to an old friend?”

Madelyn focused on the detective’s expression, eyebrows knitted together in quiet contemplation as he rummaged for a cigarette before realizing he was fresh out. Hancock noticed, instantly reacting to produce a pack from his jacket pocket. He leaned forward to offer her first, but she declined with a silent wave, causing him to move to Nick. He hesitated, scrutinizing the gesture with narrow eyes before ultimately obliging.

“What are you doing here, John?” he asked, sounding more like the start of an interrogation as he struck a match.

Hancock appeared amused by Nick’s insistence on the name as he lounged back in the chair. “I have a peace offering for you. A case that the local police can’t be bothered with because of the victim’s so-called lifestyle.”

At Nick’s silence, Madelyn interjected. “What is it?”

“Missing person.”

Finally, Nick sighed, relenting. “Give us the details.”

As Hancock spoke, Madelyn wrote in her notepad, neat and succinct lines—they’d have more luck with her organization skills. The missing? Earl Sterling. Twenty-five-year-old bartender from the Fens who worked at the local sports bar across the street from Fenway Park. “Vadim, who owns the bar—close personal friend—came to me crying, thinking Earl had been snatched up by the boogeyman. But who would want to hurt Earl? He ain’t out to hurt nobody.”

Nick was nodding along, jaw clenched, clearly in frustration of another disappeared citizen. That would be thirteen—that they knew of. “And Boston P.D.? They think Earl was undeserving of a proper investigation?”

Hancock scoffed. “Friends in low places. Doesn’t matter that he’s squeaky clean. But since Vadim’s a Russian immigrant, a refugee that has had his run-ins with the law…”

“Of course,” Madelyn sighed, disheartened. It was a cruel underlying fact that not all Bostonians were keen to the changes the war brought. Most carried on with quiet discontent, but others were far more vocal to the point of outright bigotry. A child raised by virtuous parents, Madelyn knew better, ashamed of the city she had lived in all her life.

Nick could sense her stewing restlessness and spoke, nodding at Hancock. “We’ll take the case, track Earl down. One way or another.”

Curiosity got the better of Madelyn as she stared at the two men, sensing the lingering tension. Ever since Piper first mentioned the younger McDonough brother, Nick’s attitude had been uncharacteristically dismissive, and without explanation it was gnawing at her mind. “What’s the deal here?”

Hancock’s eyebrow arched high against his forehead. “Whatcha mean, sister?”

“The animosity in the air is thick enough that I could bottle it up and sell it as a fragrance,” she joked. “Might get rich enough that I could retire early. Buy that cabin up in Maine I always dreamed about.”

While Hancock bellowed out an impressed laugh, Nick sighed through his nose, lips set in a flat line as his cigarette dangled. Still, Madelyn knew he was amused, green eyes bright as he rolled them her way. Hancock’s entertainment settled as he crossed his arms over his chest with a final, breathless chuckle. “I’m surprised ol’ Nicky never told you about me and our time overseas.”

“You two served together?” she asked.

Nick reluctantly nodded, fingers tightening around the wrist of his prosthetic hand, the plastic-metal blend flexing. He didn’t like to talk about it—no matter how many years had passed between the end of the war and the present, it was still an open wound for many, including the detective. He balled his hand into a fist.

“London, during the Blitz,” he explained, in grim conciseness. “Was stationed in Kent in ‘41 during the bombsite recovery. As was John, though he was mostly preoccupied by the local…entertainment.”

Hancock hummed, with a faraway look in his eyes. “There’s something about the English accent, ya’ know?”

“You were disillusioned then, and you’re disillusioned now!” Nick suddenly snapped, hands smacked against the table as he stood up to loom over the other man. Hancock hardly looked intimidated, not even flinching as Madelyn did. “Sneaking off base to get your kicks in some back alley, coming back high as an Air Force bomber. No wonder you’re turned into a beatnik.”

“Better a beatnik than a dick,” Hancock murmured.

“Boys! Boys!” Madelyn stood up with a loud clap of her hands, garnering both of their attention as she stood. “Jesus Christ! Do I need to put you two in separate corners for time out like the curtain-climbers you are?”

Nick scrambled to sit back down, knowing it was a rare thing for her to use the lord’s name in vain, even lightly. Hancock snickered, but flinched when she whipped her head in his direction. “I think you owe Nick an apology, Mr. McDonough.”

He shifted uncomfortably like she had asked him to perform one of Houdini’s acts. “Sorry, Valentine.”

“We’re good, John,” Nick stood again, this time reaching over to extend his hand in some display of goodwill. Hancock took the offer, shaking it with a satisfied grin. “We’ll find out where Earl is.”

As the conversation came full-circle, Hancock tugged on the lapels of his coat and smoothed out the lines of his pleated slacks. He regarded Madelyn with a toothy smile, nodding his head once. “Miss Hardy.”  

She watched as he turned on his heel, slinking out the way he came. Ellie’s disapproving voice called out to him again in the lobby as the bell above the front door chimed, signaling his exit. Miss Perkins’ usual sunny disposition was marred as she leaned into the doorway of Nick’s office, bottom lip jutted out in a frown. “Who was that?”

“Sorry Ellie,” Nick sighed, moving to grab his faded trench coat from the nearby rack. Madelyn smirked, knowing Jenny had purchased him a new one over the holidays—one for Hanukah and Christmas—but there he was, slipping his arms into the same dusty rag. “Hopefully you won’t need to experience such indecency again.”

“Heading out?” Their secretary questioned, looking between the two of them with a shine of excitement in her features. She always liked when they were busy.

Madelyn gathered the case notes under her arm before quickly shuffling back to her own office, pulling on her cream-colored coat that was in much better condition than her partner’s. Purse and papers in hand, she met him and Ellie in the front room.

Nick was adjusting his hat. “Keep a light on for us, won’t you?”  

Ellie flashed a charming smile. “Always.”

Outside, there was a fresh blanket of snow on the sidewalk and a crisp chill in the air. Their destination was a short distance—only a few blocks east. She thought about what sparked their journey.

“Did you really mean that?” Madelyn questioned Nick as they walked in the direction of the Dugout Inn. He glanced at her, unsure of what she meant. “Disillusionment? Do you really not believe in Hancock’s cause?”

He made a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a groan as he rubbed at his chin. “I believe in results,” he answered, keeping his eyes focused on their path. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The Dugout Inn was a tiny hole-in-the-wall, located right on the corner of Boylston Street, opposite of Fenway Park. The clientele were mostly refugees, thanks to the owners, Vadim and Yefim Bobrov—immigrants from Russia who established the bar shortly after V-Day in 1945. Unassuming enough, though the two had their fair share of run-ins with Boston police over the years, mostly for expired liquor licenses or smuggling illicit moonshine. Never anything as serious as money laundering, tax evasion or murder. Mr. Bobrov’s good natured attitude had made him a valuable ally to Nick, perhaps even a friend, somebody the detective could turn to when searching for leads among the downtrodden and forgotten within the city.

Being a mid-morning Friday, it wasn’t surprising that the Dugout Inn was mostly devoid of patrons, save for Vadim’s twin brother and their lone waitress Scarlett who was dutifully sweeping near the back. There was one daytime drunkard, however, sleeping off his hangover in a faraway booth. Yefim was balancing the books at a nearby table, muttering about needing to pay the gas bill, barely acknowledging the passing duo with a wave. As they approached the bar, Vadim was beaming, wiping the countertop before them in earnest.

“Ah, my favorite gumshoe back to see old Vadim,” he set out two glasses, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Want to try the latest batch? May not have ripened yet, but…you always had a good sense of knowing!”

Nick softly chuckled, but shook his head as he removed his hat, placing it on the bar. “I’m not going to be your guinea pig again, Vadim.”

“And what about the lovely lady lawyer? My lapochka?”

Madelyn smiled at his flattery but waved her hand at his offering. “No, thank you.”

Vadim went to speak but hesitated, instead scrutinizing their appearance in his bar. Sudden realization dawned in his expression as he tightened his fist into the cleaning cloth. “Are you here about Earl?”

Nick had barely nodded before Vadim continued with a sagging hang of his head. “Oh, poor Earl. Gone, just like that. Such a good bartender. Good friend,” he trailed with a forlorn expression that morphed into one of slight amusement. “Terrible with the women, mind you.”

“Always in his cups about his face getting in the way,” he further explained. “I say, no mug is too ugly for any woman! What says you, Miss Hardy?”

She joined him in laughter, humoring the old flirt. “Oh, Mister Bobrov, if you were thirty years younger you might have a decent chance at making an honest woman of me…again!”

Even Nick snickered, shaking his head at the exchange. But they were here on business, not for a friendly exchange of words or a casual drink. They had a man to find, sooner, rather than later. At his signal, Madelyn pulled her notepad from her purse, pencil at the ready for any information they might gleam.

“See anybody from Winter’s gang around here lately?” Nick asked, eyes narrowed when Vadim quickly shook his head, coughing to clear his throat as the tone shifted. Nick quickly glanced to Madelyn who offered a quick shrug. Maybe zeroing in on Eddie Winter wasn’t the best idea. Would Vadim even know what a mobster type looked like?

“Oh!” The proprietor said excitedly, hands waving for emphasis. “A few days ago, there was this young mercenary type that I’d never seen before. Lingered about for a few days. Greaser kid that looked like he belonged to a bad crowd.”

“Did he and Earl speak?” Madelyn questioned.

Vadim shrugged, eyes glanced upwards as he remembered. “Yes? No. All I know is he looked suspicious. A—and I haven’t seen him since Earl disappeared!”

Nick was twisting his lips—a telltale sign he wasn’t entirely sure he liked the credibility of the information—but they had nothing else to go on. He tapped his finger against the counter impatiently. “Do you have a name? A location? Think carefully, Vadim. For Earl’s sake.”

A moment passed as the bartender mulled it over in his head. Vadim then straightened, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. “MacCready! That’s his name! Rum and cola. Overheard him mention a hotel near Scollay Square…”

“The Rexford?” Nick mused, more to Madelyn than Vadim.

She nodded. “The Rexford.” 

Scollay Square by 1958 was not the thriving center of Boston theatre and community it once was. Practically a ghost town, with most buildings boarded up after being destroyed by fire or looters, few businesses remained. The Old Howard Theatre—long shut down by the Boston vice squad stood at the epicenter like a shining reminder of the past. Always Something Doing—but not anymore. The area was now known colloquially as Goodneighbor, nicknamed after Mary Goodneighbor’s 1953 striptease that ended it all. Goodneighbor was a hive of sex work and drug runners, bootleggers and mobsters, all just out to make their living in the world—the perfect place for a person to disappear.

Nick decided the trip west warranted the use of his black Cadillac. They’d make better time, and even he wasn’t one to be caught walking through Boston Common—even armed—at any time of day with the increasing crime rates. As they pulled up outside the Hotel Rexford, they observed a disturbance on the sidewalk, snow flurries disrupting their view. Madelyn was exiting the vehicle before Nick could rush over to pull open the passenger door, ever the gentleman as he offered his hand to her. But she was more focused on the three men in a clear argument on the hotel steps, carefully observing the interaction as she hooked her elbow around Nick’s arm.

“Well, we’re outside now!” The scrawnier of the three shouted from the stoop.

On the sidewalk below, a man with wide shoulders and a crew cut snarled back. “Didn’t have to be like this, MacCready! We were just here to deliver a message!”

Madelyn and Nick exchanged knowing glances but refrained from interfering. While they had their lead identified, the situation was hardly any of their business. It didn’t mean that they weren’t going to eavesdrop and make it their business, gather information that might come in useful later on.

“It only took you six months to track me down,” MacCready spoke, taunting his aggressors. “Winlock and Barnes. You two always hold hands across Boston? Don’t you know I left your wannabe gang for good?”

The man Madelyn assumed as Winlock shook his head, irritated as ever. “Yet here you are, taking jobs where you shouldn’t be. Listen carefully, MacCready, it has to stop.”

“Like I have to take orders from you,” he laughed and for a split-second Madelyn wondered if there was going to be a firefight the way the third man’s hand flinched along his side, reaching under his jacket.

Instead, Winlock defused the situation with a curt nod, signaling to his partner Barnes to step back. “We aren’t going to kill you. Today. Wouldn’t want a war with Goodneighbor, or with Winter.”

Nick’s hand around Madelyn’s arm tightened at the mention. Whoever these people were, they weren’t affiliated with the mob organization terrorizing Boston. MacCready crossed his arms, seemingly bored with the conversation. “Are we done here?”

The two thugs traded steely looks—this wasn’t over—not by a long shot. “We’re done. For now.”

As Winlock and Barnes passed the Cadillac, they took one slow, up-and-down look at the pair of onlookers before disappearing down an alleyway. Madelyn looked after them, deeply unsettled, but snapped back to the present as Nick swiftly led them to the lone man left on the hotel stairs, pacing as he kicked at the snow with his sneakers.

“MacCready?”

“Look pal, I’m not looking for any friends,” he said with a wince, shaking his head.

Madelyn looked at their would-be suspect now that they were up-close. For Vadim to have called him suspicious was not wrong, but if anything, the man simply appeared to be down on his luck. Overall, he looked nonthreatening: faded, rolled up jeans, dark flannel shirt with an army bomber jacket and a matching cap atop his dusty brown hair. He was skinny, like he had missed a few meals, and it made her wonder if he was another veteran of the streets that had returned from the war with no home to return to.

“We aren’t here to make friends,” Nick’s tone was firm, signaling it was time to take the proverbial gloves off. The man was squirmy and would need the two of them to act fast if they wanted the right information. “Do you know anything about an Earl Sterling?”

MacCready didn’t take to intimidation lightly. He narrowed his eyes, looking over both of them. “What are you, some kind of cop? Can’t do his job without his lady wife?”

“Lawyer,” Madelyn corrected, removing her hand from Nick’s arm. She gestured in her partner’s direction. “Detective. Best not say anything that incriminates yourself.”

Nick laid it on thick. “We know you were at the Dugout Inn when Sterling disappeared, MacCready. So do us both a favor and tell us everything you know!”

The man held up his hands defensively, bewilderment spread across his features. “Jeez! Okay!”

“I was only there for two days, following up on…something. Yeah I saw Earl there. Nice guy, if not a bit ugly, but who am I to judge?” MacCready talked and the pair listened, Madelyn scribbling away in her notepad the important details. “He kept talking about needing to get out of town. At first it was innocent like…for a fresh start to meet the perfect woman, but the more drunk he got, the more it sounded like he was running from the wrong kind of people.”

“Who?” she followed up quickly.

“Heck if I know,” he responded.

Nick prodded further. “He didn’t mention the mob or a loan shark? The Railroad?”

The mention sent a shiver down Madelyn’s spine. Why, she wasn’t sure. For all of their digging in the last two weeks, the organization—if it even existed—was still shrouded in mystery. She stalled in her notetaking and tuned out most of Macready’s response. “…it’s just a myth.”

A familiar expression fell across Nick’s face as he mulled over MacCready’s words. Helpful? Hardly. It was more of the same of what Vadim had offered, leaving them at square one. Earl was still missing, and they were no closer to determining why beyond a vague threat of needing to get away.

“I might have something you can use,” MacCready voiced, shifting awkwardly down the snowy stairs so he was closer to them. “But if I’m gonna help you, you gotta help me.”

“What happened to ‘not looking for a friend’?” Nick remarked with a light smirk.

MacCready grumbled under his breath, clearly uncomfortable with the circumstances of their visit. He wasn’t having a good day, it seemed. “All bets are off when your life gets threatened in broad daylight.”

“Is that what that was all about?” Madelyn asked, motioning towards the alley where Winlock and Barnes had wandered off to. She flashed a teasing smile, hoping to get a rise out of the man. “Colleagues of yours?”

“Fu—heck no,” he answered, censoring himself. Odd. She chalked it up to a man not wanting to curse before a lady and rolled her eyes. “They are Gunners. Small town gang that operates out of Quincy. I—I uh, used to run with them about five years ago. When I was younger. Dumber. But then I wised up. Got married and had a kid. Gig like that doesn’t really pay the bills, you know?”

“You’re married?” Nick asked, the two seemed to simultaneously note the missing wedding band. He was trying a different, more sympathetic angle.  

MacCready gave a solemn shrug, but his eyebrows furrowed with annoyance. “I was. But that isn’t any of your business.”

“Excuse me,” Madelyn blinked, the math not adding up in her head. “How old are you?”

MacCready chuckled like he was asked the question every day. “Twenty-two.”

Both her and Nick made the same surprised sound, staring at their suspect-turned-dud in disbelief. There went her veteran theory.

“I have a son, Duncan. He’s five years old,” MacCready continued, the emotions he expressed sincere. “I’m just trying to do the best I can by him. Can’t do that if I’m dead.”

“How do we fit into this equation?” Nick asked, tone softer than before. Madelyn smiled, knowing he couldn’t resist a hardship tale.

MacCready tilted his head back and forth with a low hum. “Two hot shot detectives like yourselves need an informant on the streets, right? Let me help you, and in return…”

“Lawyer,” Madelyn corrected, again.

“Exactly!” he replied, far too excited. “Crime and Punishment that sh—stuff.”

She decided not to lecture him on Russian literature and its vast differences to her actual career, which in itself were completely separate than what services she provided for the Valentine Detective Agency. She exchanged a silent, somewhat amused look with Nick, who seemed just as bewildered by the person they had crossed paths with. Finally, the two nodded and the detective extended his hand.

“Nick Valentine, Valentine Detective Agency,” he formally greeted.

MacCready chuckled as they shook hands. “You couldn’t make that stuff up, could you?”

His handshake with Madelyn was much softer, less amused. If anything, he seemed genuinely impressed. “Madelyn Hardy, attorney at law.”

“Robert Joseph MacCready,” he grinned. “RJ, Mac, MacCready. Whatever’s cool.”

“You have something for us?” she reminded, and he quickly removed his hand from hers with a short, excited inhale. The two watched as he patted the front of his jacket before digging through his pockets, finally producing a small key on a golden chain. “Is that…”

“Earl’s key,” MacCready answered with a sheepish smile, shifting his eyes away. “Figured if he was going to be running away, it might come in handy later on. Lives in those apartments near the stadium.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear this,” Nick muttered, shaking his head.

Madelyn wasn’t pleased that their best lead was stolen property, but at this rate, it was their best chance of tracking Earl Sterling down. She snatched the key from him before he could change his mind, tucking it away into her purse along with her notepad.

MacCready regarded her with a stern expression. “Remember my offer!”

She would. But for now, she and Nick had more work to do. 

That wasn’t the first time Madelyn and Nick had backtracked across town, chasing a lead on a case. As they raced through the Fens past the stadium to the grouping of apartments that matched the name on Earl’s golden key, she was grateful that at least this time they hadn’t been sent to Quincy, or Concord. By the time they reached the Parkview Apartments, the sun was setting and the frosty chill from the morning had settled to a near freeze. She couldn’t explain it, but an eerie sense of dread settled in her gut, putting her on edge. Nick seemed to feel it as well, the two dashing up the flights of stairs to make it to Earl’s door.

“What do you think we’ll find?” she asked, nervous.

“Not sure, but we’re about to find out,” he answered, prompting her to unlock the door.

Madelyn was careful, quiet in her actions as she clicked open the lock, Nick taking the lead as he pushed open the door inch by inch. She followed closely behind, the two making their way blindly in the darkened room, the only guiding light the moon that shined in through a broken window shade.

“Mr. Sterling?” Nick called out in a low voice, scanning the area. It was a tiny, studio apartment, with a kitchen nook, a foldaway bed, a small closet and a door that led to the bathroom. From what Madelyn could tell, their missing person wasn’t there. Still, Nick called out again. “Earl? Are you here?”

“Nick, something doesn’t seem right,” she whispered, stepping away to inspect the foldaway bed. Even in the darkness she could see the mismatched stains in the carpet, an overturned nightstand and a few pieces of broken glass. She held her breath before tugging sharply on the release, jumping backwards as the bed—and Earl—came tumbling out. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!”

Nick managed to turn on a lamp, revealing what she had found, rushing over to her side as she turned away from the horror, covering her nose and mouth as to not retch. He wrapped a comforting arm across her shoulders, exhaling a low, defeated sigh. Earl was dead, but more than that, he had been brutally murdered.

“This wasn’t Winter,” Nick mumbled, drawing a quick conclusion. Madelyn had to agree, even if they only had the scene to go by—Eddie’s men weren’t into butchering their victims. “We need to call—”

They both froze as a clattering sound echoed from beyond the closed bathroom door. Nick swiftly pulled his weapon from its side holster—a well-cared for .44 revolver—and motioned for Madelyn to move behind him. She followed his silent instructions, and reminded him that she too was armed, calmly removing the small pistol she carried from the purse on her arm. He glanced at her with a startled expression—she’d hear about this later—but kept moving closer towards the closed door.

“We know you’re in there!”

When the door creaked open, the two were faced with a familiar, but horrifying sight. Doctor Crocker, a local cosmetic surgeon stood with a wild and strung out look in his eyes—a far cry from the friendly face on the billboard ads plastered around town. He cackled out a laugh. “Naughty, naughty! You’re not supposed to be here! But that’s okay! I can fix that. I can fix anything!”

Madelyn resisted the urge to curse or to scream. For a brief moment, she wondered if she felt this terrified when held at gunpoint more than a year prior by a different madman. Doctor Crocker, however, appeared completely unhinged, dangerous and unpredictable. He hadn’t just shot somebody. He had cut them apart and used their blood as paint for the walls.

“Take it easy, doc,” Nick attempted, raising one hand in a calming gesture, all the while keeping his gun aimed towards the doorway. “Let’s talk.”

“I—I didn’t mean to do it! Doctor Crocker is a brilliant surgeon!”

Talking in the third person was never a good sign, she decided, thinking he had to be high on some kind of illicit drug. Mixed with the adrenaline, the doctor was teetering on the edge of outright disaster.

“He never makes mistakes or loses patients! Only happy patients for Doctor Crocker!” he announced, reaching back to grab what turned out to be his own pistol. Now, Madelyn was petrified. And yet, she didn’t scream, resolve getting the best of her.

“You made a mistake, Doctor Crocker,” she tried Nick’s brand of persuasion, even if it made her skin crawl. “Do the right thing. Just think it through. Come with us quietly.”

At first, her words seemed to have an effect, the daze lifting from his eyes as he glanced down at the red stains that covered his clothes and the state of disarray surrounding them. Doctor Crocker flicked his gaze back to Nick and Madelyn, and the panic returned. “Oh god! I killed a man! There’s so much blood! Blood! All over me!”

He was weeping now, loud and hysterically. Hesitantly, Nick stepped closer in a last-ditch effort to resolve the situation. The doctor lashed out, pushing him away. Madelyn’s heart skipped a beat, and she thought she would be reliving the past all over again. “No! No one can find out!”

But Doctor Crocker didn’t aim towards them. Instead, he turned the gun on himself, barrel pressed firm against his chest before firing. The action took less than a second, faster than Nick or Madelyn could react or intervene. His body collapsed in the bathroom doorway, clearly dead on impact.

“You should’ve seen that,” Nick hushed, his faded coat coming into view as he tucked her head close into his shoulder. She didn’t even realize she was trembling. “You shouldn’t have seen any of that.”

A voice, somewhere in the back of her head told her it was just the beginning. She would become tempered, experienced. Most of all, she would heal. But first, she would see so much more.  

Just like that, the Earl Sterling case was closed.

The Boston Police weren’t pleased with them, but then again, they never were. It wasn’t until past midnight when they were released from the scene, not without a scolding from Sergeant Danny Sullivan. It didn’t matter that they had tracked down Earl Sterling when Boston Police wouldn’t (or couldn’t) and had managed to hunt down a killer in the process. As the police saw it, because any blood was shed, it looked indecent on their behalf, and it all had to be handled very carefully. Nick and Madelyn feared that was codeword for coverup. But they weren’t threatened, or told to keep quiet, which further fed into the detective’s either hypothesis—that Winter had nothing to do with Earl’s death. What had started as a run of the mill case had left them with more questions than answers.

Madelyn and Nick were exhausted by the time they returned to the agency. Ellie had left her little glass lamp turned on, just as she promised, but the brunette was long gone. Instead, a different, familiar voice called to them from Valentine’s office.

“Rough night?”

Piper winced as soon as she saw them come through the door, clenching her teeth in a sharp hiss. It was likely obvious how ragged they appeared, and Madelyn was sure some of their clothes were splattered with blood from Earl’s apartment. Nick pulled off his coat with a groan, tossing his hat across his desk as he snatched up the fresh pack of cigarettes Ellie had left behind. Madelyn didn’t bother, practically collapsing into her favored armchair on the left and slinking down, no matter how undignified her posture appeared.

“That bad?” Piper asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Nick responded, puffing out smoke before taking in another deep inhale.

The reporter tapped the rolled-up newspaper she carried against her palm, shifting her gaze between the two of them. “Well, since we’re already swimming in it,” she half-heartedly joked before unfurling the newsprint, dumping it atop Nick’s desk so he could see. “Johnny Montrano Jr. is dead. They found his body in the Harbor this morning while you two were running around.”

Fury seemed to be fueling Nick now, who was already starting on his second cigarette. Madelyn perked up at the news, realizing what his reaction would be. “The bastard’s finally done it. He’s finally had him offed. Fed to the fishes.”

“Fishes didn’t really get to do their job though,” Piper mused, rolling her eyes when the two remained silent, too focused.

Madelyn looked to Nick. “He’s looking to take over the northern territories.”

“If he hasn’t already,” Nick replied in an ominous tone. “Nobody is safe anymore.”

Eddie Winter had just made his first deadly move.

[secret-engima]

Snippet of There is No “Us” in Number One Chap 4

(A wild AU drama has appeared! Also, tagging @wolfsrainrules @north-peach @suolainensilakka cause this might interest ya’ll)

     “So what you’re saying is-” Toshinori stopped mid-sentence, head tilting to listen to something else.

     Naomasa stiffened subtly at Toshinori’s freeze, eyes drinking in their surroundings for a threat, “What’s wrong, Toshi?”

     A shriek and an explosion echoed several blocks down, followed by loud, angry yelling. Toshinori felt his shoulders relax in an exasperated sigh even as Naomasa’s hand went for the gun hidden under his shirt, “Villains-!”

     Toshinori shook his head and placed a bony hand on his friend’s to keep him calm, “No. It’s fine. I know who that is. Come on, I should probably break it up before the neighbors start complaining again.” He took off for the sounds at a light jog, Naomasa following behind and radiating incredulous disbelief.

     More explosions sounded along with more cursing and a feral shriek that Toshinori knew from experience was a challenge. Naomasa felt like a tight wire at Toshinori’s back, no doubt imagining the worst, but any comment he might have made over Toshinori’s lack of alarm faded when he saw that everyone else in the area was the same way. The pedestrians were all calm, having relaxed as soon as they heard the animal shriek, and several were even rolling their eyes. An older man complained as Toshinori passed, “You still haven’t taught those boys of yours to be quieter? I swear it’s like living next to a warzone whenever those two get going.”

     Naomasa gave a high pitched, strangled noise at the man’s remark of “your boys”, but Toshinori just laughed apologetically and murmured, “I know, Abe-san, I’m working on it.” Abe-san sniffed officiously but if he intended to make another comment, Toshinori was already too far away to hear it.

     The sound of explosions, yelling, and draconic roars led Toshinori in the direction of the neighborhood park and he allowed himself another sigh. He had a feeling he knew exactly what was going on. He’d had two years to learn the routine around here after all. Naomasa still seemed to be having trouble processing the events though, as he broke his tight silence to demand, “You have children, Toshi? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

     Toshinori managed to suppress the bloody cough that tried to rise at his friend’s accusing tone, “Um, I have? I mean, they aren’t actually my boys it’s just everyone calls them that because they’ve taken a liking to me, and Izuku doesn’t actually have a father figure in his life but really-!”

     Something like understanding and disbelief crossed Naomasa’s face, “Wait, those two boys you’re always bragging about? The ones who want to make the other kid the Number One hero? The ones you’d keep pictures of in your wallet if you weren’t terrified it would somehow put them in danger? They’re at the source of those explosions?”

     Toshinori felt heat bloom all over his face. It wasn’t his fault he bragged —a little— over the boys. They just had so much potential and heart, it was enough to make him cry sometimes. Izuku’s depthless kindness and truly genius mind for strategy. His courage and warmth despite having a quirk that came with a plethora of complications and disabilities. His passion for helping people that seemed to come to him as naturally as breathing. 

     Then there was Katsuki, with raw talent practically coming out of his ears, a protective streak as wide as China and a level of humility that bordered on an inferiority complex when it came to just how much good he did for the community. A boy with the natural disposition of a rabid porcupine who was trying so hard to better himself, even when it went against every instinct he had. Who had come so far but still held himself to some kind of invisible standard that made him fight and push and struggle to reach even higher.

     They were unquestionably the most heroic kids of their generation Toshinori had ever met. To the point where he had even begun to consider- Well. Passing the torch. He was just having a terrible time picking which one to pass it to…

     Okay yes, maybe he did brag about them too much to the few people he trusted, but he could hardly be blamed for it.

     Naomasa was still waiting for a response, so Toshinori swallowed his embarrassment and answered, “Yes. That would be them.”

     Another explosion echoed over the neighborhood and Naomasa gave him a look like Toshinori was insane, “And we aren’t running to help them … why? They could be in serious trouble!”

     Toshinori followed the sound off the paved park trails and into the deeper parts where the trees almost looked wild, “Because unfortunately, they are the trouble.” They had probably either gotten too intense in their sparring or had gotten into another fight with a pack of hoodlums who thought they could move in and bully the other kids in the area. Or, considering the explosion size, a single adult who thought he could sell them illegal drugs. Both boys got very angry when drugs were involved —even Izuku, who was usually the voice of calm reason— and while their fights were technically vigilantism, they’d never been arrested because they always had an excuse for why the fight was not their fault. 

     The usual excuse was for Katsuki to downplay his short fused temper while Izuku spun a sob story about how the other side had started it and it was just overenthusiastic self-defense. Since youth suicide and drug rates had been at a record low in the area ever since the two started having “self-defense encounters”, the local police had quietly turned a blind eye as thanks.

     The part of him that was All Might very much disapproved of it —they were just boys, the police shouldn’t rely on them to keep the peace like that—. The part of him that was Toshinori was just … so proud that they stood up for their neighborhood and so terrified they’d hurt themselves without proper training. He’d ended up making a compromise between his two halves by laying down ground rules for engagements —they couldn’t start the fights, they had to stay as non-violent as possible, they couldn’t hospitalize their opponents, and if they saw an actual villain they had to call it in instead of fight on their own— and then training them in self-defense by giving them “tips” he’d “picked up from being a Pro Hero’s secretary for so many years”.

     Naomasa opened his mouth to ask another question when an explosion ripped the air with enough force to bend trees. A fireball was visible in the near distance —he could feel the heat of it— and Toshinori caught a glimpse of a black figure winging out of the sky with a high scream that sent all his neck hairs on end.

     That was not normal. That wasn’t even Katsuki’s version of overkill when he lost his temper. That explosion had been made to do as much damage as possible and Izuku’s scream had been a call for help.

     Something was very, very wrong.

     Toshinori rounded the bend at a dead run. The Pro Hero part of his brain slammed to the forefront, cataloguing the situation —armed confrontation, five high-school age teens with bats and pipes down and out from minor explosions and controlled dragon-induced blunt trauma— and searching for Katsuki and Izuku.

     Katsuki was up against a half-broken tree, red eyes intense as he struggled upright. One of his wrists was at a bad angle and the smoke curling from the palm told Toshinori that he’d injured it making that last explosion. His forehead was bleeding —possible concussion, he’d have to check later—, his shirt was gone, and there was a nasty collection of bruises forming on his left arm and side.

     Izuku was crouched in front of Katsuki, wings flared protectively and blood dripping from a collection of shallow gashes on his side. His pupils were nothing but paper-thin slits, back arched like a cornered cat and his lips were peeled back to reveal sharp, bloodied teeth. The blue light of a fireball danced in the back of Izuku’s throat and his eyes had a maniac, wild gleam Toshinori had never seen in them before, like he was less a thirteen year old boy and more a rabid animal.

     Across from the boys was a teen with spiked metal plating covering every inch of his body save for a part of his arm where the metal appeared to have been bitten through. Blood dripped from some of the spikes on his hands and he was laughing at them with a mouth so wide Toshinori had no trouble seeing the black tongue within. Sh*t! Naomasa leveled his pistol at the metal spiked aggressor, “You! Down on the ground! Now!” At the sound of Naomasa’s voice both boys glanced frantically over at the two of them and Toshinori cursed as he realized that he couldn’t transform now —should’ve transformed earlier stupid, stupid—.

     But the drugged up teen didn’t seem to even be aware of their presence, just screamed something at Katsuki and Izuku —something about respecting betters and killing them for this— and lunged. Izuku reared up to meet the assault, blue plasma slamming against the oncoming metal chest of his attacker without effect. Toshinori saw the sharp hand spikes —already dripping blood, already proven capable of piercing Izuku’s hard scales— plunge for Izuku’s exposed chest and Katsuki lunge to try to pull his friend away and take the blow for himself somehow and-.

     A controlled —just enough not to kill, if only barely— Texas Smash sent the drug-using teen flying through several trees before he hit the ground and slid with enough force to form a trough in the dirt before stopping. All Might stood before the boys —Toshinori’s boys, his boys, that he had spent two years coming to love with all his heart for their determination and courage despite their secretly broken parts— and couldn’t find it in himself to smile. “Take a piece of advice. Stay down and give yourself up to the law.” His voice boomed over the suddenly quiet area, deep and dangerous.

     The black-tongued teen struggled to sit up, slurring angry nonsense the entire way and All Might brought his fist down on the teen’s head —lightly, couldn’t break the teen’s skull no matter how angry he was—, knocking him out cold. Naomasa was across the clearing in a heartbeat, one hand holding his phone to call in backup while the other pulled out the handcuffs he carried even off duty —both of them knew that All Might’s presence attracted trouble in either form—.

     Silence reigned heavy and angry in the area before it was broken by a shaky, slightly electronic, “Toshinori … san?” All Might startled and looked over his shoulder at the question, having forgotten for a moment that the boys were still there, still watching. Gleaming blue eyes locked first with wide, catlike green, then with worryingly blank blood red and All Might knew that nothing would ever be the same.

[in-tua-deep]

First time anon wanted to say I love all of your tua au’s. They are absolutely fantastic and I am soft for all of them. However I did amuse myself with the barking mad au, noticed you never write about Pogo in your au’s (do you not like him btw? No pressure on it just curious), but I just like the thought of him meeting/talking to partially feral!Five and he can’t quite figure out which language (animal or english) is more appropriate to say ‘master five what the ever living F****?!’ in.

!! hello first time anon! thank u for messaging

asdfHJGFSDG you caught me,, i don’t like Pogo and don’t think he should have a place in the children’s lives so I never write him into any of my aus because I lowkey want him to disappear

mainly because Pogo was complicit in their abuse to the point where even after Reginald was dead he was still keeping secrets - like he was complicit in drugging a child almost her entire life and emotionally abusing her by backing up the “You’re ordinary” narrative Reginald built up

and even after his death, Pogo stood up and said their dad left behind a complicated memory but then proceeded to compliment the man because presumably Pogo owed so much to him etc. etc. 

Grace I can excuse, because she’s a robot. She functionally had no free will since Reginald was fully capable of tinkering with her programming and forcing her to obey and keep quiet, but Pogo was an adult sentient being capable of free will and he still looked the other way. 

Yeah okay you could say maybe he did it because he was afraid that if he turned against Reginald, he wouldn’t have anywhere to go. You could say he didn’t know how to help beyond attempting to be there for the kids and turning a blind eye to some of their shenanigans (like going out to Griddy’s). BUT. After Reginald’s death he continued to keep the kids in the dark about their dad’s plan, withheld information, and made no move to correct anything. Like i’m pretty sure if he told Klaus “the box contained your father’s journal recording your sister’s power, no not allison, actually your dad drugged her all her life and I’d like to set the record straight on her being ‘ordinary’” klaus would have tried a hell of a lot harder to get it back

Grace, after Reginald’s death, was glitched out of her mind tbh but once fixed she made it clear that she did not support Reginald. After all, telling ur son that you’d like to go out when you were never permitted and then telling him that his dad isn’t around anymore to give orders is a pretty cool moment if I do say so myself

and in the day that wasn’t, Grace was going to tell all the secrets she’d been forced to keep over the years in the park as well. She tried to put it right pretty much as soon as she was capable

Pogo didn’t. He purposefully made efforts to continue Reginald’s plan, up to and including attempting to frame Grace for Reginald’s suicide, not telling Vanya about her powers, not telling anyone about that whole skeezy business, fixing Grace but then reminding her to keep secrets (which she rejects), and just generally. continued supporting a man we know to be an abusive piece of shit idk

so yEAH I don’t like Pogo and consider him to be an accomplice to Reginald’s abuse where I don’t hold Grace accountable because there’s free will involved and while he might have advocated for the children, I doubt he ever pressed if Reginald put his foot down which is why i never include him in anything lmao

as far as i’m concerned in all my aus he’s off chilling at one of Reggie’s other properties or something because Vanya doesn’t want him around (and for good reason) so he can live his days in retirement,,, anywhere else

as for the barking mad au, getting back to ur original ask, I think Pogo is?? Too human-ized? I doubt he’s been a proper chimpanzee for many years, a minimum of like. actually when was he introduced to the household? Was it before the kids were there? Average lifespan of a chimp is what, forty years? And he looked older with his cane and stuff so. Probably? 

But regardless I doubt he can understand anything Five is ‘saying’ with body language beyond what humans can read, mainly because dogs/cats and chimps are different (though Five also knows some sick birdcalls and can mimic alarm calls and ‘hello!’ and other cool thing) and feral!Five lived with only cats and dogs during the apocalypse. It’s a little like dumping a dog in with a colony of chimps - confusion on all sides rip so while Pogo probably would be like “Master Five what the Fuck” it’s more because Five is behaving like,, well,, an animal. Which all of the siblings are also thinking tbh

dog people or cat people would probably be able to pick up things here and there though. like that specific meow cats do when they Hunger, or the wiggling that says ‘happy and probably overstimulated’, and growls/hisses/showing teeth should be self explanatory tbh but like, there’s other things. Like quietly mirroring to hang out, slow blinks as affection, the way dogs will playfully run up and then run away in an almost crab scuttle to see if you’ll follow to play (with bonus jumping powers!), the either cowering down with metaphorical tail between legs or PUFFING UP to be the BIGGEST when threatened, whines that mean ‘hurry up!! come on!’ when someone is going too slow, the running ahead and running back to check and running ahead again

like look i have a pretty quiet dog all things considered, and i had an even quieter dog before they. She only really barks when people come up to the door tbh, but I Know People who own dogs like huskies who are the most vocal little shits in existence and who WILL scream when inconvenienced or nervous

(my sister, a vet student interning at a vets, has regaled me with tales of huskies brought to the clinic who just screamed like they were being murdered the entire time despite them not even being examined or anything. they were literally just chilling in the kennel.)

Feral!Five is actually more vocal than ur regularly scheduled Five but everyone wishes he Wasn’t (he’s also way less standoffish and very likely to just full body rub himself against his siblings or drape himself across them tbh bc like. if they wanted him to quit all they’d have to do is give a warning snap or growl or grumble and they don’t sO)

BUT HEY if u want to write something for the au then feel free to include Pogo and your idea because it is very cute!! I just don’t like Pogo and refuse to include him in things lmao