#no corrections to make! though I do think its important to note that just because the super bad stuff

[silverskye13]

heyy i am having Thoughts and you, beloved author, since u have ur asks open, get to hear them! woo 1. rotating ch4 in my head. “Why are you helping him?” Helsknight snapped, “Do you have any idea how rare it is that one of us wins?” 

ok helsknight, but what does happen when one of you win? How does it happen?? who has it happened with?? how does the universe react when something that wasnt really meant to exist manages to take all there is to take, and successfully kill something almost beloved to it, in its weird, eldritch, universe way? (And the universe said i love you because you are love etc.) (if that is what helsknight means?) 2. rotating tanguish and his origins in my brain even faster. it was always so interesting to me how different tanguish is from every other helsmet. he is absolutely a helsmet, twin appearance and parasitic connection and all, but he doesnt hate nearly as much. feel like tanguish, in a world of cruel, selfish, hateful brutes and very few meek fellas like himself (at least thats the impression i got on my first read? in the middle of my second, more thorough one atm) is the way that he is becuz almost everyone else formed not just from fear and insecurity, but hate and hurt. betrayal and desperate, spiteful last ditch efforts and hatred of- well if not others then yourself. even alongside fears, insecurities etc. all of them had hatred as one of their main components. tanguish wasnt made from hate, but from fear. hes meek and small and scared because hes born from tango's fear of being left behind, of being a burden etc. hes not born from self loathing (tho tango deffo has some) but from the fear of being abandoned, being left alone skye you are makign me so ill abt this lil guy /pos

(pls pls PLEASE feel free to correct me wherever im wrong i love hearing ur thoughts on this stuff sm)

Thoughts thoughts thoughts! I love hearing the thoughts!

I'm pretty sure Helsknight's version of "winning" is someone like Evil X, who doesn't worry about his hermit anymore because he's a permanent fixture. [And the universe said you are tolerated, and the universe said, for now, I will let you be.]

You're right! He really doesn't hate nearly so much. He wasn't made to, and its not beneficial for him to be! And if he's a parasite, he only wants what will help him -- and when did driving his hermit away ever help him? Fear however, has gotten him a lot of places.

[januaryembrs]

YOU CAN HEAR IT IN THE SILENCE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [9]

description: the TWO big steps you take together.

word count: 13.5k

trigger warnings: entire mr scratch episode including drugging and suic!de, gore, violence, blood, mention of Diana's schizophrenia, mention of hotch's upbringing

author's note: lets do this again UGH. also set throughout season 10 so even though it seems like a jump its been a whole year bcus I can't write about every day my babies spend together.

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‘Cause you can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home, you can see it with the lights out,

You’re in love. True love,’

The one where you meet his mom. [you have the parenthood talk]

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her thumbnail instinctively picking at the side of her forefinger as her eyes trailed over the dress in the mirror. 

It was a little too chesty, were the sleeves too short? Would his mom not like that it was backless? Backless meant suggestive to some people. Would she hate her piercings? She could take out a couple of her earrings just for one day, cover the hole where her nose ring slipped in with foundation easily. 

Smile, she needed to remember to smile, not that god awful resting bitch face that Elizabeth used to say looked like she’d sucked a lemon between her cheeks. Smile. No, not like that, that looks fake and awkward. 

Was her make up too much? She would hate for Spencer’s mom to think she looked like a hooker. A cheap one at that. 

She felt his hands on her shoulders before the throes of her vicious mind could nab her once more, and her eyes trailed behind her in the reflective, if not slightly fingerprinted, mirror. 

“You’re thinking loud,” Spencer said as if it was a fact, though that tended to be the way with him, since he knew damn near everything there was to know. Especially about her. “Why are you so worried, it’s my mom. Besides, what’s not to like about you?” 

She huffed, shaking her head even though she really tried her best to give him a smile, instead turning to look down at her hands with wincing, cynical twinge of her lips. 

“Maybe my tattoos or my make up or my slutty dress or my piercings that make me look like I just raided Penelope’s collection of ‘goth chic jewellery’, her words not mine,” She said pessimistically. She didn’t want to dampen the mood, honestly she was looking forward to the woman who graced the world with Spencer Reid (she wondered if a handshake or a hug would be appropriate, she would ask Spence in the car she decided,) “People don’t tend to see me the way you do, honey, I can be blunt and rude and snappy and cold. And it’s your mom, she’s like the most important person in the world to you.”

“She’s joint first, actually” Spencer corrected, trying to lift her spirits even a little. He knew none of the things she was saying were necessarily true. He suspected that voice that had overcome her was not her own at all, more likely her own mother nagging into to her for years to sit up straighter, smile more, make an effort to network and socialise, or any other piece of shit observation about how she acted for Elizabeth to badger her about. 

But then she smiled at him, her eyebrows drawn together a little like she guessed he was lying or perhaps sugarcoating things. 

“You’re allowed to have her first, you know,” Bugsy reassured him, her eyes melty and soft as she looked at him and he nodded, wrapping his arms around her stomach, almost like he was trying to suck the negativity out of her whole body through diffusion of their skin alone. “She’s your mom,” 

“I know,” Spencer said simply, their eyes never breaking the gaze at one another, and Bugsy felt herself warm inside when she saw just how besotted his forest hues were, “Please stop worrying, she’s going to love you,”

“You can’t know that for sure,” She pushed back, because when had she ever allowed herself to enjoy a good thing when she had it. She knew she was being somewhat of a Negative Nancy, and she didn’t mean to be, truly. But Diana Reid was possibly the most significant person in Spencer’s life, despite what he said. And Bugsy was… Bugsy. All teeth and chaos and bite and vicious tongue when she didn’t mean to be. 

If Diana didn’t like her, she wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to look at Spencer again without blurting out the million ways she’d try to make it up to him.

“Oh, I do know for sure actually,” He said, spinning her around so he could see her first hand, not in a reflection or a mirror image, and she smiled despite herself, pressing into his lean body and taking a big whiff of his freshly washed clothes. It was the same detergent she used, the same one he’d always used, and yet it was so Spencer it made her skin crawl with what she thought felt like warm goosebumps.

“Oh yeah?” He nodded proudly, and she progressed to a grin, her chin leaning against his chest as she spoke, and he stroked her neatly braided hair away from her face to see her better, like he’d won the second he saw her smile properly, “How do you figure that one out, wonder boy?”

“I’ve mentioned you in almost every single letter I’ve written to her for three whole years. When she saw the photo of you I sent her, she asked if I’d cut you out of a vogue magazine,” Spencer said and she burst out laughing. He couldn’t say he blamed his mom, the photo he’d sent had been one of Bugsy’s best, but then he’d be willing to argue all of them were just as newsworthy as the last. And nothing compared to the real thing. “You make me happy, happier than I ever thought I was allowed to be. Believe me, I know she’ll love you, because I love you,” 

Bugsy smushed her face into his sweater to hide her modesty, and she pressed a small, barely there kiss to where her lips met even if he wouldn’t feel it. 

“Does my hair look okay?” She checked again, her voice muffled by his thick knitted clothes, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead, stroking a gentle hand down her spine. 

“You look beautiful,” He said softly, pulling her away from his body and holding onto her right hand, “Give me a spin,”

He lifted her hand above her head, despite the fact she seemed reluctant and embarrassed, “Spence,”

“We’re not leaving until you give me a spin,” He teased, and his smile was infectious as she twirled around beneath his grasp, the long, floral, sundress fanning out around her knees, “And back again!”

“Spencer-” She said with a chuckle, but he seemed to ignore her, or judging by his smile that spread across his whole face he didn’t care.

“Sorry, it’s just the rules,” He said, though she was almost certain there wasn’t ever such a thing as a rulebook on how to make your girlfriend less of a whiny bitch.

He spun her back around, and by the time she whirled around to face him a second him, his arm dropped down to secure around her waist, yanking her towards him to press a scorching hot kiss to her lips. 

She kissed him back, her tongue trailing against his lip and Spencer’s obscenely large hand released her waist, trailing up her sides to cup her cheeks. Spencer kissed her like she was sucking air right out his lungs, like he was receiving life saving medicine, like he was being graced by an angel, a non-believer, a man of science reaching out to the white gates of heaven as if they were about to disappear under his touch. 

They parted with a small smack that reverberated in the bathroom, and Bugsy looked at him as if he’d infected her with a drug, because truthfully that was how his touch, his kiss, made her feel. 

They settled in his car, a few soft and loving affections later, because she really did look beautiful and he could apologise for smudging her lipstick another time, and Spencer it was the first time in a long time that Spencer felt like his future was laid out in front of him. 

–

She fretted some more in the lobby, the woman behind the desk at the sanitarium lighting up at the sight of Spencer walking towards her with a smile. 

“Dr. Reid,” She enthused, noting the woman next to him that squoze a book to her chest tightly like she wasn't sure what her fingers might do if they were let loose, “She’s been so excited to see you, her doctors said she’s responding well to the new medication,” 

“I heard, I’m glad to hear she’s feeling calmer,” He said, his eyes trailing past the brunette who tapped away at her keyboard idly, “Where is she?”

“She’s just in the sunroom. She’s been learning how to crochet, just like you said,” The receptionist smiled kindly at Bugsy, who looked all but terrified, though she hid it well through tight lips. 

Spencer nodded, reaching up to put a hand between Bugsy’s shoulder’s to lead her through the lounge area where a few other residents watched a black and white movie. 

“Are you sure my make up looks okay, my mascara hasn’t ran has it?” She whispered, because a few other people, some even her age, were sitting in comfy armchairs flicking through books. 

Spencer smiled at her, because she was so cute when she was nervous, usually it was the other way around, “You look lovely, you always look lovely,”

“I believe that’s what’s called voter bias, Dr Reid,” She said, because jokes and wit always seemed to release the pressure on her head when she was stressed. 

He chuckled, opening the door to a large room filled on all sides with windows, and the cosy heat hit her in the face, “Not if what I’ve said is a verifiable fact.” 

“Who’s your secondary source, Dr?” She said, because they seemed to fall into a nerdy sort of teasing when they were like this. Facts and figures were predictable, getting your boyfriend’s mother to like you based entirely on your personality was not. 

“My mom,” Spencer said, and her head whipped to his, ready to protest when he led her to the corner of the sunroom, where a woman sat with her ocean blue eyes screwed up in concentration where two blush pink hooks were crossing and bobbing between a cream thread of yarn, “Mom,”

Her eyes flew up from where she sat, immersed in the delicate movements. Spencer had said a few weeks ago her hands were becoming stiff on her new tablets, that the side effects were making her circulation poor and so Bugsy had been out to help him pick up a crochet kit from Walmart the very same day.

“Mom, this is Bugsy,” He said, and it was his turn to be almost shy as he gestured to the young woman. “The girl I was telling you about,”

Diana stopped for a moment, as if assessing the new face, the way her hair fell around her ears, and Bugsy clutched the hardback tighter to her chest, thinking that maybe she should have gone for something a little fancier than the small piece of twin that wrapped around the present. First time meeting his mom and this was the best you could do, really Bugsy? Where’s the flowers or even another ball of yarn to keep her occupied? 

Bugsy swore her breath caught, her brows furrowing together worriedly as she went to hold a shaky hand out to Diana, but then second guessed herself when she wondered if the loathing of spreading germs was shared between Spencer and his mom. She’d forgotten to check when they were in the car- stupid- stupid girl.

“H-hello, Mrs Reid,” She said quietly, shakily, holding out the book to the woman. Diana Reid looked good for her age, considering Spencer had told her on numerous occasions that she struggled to pretty herself up the way she used to before her Schizophrenia had spiralled. But her hair was a warm blonde with only small traces of grey in it, short around her neck likely for practicality, and despite the fact her face seemed somewhat grumpy, though Bugsy would describe her as lost more than anything, she lit up like a damn firework on the fourth of July the second she saw her son. 

“Spencer!” She exclaimed, holding a hand out for her son to take, which he did so without hesitation. Bugsy thought she might be going in for a hug, maybe that she’d missed the hint that Bugsy was trying to greet her, which the young girl didn’t mind one bit. She was well aware she was stepping on their time together, “Help me out of this chair, I left my glasses in my room, I want to see her,” 

Bugsy felt heat rush to her cheeks as Diana all but threw her crochet set to the little table beside what seemed to be a lukewarm mug of coffee, and Spencer helped her out of the recliner, Bugsy holding out another hand in case she needed it. She was tall once she stood to full height, taller than Bugsy would have thought she would be, and hands were on her shoulders the second Diana had released her son. 

“Oh, look at you!” Diana exclaimed, and Bugsy tried not to falter with embarrassment under her words. But his mother’s hands were soft, if not rough on the tips where she had spent her life flicking through pages on pages of literature, “I’ve always told Spence he was a looker but, my god, you’re a catch even for him,” 

“Mom,” He said indignantly, but Bugsy chuckled through flaming cheeks. Diana waved him off in favour of smiling at the girl, and the second she met eyes with the woman who had raised Spencer Reid she saw where he got his good heart from. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs Reid,” She stumbled over her words, trying for a second time to give her the book, and Diana looked almost aghast that she had brought her a present, “Spencer said you’d finished all your books they let you keep here so I bought you one of my favourites-”

“How could I resist The Great Gatsby,” Diana said, running a polished thumb over the gold printed writing, a small smile playing at her lips, “I’ve been meaning to brush up on Fitzgerald,”

Spencer smiled at his mother, who seemed more full of life than she had in weeks, before she waved her hand in front of the two of them, and Bugsy wondered if she had done something wrong. 

“And none of this Mrs Reid crap. You're not the IRS, Diana is just fine, honey,” She said, and Bugsy grinned, nodding in agreement with the older woman. “Mom is even better if you’re feeling brave,” 

“O-okay, absolutely,” She said, smiling even wider when Spencer seemed almost aghast his mother was being so brazen. Though he needn’t be so prudent, Bugsy was certain she loved her already. 

“And how is my big strong FBI agent?” Diana turned to her son finally and he shook his head, his eyes full of boyish affection for the women. 

“There’s dozens of words I think would perfectly describe me yet ‘big and strong’ fall nowhere in that category, mom,” He said, smiling widely at his mother who rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. She seemed more like herself than she had in years, her eyes were clearer, her nerves weren’t shot like usual. She seemed like the mother from his best memories. 

“Alright, how does ‘contumelious’ work out for you?” She cracked back, and he laughed, shaking his head and he caught the pure warm grin radiating from Bugsy’s direction at the two of them. 

And Bugsy saw in the kind, devoted eyes that hid behind Diana’s fluffy white, blonde hair where Spencer got his gentle soul; as if no amount of medication or illness would ever make his mother let up on the tenderness she held for him. She felt it in the air alone, the way they fell into sync only blood could ever achieve, and for a flash of a thought, Bugsy wondered if Spencer would be so doting on their children. 

And for the first time all day she didn’t need to second guess herself. She already knew the answer. 

–

“And this was Spencer in the mathletes,” Bugsy’s hand flew to her mouth to suppress the ‘aww’ threatening to tumble from her lips, because she knew from the way his cheeks had turned a bright rouge that he was embarrassed and she hated to make him feel like she was finding humour in his shame. 

It was easy to see which one was him from the offset. Three college boys who had probably spent the best part of their first years begging sorority girls to fuck them and eating funny brownies stood at the back, atleast in their late teens judging by their late-adolescene acne and braces. Yet there, standing in front of them dressed in a tweed sweater vest and pressed brown trousers as if he was a small grandpa, was a scrawny pole of a boy, peeking out from behind a sweeping fringe in need of a trim and a pair of  bubble-like glasses. 

He was smiling wide, holding some sort of trophy in between his slender, little fingers, and Bugsy could bet her entire savings that he had answered almost all of his team’s questions. 

“Spence,” She murmured, taking the photo gently between her fingertips where she sat in between her partner and his mother at the foot of Diana’s bed, “You were so cute,” 

“You can just say dorky,” He corrected, fighting the urge to cover his cheeks with his hands, because he could feel the way they gave away his self-consciousness. 

But she shook her head, leaning into him with adoring eyes as she stared at the photo, “No, I mean cute. Look at your little hair, you were so tiny- aw!” 

He laughed awkwardly, not missing the way she put a hand on his leg in reassurance, and Diana handed her another photo of a toddler with thick dark hair, those hazel eyes she loved, huge and round on the baby's smiling face. Bugsy melted when she saw the milk teeth gleaming in the midst of his laugh, yet she burst into sheepish giggles when she realised baby Spencer had no clothes on. 

Spencer’s eyes widened when he saw the thing dangling between his legs as the picture captured him crawling towards where Diana had the camera. “Mom!” 

Diana rolled her eyes, producing another one of Spencer watering the flowers with the garden hose, barely one year old in a bucket hat and, yet again, nothing else. “Oh, Spencer, don’t give me that, look how cute those little butt cheeks were,” 

Bugsy slapped a hand over her mouth, her brows pulling together at the endearingly innocent photos, and she met Spencer’s gaze again, the urge to squish his cheeks in between her fingers suddenly itching her hands. Though, judging by the embarrassment in his expression, he wouldn’t like it very much even if she did mean the best of intentions.  

“You were so adorable,” She confessed, looking back down at the two tiny, round butt cheeks that made something well in her chest because it was Spencer, so small and vulnerable and helpless. She turned to Diana, her eyes wide with love, “How did you not want just millions of them?” 

The woman laughed, leaning against Bugsy and palming off another photo, this time of Spencer in swimming trunks at the beach, likely around two or three, a line of white sun cream running down his nose and cheeks as he looked to be grumbling about the sand on his legs. 

“Because I knew none of them could ever be as special as my Spencer, and then that just wouldn’t be fair on them.” She said simply, and Bugsy smiled at the woman, truly smiled, because despite everything her illness set against her, she loved her son more than anything in the world. “You don’t win the lottery and then pawn in your rings for a couple bucks, now do you?” 

Bugsy chuckled, shaking her head. Elizabeth had never been so doting on her. She knew she shouldn’t think about her, shouldn’t compare the two of them because they weren’t similar even in the slightest. Diana was a single mother of a deadbeat husband who left, she battled a disease day in-day out that threatened to eat away at her brain, her memories of her son who thought the world of her, and she was still a better mother than hers had ever been. 

Part of her felt that bitter sting that never really left her since she was thirteen, since she saw the maid at breakfast time more often than she ever saw her mother, the kid that got picked up and dropped off in another country like she was furniture, a barbie doll for her mother to primp and clean and boast about her big brain to her colleagues without ever showing a semblance of affection for the girl reading material eight years above her grade level. 

Diana was living proof that no matter what, it’s not a challenge to love your children the way Elizabeth had always made it out to be, that she was difficult to love even for her own mother. 

Bugsy bit the emotion back, knowing it was just the baby photos ramping up her hormones, and felt herself fall perhaps even more in love with Spencer Reid when she saw the photo of him at Christmas dressed as a Jedi. 

–

She was quiet on the way home, her stomach warm with fondness, her hand warm with his palm as they held hands on top of the gearstick. 

She watched the last of the sun peek through the trees in a cantaloupe orange and candy-floss pink swirl, and she let herself close her eyes under the day’s worth of laughter. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer said after a moment, giving her hand a small squeeze when she didn’t answer right away, and he wondered if she may have even fallen asleep, feeling immediately guilty for waking her. 

She looked at him with an uneasy smile on her face, and his brain threw up a million different reasons for it, almost all of them making him worry.

“I know my mom is a lot,” He said, his tone jittery and she started shaking her head immediately, forgetting he couldn’t see where he was looking at the road, “I know she’s-”

“She’s wonderful, Spencer. God, no, it’s not that. I loved her,” Bugsy cut him off, and his shoulder’s immediately sagged in relief. She moved her hand to tuck a single lock of hair behind his ear, and he nudged into her touch on instinct. 

“Then what’s wrong?” He asked, his brows pulled together in worry as they came to a red stop light, and he put the Beetle into neutral. He looked over at her then, and he saw the way the grin had slipped off her face, leaving her with something oddly unreadable, though if he had to put a name to it, he would say doubtful, and she swallowed thickly. 

“Do you ever worry…” She paused herself, because she already could see their picture perfect day spiralling down the drain like yesterday’s woes, “It’s nothing, just forget I said anything,”

“No, tell me,” Spencer insisted, and the road around them seemed to hold its breath waiting for her reply. He’d taken a nice route home, claiming he wanted to skip the eight pm traffic, whatever that was, had cut through one of those neighbourhoods they show on holiday brochures or estate agents' windows. The kind people with kids and volvo’s and yoga mom groups lived in.  

Her eyes snapped out the front window when four young boys zipped past them on their bikes, their knees muddy from where they’d probably spent the day playing soccer, their clothes just as messy and torn, likely waiting to be scolded by their mothers for their recklessness. And pulling up the rear was a kid smaller than the others, jogging after them, wanting to cross the road before the light turned green, his glasses slipping down his nose with every step, and some weird, small part in Bugsy’s gut wanted to throw her arms around him and walk him home to make sure he got there safely. 

Spencer’s hand was on her thigh, pulling her out of her thoughts for a second time, and she blinked a little too harshly, wishing she could just enjoy a lovely day for what it was rather than putting such a downer on things. 

“I haven’t spoken to my mom since Emily’s funeral,” She said, swallowing heavily, and understanding passed over his face then. He knew he would never have with Elizabeth what they had just had with his mother. Even if she retired tomorrow and wasn’t jetting off to another country every week, Elizabeth Prentiss was a cold, shrewd woman who could make someone, mainly her daughters, feel empty just by being in the same room. 

Her damning grey eyes, her tight lips that never smiled, her harsh brow. 

“I don’t think she even kept any of my baby photos, none that don’t have her in them at least,” She confessed, and the lights flashed to amber, then green, and he was forced to let go of her for just a moment as he pulled off again, “I don’t… I don’t think she ever liked me.”

He had no idea what to say that would make it better. Usually he was so good at wriggling her problems out from the core, proving all her worst fears were wrong with simple logic. Yet he was at an end. Because Elizabeth had never shown any sign of loving her daughters, truly loving them beyond trophies. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” He tried, pulling over to stop at the curb because he hated speaking to her when he was distracted. “Some people just have a funny way of showing these things,” 

But she shook her head, turning her eyes to her lap, “Your mom is… Amazing. And I feel like a total asshole for complaining about mine when yours is sick most of the time. And I know things weren’t great- I mean you were just a kid, you should have never had to look after her, it’s supposed to be the other way around, you know? But you’ll know she’s always loved you, like truly, truly loved you. I mean, you’re her whole world,” She rushed, like the thoughts had been bouncing around her head all day, waiting to burst out at the seams, which they had. 

Spencer took the keys out of the ignition, shuffling in his seat to face her, and he only realised then she was watching where the four boys had taken off down the street on their bikes, the smallest one trailing at the back like a lost puppy. 

“Don’t you ever worry sometimes I’ll be..” She started, and he knew where it was going before she forced herself to finish. Taking her hand in his, weaving his fingers between hers and squeezing them tight. 

“Like your mom?” He said for her because the words were lingering in the air like alphabet soup. She nodded silently, grateful that he always seemed to know how her brain was ticking over. She reminded herself to make it up to him later, “Never,”  

“But-” She started, and he grabbed her chin then, forcing her to look at him. He smiled dopily, because usually it was him who needed to be told how other people felt, and she swore his eyes had never looked so sweet. 

“Never,” He repeated, feeling the smile spreading under his fingertips as it took the second turn for her to hear it, “If anything, I worry more about becoming like my dad,”

Her brows furrowed, and she shook her head again. Sometimes Spencer wondered if she knew she was so expressive. It was one of his favourite parts about her.

“Never,” She echoed back to him, and they shared a sombre smile, squeezing each others hand just that bit tighter, “I tell you what, the second either one of us starts becoming our parents, we have the right to call them a jackass,”

He laughed, nodding his head and leaning over the centre console to press his forehead to hers, “Alright, deal. Although I think I hear Freud rolling in his grave at that statement.” 

She kissed him, hard, because she would never be able to tell him exactly how he made her feel with words alone. Over two hundred thousand words in the English Language, at least five other languages she could speak fluently, and yet not one of them knew how to describe this feeling. Like she had been absorbed so completely, effortlessly, by Spencer Reid. That she was disease ridden, riddled with Reid. 

And the thought made her giggle into the kiss, because she would have to tell him some other time. Her hand ran through his hair, pulling him closer, and his hand skirted down to her waist to tease underneath her shirt. 

They pulled away after a moment, staring with the same dazed look in their eyes. 

“We have three more days in Vegas,” She started, fixing his collar and hair with idle fingers and pressing an absent peck to his lips, “Do you think we could go back one more time? To see your mom? If that’s okay with her, of course,” 

And he smiled widely at her, nodding and pulling her in for another long kiss. They had a dinner reservation in a half hour, but he didn’t mind being five minutes late for once in his life, not if it meant he was with her. 

The one with Scratch. [he buys a ring]

He’d walked past the jewellers three times that week on his way back from the coffee shop. Bugsy had a fair bit of paperwork to catch up on, despite him offering to halve her load with her because Hotch had already warned them once about the complaints he got from the other agents that she was using Reid’s memory as an unfair advantage, although he would argue that her brain was just as capable as his. 

So, he’d been sent on a coffee run alone. He wasn’t complaining, it was just down the road, barely even a five minute walk, and it meant he got to look at the range of neatly cut diamonds in peace.

He wasn’t looking to buy it soon, at least that was what he’d told himself the first time he’d seen the pretty one in the corner. He was just having a browse, perhaps just looking at the watches they had on display and his eye had happened to fall to the women’s section below. The second time he’d stopped for a look, it was just to see if anyone had bought that one he’d seen the first time, and when he realised they hadn’t, his heart gave a somewhat relieved sigh that he decided he would confront later. 

By the third time, the shop keeper stuck his head out the door, making Spencer jump. 

“Either you’re buying or you’re fogging up my window, kid,” The old man’s voice was gruff, but he had kind eyes, that of a romantic, and Spencer supposed you didn’t sell a dozen engagement rings a day and not feel hopeful. 

“J-just looking,” He stammered, taking a step away from the rings and double checking he hadn’t gotten any smudges on the glass, “Not to buy right now, just for future reference,”

“No one comes back that many times for future reference, son,” He said with a chuckle and Spencer hated the part of him that said that he was right, “Why not for right now?”

Spencer huffed quietly, wondering if her coffee would be cold by the time he got back at the rate he was going, “It’s still a little early. I don’t want to freak her out,”

She had been his girlfriend for one year, seven months and two weeks (and four days but who was counting). It had been her thirtieth birthday just a couple months ago, as far as he was concerned Bugsy had never dropped any hints about wanting to marry any time soon like he knew other women did at this time in their life. 

He was happy where they were, in their apartment, in their semi-public relationship, with their boys that were starting to look a little grey and rickety on their paws. Spencer didn’t want anything to ruin that, even if that one ring did seem to call out to him like a siren song. 

The jeweller grinned slyly, like he knew something Spencer didn’t, but he nodded at the kid nevertheless, “Well, that little number in the corner you’ve had your eye on has had two offers already, incase that sways your hand at all,” 

And Spencer felt the jolt of injustice in his head at the idea of someone else taking that ring, one that he couldn’t get out of his head the entire way back to the office, one that only went away when he saw her smiling up at him. 

One that only dissolved when he imagined how she would look wearing it. 

–

“Tell Penelope I said hi,” Director Axelrod murmured, turning on his heel and heading back to his car as Hotch flashed a look down at the paper, the name ‘Peter Lewis’ scribbled out on the line and he passed the paper to Bugsy where she peered around his shoulder. 

“Get this to Garcia, Lewis has his final victim already,” He said and she nodded, the two of them heading back to the car. Bugsy pulled her cell out her pocket, immediately calling their tech whizz where the rest of the team were at the office an hour away. 

“Peter Lewis, born and raised in Jacksonville, Florida. To call him a Math genius would be an understatement,” Garcia reported, her press on nails clicking against the keyboard as she worked in the candlelight since Lewis had hacked into their electric systems. 

“Where was he in the foster system?” Hotch asked, Bugsy holding the phone up over the centre console so they could both speak to their team.

“He was… ugh this WiFi hotspot is the worst,” They waited, Hotch heading for the freeway, “He was not in the foster system. He had two very biological parents and they ran the foster home until it- oh dear,”

“Looks like we found Mr Scratch,” Rossi sighed, and Bugsy’s brows furrowed, waiting for a response. 

“So one of the boys in the house said Peter’s dad would dress up as the devil then the other kids would follow suit, this has to be where all the victims stayed before they were adopted and their names were changed,” JJ chimed in. 

“Did Lewis’s father serve any time?” Bugsy piped up, chewing the inside of her cheek because the whole case had given her the heebie jeebies. Grown ups reporting sights of shadow monsters and waking up with dead loved ones. She thought by now she had heard it all. 

“The case was pending and then he was killed in jail for being a paedophile. Peter’s residency is still listed as Florida,” Garcia said, her mouse whirling around at the speed of light judging by the soft ticks they heard on their end. 

“He broke into FBI files to find someone in witness protection, did any of the kids from the home end up in WITSEC?” Hotch asked, clicking the blinker down to chand lanes and overtake the ford infront of them. 

“That would be… no? No, none of them,” Garcia replied, and the team shared a confused pause. 

“Who the hell is he still hunting?” 

Hotch spoke up, his own mind whirring as to who could possibly be Lewis’ endgame, “Garcia, who ran the investigation in Florida?”

“Hold on, that would be Dr. Susannah Regan, who went into witness protection on a very nice estate in Columbia, Maryland,” Bugsy and Hotch looked at one another, sharing the same thought and the unit chief floored the gas pedal, knowing Regan didn’t have a whole load of time left if Peter had gotten to her already. 

“Send Reid the location, we’re on our way,” Hotch ordered, and Penelope was already ten steps ahead, Rossi and JJ grabbing their vests and heading for the garage. 

Bugsy hung up, checking her gun was still holstered as Hotch launched them the final five minutes to Dr Regan’s home. 

And yet she couldn’t help feel like they were walking into the belly of the beast the victims had been describing. 

–

Garcia hadn’t been kidding when she said it was a nice estate. By the time they’d gotten out the car, the entire street was silent, a quiet only lots of acres and high gates bought you. 

“You stay behind me, we watch each other's six. We get Dr Regan and we get out, are we clear?” Hotch muttered, his eyes darling to the living room window where the curtains had been pulled closed, one single lamp left lit. 

She nodded, the two of them edging towards the door that had already been left open a crack, “Crystal,” 

He took a second to breath, wondering if they should wait for back up, but Savannah didn’t have alot of time, not if the unsub was already inside like he suspected, before he raised his hand up to the knocker and snapped it a couple times, pushing the door open. 

“Dr Regan?” 

“It’s open, come in,” The woman’s voice called, though it sounded too chipper to be authentic, some sort of uncanny valley as if it was an automated response from an answering machine. 

Checking Bugsy was still behind him, he pushed on, his footsteps light and quiet, eyes scanning the large antechamber, the grand piano sat in front of a huge fireplace cold to the touch, the lights all switched off despite the owner being home. 

Maybe Dr Regan was cheaping out on her bills. But Bugsy doubted it. Something in her gut didn’t sit right. 

“Are you alright?” Aaron called, his torso squeezing against his vest as he scanned what he could see from the room, and she held up behind him, flicking a look over her shoulder every once in a while for movement from the other rooms. 

“Agent Hotchner, I got Agent Rossi’s message,” She said, again in that cheery voice, despite her words claiming she understood she was in peril, and the sound of it made Bugsy’s chest seize with suspicion. 

“Doctor, you’re in danger, you need to come with us,” She explained, her eyes squinting to see in the damning lowlight of the home. 

“I understand,” That robot voice spoke, “I’m in the study,” 

They paused for a second, exchanging another look before pressing on because they had no time to lose over silly hesitations. Passing through the entrance into the room lined with bookshelves on bookshelves, expensive tapestry on expensive tapestry, their heads flicked over to a frail older woman that somewhat resembled the woman they’d been sent from Penelope, when she had was freshly turned twenty five with a sparkly new bookdeal under her nose. 

She sighed in gratitude when the entered, and Bugsy held back a moment as Hotch moved in, keeping her finger on the trigger, “I’m so glad you’re here, you need to see this,” Savannah produced a long, glass sharp letter opener that could easily pass for a knife with the eight inch edge of it, “He wants you to see this.”

And with that, without hesitation or caution she jammed the knife through her own windpipe as if puppeteered by a master, and Bugsy leapt forward to try stop the bleeding just as Aaron did. 

Only she never got that far, because no sooner had she stepped forward a hand reached out from the darkness, grabbing her by the scruff of her hair and throwing her to the floor while she had been caught off guard. Pain exploded behind her eyes as her nose met the hardwood floor, and she swore she cracked a tooth or two. Her hand scrambled out for her gun, only to watch a large black boot stomp down on her digits that made her hiss in pain. 

She heard a scuffle up ahead where Peter had managed to grab Hotch equally unaware, and she watched her unit chief tumble to the floor, smacking his head on the table on his way down. 

And it was then that she smelled it. A raw chemically odour that ran up her bloodied nose, went into her mouth when she tried calling out for Hotch, and it made her cough up a thick mucus before it had even slid down her throat. 

She heard shots fired, and it was enough for her to reach out for her own gun again, hoping that Lewis was distracted enough to not pay attention to her, only to realise somewhere in the scuffle he had kicked her weapon across the floor. 

When had he done that? Why hadn’t she seen him? Probably because the pain behind her eyes had damn near wiped her vision into a blur of white. 

It was then the nausea hit her, the vertigo washing over her like she’d stood up too fast, only she wasn’t standing up at all, in fact she was pretty sure she was on her hands and knees trying to crawl towards Hotch. 

Hotch, who lay on the floor with his own eyes rolling like the room was spinning for him too, and she wondered how on earth anyone could have beaten Hotch. He was a rock, immovable, irreplaceable, forever. 

“Hotch-” She garbled out, her voice tragic and weak in a way he’d never heard before. 

And he opened his mouth to speak, only to find his own voice gone when he saw the figure leering over her body, a glint of a knife in his hand, and Aaron wanted to know how he had managed to emerge out of the shadows when he could have sworn Lewis was right next to him. 

The drug, it had to be the drug. God his eyelids were heavy, what had they been in this house for?

But Aaron felt a scream lodge in his mouth, sounding more like a yelp, something that could have been a mix of ‘no’ and raw anger because Peter had brought one of those big black boots behind him and kicked Bugsy so hard in the gut she flew to her side like roadkill, the wind leaving her lungs with a whimper of pain, and her eyes never left Hotch’s gaze as he did so. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to need some alone time with Mr Hotchner here,” Lewis said, and before Aaron could plea or beg, he watched the man lean down and drive a swift line across her throat, as if he were simply gutting a pig, and her carotid artery was sliced clean in two, her blood spewing all over Aaron’s shoes, seeping into the floor. 

And Aaron went to scream, felt the tears well in his eyes because he’d failed her, only this time, unlike Hailey, he was forced to watch every second of life trickle from her face as she bled out onto the floor, choking and clawing at the floor for reprieve. 

What would he say to the team, to Spencer? What would he say to Emily?

Aaron let himself sob, shaking his head in denial and squeezing his eyes tightly shut, hoping to god medical would get here soon. It would be too late by then, he already knew it. 

Bugsy was dead. There wasn’t any miracle fix or band aids that were going to fix that. 

And yet in the next moment the sound of her body writhing in desperation against the floor, the sight of which he couldn’t even bring himself to watch, it had gone quiet. 

And Aaron peeled his eyes open, wondering if she had passed, if she was still in pain, if she wanted someone to hold her hand as she went, and he urged his heavy muscles to do something god damnit anything to help her, except his body felt like lead and even opening his eyes was too much for him. 

But there was nothing there. Not the puddle of blood he’d just watched spill over the flooring, not her hand reaching out for him, clawing at her throat for reprieve and certainly not a body of a girl he once loved like a daughter who would stay with him for a lifetime. 

All of it, just… gone. 

“Don’t you worry, Mr Hotchner, I’m saving the girl for later. Can’t have a pretty thing like that go to waste,” Lewis smiled toothily, and Aaron wanted to wrap his hands around the bastard’s throat, wring the life out of him until he was a crumpled mess on the floor, “But for now, it’s you and me, Aaron. And I think you should answer your phone. Your team are on their way for you,”

–

Her scream was piercing, cut through two walls. He could hear it the second they stepped out of the car. He’d all but thrown himself out the vehicle before Anderson had even stopped, probably would have barged right through the front door without even drawing his gun if it hadn’t been for Morgan grabbing him. 

“Reid, Reid, no-” Derek said, even though his voice wavered, his head flicking back at the house, “You can’t just head in there without backup, it could be a trap, man,” 

“She’s in there, can’t you hear her?” Spencer said, his eyes wide with terror as the sound of her screaming kicked up a whole other decibel and Spencer's stomach churned at the thought of what might be the root cause of it, “Please, Morgan, I can’t-” 

He didn’t even realise his eyes had welled up at the sound alone until he couldn’t finish his words, and Derek was staring at him with an equally solemn expression. 

JJ rounded the other SUV, Rossi at her tail, their guns drawn low to their thighs as they gave Derek a nod; ready to enter. 

“Just promise me you’ll keep your head, Reid,” Morgan said with a cautious tone. Realistically, Spencer should have stayed back at the office with Kate. He was too emotionally invested in the case, though no one wanted to be the one to argue that with him, knowing Spencer would only fight back that they would all struggle to keep their cool once they entered the house. 

Because the UnSub had Hotch and Bugsy. He’d taken family. He’d made it personal. 

And then, just as Spencer nodded, unholstering his own gun and making sure his vest was tightened at his waist, perhaps the worst happened. 

A shot fired from inside the house, loud and unmistakable over the deafening cries and Bugsy’s screaming stopped. 

–

Spencer didn’t even remember entering the house, not really, despite his promise to Morgan. He felt like his heart was in his throat, images of Maeve’s brain matter splattered over the warehouse floor flooding his head, because apparently a revolver can cut through two heads at once and still pack a punch.

Spencer was realistic, had sprung into a clinical sort of worry that told him exactly how many times he’d told her he loved her (two thousand, six hundred and seventeen times) and that maybe that wasn’t enough. It told him the amount of kisses they’d shared could have easily been doubled if he dared to steal them more often before bed, if he’d been honest with her years before he had, if he’d just taken five minutes off his showers. 

He had barely survived Maeve dying. If Bugsy was gone… there would be nothing left of him. Nothing important anyway. Just a body, limbs, a heart that would never beat again. He wagered even his blood would stop because the idea of her gone from the world had already made him cold. 

He heard movement in the living room, and judging by the way Derek’s head whipped over to their right, he had too. And before they could raise their guns up to aim, Derek edging forward to kick the door in with pure, simmering rage, a voice sounded out from the other side. 

“In here!”

Hotch. Hotch, who sounded like he was weeping, or at least had a frog in his throat, hummed his words almost. The men drew a breath of relief, Derek reaching forward to open the living room door, his weapon still tight in between his fingers as he pushed. 

“Hotch?” He said, though Spencer’s eyes cast around the room the second he confirmed his unit chief was okay. He had a nasty gash on his head, likely from where he’d fallen, and his pupils were dilated. Drugged. “Hotch, where’s Bugsy?”

“H-he took her-” Aaron slurred, attempting to get to his feet, holding out a hand to the sofa and using the furniture to claw himself up to a stand, “Upstairs I think- I need to get her- Where’s my gun-”

Morgan rushed in to grab Hotch under his arms as Rossi and JJ burst in from the kitchen, Rossi calling out behind them for medical attention. 

“Hotch, you’re not going anywhere, you need to- Reid,” Morgan yelled, but Spencer ignored him. Because he could apologise later. 

Lewis had Bugsy alone, had taken her upstairs, that was what Hotch said. And Spencer couldn’t stand by and wait while they had no idea what was happening to her. He heard JJ’s footsteps pounding behind him, following him up the stairs, and he knew he should be paying more attention for any hint if Lewis was still in the building. But he didn’t. All he could think about was those screams. Raw. Guttural. Like she was being skinned alive. 

His eyes trailed the empty bedrooms, any sign of movement whether it be Lewis or the woman he would trade his own life for in a heart beat if it came down to it. But there was nothing there, not even as JJ swept the other handful of rooms, leaving them with one small storage room at the end of the hallway, and the two of them cast a glance at one another. 

JJ nodded to him, and he reached out a shaky hand, praying on everything in the vast universe he’d spent his entire life learning about that someone heard him begging to keep his Bugsy alive. 

He slid the door open, cocking his gun up to the figure in the corner, his own weapon at his feet as he smiled in a smug manner. 

JJ took stock of their surroundings, waiting for the trap they were walking into to spring, only he held his hands out in surrender. 

Because he had already gotten what he wanted. He had killed Dr Regan, and taken two cops down with him. 

“Where is she?” Spencer spat, handing JJ cuffs as the woman grabbed him harsher than she should do, because the pleased look on his face was infuriating, only made worse by the chuckle that bubbled out of his mouth. 

“She’s in the closet,” He nodded his head to the smallest bedroom, and Spencer’s eyes narrowed, “She sure is a darling, isn’t she? So easy to tame once that smart mouth of hers was gone,” 

Spencer wanted to shoot him between the eyes there and then, put him down like the sick dog he was, but instead he fled after where Lewis had directed him, because he didn’t know if she was injured herself or if it was already too late.

For once in his life, Spencer Reid knew nothing. 

–

And then he saw her. 

She was alive, thank god she was alive, a dent in her nose that suggested he’d thrown her to the ground face first, her knees skinned, her palms scratched. 

But that wasn’t what worried him.

Because no sooner had he opened the door to the closet, reaching forward to yank her hands off her ears, or maybe pull her for a hug, or maybe break down into sobs and tell her how sorry he was he couldn’t have stopped any of it, she’d started screaming again. 

He didn’t think after so many years on the job he’d ever heard something so gut-wrenching. For a moment he thought he might even be sick. Because it was full of pure terror. Not the childish fright you get from a scary movie or a loop de loop on a rollercoaster, but blood curdling fear like he had never heard before. 

It was enough to have Morgan running up the stairs with his gun drawn, only to see Spencer frozen, his hands reaching out to grab her, and it was only then the agent realised Reid was trying to speak to her. 

“Baby, baby it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Spencer, you know me,” He said, his lip quivering, his words warbling with tears, “Please, please come back to me, I don’t know what to do- please just tell me what to do-” 

“Reid, she’s not herself. Hotch said Lewis made him see things, awful things, just like he did with the other victims,” Morgan said, holstering his gun, his own resolve crumbling when he came closer and realised she had her eyes screwed tightly shut, curling herself into a ball in the corner like a kid trying to hide from the boogey-monster.

But Spencer didn’t listen, he couldn’t accept that they had found her alive and still he had been too late, didn’t want to accept that he had her in his grasp and yet she was still living her a personal hell with no end in sight. 

“Please, please, come back to me,” He sniffled, leaning forward onto his knees to try hold her hands in his, maybe get her to hear his voice and wake up from whatever nightmare she was stuck in, “Come on, I got you,”

“No, no, no, you’re not real, you’re not real,” She screeched, shoving his hands off her, and it was then he saw the dribble of tears running off her nose, “You’re not, I won’t kill him, I won’t-”

It was the ravings of a mad woman. But Spencer didn’t doubt for one second that whatever was happening inside that big brain of hers felt entirely real. He heard Morgan draw a sharp breath, turning to face away from the girl and steady himself where his dark eyes lined with woe and salt. 

Spencer hated seeing her cry, hated not knowing how to help her even more, and he didn’t care if she pushed him away even more. He had to hold her, hold her and make her listen, make her understand she was safe because he was there. 

Spencer swore then and there that he wouldn’t let anything touch her ever again as long as he lived. 

It took everything in him to ignore the way her hands scratched at his wrists desperately, and he wondered if in her mind he’d taken the form of some beast ready to swallow her whole. But he was sure he could calm her down with some coaxing, get her to see what was real if he was patient and gentle enough. He scooped an arm under her legs that shook, and it only took him a second to realise he had peed herself in the throes of her nightmare, the sight of it causing another cry to roll from his tongue. He didn’t care about the mess, because his entire focus was on her as her hands thrashed against his chest, trying everything to get him off her, even when his other hand wrapped around the back of her head and pressed her tightly into his shoulder, squeezing her against him in his lap like she was an inconsolable child. 

“Please, please, I can’t, I can’t do it again, I don’t understand,” She wailed, her voiced croaking and pathetic and he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d damaged her vocal chords, “I don’t understand,” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” He cooed softly, pressing his head next to her ear and rocking her slowly, “It’s me, it’s Spencer. I’m real, this is real,”

Her hands stopped their fight against his body, his own grip tight and not showing any signs of letting go any time soon as he waited for her to wear herself out, for her body to lose its adrenaline and slip out of its fight response. She pushed him limply a few more times, with little more than the strength of a toddler, and he knew she was coming back down, at least something close to it. 

“I’m so tired,” Her voice was muddled with tears, slurring and stumbling over each other and it was then that JJ walked in with three paramedics behind her. 

The blonde’s face evened out when she saw the girl was alive, nothing but a few surface wounds, but it was then she saw over Spencer’s shoulder the way her eyes were clenched tightly together, the red marks on Spence’s alabaster skin where she had put up a fight behind cradled in his arms. 

And JJ knew then that something inside Bugsy had changed that day. 

“I know, you were so brave, you were so brave for me,” Spencer nodded, his cheeks flooding as he tried to keep his tone strong, stroking the back of her hair softly, “You did so good, I’m so sorry,” 

“I’m so tired and I don’t understand,” She said, like she was putting sentences together for the first time, and it was like suddenly the fight had been sucked out of her as she slumped against him, not even realising in her haze that she needed to be showered off desperately. 

“I know, honey,” He murmured, sniffling and pressing his face into her neck, “You can sleep now, I got you,”

She hummed like she didn’t quite believe him, like she still thought he was some figment of her imagination, but she hadn’t the strength to fight back, to call his bluff. And so she drifted in and out of sleep, as the paramedics got her on a stretcher, Spencer hovering over her face incase she woke up in a panic again, cracking her eyes open right as they got her on the back of the ambulance and suddenly it wasn’t Spencer’s face she saw flitting in and out of her eyeline, it was Hotch. 

“Hotch-” She tried, her hand swinging out at her side with her attempt of grabbing onto his face because there was a trail of blood down his cheek. Her voice was fried, just like Spencer had suspected, her words sounding as if she had swallowed stones, “Hotch, your head,”

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I should have known he would be there,” Hotch said, as her eyes rolled back, straining desperately to keep herself awake. But she had said it herself. She was just so tired. “I shouldn’t have taken you in there,”

“I don’t think I like dreaming anymore,” She garbled childishly, a small frown on her face, and Hotch bit his lip to hide a whimper, raising a hand to her cheek, and Spencer sat at the foot of the stretcher, his neck and wrists sore where she’d clawed him, but he didn’t care. 

Hotch gave her a long kiss to her forehead, one Spencer pretended not to see for the sake of paperwork, because he knew Hotch needed it, even as she’d been sucked right back into the reverie of sleep, their eyes never left her frail form, not even when the paramedics started hooking things up to her wrists to take her charts. 

Spencer knew then he should have bought that ring. 

–

She’d been staring at the ceiling for about five minutes before he tried to pry an answer out of her. 

He’d tried not to smother her the second she woke up, had seen the hesitation and distrust swirling in her gaze when she saw him there, and he wondered if she thought it was another one of her dreams she had yet to wake up from. But he was real, and he was worried, and he loved her. God, did he love her. Loved her so much he couldn’t stand for one more moment to see her so dissociated from a world where she was his and he was hers and everyone was missing her.  

“What did he make you see?” Spencer tried, his voice as soft as he could try make it without crying, because her gaze remained in her lap, the side effects of the drugs making her a little woozy, “Baby, I can’t help you unless you talk to me, please just, let me help you,” 

Her throat was in agony the second she opened her mouth to speak, ripping with pain when she cleared her throat and in an instant, Spencer’s hand was on her thigh drawing comforting circles with his thumb. 

“Emily was there, she came to- r-rescue me,” She started shakily, her hands trembling beneath the covers and she breathed slowly through her mouth, “S-she wasn’t wearing a vest, and when I asked her she said she’d gotten the first flight out of London to get me; and then… Doyle,”

She swallowed, and he took her hand in his, giving her a reassuring squeeze, and she tried not to let her eyes well up only to find it was already too late. 

“He stabbed her like he did that night, but it was different this time. She was on the floor, trying to get away, begging me to call for help but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything, and I was trying so hard to scream and tell someone, but I couldn’t…” She sniffled, squeezing his hand so tight it hurt, but he didn’t care, “And he wouldn’t stop. He just kept going, over and over again, and I had to watch every second of it knowing it was my fault,” 

The floor was red, a horrible midnight ichor of Emily’s blood seeping from her body, more blood than a person should ever be able to hold. Last time Doyle had killed her, there had been a hairline chance that she would pull through and Emily had beaten all the odds stacked against her. 

But this wasn’t like last time. There was no miracle escape to Europe. Bugsy would be surprised if there was even anything left of her to put in the casket. 

Her eyes were terrified as she watched Doyle drive the knife into Emily’s skin, the scream lodging in her throat for a reason she couldn’t place. She begged herself to do something, say something, tell the man that she would rip him limb from limb if she ever got the feeling back in her legs, wail for help because that was her sister, her big sister, and she’d stopped moving a while ago. 

Stop, stop it, stop it.

But the words wouldn’t come out. She was frozen. Numb. Like someone had unplugged her from the socket, and the only part of her that did work was her eyes, why did it have to be her eyes. 

And the blade was red, so red she thought she’d never see anything else other than red again, as so was the floor, and his arms, and Emily’s clothes. Red. All over. Driving into her stomach with a wet squelch that made Bugsy want to vomit. 

Over and over and over.

She burst out crying then, the first real emotion she’d shown in days, and he was out of his chair in seconds, cradling her to his chest and shuffling to sit next to her on her bed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it wasn’t real, baby,” He soothed, and she shook her head, her tears soaking his shirt through, and all he could do was stroke her hair down and press gentle kisses to her brow, “You were so brave,”

“And his face changed, and he wasn’t Doyle, it was Hotch. And he-he gave me his gun, and said I had to pick between him or you because one of you had to die and-and I wouldn’t do it, I wouldn’t pick-” Her words warbled into his shirt, an amalgamation of sobs and deep breaths in between sentences, but she needed to get it out. It would eat her alive if she didn’t.

“Choose,” It was Hotch’s voice. The same rough edge, same bite he used with the UnSubs they chased, the tone he’d never used on her. 

She shook her head, because the feeling had tingled back up her spine into her neck by now, and with it brought her voice, her sorrow. 

“No, no, Hotch, please don’t make me, I can’t, I won’t-” She sniffled, looking at the thunderous eyes of her unit chief she’d known for years. He didn’t look like himself, like someone was wearing him as a mask, yet she knew it was him by his steady hands that drew his gun from its holster. He had always been sure of himself. 

How had she got here? Had Lewis got to Hotch, brainwashed him into slaughtering and terrorising his own team. Whatever it was, Bugsy knew in her chest that whatever was standing in front of her was not Aaron Hotchner. 

“Me or him,” He said simply, as if it was that easy, as if he wasn’t pressing a gun to Spencer’s head. 

The sob fell from her lips before she could help it, looking to Hotch’s feet where he held the love of her life bound, his eyes rimmed with fear. 

“I can’t, please, I can’t,” She wept, her cheeks soaked, the salt trickling down her neck and into her shirt. Or was it blood. Had she hit her head? Why did her head hurt?

She couldn’t care, couldn’t think of anything other than the fact a monster had taken over the man she thought the world of. She knew if anything happened she would never be able to hold it against him if anything happened, even if it would always be his face in her mind killing Spencer. Because it wasn’t him. It was Lewis. It wasn’t him. 

Hotch’s finger clicked a bullet into the chamber, pointing the gun at Spence’s crown, and she warbled in protest, because her legs were still numb, her body from the waist down useless, but this time she could scream and fight and yell all the ways she begged for this to stop. 

“Hotch, please, please don’t. It’s not real, it’s not real,” She yawped, her chest in agony, her head spinning because she could have sworn Emily was just here, could have sworn she had been coming to save her. Why was Emily here? And she’d usually be embarrassed to admit it at her big age, but she wanted her sister. She wanted her big sister more than anything, “Hotch,” 

But the man who looked and sounded like Aaron Hotchner wasn’t listening. Instead he looked at her with a steely glare, cocking the gun once more between his fingers, “If you’re too much a spoiled little bitch to choose, then I suppose I’ll have to do it for you,”

And with that he pulled the muzzle away from Spencer’s head, and before she could say another word, utter another plea, he angled the weapon under his chin, pointing it straight for his brain, and pulled the trigger. 

She thinks she screamed, though her hearing had gone with a staticky blur, his blood spraying across the wall like something out of a slasher movie. She remembered howling in shock, her face soaked with ichor and salted tears, and she expected Spencer to rush forward, grab her in his arms and cradle her with soft words. 

But he did. Those hazel eyes she would know in every life time stared blankly at her, all trace of terror gone from his gentle face, and in a whirl of movement, he was standing where Hotch had been, his body gone in a wisp of smoke, like he was nothing more than a magician’s magic act, like her chest hadn’t just cleaved in two at the sight of him dying. 

And Spencer took his place, the lips she’d kissed a thousand times pressed into a scowl, the hands she wanted to melt under, to hold her and tell her he was going to fix everything and make it make sense again holding the loaded gun. 

And at his feet, bound by the same rope he had been was JJ. Freightened, beaten. Mother, wife, best friend, sister. JJ.

“Choose,” Spencer said, but it was cold and unfeeling. Nothing like the saccharine tone he used with her, and she felt the pit of pain and suffering and dread that had opened in her stomach grow only deeper, “Me or her,”  

–

She had cried for about two hours after that, and he had held her for all seven thousand, two hundred seconds of it, stroking her hair, reassuring her that Lewis was gone, the drug disposed of, and more importantly, telling her he would never let anything like that happen to her again, over his cold, lifeless body. 

And he meant it. With everything in him, Spencer would never let an UnSub get so close to harming the woman he loved. Not a bruise, or a cut. Not even a scratch. 

And for the three days they’d kept her in for observation she’d slept, and slept some more like she hadn’t known a wink of rest in years. And with it came the nightmares, of all the people she loved splattering their own brains over the walls, Chose, chose, me or them?

But by the fourth day she was allowed more than one visitor in her room, the spot that had solely been filled by Spencer, who would take to his grave that he’d gone home and washed their clothes of the mess she’d made when she wasn’t herself. 

And on that fourth day, the team had arrived with love by the bucket load, because Bugsy was family, and family never let each other suffer alone.

“Oh, look at you!” It was Penelope first, ofcourse it was Penelope first, “Spencer, where’s that cardigan I told you to bring her, she could get cold, and that purple is so her colour- oh what am I saying, come here!” 

Penelope bounded over to her bedside, not completely blind to the way Spencer tensed up as she threw her arms around the girl, fighting his urge to chide Garcia into being more gentle because he knew he’d been hogging time with her while the others had been forced to wait. 

“Pen,” Bugsy said, breathing out and hugging the woman back as hard as she could, “Why do you smell like lavender?” 

Garcia released her clutches (reluctantly) and produced a big tote bag of trinkets, one of which Bugsy suspected was a candle. 

“Spencer said they might be keeping you another couple of days and so I brought you some goodies to cheer this place up,” She said with a chirp, reaching in her bag for two stuffed teddies, and Bugsy’s eyes melted when she realised they resembled Niko and Sergio, their colourings not quite identical but the thought had been there, “So you don’t miss your boys too much.”

Bugsy smiled, her chest spreading with warmth “Thankyou so much, Penelope,” 

And Garcia went to respond, her smile wide and relieved, when another voice spoke up behind her, “Quite hogging her, mama, there are people waiting to see the kid,” 

Penelope rolled her eyes which made Bugsy snicker slightly, moving out the way for Derek to lean over her bedside and give her a tight squeeze. 

“You gave us a scare and a half, baby cakes,” He said with a sigh, and she hugged him back the best she could, though his arm muscles were the size of her head. 

“I’m sorry,” She murmured, and he patted her on the back gently, before letting her go for the next person waiting to pounce on her. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to be sorry,” JJ shushed, her slender arms all but crushing her into her chest, and she heard the breath of relief from the woman’s throat as she stroked a hand over her spine, “Just get better for us, okay?”

And Bugsy knew she didn’t mean the crack in her nose Peter Lewis had given her when he’d grabbed her by the nape of her neck and slammed her face into the wooden door the second Hotch’s back was turned. She meant the screaming. The nightmares. The chill that ran down her spine even now when she looked at every one of her friends and remembered that night. Picturing their brains on the wall, their blood on her face-

“Henry drew you a picture,” JJ said, pulling away and presenting her with her own gift basket full of homemade goodies and fresh pyjamas because the ones she had from the hospital were starting to itch, “He said you needed magic kisses,” 

Plucking the card from the front of the wrapping, her lips quirked into a smile when she saw two stick figures, a small dot with yellow hair labelled ‘henry’ with an arrow, and a tall woman with a triangle dress and two glittery wings labelled ‘bugy’, and she was almost certain it was because they had played fairies and princes the last time she had gone over. 

She flipped the page, and saw his hand writing scrawled in a green crayon, a few spelling errors here and there where he had tried his best. 

‘to bugy

mommy said you wer hurt at work and needed somethink to make you happy agan.

I gave the card majick kisses before mommy takes it to the hospital to make you better agan. 

also plees coud we play princes again some time soon.

Love Henry’ 

She chuckled, her finger stroking over the letters gently, because she could imagine him at his little blue table writing it out for her, and she handed it off to Spencer to put on her bedside table. 

“Thankyou JJ,” She said earnestly, and the blonde nodded, squeezing her leg under the blanket gently before she moved over for Rossi to shuffle in, ruffling the girl’s hair because he would joke later that his back couldn’t handle all the movement when really he felt like she’d been mauled with enough affection for one day. 

“You okay, kid?” He said, his eyes roving over the bruise on her nose that had bled into her eyes, and she nodded, smiling up at him somewhat convincingly. 

“I’m still kicking aren’t I?” She said, and the older man chuckled, shaking his head, “Can’t get rid of me that easily,”

And it was almost true, the small seed of double planting in her own head because for a second in that house she had thought things were done for her. And Spencer had thought the same, judging by the way he nervously cleared his throat, playing with the collars of his shirt.

But Rossi nodded with her, “You kidding? There’s enough life left in you to resurrect all of my dead end marriages,” The team snickered, Rossi squeezing her arm the way grandads do, “Kate sends her love, she had to take Meg to her dance recital, she said she’s dropping by later with good coffee,” 

Bugsy took a sigh of pleasure, because she would kill for a steaming cup of good coffee, and Rossi smiled at her attitude they’d all missed in the office. 

And then there was Hotch, who looked damn near like a dog with a tail between his legs, sporting his own jagged forehead wound that had been stitched up, his lips pulled into a guilty pout unlike everyone else's grateful beams. 

“Bugsy,” He started mournfully, and he swallowed heavily, “I’m-” 

“Don’t-” She shook her head, looking up at him from where she’d sat up in the bed to accommodate everyone’s hugging, “It wasn’t your fault, so don’t give me that. He caught us both of guard,” 

But he still didn’t look like he quite accepted that answer, settling to reach out and squeeze the hand that was laying across her stomach, his skin warm and rough as he held her like she was cracking glass under his touch. 

She realised she had been wrong that day with Lewis, when she’d been damn near shaking in her spot because of the man who looked so much like Hotch, and she saw the fatal flaw that gave it all away. 

His face was set in a frown more often than not, and it was for that reason a lot of the agents on the other floors lived in fear of SSA Hotchner’s thunderous tone and barking attitude, but Bugsy knew that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. Because while he could be cold and domineering and bossy, his eyes told her all she needed to know. 

He was hurt. He was guilty. He was worried. He was mourning. He couldn’t stop seeing Peter Lewis slitting her throat in that flash of a blade. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her incase it was all a dream in itself, that they had never been found, he had never woke up, they had never saved her. 

His eyes were haunted by the past twenty years of his life, perhaps what happened even before then because she wasn’t so stupid to miss how he was more rough on child beaters and abusive fathers than he was their usual UnSubs, how he was so extra gentle with Jack, how he hated raising his voice. And inside the big scary exterior, Bugsy saw a boy who only wanted to save everyone because no one was ever there to save him. 

She squeezed his hand tightly in hers, pulling him towards her and he’d resisted hugging her to start with because he knew the frog would leap into his throat, but he could never deny her. And he didn’t, he simply leaned over, caressed the back of her head over his shoulder with one of his enormous palms and gave her a warm hug no monster or demon or whatever she had seen could ever be capable of. 

And Bugsy felt stupid for ever believing anything she’d seen. 

–

They stayed for another hour or so, Derek running out to grab Bugsy a subway because the food at the hospital hadn’t been the best, and she had devoured the steak and cheese footlong so fast Rossi’s brows had raised into his hairline. Spencer handed her a strawberry flavoured pudding pot, the lid already peeled open for her and a spoon.

And it was then a figure came rushing through the door, so fast they were surprised they hadn’t heard the heels on the linoleum and the whole room stopped for a breath, Bugsy dropped her pudding cup down her shirt, barely even making her first bite count. 

“Why did no one tell me those two were screwing for eight months?” Emily barked, gesturing between the two agents that cuddled up on the hospital bed, and almost as soon as the pure joy to see her older sister had flooded her body, it ebbed again, and Bugsy rolled her eyes.

“Eleven hour flight, Em, and a buttload of head trauma and that’s all you have to say to me?” She snipped, mopping up her pudding with the edge of her finger. 

“I got weekly updates about the consistency of Sergio’s bowel movements but this you missed out?” She threw her hands up, sighing in contempt and almost immediately the girls were bickering like they hadn’t spent a single day apart from one another, but then Spencer supposed that’s what happened when you were blood. 

And part of him wondered just who was going to tell Emily about the proposal, the same small part that had gone and bought the ring just yesterday while she’d been sleeping. 

He supposed he could live with it being his secret for a few weeks longer. 

--

TAGLISTS:

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[disneyprincemuke]

fly on the wall * fem!driver

she crashes in her third race of her f1 career, but she's more concerned about its repercussions than the concussion

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, lewis hamilton x fem!reader

warnings: crashing the car

notes: ooooh my god i had to rewrite this 5 times because it wasn't up to my liking initially, and then tumblr was having some issues saving my shit so i lost it?? it's very sad fr

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

"are you alright?" sebastian's voice comes onto the radio.

his eyes are trained on the big screen, cameras focused on the car parked into the wall out of a turn. he couldn't get an answer out of his driver so he had to resort to the third party.

if his assumptions are correct, she would have hit her head on her seat hard at impact. but things like that can lead to so many bigger things that he might not even be prepared for. 

her vision slowly returns, blacking out for a mere second as the car went into the barriers of the baku track.

she had issues with her brakes for a few laps. sebastian had suggested retiring the car if she didn't feel safe, but she pressed on. the issue didn't seem so serious and it seemed manageable.

at first. 

it's a driver error - missing the early braking point to accommodate her already tweaking brakes. she missed it by a millisecond, clipped the wall and got sent straight into the wall.

she sighs, pressing the button on her steering wheel. "i'm okay," she answers shakily, tears now filling her eyes.

"okay, that's the important part. don't think about anything else. i'll see you in the medical centre." sebastian is quick to shut her thoughts down, clearly prioritising her wellbeing and not the car.

"i'm sorry," she sighs, voice shaking and lips quivering. “i’m so sorry, seb.”

this is only her third race in f1, how could she have already crashed out? on a race where she was so close to that podium. it would have been such a monumental moment — a woman on the podium. 

with 20 laps left in the race and her in 5th place, it wasn’t all that far out of reach at the time. yet, here she is causing a yellow flag as she starts to notice the smoke surrounding her. 

"like i said. don't think about anything else."

she sighs to herself as a marshal appears above her halo, greeting her with a soft smile. she nods, letting herself get helped out of her car.

but only one thought eats away at her: she crashed on her third race. what's everyone going to say about her now?

“let me talk,” sebastian sighs, hands up in the air as he tries to calm the girl sitting on the examination bed. he’s barely able to get a word in.

she’s slouched against the wall, purple balaclava in her hands as she traces the thread that holds it together at the hem. the minute he walked in, she looked up immediately with tears in her eyes and a string of apologies.

it hasn’t stopped since he poked his head through the door, cutting him off before he could even ask if she’s okay. 

“do you not see the problem?” she shrieks, eyebrows furrowing at sebastian. “i just crashed out! imagine what the media has to say about my performance today? they’re just going to use this as a reason to justify that i shouldn’t be on the track!”

sebastian drops his hands to his side, deciding that he’d just let her get it all off her chest. it might make her feel better. 

though, it doesn’t make him feel good that she’s continually talking down on herself. he vouched for her for weeks for a reason, and it’s because he believes in her. more than she does in herself, it seems. 

“i didn’t work my ass off my whole life just to be undermined because i’m a woman!” she tosses the balaclava aside, now picking at the loose skin by her fingernails. “i didn’t get this far for everyone to count me out because of one crash! can you fucking believe that shit? it’s a fucking rookie mistake, seb! i’ve been racing for years!”

she drops her hands by her side and groans again, rolling her eyes. “i’ve earned my rightful spot to be where i am! they are not going to care about that!”

sebastian shrugs slightly, overlooked by the infuriated woman across him. he can barely get a breath in before she continues, shutting his mouth immediately as she continues her rampage. 

“imagine the headlines tomorrow! a driver is as good as their last race — i know that! don’t try to sugarcoat it. you know i’m right!” she rambles on, eyes darting all over the room. she’s pushed herself off the wall slightly, clearly flustered over the course of events. 

she avoids sebastian’s eyes, the fear of fully breaking down in front of him prominent. crying over a crash seemed like such a silly thing to do, but there’s no denying how demanding the sport truly is. 

in her short three races in the season and people’s neverending criticism of her abilities, it makes her lie awake at night rethinking her position on the grid. 

following her crash, sebastian hadn’t expected for her to ramble on for this long. he initially thought that the crash would have sent her into a shocking silence, so while her anger is warranted, it was definitely not on his list of things to be ready for. 

“imagine what they have to say about me!” she throws her hands in the air, scratching her head gently. “imagine what they’ll say about you! it’s not going to be good, trust me! i’m a woman in a fucking racing car in a male-dominated sport!”

“hey!” sebastian’s voice bounces in the room, making her lift her head with her eyes narrowed into a glare. 

the sudden movement reminds her of her restrictions, hands coming up to nurse the back of her neck. she feels a sharp pain shoot through her head all the way down to her shoulders. “what?” she hisses, quickly looking down to hide the pain. 

“you literally just crashed head-first into a wall at 250 kilometres per hour! you’re lucky all you got was a concussion and whiplash! it could’ve been worse!”

“if i was lucky, i’d have been able to recover and get on the podium as we discussed! i was already 5th!”

“and you didn’t! that’s okay! you learn from things like these!”

“no, it’s not! i’m already hated as it is!”

“it’s part of the sport! fernando alonso has crashed, lewis has, and so have max and charles! every other big name in formula 1 has had their fair share! you’ll be okay!”

she finally meets sebastian’s eyes, slouching even more as she audibly sighs. he watches her body deflate, leaning back dejectedly. “it’s still different.”

she’s still in her fireproofs. her race suit had to be taken off during her short time with the doctor, hanging on the back of the plastic chair in the small medical room. her helmet sits next to her, underneath the balaclava she’d thrown on top of it. 

her hair is in a loose ponytail with stray hairs poking out and resting on her face. the adrenaline has yet to leave her body, chest heaving as if it’d just been over and beads of sweat still scattered all over her.

“i know it’s different. but everyone else who says whatever isn’t the person behind the wheel, you have to remember that,” he says in a soothing tone, finally coming up to stand next to her. he sighs, putting a hand on top of her head. “and i know it sucks.”

she shakes her head. “no, you don’t. we’re different; our problems are different.”

“the way they used to hate me, and things they say about you are different, yes,” sebastian nods in a low voice, his thumb now tracing circles on her head. “but you still can prove them wrong. you just started driving in formula 1 — you’ll have way more chances to shut them all up.”

“i could’ve already. if i just controlled the car a little better.”

“it’s okay.” he slides himself onto the examination bed, sitting next to her. he intertwines his fingers and rests his hands on his thigh. “everybody crashes at one point in their career.

“let the media say what they want, but not all that criticise you have been in a race before. nobody on that grid thinks you’re lesser than you are just because of what happened today.”

“you don’t know that.”

sebastian just shakes his head, refusing to elaborate any further. he leans back into the wall as well. “oscar is on the way with some snacks for you.”

crashing out during a race is never easy. years before he decided to retire, tapping and crashing out of a race has always been demoralising. it always feels like the first time when he does.

“i don’t need snacks. i need to go back to 4 hours ago when i was still on track for a podium finish in the first half of my rookie season.”

“with your talent, i can assure you that this will not be your only opportunity in formula 1. i will make sure of it, of course. wherever i go, you go.”

the door creaks open, cutting her off before she can throw an answer back as sebastian. “i’ve got your favourite snacks. i also stole a couple of twix bars from your backpack, i hope you don’t mind.”

“well, why’d you take them and still tell me about it knowing i wouldn’t even have given it to you in the first place?” she reaches for the nearest object next to her, yanking it towards oscar by the door. 

“because it was calling my name,” he shrugs, pushing the door fully open to reveal who he’s strung along to the medical centre. 

“i took a packet of haribo,” logan shrugs as he steps in. he flinches when she clenches her fist, scrambling to pull something out of his paper bag. “but i got you a can of sprite to make up for it! don’t be mad!”

her gaze softens when she notices lewis hamilton standing behind her friends, a paper bag hanging on his fingers as he grins at her. 

“how are you, sweetie?” his voice is empathetic and low, giving her a look that she’d seen from everyone she’s passed on her way here. 

she sees lewis and sebastian exchange glances, almost making her roll her eyes again. 

she doesn’t talk to lewis that often, but he has addressed her before when she would trail behind sebastian on the track. she would often greet him softly as she hid behind her mentor, or simply excuse herself when she sees either oscar or logan passing by. 

he’s a role model and the last thing she ever wanted to do was be too overbearing. to see him come to her aid is only a dream come true. 

“i hope you don’t beat yourself up because of that. you drove a brilliant race today,” he smiles. “everybody crashes out. don’t even care what others have to say about you. you did well.”

lewis understands being cast out as a minority. he will never understand the struggles and pressure put on her, but he can at least relate to a certain extent. “don’t even sweat it. you’re now one of the world’s greatest in a fast race car. you’d smoke anybody who would dare challenge you.”

oscar tilts his head. “why would someone random just challenge her out on the street?”

“oscar, shut up,” logan shoves the australian slightly, landing a warning smack on his shoulder after. “let her have her moment.”

lewis laughs but does wave oscar off as he returns his attention to her. “what they say will string, but trust me, this is not the end of the world. i know it feels like it.”

she nods to herself. “okay, hand me the snacks so i can eat away all my pain. i deserve it.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock

[markrosewater]

Hi mark. It’s me, the guy that was complaining about orphans of the wheat. I wanted to start by apologizing for using the word lazy. I wasn’t trying to say that the people who make this game don’t put a ton of thought and effort and care into it, but I totally get how my wording made it sound like I was trying to say that. I’m genuinely sorry I came off like I was belittling the immense work you all do.

I also want to clarify that I wasn’t trying to say “I don’t like this thing therefore it is bad”. Millions of people play magic, all with very different tastes, and I’m just one weirdo. Everybody is going to have aspects of the game they like and aspects they dislike, my opinion is not objectively correct.

What I was originally trying to get at was that it feels as though a lot of designs that are “based on” something feel like they are getting more overt. Bonny Pall is the example my brain always goes back to because the name is almost the exact same thing as what it’s flavored after, Paul Bunyan. Orphans of the wheat is just a more recent example of this and what sparked me sending my initial message.

A few years ago, I saw a video on YouTube of a speech you made, I think it was your 30 years 30 lessons one. In it you talk about how akroan horse was originally Akroan Lion, and players didn’t get it, but when you changed it to akroan horse, suddenly people loved it and it felt so flavorful. I get that it’s important to make sure that people get the reference when you’re making one. And I get that it’s a delicate balance. Too subtle, and people don’t get it; but too overt, and bozos like me send giant messages complaining.

My qualm with Children of the wheat is that it is an example of a pattern I feel like I’m seeing where you are erring on the side of “gotta make sure they get it”, to the point that sometimes it feels like the reference is being beaten over our head. But I do recognize how that’s just my perspective and other people have different opinions on where the line is for “too obvious”. For example, I think Altanak and say its name are awesome. I like how the art is someone looking in a mirror and if you say its name three times then you summon the big bad monster. But I totally get how someone else might see that and say “well all they did was make Bloody Mary a bug”. And I also totally get how there might be another person who didn’t even get the reference and would’ve needed a card called “mutilated Miranda” to realize it.

This whole *thing* is just my way of saying that designs that are references to something feel like they are more and more often mutilated Miranda or Bonny Pall or orphans of the wheat, and that fewer and fewer of them are getting even one step removed from what they are referencing.

Thanks for taking the time to write back. It means a lot to me. How close we get to references is something we’re constantly reevaluating. We’ve definitely got the note that this year indexes too high on the obvious references.

[nkjemisin]

Hello NK Jemisin! I'm a huge fan of yours, and I wanted to thank you for writing all of the books you've written, and doing all that you do. You're really awesome and you are doing important work! :) I had a long question, if you have time to answer! What's your commentary on creating fantasy cultures, using real ones as inspiration? You've done this before in your stories, and I wanted to know if you had any guidance on doing it well. I'm writing my first novel right now (fantasy!) and am dealing with a surprising amount of guilt regarding using real cultures as a basis for my fake ones. On one hand, I want to create a really unique fantasy world, not the bog-standard European stuff. It's not only more interesting to me, but I also admittedly want to use my story to help introduce people to concepts that might be helpful in the real world, help readers understand what these real people go through and perhaps inspire change. On the OTHER hand, I don't know if it's 'my place' to do so (I'm Black btw, but I'm not just writing about Black-coded fantasy characters). And I'm worried about representing people in a harmful way, even if it's by accident. I'm even hung up about names! Should I use names from real languages related to the cultures I'm inspired by, or should I just make them up to emphasize that, while yes these people are clearly inspired by real cultures, they are ultimately *their own* thing. I'm really conflicted on this and am hoping you can offer some feedback and/or commentary. Sorry for the long ask. Either way, have a great day and I look forward to whatever work you do next!

If I can rephrase what you're saying here, it sounds like you're concerned about cultural appropriation -- specifically, which cultures you get to "borrow from" and "remix," how much remixing you can do before you've done damage, how to depict people from cultural backgrounds other than your own, etc.

If that's what you're asking, then there are whole schools of thought on how to "appropriate appropriately." A lot of thinking on this has evolved in the past few years, for good and for ill; Own Voices, for example. (The short version: the Own Voices hashtag movement started as a grassroots attempt to get marginalized voices telling the stories of their own cultures, because there's been a nasty trend of only white/Western/Anglophone/etc. authors publishing books about those cultures. The problem? Some publishers and readers started acting as if marginalized writers weren't allowed to do anything but stories in their own cultures -- a restriction, instead of an inclusion/correction. Worse, publishers, etc started using it as a marketing shorthand, in ways that were just... not good. They made it weird, basically.) But I'm still fond of the approach that's in Writing the Other, by Nisi Shawl and Cynthia Ward. It's centered on ethnicity/race, but a lot of its approach can be extrapolated to culture. There's too much good stuff in this book to summarize it easily, but you should read it instead of a summary anyway -- it's short.

I don't see the point of guilt, when it comes to something like this. Guilt is what you feel when you've done something wrong, and admiring another culture enough to want to tell a story featuring it isn't wrong. However, there are things you need to do -- research, conversations, considerations of power dynamics -- to reduce the harm you might end up doing by telling that story as an outsider. And note that no matter what you do, though, you might still end up doing harm. (Even people writing about their own culture can end up doing that.) If you fuck up, apologize, figure out what went wrong, and try to do better next time. That's really all you can do.

And then write whatever the hell you want. There's a persistent pressure on Black writers to only cover certain subjects, certain settings; nah. We get to have range, too. You've just got to put in the work to do it well.

Good luck.

[nishnormp]

conagher brainrot

Sometimes I think about the fact that in Loose Cannon, dell's father never gets alluded to . like at all . Fred as the shabby little bridge between radigan and dell makes me a little sad though, so I'll just be looking at weird implications and make a poorly organized set of points

With how confidently Dell talks about his grandfather's personality and the state of his blueprints, I can only assume that a)he was practically raised by him or, b)his dad talked a lot about him (and by extension fred and radigan were close) while radigan was off doing...whatever

Dell is a genius, but a lot of his gear (most, actually) comes from his grandfather's blueprints (gunslinger over there was radigan's original design). Hell, even dell's iconic sentry gun was radigan's blueprint.

If you look at the first panel I showed, dell is immediately hesitant of his ability to fix it, but switches up just as fast when blutarch mentioned radigan's blueprints, blutarch even mentions that they've plagued him for 60ish years bc they were written in complete gibberish. HOWEVER, bluetarch has also been shown to be a complete idiot, so its possible that the blueprints were in english, but just completely incomprehensible to him.

Now, lets go back to the A and B scenarios earlier. The reason I mentioned some estrangement between family members is because things start to...not make sense. Let's say that all three conaghers were quite close (with fred somehow not having any time conflicts with his job and all), how come dell never alludes to him at all when referring to a 'mr conagher' in the field? How come fred never told him that radigan's blueprints were exhumed after his death? Dell's spy domination voicelines drops the lore that it was his dad that taught him how to deal with backstabbers, so if they were open about the nature of their work how come that one important tidbit was never told to him? There could maybe be some physical distance due to work and whatnot, but I cant imagine fred not revealing that about his father to his own son.

There's also...whatever this picture is. This is a photo of radigan in the years proceeding his influence under australium, which conflicts with the comics' and dell's portrayal of him. Its possible that this is merely him a few more years down the road, when both fred and dell are fully grown and out by themselves- but in that case that would be a TIGHT window for his death, blutarch's 60-year stressing over deciphering his notes WHILE fred's still in BLU, and the news to reach dell by the time HE'S the new engie.

The fact that fred is still up and kicking in the current day (hes pushing in the 70 at the VERY LEAST) also makes the timeline stricter, since theres no way he was born during radigan's youth (makes the estrangement thing more likely too cuz are you telling me that fred never corrected dell at all/dell dgaf that radigan was more like a jolly aussie than anything, or that they BOTH didn't know too much about him)

The hundred years thing is maaybe an exaggeration, I did the math and there's no way a literal hundred years had passed between the creation of the first LEM and dell's employment (this is with the consideration of 1890 being the absolute earliest time, and even then it reached 1990). HOWEVER the half a century (or 50 years) thing is probably, as it lands square into the 1940s-- a decade into fred's employment in BLU.

The 1890s was when Radigan was called to create the machine, and its also the time that is referred to right after the 60 years thing. So if the machine was built 60 years ago, but only started to malfunction around the 50 year mark; then there would be one entire decade of the thing just breaking down with no one to fix it.

Did fred get access to the notes? I'm not actually sure. There's this moment in the comics where he flubbs with the immortality machines, but I think there's more to it

"more biology than engineering" my brother in christ you have fully functional prosthetic LEGS and your guy best friend (who btw is a sniper aka guy whose profession relies on eyesight the most) let you pluck out his eyes and replace them with better ones. There's also the offhand mention of "lookin' at the old man's robots" aka probably referring to radigan's creations, but if we go by the thinking that radigan's notes were never shown to him-- that would mean he was reverse engineering them.

And honestly? It makes sense, esp if you consider tfc engie's gear in his own game.

TFC was created waaay before tf2 so the lore implications were most likely not intended at all, but just. Compare fred's sentry guns to the blueprints that radigan has on the walls of his workshop. The dispenser and the teleporter? Way different, and the dispenser even functions differently (it has to be restocked, but it can also damage people when it is destroyed by tfc engie). Fred had big shoes to fill, but he managed to live up to them anyways; I think cheavy would have kicked him out otherwise. The TFC gen is more militant than tf2's, and with how tightly cheavy runs his crew + is concerned about formal standards (like him not wanting to hire tf2 medic due to a history of medical misdemeanors), fred would have been long gone if his creations weren't up to par.

Keep in mind that most of the world is still kinda bummy while australia (and ig new zealand) have all the super fancy stuff to themselves (with the way aussies act with other non-aussies I highly doubt that they would just hand over their own formulas for Teleportation Tech) (these war-loving guys even canonically hid up the existence of australium too, and there's a newspaper clip showing a headline of the aussies calling the discovery of magic gold a false alarm) so fred figuring out all that shit on his own is kinda impressive.

But lets say that he DID have access to the blueprints. Did he deviate from them out of stubbornness? The want to be his own man? Was he smart enough to figure out the fundamentals, but eventually failed to understand the sheer complexity of the LEM? Or did he actually do work on it, but ended up not being significant enough? If the LEM started breaking down by the 1940s, is it really possible for it to STILL keep chugging for an entire decade without human intervention? Did he knowingly lie about the immortality machines cuz he didn't want a deranged cheavy to live forever, or was he actually thinking ahead and taking the potential australium shortage into account (esp since the thing cheavy was holding was a more greedy, simpler model)?

Still, whether or not he had access to the blueprints doesn't change the bits about virgil's eyes or his prosthetic legs. I know they knew each other before the war (gravel war, world war, idk) but it would still be a huge risk for a sniper to just let someone pluck his eyes out; that sort of trust takes a looot of time and experiences.

Tldr; fred is a smart little cookie and I think he gets underestimated too much : ( . also my math isn't the best so if I get anything wrong pls pls pls correct me

[majorproblems77]

Hello LU fans! I'm back with another LU update analysis! :D

Are you ready cause there's so much to unpack I'm gonna be here a while. Like last time I'm gonna put a timer on lmao, see how long this takes me.

As always grab your popcorn and drink of choice, cause we need hydration in this life.

all art belongs to @linkeduniverse and Jojo, and if I pull panels from any other pages I'll let you know where it's from! :D

Obviously spoilers for Dawn 8 :D

And a note, I've not played TP or WW, you'll see why thats important later.

Let us begin, shall we!

Man, Poor wild, he's probably beating himself up like there's no tomorrow right now. He looks HORIFIED.

Probably because in technicality, he failed.

I love how he's holding his sword here too. Kinda acting as a shield to the conversation.

Same expression as wild. He also looks horrified. Infact the resemblance between these two in uncanny.

Man time really is the dad isnt he. Unimpressed dad look at 12'oclock. Jokes aside he doesn't look angry about it. He looks like he now gathering information from those who finished the fight. As we know once he left with Twilight he was the only other one to not make it back to the fight.

Thats a fair sentence, thinking about it, I think the only other game where Iron Knuckles appear is in one of Hyrule's games? I'm surprised he's not mentioned anything about it.

Most of the others do have armoured enemies though. So while the others dont have direct experience I assume they have the basics.

All but, Sky and Wars None of them fight armoured enemies like that in their games.

I assume because he's defeated this thing like it was a guardian (Stasis and then wailing on it cause that's what i would do lmao) He assumed it was defeated when it exploded into pieces. Like guardians are prone to do. tbh he was probably gonna go back to look for loot at some point.

You tell them Wind. The small hero, underestimated by everyone BUT Time. Was correct thank you.

Justice for the windy boy.

God Wild really is beating himself up about this. I love the fact that we see four's reaction to this statement. As to be honest. Over the last few nights, Four and Wild have had plenty of bonding moments. These guys are gonna become best friends.

And now we get Time.

The way he's looking over these panels. That look. He know's he's the leader of this group but something that Time isn't used to is making Permanent mistakes.

He has the Ocarina of Time, and when he was back in Termina every time something went wrong he could just play the song of Time and restart the three-day cycle with no trouble at all.

Time, as a person. Isnt technically used to failing.

This panel is stunning. It's what I assume is going on inside his head. It's so pretty. It's so detailed it's just oh man easily one of my favourite panels.

now you know i had to talk about panels with my beloved blorbo in.

first off he's so pretty. Jojo has really outdone herself with just how amazing these updates have looked. The lighting the shading its all just so incredible.

The first half of this panel with Sky's face. He, He is beating himself up about the injury. He had nothing to do with it but he cares so much about the rest of the group he feels bad. He kinda looks like he's thinking about it. Like he can see it. Like time did but we dont see inside Sky's head.

Makes me think about what exactly he saw.

And Twilight's face, he looks so sad. His little pout. Poor wolf boy, which we can now call you properly as the rest of them know now.

And to be honest I'm glad he's standing his ground. Mr, My injury isn't that bad before falling over. the stubborn ranch hand strikes again.

The parallels from this frame and the one from later have been mentioned elsewhere but I'm just gonna post the frame here as it's turned up. Run you coward lizard. Run.

Captain link is back. Poor warriors, he's still showing signs of being stressed. He's one of the only one's who hasn't been able to rest over the downtime that they've had. He's been busy being in charge of the group while Time was out.

I can only assume it's only a matter of time before this comes back to get him. Maybe he is next on the chopping block? (Pun kinda intended) Something could happen and he messes up and gets hurt of causes someone to get hurt.

oh and also

THE SCARF

THE SCARF THE SCARF

IT HAS RETURNED ALL HAIL THE BLUE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT BLANKET WARRIORS NEEDED YOU.

None of us did, Hyrule.

The boys ever, I'm glad they are talking about this like this. And that it's legend who's starting to throw ideas out there like this. As the one who's got the most experience in the group, it makes sense that he would be the one to start offering ideas as to Why not just how.

Because you pissed it off Sky. Because half of you pissed it off. In fact I do believe he had a bunch of panels in Shifting Shadows pt2 where you indeed pissed it off.

The entire reason it started running from you and Twilight had to track it was because of FI's reaction to his sword.

Wait... that explains the guilt. It is actually potentially Sky's fault. Or if he's anything like I think he is. He remembers that fight with the shadow and knows.

He knows.

Also, with clenched fist Sky is ready for a fight. Next time the shadow turns up I assume he's gonna go after it when it's inevitablebly goes after Twilight/Wild. Maybe he'll jump in after being told not too because the Master sword appears to be the only thing as of right now that can fight the red stuff that comes off the shadows sword.

did you hear Warriors shiver? I did.

And you'd know all about that wouldn't you Four. :D

Also

Mandatory Sky appreciation picture

Him's my beloved blorbo. He's wonderful. Such a lil guy. Bestest bean. My beloved. /pl

Anyway moving on

Oh yeah, the amount of power that the items list contains We've seen the arsenal that they have between them (in the December art).

We saw what just Time could do.

Now add the rest of them and the enemies dont stand a chance. They've just gotta figure out how to either avoid the weapons of each other or work as a team with the arsenal in hand to fight better.

Like imagine if Twilight used his gale boomerang to send Wild into the air.

(Writer brain go brr, gonna write that down)

It's basically Revalis Gale.

This man is so damn dramatic I love him

And here's the parallel frame

the shadow running towards Warriors vs running away from Twilight.

You know thinking about it... Shadow didn't shapeshift until Twilight did. The push towards Warriors was when shadow thought they were on level footing.

But when Twilight went after Dink, he was the one who had to flee because he lost his advantage.

ANGRY SKY ANGRY SKY ANGRY SKY

The man is pissed that Shadow hurt Twilight. He is so damn mad and I think that he is saying what he would assume Fi would. (With more emotion because well, Fi)

Also that last frame.

TIME AND SKY ANGST ON THE HORIZON?

time is looking towards the master sword. And he looks angry. This will absolutely have gone unnoticed by the others because if they saw he was angry it was probably just because of the conversation topic.

god I love the dynamic here and I'm excited to see if it goes anywhere

Him's I love his simple way of agreeing its wonderful.

I approve to wind let's go blow some stuff up!

Hyrule shows the group why he is called the traveller. The man just wants to go on his adventures let him go!

Sky is so proud of himself

this face says 'Look guys I didn't give it to the weird toilet hand! :D'

I love this man a healthy amount.

One last thing before I go

I love this update as a whole, seeing the group gear up and getting to see the layers of the armour and straps and fastenings being put on while they are having this discussion is amazing.

I'd give you a collection of pictures but Tumblr is being rude and I can't post more than 30. So you can have these as all four panels show what I'm talking about.

Twilight adjusting his gauntlets warriors adjusting his scarf.

Hyrule attaching his shield to his back and putting his sword strap on.

God, I love this update so much. It was amazing and I very much enjoyed it. Let me know what you think! :D

Thank you as ever for reading my rambles i appreciate you :D

Have a wonderful day and dont forget to hydrate! See you next time!

[scekrex]

Hello ! How are you doing ? Could I ask for an Adam x reader who doesn't know how to say 'no' so Adam is kinda teaching him how to ? Just reader sweating profusely, looking at Adam, who's making big "No no" signs. I live in a community (?) and my asocial ass is /not/ liking it. I generally act like I'm napping when they're calling me (yes they can't see me but I still pretend in case there's invisible cameras) but when it's face to face, oh lord have mercy... I say yes. I hate driving (I'm a bad driver when I have people in my car...).

Thank you if you do it ! <3

As someone who had to learn that saying "no" is not only okay but also important, I love this request so much!! <3 I hope you like it

People Pleasing doesn't rock

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

Saying no to things, especially people close to you, has always been a struggle, even during your days on earth. And living in heaven hadn't changed much about it. Well that wasn't entirely true, while living in heaven itself hadn't changed anything about that, Adam had. Or at least he was trying to.

He had started to realize that right when you met him. He had invited you to one of his concerts and while you really wanted to go, big crowds weren't your thing, they usually caused panic. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to say no, so you agreed. It ended with a panic attack for you and overwhelm for Adam and his band mates since none of them had known what to do. Luckily Lute had carried you through it - a thing you were forever thankful for.

Adam's arm was wrapped around your shoulders, his hand held onto yours to spend you comfort. While you were used to heaven and its people, it didn't mean that your panic was kicking in any less. However when you saw a familiar face in the distance, your mood changed a little and you gave them a bright smile, it was one of your closest friends. They walked right towards you and you poked Adam's side as the first man sighed as he noticed them. They weren't his favorite, in his opinion they were too pressuring and talked you into stuff more than they accepted you not wanting to do certain things. But it wasn't his place to tell you who to hang out with so he remained quiet.

“Hey Y/N,” they greeted you with a warm smile and the three of you stopped so that you and them could have a conversation. “Sup, are you doing okay?” They nodded before changing the topic from smalltalk to whatever it was they wanted to talk about, “So you know how I have this project going on?” You thought about it for a moment before you remembered what they were talking about, “Oh yeah, you mean that art project of yours, right? How's it going?” Their face scrunched up unpleasantly and they broke eye contact, “Not well to be honest and I thought-” Adam interrupted them rudely, his hand gave yours a soft squeeze as he spoke, “And you thought he could help you fix the motherfucking mess you created to save your own fucking ass, didn't you?” You looked up at Adam, the LED face of his mask represented the annoyance his voice had given away quite well, it was visible that he was having none of it.

You looked at your friend in front of you, “Is that true?” They seemed uncomfortable with the way Adam had worded their need even though he was right about it, “Well, sort of, I-” Yet again they were interrupted by Adam, “No.” And oh dear mighty Lord you thanked Adam for disagreeing with them. Because while you loved them, they asked for you to correct their mistakes a little too often. “I think Y/N can speak for himself,” they hissed at Adam who simply flipped them off. “Okay, hear it from him yourself then,” he gently squeezed your hand again and offered you a reassuring look. He'd have your back if they wouldn't respect your no, he'd get you out of the situation if you couldn't do it yourself. So you inhaled deeply and muttered, “Sorry, can't help you,” the words were spoken fast, almost too fast to process but your friend had managed to anyway. “But-” Adam's index finger was onto their lips within a heartbeat, shushing them without a word. “He said no, go look for some other fucker who's willing to fix your fucking mistakes,” and with that the first man lead you away from them.

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you rested your head against his upper arm, still walking the streets. “Yeah, don't fucking mention it. But your ass really needs to learn how to stick the fuck up for yourself,” you sighed at his words, knowing he was right. You couldn't agree to anything, that would lead to you doing everyone's work, fixing everyone's life and drowning in your own problems. “But you did fucking great today, so how about we have your favorite dinner later, huh?” And at that you beamed at him, pure joy was visible in your eyes and he loved to see you that way. God help him, he'd do way too much to see you happy.

[peaterookie]

Trials and Tribulations of Scanning: Lupin III Manga

Hi!

It's been a while since I've made a proper Lupin essay, and this one is going to be a bit different from all the ones I've done too.

Throughout the years in the manga community, I've gotten very accustomed to the process of scanning and archiving this series, it's something that I sincerely do enjoy doing so I wanna just dedicate a post talking about it and also bring attention a huge project of mine.

Disclaimer that this isn't really gonna be a comphrehensive history with a bunch of details about the scanning process done on the series before I entered the fandom, I just wanna talk about certain parts that I think are worth writing and my experiences doing it myself.

Okay this intro's gotten long enough let's get started.

Let's talk about the tokyopop scans of the OG manga and HOW SHIT IT IS.

Oh poor og manga... you were doomed from the start from the moment you were uploaded publically. Because who the hell is going to want to read something that looks like this???

An important step when I scan my pages is cleaning, it is the process where you take the initial scans, which I call raws, and polish them to make it prettier. When you see the scans of the og manga, it is very very clear that the person did not bother to clean any of these at all.

The coloration of the pages (which should not have been there at all if they decided to scan in grayscale) gives it an unpleasant old vibe, and should have been editted to turn into something more black and white.

I honestly do not understand why anyone would just leave a page this bad and assume that people would be fine reading something that looks like this. I am very convinced that the quality detered some people from checking the manga out any further because at its worst, it's unreadable and the details of the art is hard to decipher.

It's very easy too!! I can easily take this place and edit it on my phone to turn it into...

This!

Ain't that much better already. and it only took me a minute to do just that, imagine just how better the rest of the scans would've been if the person gave a bit more effort to clean their pages?

One of the many things i've learned is that when you do something for a community, whatever you put out might stay there forever and become a permanent impact on the people using your product, so it's important to make it look good!!!

What is good about the OG manga + new adventures though is that there exists high quality scans of it, just in japanese. So while there is still no good scans of the english version, people can always find a better alternative elsewhere.

Shin Lupin III though... is a different story.

(insert cool transition here or something)

Here is what I really wanted to talk about.

Shin Lupin III, literally. has. no. good scans. It's all shit. You get trash or garbage and that is it.

"But Peater! What about the Tokyopop scans! They're pretty good right?"

You're absolutely correct! Until you realize that Tokyopop did not fully translate Shin Lupin III, leaving approximately 100 chapters worth of manga in horrible quality 😂😂😂

Those missing parts are the ultimate problem, and the guy that is now in charge of translating the rest of Shin Lupin, Oranges, does not do the scanning justice (the one above.)

I do not know what kind of source he uses, but it is absolute horseshit, and again, he doesn't seem to bother with editting them to make them look better. I'll just provide more examples, to really emphasize how horrible it looks. You can barely see what's going on with some of them.

Someone pointed a flashlight while scanning this

(Editor's Note: So it seems like Oranges did the bare minimum and fixed the scans on the San Francisco arc so he is slightly forgiven)

And what the Japanese scans? Hahaha, it gets worse.

From an simple look at it, you might be tricked into thinking that this is a good scan! has nice lighting, black ink, BUT THIS IS WHERE YOU'RE WRONG.

Look closer. The lineart is melding into each other, the cross hatching is blurred, the kanji is barely readable.

This is the works of an Al upscaling tool.

AND THEY DID THIS, FOR EVERY SINGLE PAGE! THEY LURE YOU INTO A FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY LIKE "omg!! san francisco scans!!" AND THIS IS WHEN THEY TRAP YOU INTO A MELTING POT OF AI SHIT TO NEVER BE ABLE TO HAVE GOOD SHIN LUPIN SCANS EVER AGAIN AND AM SICK OF IT!$_+$(2!(_(!_(+7(0#+#?@!

And so that's why I'm going to be doing something about it!

My project for this year is to rescan Shin Lupin III in higher quality. No AI upscaling involved, everything will be done by hand. Here are the previous panels again but scanned by me!!

See the differences now!! This is what happens when someone puts effort on their scans!! wowwwww

I've already finished scanning the raws for every single page, and now it is only time to clean them.

When will I finish this? I can't tell you, but I promise that it will be done and released before the year ends. I hope you guys are looking forward to this!!

Darn, I actually didn't get to talk much about my process and how i got into scanning huh? Maybe some other time if people are interested.

But for now, goodbye, and thanks for reading!!

[therantingsage]

Misc additional observations/notes relating to the implication analysis post that I either forgot to add or omitted for pacing reasons.

This one's embarrassing to admit, but I literally did not remember this until the post was done and posted:

N being bad at keeping things to himself is literally the first thing we learn about him when he starts talking. "Inclusive reflexes" isn't what teaches Uzi this, it's literally the first thing she finds out about his character, so she has no excuse. There is no plausible deniability she knows her boyfriend can't keep secrets.

((Unrelated to anything but since I'm talking about the pilot like. Why does he fan himself here. Dude you don't even have feelings for her yet bro what's this about. Guy who really likes strong personalities I guess))

N's tiny little smile in Promening when Uzi admits to wanting his help. He's like, critically underappreciated by the people around him before this so Uzi reaching out to him here must be so meaningful to him. He wants to be helpful and she's letting him be.

And Uzi, too, despite being stubborn about it. N being so eager to offer help in the first place isn't something she's used to, either. I'm pretty sure the (correct) general consensus is that this is the episode she falls for him, and honestly all the blushing has very little to do with why I think that's the case.

Because, like...no one really bothered even pretending to get along with her. Like, aside from Thad, but that's for like one scene total before N enters the picture, and Uzi's "how do you know my name, people willingly talk to you" implies to me that they didn't have a lot of, if any, meaningful interactions before that point anyway. And then here comes N, who despite how they'd parted, doesn't even seem upset with her. They both spent their time apart terrified of things being bad between them....but it all just melts away when they reunite and the mutual genuine concern shines through. It's great.

N maybe has fragments of memories of life at the manor, not a lot, but he probably has the vague sense that people used to be nicer to him in general. So it's not as foreign to him. Uzi does not have that luxury so having N be so enthusiastically in her corner definitely touches her heart. And it shows through in how she interacts with him in this episode.

There's lots and lots of little moments in Cabin Fever that I like but this tiny sheepish blush is a funny one. Like he just. Alluded to talking about her. And that flusters her for some reason. We have no idea how much time has actually passed since the last episode but its clear from how little it takes for this reaction to happen that her feelings have grown stronger. She likes him and its cute.

This scene is one I want to talk about in more detail, though. Home establishes that V still has faint lingering feelings for N, so it's not that hard to assume that her behavior here is at least partially motivated by jealousy. She's petty and vindictive and jealous...but most importantly she's perceptive.

Uzi has abandonment issues, which I think is easy enough to understand so I'm not going to elaborate on it. But V figured that out, and makes this threat with the knowledge that Uzi is worried about being abandoned. Uzi fears the idea that she wouldn't be missed if she disappeared, and here comes V, claiming that the one person she cares most about wouldn't care either. Hitting her where it hurts, trying to convince her that her fears are justified and inevitable.

It's likely that this moment contributes to her eventually going feral. That the stress overheats her faster.

She's incredibly vulnerable, when she snaps out of it. Shares that specific fear with N, who reassures her. Because this whole scene is him telling her that no, he wouldn't be able to just get over it if she was gone, because their brief time apart in this single episode was already something that scared him. That she's already become important enough to him that her absence was keenly felt.

It's probably around here, or a bit after this point in the nebulous timeskip between this episode and the next, that N falls for her. Scratch that, his whole speech, as I said in the prior post, just...really feels like some kind of romantic-adjacent confession. But I don't think it WAS explicitly them confessing feelings for each other. N figures out he likes her in this episode I'd like to think, but that speech was the closest he could come to admitting that. Cuz. Y'know. Uzi needs reassurance in other ways right now, no point in muddying the issue.

((and also not news to anybody I'm sure but the song that plays during that scene is LITERALLY called 'Falling...for you??' so. y'know. hindsight is 20/20 this is genuinely the moment he realizes his feelings for her are romantic))

And additional thing I like that I think about a lot, but the way he deliberately choses to switch his hands to claws when he pries her wings open. "I'm a monster, leave me be" she says, to which he replies "Hey, look, I am too, see? It's ok". It's great, he's mirroring, trying to make her feel seen. And by the vulnerability of her next line, it works. They really just, understand each other so damn well.

Home stuff. The fact that the first word that comes to mind to describe him is 'cute' is funny enough, but the fact that she even goes so far as to SAY it out loud before hastily correcting herself. Looking at her bf's baby pictures-coded. Has to keep her image up tho, this version doesn't know her so she can't be too weird or open about it.

But she still wants this version to think she's cool cuz she's a dork who likes him. It's unclear how much of this episode is diegetic when you subtract Uzi, but since these are memories and not proper time travel, we don't know to what extent Uzi's trying to avoid affecting the events. She might not care at all. Did the real N even go down to that basement willingly at any point? I doubt it. But we don't know! And also that's not what I'm making this post to talk about.

Funny Solvercam-Uzi body language on display. Delighted he recognizes her finally, spits out something edgy to play it cool (genuinely my favorite Uzi line of all time), sheepishly looks back at him, and shyly averts her gaze when he thanks her before looking back. Had she her regular face I'm sure she'd be smiling and blushing about it. It's cute as hell. It's very open delight, when you think about it. But still awkwardly teenage. It's easy to see this and have it make a whole lotta sense if they were already dating at this point. Got that meaningful eye contact going on. She likes making him happy so she's proud she succeeded.

Him trying to help steady her when they land. She blushes and slaps his hand away like 'dude I'm fine people are LOOKING at us stoooooop >:('

Her tail chewing on him is fine tho because we don't know if she controls it fully or if it does things subconsciously. And also the others aren't actually looking at them in this shot. Neither of them make the tail stop chewing so at the very least N doesn't mind.

Still flustered easily when he shows her he cares tho. Early-relationship 'hehehe he likes meeee' moment, adorable. Still clearly giddy that someone cares about her.

He's so conflicted after 'Tessa' tells him Uzi needs to die. He loves her, he loves her so so much, but Tessa is his oldest friend. All the memories he has of her paint a picture of someone he's supposed to listen to. Someone he can trust. Someone who wouldn't lie to him. He spends the rest of this episode bracing himself for a goodbye he doesn't want to give and its heartbreaking.

And despite his fear...Uzi still manages to comfort him the best way she knows how. And it gets him to smile! Because that's what the two of them are to each other. He's scared...but she's with him, so its less scary.

They've both caught up to the moment. 'Oh. We're still holding hands while the other two can see oh god'. They're both tight-lipped. She bumps him and they let go, maybe N thinks 'oh, right, yeah, not in public' but then they hold hands again but with intent this time.

And once again, it gets N to smile! And a second later Uzi does too! Awkward little moment of intimacy that must be so refreshing for them because there's so much heavy stuff happening but now they get to be distracted thinking about something lower-stakes.

To me, this bit is an interesting parallel to the Cabin Fever falling scene. He tends to be pretty perceptive about Uzi's worries. He's a good listener. Uzi fears abandonment, he fires back with a promise to stay with her.

But here, the thing Uzi fears is that things are being kept from her. That these two are keeping secrets from her. But instead of assuring her that they'll talk later, like they said they would, he instead chooses to use this moment to put his foot down with 'Tessa'. He just lost V maybe, and he's not willing to lose Uzi too, so he's decided she must be wrong about this being the only solution to the problem.

Up until that very moment, she didn't realize hurting her was on the table. It comes out of nowhere, freaks her out, and confirms her fear that she's not being told something. So she runs.

And the guilt he feels for scaring her off is heartbreaking. Half this episode is limb-chopping, genuinely, so the fact that he chooses this bone-saw to cut himself free instead of the litany of other things he has that he knows are quicker can't be a coincidence. He's punishing himself. And, additionally, probably reminding himself of V, hiding things because he worries the truth will hurt. Which makes the V hologram showing up moments later thematically very appropriate.

Can't add anymore pictures to this so maybe I'll make a part three later lol

[fabbyf1]

girl people are about to KILL THEMSELVES, update the danm fic !! my lord its starvation on ao3 rn, come back tonight queen ?

dearest anon,

while i can... appreciate your very "lol jk" follow up you sent, i'm not sure why you ever thought this was a correct way to come at another human being, especially when you're looking for a result. i think it's important to note that you sent this on anon, too, because you clearly didn't want your blog attached to such a rude ask.

do you think i'm just sitting around on a fully finished chapter, and i'm not posting it for shits and giggles? do you think i get some sort of sick satisfaction on making people wait? do you think it hasn't occurred to me once that i should update the fic, even though i've been regularly posting on ao3 and have one of the highest word counts in the fandom?

i don't know what you thought would happen when you sent that first ask, but i can promise you that coming at authors like that in their ask box is NEVER going to encourage them to write. ESPECIALLY. WHILE. ON. ANON. send it with your fucking blog attached if you have something like this to say. i would at least have some respect for you if your blog was attached, even if you were being an asshole.

but you won't. because you know you're being fucking rude and don't want to get cancelled.

i'm mature enough to know that you're just excited about the fic and are looking forward to an update, but let me tell you, anon, you're being rude. if nobody else will tell you that, i will. you need to be cognizant of how you talk to people and how your words can affect others.

it's 2024, the world is in shambles, and this is supposed to be a fun space. stop ruining it by being rude. it cost literally nothing to be nice.

authors run on praise, not on demands.

[karmathehalflander]

Why both Eddie and Venom are autistic and how the movies are actually a metaphor for neurodivergence

Includes some of my personal headcanons and concepts that I’ve been thinking about and need to share.

BE WARNED!!! This post is a bit long (and also a cringy, rambling, nonsensical mess) full thing under cut.

Some quick notes before we begin: when I have one of their names at the beginning of a section it means anything in that section only applies to one of them. (Idk, I couldn’t figure out how to organize this, you’ll see what I mean)

I don’t know much comic lore, all of this is based off of the movies. Though the movies are a different universe so I don’t think it will matter too much.

Also I use He/They/It pronouns for Venom.

In the end, Im just one guy with a hyper fixation please take everything I say with a grain of salt and feel free to add on or correct me about stuff. Especially if I say anything stereotypical or offensive about nurodivergance/autism a lot of this is based on some personal experience and I absolutely make mistakes and generalizations.

Alright enough of my yapping let’s get to it.

Overall big picture stuff

Applies to Both of them

the whole concept of them being “losers” together is kind of autistic coded. Autistic people are often viewed as incompetent or childish or useless. And I like to think they are connecting over that shared experience.

Noise sensitivity!!! Both of them have noise sensitivity! I probably don’t need to elaborate that much but that one scene in their apartment was some of the best overstimulation representation I’ve ever seen overstimulation guitar scene

Venom

Venom comes across as unfeeling because they don’t emote in a “normal” way.

They’re very blunt and literal.

Venom sometimes has a slightly higher-pitched voice when excited or angry. Which I’m going to attribute to him masking. He wants to appear tougher and scarier. This is important to its species and Venom, who is already perceived as weak by their peers, intentionally deepens his voice a bit to blend in. (This is definitely a headcanon but I love this concept so I don’t care that the real reason is that the voice modifier they use does silly things)

This is also why I think it’s so concerned about Eddie and him “looking bad” Looking weak was dangerous and they trained themself to hide “weakness”

It’s always “How does Venom affect people” and never “What does Venom need and how do other people’s actions affect them”

Venom prefers to express its thoughts and feelings through mental connection with its host and then have that person relay the information to whomever they are “speaking” to. Nonverbal communication!

Venom not understanding humans (social interaction, conventions, etc.) is kind of autistic coded.

Eddie

Edie kind of disregards a lot of social conventions. Still hangs out with his ex-fiancé AND her boyfriend. He also doesn’t seem to mind talking to Venom out loud.

Eddies is just kind of anxious in general.

Eddie struggles to find full time employment.

On that vein, he also struggles to maintain relationships.

Eddie's sense of justice. Eddie has a strong sense of justice and morals that often don’t align with generally accepted values and he follows this view of justice and morality to an absurd degree and it often gets him in trouble. Aka, the entire plot of the first movie is because Eddie has autism.

He wears the same clothes all the time.

Specific moments that I think about

Venom

Venom chewing on the tire swing (they both have oral stims btw)

Sand between his toes. Idk I just thought it was cute and chose to believe they like the sensation.

Say it with me. Tater tots are a safe food!!!

Venom rocks back and forth a lot.

This is a stretch but when Venom is like “look at all these weirdos, my kind of people” it’s a metaphor for him being queer but I’d argue it also kind of fits with neurodivergence. Neurodivergent people often connect with “weirdos” (other neurodivergent people)

Likes organization “Pile of bodies, pile of heads”

Eddie

I’ve been told Eddie chews on his necklace at the beginning of the movie but I can’t find the clip and can’t do a rewatch right now so take that with a grain of salt… (I chose to believe this happened though. Also his bracelets are stim heaven)

When he says “Oh, I have a parasite” to Mrs. Chen he had no clue what to say here. He just said the first thing that came to mind and panicked instead of explaining.

Also the way he says things funny. Ex: “✨It’s a treeeee✨” supa, supa, fhasstt” “Heee…. has. one. up. hi’s. Ass toooooo” “ET. Phone home. Aliens? 😃” I chose to believe they are vocal stims (I also attempted to find a compilation but I couldn’t find any. Maybe I’ll make one sometime)

Eddie also makes sound effects a lot.

Eddie writes notes on pen and paper instead of digitally.

He apologizes an excessive amount. Like he says “I’m sorry” to people actively trying to kill him. Which is so real.

“I just bit that guys head off” “I, uhhh, yea I’ve been there it’s not fun” 😕

Eddie also rocks back and forth. Which can be seen in this scene

Quick segment into why I think Venom was rejected by other Klyntar (it’s because he has autism)

Venom doesn’t adapt as quickly or as efficiently as other Klyntar. It doesn’t handle change well.

All of the normal Klyntar weaknesses are turned up to 1000 with them. Instead of just certain frequencies, the range that hurts him is larger and is also affected by loud noises. As shown by: “Venom” car alarm scene

instead of just fire, heat also bothers it. Also doesn’t adapt to light well. (Just a headcanon)

Can’t create weapons out of their body like other Klyntar. struggles with “simple” skills.

Much more emotional than other Klyntar and develop attachments (also purely a headcanon)

Just overall didn’t fit well into their society.

Just headcanons

Venom and Eddie are so compatible because their brains work the same way.

“I wish I could just mentally project my thoughts and feelings directly into your brain. Oh wait, we can do that!”

Venom also has temperature sensitivities. He gets hot.

Venom likes to stim to low key music, mainly jazz and lo-fi. Does the one song on repeat for three hours to wring all the happy chemicals out of it like a dish rag thing.

Venom also absolutely loves cheesy pop music (unrelated to anything here but I’m right and I needed to include it)

Venom functions as a weighted blanket for Eddie when he’s anxious. Maybe even hides under his shirt and stuff and becomes an extra weight.

Eddie stims with his jewelry.

Venom likes to sit in the freezer. Sometimes they visit Mrs. Chen's walk in just to chill (lol)

Purely my opinion but I think Venom also has some light sensitivity for a bit because it’s not used to being in such a bright environment. He gets used to it eventually but every once in awhile he finds the city lights overstimulating.

They are both very tactile. Touching things. Love a good texture.

Venom is super particular about food for someone who eats out the garbage but certain textures and flavors drive them crazy.

Venom hates vegetables. (Except for celery because it likes the crunchy and stringyness of it)

How all of this makes for a great metaphor!

Feeling like an alien in the world is probably the most relatable thing for a lot of nurodivergent people. Like there’s a manual for being human you don’t have. And just the concept of a literal alien showing up and struggling to navigate in a world not made for it is so relatable!

The way they both immediately connect to each other because they have the same weird brain stuff and weren’t accepted by their respective societies is so adorable and wholesome.

“We’re not so different, you and I” This line lives rent-free in my mind at all times. It’s my favorite quote. I think it perfectly encapsulates their relationship and why it’s special. They have autism and are bonding because the other is the first person who truly understands them! (Cries, screams, throws up)

In conclusion

They are in love and have autism. And they cling to each other because they are the first people to truly understand each other. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

Also I listened to UFO by Smith and Thell on loop while writing this. It’s very autistic symbrock coded so give it a listen if you’re a fan of inde-pop.

[actual-changeling]

I've been rotating this scene in my head for like three weeks now, send help. There's a continuously expanding fic I'm writing and this is a warm-up stream of consciousness. thing. I guess.

If there's one thing I know how to write it's overly emotional mental breakdowns.

tagging @today-in-fic (side note: would people be interested in a general tag list for my txf writing? i did it for GO until the fandom got. bad.)

And they're changing and still looking at each other, thinking, is this who I want you to become? Is this how you see me? Is this the 'you' I shaped without knowing I was taking the knife to your face?

There are no apologies spoken, but they both know they're sorry. They both know they're forgiven, and that was never the question to begin with. If there's one thing they never have to ask for, it's forgiveness.

Every single time she takes his hand, she wonders if their fingers will always fit together the way they do now. If it's enough to squeeze them until it hurts and then find more pain in the letting go than the holding on.

You don't need me. You never have, and he never did, did he? I've just held you back.

Scully cannot decide what's worse—being needed and becoming expendable or never having been as important as the blood rushing through his veins, after all. Mulder is the oxygen in hers, indispensable, vital, the reason the world has yet to suffocate her as it reaches for her with its greedy claws and sharpened teeth.

I loved you, she wants to say, and then corrects herself before the words can spill. They built a home out of misplaced guilt and fear of loneliness, and yet she wouldn't change a day—she likes to think that neither would he.

I want to love you. I still love you. I love you. 

She knows she might never tell him. Maybe she will, maybe it will be a goodbye instead of a long-overdue confession. Maybe he will kiss it off her lips and lick it out of her mouth. Maybe she will take what could have been to the grave.

I don't need you to love me back.

Maybe her words will grow roots and bury themselves in the soil of their relationship, maybe they will grow and morph into something entirely unrecognisable; maybe Mulder will dig them up one day and read them back to her.

I just need you to keep looking at me and make me believe that you need me. That you have always needed me and always will.

When did they turn themselves into a game? When did she start feeling lonely with his palm pressed to her lower back? When did he stop believing in her? Why does love suddenly feel like surrender on an empty battlefield she thought she had left behind?

One in five billion, he told her, and she believes him even though she knows he is lying. She still believes him when his past catches up with them and takes her place.

She needs to believe him, or she's going to turn around and walk away.

She might anyway.

She will never ask, but she knows he would never forgive her if she did, not really. Not in a way that would bridge the gap opening between them as they drift further and further apart, and she believes him and he believes her, and she doesn't recognise either of them anymore.

There's a stranger in her bathroom mirror smeared with soot asking, who is this person you no longer need? Because it isn't me. It can't be her.

Everything smells like him, and her body is aching for more, for his arms wrapped around her as she tries to keep him from breaking within her embrace. For his hand on her lower back and the loneliness it brings. 

Mulder will gift her his anger, and she will take it because anger means there is still something left. Anger presses a gun into her hands and tells her to keep fighting.

Anything, anything at all, and she will take it.

I burned a long time ago, and now you've finally grown tired of playing with the ashes.

[zabala0z]

Oh my god. Okay hi. Welcome back to “New TMA listens to season 2” and guys holy shit I’m freaking out. I just listened to The New Door. So much is happening in 3 episodes and I gotta write it down oh my god. Guys. Guys.

MAG 44: tightrope

Gertrude Robinson!!!! She sounds so nice. Didn’t even realize there was a mention of this circus before until Jon said it. Gotta up my game. The guy who played the steam organ, Nikolai Deniken, was featured in Strange Music. Or his granddaughter was. I looked over the transcripts again; Gertrude mentioned that Deniken leaving in the 70’s made the circus tamer. Makes me wonder if the steam organ is essential for the circus . Also the circus of the other is such a metal name for a circus like okay damn.

I’m thinking the circus is gonna pop up again. New main villain??? Maybe??? Or maybe that cult that hadn’t appeared for a bit.

MAG 45: blood bag

Ewewew. It’s literally summer, the definition of mosquito season, why did I go through with this episode, I’m literally gagging. Anyways. Not many notes but the antiques dealer who bought that Victorian syringe off of Thompson is also from Lost and Found (MAG 38) and Piecemeal (MAG 14). Like all bro did was buy it and shit went off the rails. Wonder if he’s like cursed or something. Also small note for piecemeal: the guy who made the statement said after Mikaela Salesa left, Noriega was missing teeth, an eye and fingers. He may have had them before Salesa came but who knows. Salesa seems suspicious.

Also the description of the mosquitoes. Like. Eugh.

MAG 46: literary heights

Yooo Michael crew! He appeared in Pageturner as the childhood best friend who got his shit rocked by the lightning. He also apparently appeared in a boneturners tale when he returned a book. He seems like a book nerd now after his near death experience. That lightning figure that was chasing him at the end sounded like it was from the book but another thing: Michael was chanting that shit before y’know jumping out the window but he mentioned “The Vast”. I already vaguely know that name, along with a couple others. Like the fear entities or whatever?? I knew them before going in because Im into Hatchetfield and the lords in black got compared to them a couple times so I guess i didn’t go into this fully blind. More like 94% blind. I’m guessing The Vast is important though. We’ll see.

Finally the one I’m still freaking out over: MAG 47

Holy shit. If anyone saw my abrupt post, congrats. Anyone who didn’t: OH MY GOD MICHAEL APPEARANCE. The voice was so creepy, genuinely I’m freaked out. The whole premise of the episode was scary to me just because one of my fears generally is just being alone and having no one and just being lost so obviously, yeah. But also..god. Starting to doubt my assumption on how morally correct Michael.

Also SASHA. FAKE SASHA. She sounds completely different, thought it was fun they changed voice actors for this. I think fake Sasha has been rifling through Jons stuff. He’s been mentioning that someone has been going down in the tunnels and I think it’s fake Sasha.

Not many notes, I’m just freaking out. Couple things though: Michael said to Jon “do you even know they’re lying to you?”

Now they could either refer to fake Sasha as some gender neutral term since whatever replaced her is definitely not human and maybe doesn’t have a gender but I think more likely it’s referring to multiple people. Thing is, it could be anyone. I’m still suspicious about Elias, like he seems to know something no one does, jon had his rant about Tim and how Tim was here for practically no reason which is true and Martin is chill, I trust Martin. If Martin ends up like killing someone, I will die.

Just god. Michael is so creepy. It makes me wonder about its “domain”. It said it came to collect what is “mine.” The one who entered its domain. Is it like some underworld shit where you go in, you can’t come out? “The wanderer had a brief respite but it’s over now” like that’s just cruel.

Like I screamed when Michael said “did you notice which door she left through?” Like I full on got chills. Also “I am not a who, I’m a what, yada, yada” Okay pop off but you just stabbed a man wtf.

I have seen that infamous Michael line before in like fanart but god nothing compares to hearing the words actually coming from my phone while lying in bed when it’s pitch black outside. Props to the voice actor. Also that buzzing noise that happens in the background of fake Sasha and Michael disappearing when they leave? God it’s beautiful.

Anyways. Uh. Sorry for the long post but you guys gotta understand, I am literally going insane, I love this podcast so much. I got I think like 17 pages of notes/details from episodes to keep in mind like genuinely I am so invested. It like invigorates me. Fully.

Anyways, my only takeaway is bring back Sasha and Michael is terrifying

[kishimotomasashi]

Alright, Uchiha Clan oppression longpost

This is the unavoidable, and often central, topic people tend to surround their Naruto politics takes on, and is as a result a big, ugly discourse-generator. It's also a subject I'm definitely always thinking about when it comes to Naruto as a noted Sasuke stan, and my thoughts on it have changed gradually over the years. I'm making this post to share what my current interpretation on "how and why the Uchiha Clan were oppressed" is.

Before I do that though, notice on what this post is not:

I'm not writing a "discourse ender", a take meant to be spread around with the claim of being the only correct interpretation of events. This is a post I wrote to share the exact way I rotate an aspect of the manga in my mind, and to convince people that looking at it from this angle is interesting. Basically: it's not that serious, I think about this because it's fun.

This isn't a "character-bashing" post or whatever either, so like if you agree with what you read here, I suppose I can't stop you from using those infamous "anti-[X]" tags, it's just that making a post that warrants them has never been my intention.

Along with that, I do want to address the by now very well established fact that Naruto the series is Not Very Good, and has glaring inconsistencies in its writing. The Uchiha Clan drama is definitely not exempt from this, and in its case the failures in Kishimoto's writing usually show in inconsistent power-scaling, in which we're made to accept weird leaps in logic (how does a 13 year old get rid of what we're told is one of the most powerful and feared clans internationally?) That being said, those particular inconsistencies are kind of irrelevant to this particular post, and don't much change the fact that the Uchiha Clan Massacre did happen. I'll be taking it as a given that if you're reading this, you're accepting to suspend your disbelief of those events on a technical level, and are more interested in how I make sense of it all more on the diegetic social/political level.

With that settled, we can get to the important part now:

The most popular take (as far as I've personally seen) on the events that led to the Uchiha Clan's downfall is the one that takes Madara at his word: the Senju have been oppressing the Uchiha since Konoha's conception, and Tobirama becoming the 2nd Hokage gave him the opportunity to put the Uchiha in a more socially disadvantaged position (police force), gradually earning them the villagers' ire, which was the catalyst for their eventual genocide.

This interpretation works if the end goal of your analysis is to say "Tobirama really fucking sucks". I don't think this conclusion is an unreasonable one, since Tobirama's hostility towards the Uchiha is great enough that he can callously tell a 16 year old genocide survivor that if his clan "self-destructed for the sake of the village, so be it". However, to me, the circumstances surrounding the Uchiha Clan are much wider-encompassing and more fascinating than narrowing their fate to a single man in fan meta written to convince you to hate him, so it goes without saying that I don't think "this is all Tobirama's fault" is a very interesting lens to look at this from.

I also don't buy the argument that making the Uchiha cops was (originally) to their detriment. We'll get back to that in a bit. I suppose this depends on how you look at Tobirama's character, but I think that when he said he made the police force as a sign of trust and to give the clan something useful to do in Konoha, he was being genuine. Arguing the opposite requires you to either believe that a law enforcement order could ever be in an oppressed position by default, or that Tobirama created a fundamentally useless new institution because he just hated the Uchiha that much. I think the former is a weird thing to argue if you're trying to be Leftist about all this, and the latter is a very ungenerous interpretation of Tobirama's character in which his own "racism"/pettiness overshadows his more utilitarian instincts to ensure that the village his brother built was safe and functioning. Obviously you could interpret that, but that leads us back to the "everything is Tobirama's fault" take, that I already mentioned I find lame as hell.

So then, how do I think the Uchiha Clan was oppressed? Because I think they indisputably were, or I wouldn't be making this post. Well, I think it was less "The Senju/Tobirama have always wanted to lord over them and wanted them dead", and more: they became gradually more socially disadvantaged during the era of Hidden Villages, with the consecutive world wars creating a souring global opinion on kekkei genkai clans.

(I'm gonna base my arguments primarily on what we see happen in the manga, and I'll add in some information from the fanbooks/databooks that weren't contradicted by what we see happen in Kishimoto's canon)

Let's start with what we know, definitely, that canon tells us:

Kekkei genkai clans are discriminated against to a very high extent, leading to things such as their mass slaughter (eg, the Uchiha Clan obviously, but also kekkei genkai clans like Haku's clan in the Land of Mist), and a vulnerability which puts them in positions where they're likelier to be targeted and kidnapped (eg, Hinata, but also Orochimaru having a whole criminal entreprise built on kidnapping and experimenting on people possessing kekkei genkai).

The trend for their discrimination is in being scapegoated. When Haku talks about the genocides in the Land of Mist (I refuse to call it the Land of Water sorry it sounds so stupid), this is how he describes them:

(chapter 59)

basically, it's not shinobi as a whole who are badly seen even though all sorts of them were likely participating in those wars: it's kekkei genkai clans in particular. Compare this to the Uchiha Clan being blamed for the Nine Tails attack (I mean one of them certainly was responsible, but was entirely unaffiliated with the rest of the clan) and being roped off to the edge of the village as a result.

Kekkei genkai clans are also frequently described by characters as being a bit "wilder" and more violent than usual shinobi. Tobirama calling the Uchiha "cursed", Kushina describing the Uzumaki as being "a bit savage", and Kakashi introducing us to the concept of kekkei genkai initially with these fun visuals:

(chapter 25)

The thing that's interesting about all this is the context in which it exists: the shinobi villages aren't technically "nations", but I think it would be accurate to liken their possessiveness of their secrets and paranoia regarding outside intrusion + conception of themselves as unified cultural entities + incredibly harsh treatment of dissidents (becoming a rogue is essentially a death sentence) to nationalism. There's an intentse "in-group vs out-group" feeling here.

Not to mention that canonically that shinobi have always been tools of imperialism for greater powers. While Hashirama's initial dream was to put an end to that, it eventually became corrupted; there was already discontent regarding land and resource allocations during his tenure as Hokage, and while we have no idea why the 1st War started, we know that by the time we're on the 2nd one, Konoha had become a tool for the Land of Fire's imperialist expansion (and was apparently was expanding its influence as a military village, too).

(chapter 436)

Basically, the "in-group vs out-group" conception that had once solely been clan-centric widened, and became this new concept of shinobi villages.

This is important because nationalistic sentiment inevitably rises during war; as a result, there's be a sharper eye for who'd turn traitor, who wasn't supporting the military effort, who would endanger their nation/village, etc. With this, there would be greater suspicion directed towards kekkei genkai clans, because they're more "genetically predisposed" to being unpredictable, because they would appear more loyal to their own than to the whole of the village, because they were the likeliest to turn traitor, and so on.

This would be a gradual process going on since the 1st War, but I believe that the 2nd War was where this kickstarted into becoming so much worse, because that one saw the destruction of Uzushio. It was a village composed entirely of a single clan, didn't bend to any of the big 5, and the Uzumaki were "savage" and had abilities that were greatly feared. It would be interesting to consider the idea that their associations with Konoha would have done them more harm than good here, too, given that Konoha was the Big Bad in the 2nd War and an alliance with them would not have been viewed positively.

It's thinking about all this in context, where nationalism was at its peak, where there's an idea that genetic chakra abilities impair swathes of people from being regular functioning shinobi like everyone else, is how we can imagine the Uchiha were discriminated against. They had another disadvantage to them as well, given that one of the first deadly attacks committed on Konoha was done by one of them. If we want to go back to the police force argument, it would be interesting to consider the idea that while it had been a good position for them at first, the utility and influence of the institution gradually eroded over time, and by the time the era where the massacre happened came along it became nearly meaningless since most of its original functions had been assigned elsewhere; as the kekkei genkai clan discrimination rose, the Uchiha also fell victim to it and their influence within the village significantly reduced out of fear of them.

The surveillance and the sequestering of the Uchiha Clan came after two important events; the first being the 3rd Great Shinobi War, and the second being the Nine Tails' attack on Konoha which happened barely a year post-armistice. Konoha was barely recovering from global armed conflict when half of it was destroyed in that attack; tensions are high, the Hokage is dead, and so the village saw an incredibly convenient scapegoat in the Uchiha clan.

So... yeah, that's how I see it! I find this a more fun interpretation than just pointing fingers at individual characters, because it allows me to consider the wider worldbuilding of the Naruto world, and also doesn't assume the Uchiha's position was especially unique and the end-be-all of all the problems with Naruto's politics. It's certainly important, but it's part of a greater network of problems too!

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

okay so before I can talk about some things I have to establish some other things, and I'm shaking all the bees out of my brain today with great vigor, which means, without further ado: a brief overview of How Does Restoration Work (according to people named Mouse who are me)

point zero: for the most part, simplistically, each school of magic can be thought of as a manipulation of something. enchanting and conjuration fall under different strains of manipulation of souls, illusion as manipulation of the mind, and so forth. restoration is manipulation of the body.

now first (and this might be stating the obvious lol, but I have to state it): it does not work 1:1 exactly like it does in-game. people do not actually have the handy-dandy HP bar, illness/injury does not translate to a single number ticking downwards, and healing is definitely not just "make number go back up" in a matter of seconds. when you're at a point where a hypothetical HP bar would be nearly depleted, anything that's fast is not going to have the kind of long-term payoff that you need, but it might get you somewhere safer so you have the time to dedicate to actually properly healing.

secondly: in order to fix something, you have to know how it works. magic is a tool; any tool is only as effective as whoever is wielding it. it doesn't take a lot of knowledge to close a paper cut that didn't even bleed, but a severed tendon is going to be a very different story. an accomplished healer must have extensive knowledge of the body and its various systems in order to ensure their healing attempt is not going to inadvertently cause a whole slew of other problems. doctors today go through over a decade of schooling and training; in the US at least you're looking at a minimum of four years of premed, four years of med school, and three to seven years of residency. personally I think healers should also be the school of magic that requires the longest time spent learning because... there IS so much to learn! an additional note is that restoration has the benefit we do not of being magic, though: I think that in a world where healing is executed largely through the hands with magic, it stands to follow that you are not going to want to physically open someone up every time you need to check something inside the body, and so for my purposes this leads us to healers cultivating a specialized, passive sense of the bodily interior through touch. I've described this previously as a bit like echolocation as magic is channelled through the body and allows the healer a sort of "sixth sense" of precisely what's going on and where, though an in-universe analog might be a highly-refined version of "detect life".

(but Mouse, one might say, that's not a restoration spell! correct! the classification of magic is arbitrary! now put a pin in that thought because it will be important at a later date. not today though stay with me here.)

thirdly: as any tool should not be alone in the toolbox, magic can be used as a supplement or supplemented by mundane resources. if you have the time for it, an open wound will benefit from being stitched together to hold shape before applying magical healing, resulting in the need to produce far less scar tissue than a wound that you try to heal without closing it first. you still need to know how to use a tourniquet, how to handle a dislocated shoulder, how to drain an abscess, etc. just like you wouldn't whip out your power tools to hang a single photo frame, you have to know when to rely on magical healing and when to take whatever steps you can non-magically.

fourthly: magical healing has limits. manipulation of the body is not an all-powerful solution. no deus ex machina healing here. the two major restrictions are (1) the body's natural capabilities, and (2) the body's preexisting material. a body is capable of much more than we generally achieve in day-to-day life and nobody is running at 100% capacity 24/7 (because you would die, very fast). restoration can amplify measures that are already in place, such as stimulating platelet clotting/fibrin production over a cut to scab it over rapidly - and then, if taken further, providing the energy for tissue repair to move entirely from cut to scab to scar. crucially you will note that you cannot skip a stage! the healer is using what the body already has available, just allowing it to happen on a compressed timescale by boosting the energy available and providing external direction. there is a LOT of potential regarding what a healer could be capable of just by stimulating production of different hormones or shuffling brain chemistry alone. but! to reiterate! restoration is manipulative, not additive: a healer may be able to reattach a limb if they get to you in time, but they can't grow you a new arm out of nothing.

fourthly, subpoint: magical healing has cost, for both the healer and the patient. the more severe the injury/illness is, the longer it will take to heal and to recover fully from the expedited healing process, and thus the more energy the healer has to expend. a healer is limited most sharply by the depth of their own magicka reserve; practicing to expand the amount of magicka one has access to is just as fundamental a skill as learning anatomy and physiology. this is why most healers don't work alone! being able to literally split up the work - I'll take the broken leg; you focus on the slipped rib - reduces the probability of running out of magicka mid-patient and allows for fewer required follow-up sessions to ensure recovery is proceeding the way it should.

(fourthly, sub-subpoint: this is also why Colette Marence, the only professional healer in Winterhold, deserves a significant raise and a vacation and if anyone asks "is there a healer around" somebody ELSE can take care of it for once-)

fifthly: potions! we know that alchemical concoctions are a separate beast entirely from magic as executed by a mage - namely, I point here to spell absorption/spell reflection not being triggered by drinking a potion. this could take us down a separate rabbit hole about alchemy tapping into the innate magicka stored in reagents and the way THAT works, but for now the relevant question is: how does a healing potion differ from a healing spell? primarily the difference is capacity for intent and direction: a healer, being a person, can focus in on the specific site of injury and identify exactly what's wrong and exactly what steps need to be taken to fix it most efficiently. a potion does not have this capacity for specificity and is instead subject to the direction of the body's natural systems. ingested, it will be dispersed through the digestive system and through the bloodstream; applied as a salve it may work faster, but this usage is limited to external injuries. strong healing potions therefore are great for boosting your natural healing capacities long enough to get you to an actual healer for more serious cases, and may be all someone relies on for less serious cases - similar to using over-the-counter medication for a cold versus going to see a doctor for bronchitis.

tldr: restoration IS a perfectly valid school of magic, and just because it emphasizes mundane knowledge alongside esoteric magical knowledge does not make it any less fascinating or worthwhile. thank you <3