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auxiliarydetective · 1 year

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Eros and Psyche AU - Part 2!

This technically still belongs to Day 29 of the OC Pride Challenge (which you can find here) but since there's no real prompt for day 30 and I had to split this into two parts, I figured I might as well post part 2 today.

Charlie returned the next day. And the day after that. And multiple more days to come. Every day, there was a different experiment where Charlie got to make Egon happy with the simplest tricks in his book. Throughout these various days, Charlie found himself befriending Egon and the other Ghostbusters, even the perpetually sarcastic and annoyed Peter Venkman. After a while, it wasn’t just experiments either. They would ask Charlie to help with some equipment, organize some data, or just make some coffee. Little by little, Charlie became part of the team. Sometimes, he’d even spend his nights at the firehouse, cleaning the uniforms or just watching over the Ghostbusters in their sleep. Not that he hadn’t been doing that since coming to Earth, but now he was there officially. He was sure that the Ghostbusters never even noticed when another ghost came to assault them in the middle of the night. It happened every now and then. Probably a result of them catching so many of their fellow specters. But whenever it happened, Charlie was there, warding off the ghosts with arrows of light. Eventually, Charlie really became a part of the Ghostbusters and it went down as follows:

Charlie came into the firehouse with a smile on his face. Ecto-1 was there, that meant everyone had to be here too.

“Morning, Janine,” Charlie said, coming up to Janine’s desk first, as usual. That had become tradition by now.

“Morning, Charlie,” Janine greeted back.

“How’s the situation, are there many calls?”

“Oh, the usual.”

“Do you think anyone’s sleeping?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“GOOD MORNING!” Charlie yelled up through the hole of the fire pole.

“Morning, Charlie!” Ray shouted back. “Come on up!”

Charlie flashed another smile at Janine, then hopped up the stairs. When he reached the top, he paused. The Ghostbusters were lined up behind the little dinner table, waiting for him to come upstairs.

“Did I do something wrong?” Charlie asked, looking fully perplexed.

“No, don’t worry,” Winston said.

“Not at all,” Egon agreed. “Come closer.”

So, Charlie did. That was when he spotted a bundle on the table. A flight suit complete with patches, elbow guards, a belt, some sort of pouch, boots and a camera. Venkman came strolling around the table and threw an arm around Charlie, pulling him closer.

“Today is a great day, Charlie,” he said, “because today, my friend, you have the chance of becoming part of the glorious Ghostbusters.”

“Who, me?” Charlie gasped.

“Yeah, you,” Ray confirmed. “We couldn’t think of anyone better suited for the job.”

“You’re not scared of ghosts, are you?” Venkman asked.

“No, not at all, I am a ghost,” Charlie said before realizing what he had said and correcting himself to: “Y’know, with my ESP and all that.”

“Your ESP is part of the reason why we chose you,” Egon explained, completely ignoring Charlie’s slip-up. “We’ve been wanting to document the various specters and beings we encounter and that includes taking pictures. But since we’re always too busy fighting the ghost, we need someone else to do it for us.”

“And that’s where you come in,” Ray concluded. “If you’re up for it that is.”

“Sure!” Charlie called out. “I’d be honoured!”

Quickly, Charlie took the various items from the table and got suited up. Now he stood there in front of his friends, a proud Ghostbuster. Well, assistant Ghostbuster. Ghostbusters cameraman. No, he was a real Ghostbuster. Only a few minutes later, they were off to a call. Charlie sat in the back of Ecto-1, so close to Egon that he could faint.

The call was an easy one, according to Egon and the others. But Charlie could prove his worth immediately. While the others trapped the ghost, he had his camera pointed at the specter constantly, trying to get the best angles and shots possible. When they were done trapping the ghost, they went outside again. But now, a team of reporters waited outside. Immediately, Venkman greeted them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Egon answered the technical questions. He described the supernatural in words that Charlie found mesmerizing, giving his world a whole new perspective. But then, suddenly, the reporters were focused on Charlie.

“What’s your name and what is your affiliation with the Ghostbusters?” the reporter asked, almost shoving the microphone into Charlie’s face.

“Well, uh, I’m Charlie Drake,” Charlie stammered, “and I work for the Ghostbusters. But all the credit goes to them, I just take the pictures.”

“So you’re a reporter?”

“No, not at all, I-”

Luckily, Egon was there to the rescue. He wrapped an arm around Charlie’s shoulders protectively, making Charlie’s heart beat even faster, though for a different reason.

“Charlie takes our documentation and research pictures,” he explained. “He’s also an ESP extraordinaire and paranormal expert. But if you’ll excuse us, we still have a lot to do today. If you want an extensive interview, make an appointment.”

With that, he led Charlie back to Ecto-1. Once they were back in the car and Ray started driving, he told him:

“The reporters can be a bit pushy. You’ll get used to it eventually but it you don’t, just redirect them to someone else.”

“Yeah, Venkman always likes talking to those guys,” Winston remarked with a smirk.

That was the first call with many more to follow. Between calls, Charlie developed the photos. Sometimes with Ray and Egon, sometimes just with Ray and sometimes just with Egon - which was obviously the best constellation. Charlie liked Ray, he liked him a lot in fact, but he loved Egon and even the littlest moments alone with him were pure gold. He loved listening to him talk about what they found in the pictures, about the classifications, about the different forms of aura, their strength, the tiny occurrences Charlie had managed to catch.

That had been the first call. But there was another that stood out. This particular one took the Ghostbusters to the aquarium. A few days earlier, Charlie’s equipment had been upgraded to include a first aid kit. Just in time, too. It had been an emergency call, made by the frantic aquarium director who said his visitors were in great danger. The culprit, he said, was a huge octopus. So, all five of the Ghostbusters hopped into Ecto-1 and raced to the aquarium, sirens blaring. When they reached the aquarium, a group of reporters with a camera was already there, as well as a large crowd of evacuated visitors. By now, Charlie was a little more used to reporters, though a camera crew was something new. He helped the others put on their proton packs, then - after Peter had gotten his share of attention - they went inside. Using a flyer as their map, they made their way to the exhibit hall where the octopus had been sighted. They had barely gone far into the building when they already walked on wet floors.

“The creature must have smashed the glass of one of the tanks,” Egon theorized.

“How big do you think it is?” Winston asked. “Is it just a big octopus or is it a huge monster?”

“I dunno,” Peter murmured. “With normies you never know.”

They kept walking, constantly looking around for signs of the beast.

“We’re getting close,” Charlie announced after a while.

“Can you sense it?” Ray asked.

“You better believe it.” Charlie shuddered, a grin on his face. “Makes my skin crawl.”

Ready to shoot, Charlie held the camera up to his face. They were really close now. Just one more corner to turn. Ray saw it first, gasping audibly.

“Wow!”

“It’s a kraken,” Egon remarked.

“How are we gonna get something this big into the trap?” Winston murmured.

“Well, only one way to find out,” Peter declared, grabbing his particle thrower.

Quickly, before he could shoot, Charlie got a photo in. But the moment the camera flashed, the kraken woke up. Quickly, the Ghostbusters all grabbed their particle throwers, stepping into the main area of the exhibit hall. It was a circular room with multiple pillars holding up the ceiling and tanks all around. Soon, it turned out that the proton packs only did very little damage. The kraken only let out pained screeches. But when Egon managed to hit its eyes, that was when it happened. In a fit of rage, the Kraken slammed one of its fleshy tentacles through the room, smashing one of the pillars. Winston was quick enough to duck away, but Egon wasn’t. The tentacle hit him and swabbed him off the ground like a fly, sending him crashing into one of the tanks.

“Egon!” Charlie cried out against the loud rushing of water spilling out through the broken glass.

He started running, slipping across the ground and dodging the various sea creatures now wobbling across the floor. Egon had been swept out of the aquarium, lying motionless on the ground. Raw panic eating at Charlie’s nerves, he fell to his knees next to him. Immediately, he checked his heartbeat. Thank the gods! He was still breathing.

“Egon!” Charlie hissed. “Hey, Egon!”

Egon groaned quietly, then started moving.

“Take it slow, don’t push yourself.”

“It was a good call to make the proton packs waterproof,” was the first thing Egon said once the disorientation wore off.

“Yeah, that was a genius call,” Charlie agreed with a smile.

He had spotted a wound at the back of Egon’s head and was now digging through his medkit.

“Take off your glasses for a second, I need to put a bandage around your head.”

“I don’t like being blind,” Egon mumbled, but he did as he was told.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick.”

So, Charlie hurried with his medic duties. He made sure to be gentle, carefully holding Egon’s head. Once he was done, he patted his cheek and smiled.

“There we are. But you probably shouldn’t jump into battle straight away again.”

“Egon!” Peter yelled from across the room. “Egon, use that large brain of yours and come up with a plan! We need a plan!”

At the same time, Ray was grabbed by the kraken and lifted off the ground.

“Charlie, are you getting this?!” he shrieked.

Out of pure reflex, Charlie held up his camera and snapped a picture. Peter and Winston pointed their particle throwers at the arm the kraken held Ray in, prompting it to let him go.

“Now would be a good time, Egon!” Winston called.

But Egon just sat there, looking around the room, trying to find some sort of solution.

“I have a plan!” Charlie suddenly gasped. “Until now, we’ve only tried capturing it, but how about we try fighting it with its own weapons?”

“You know how to do that?” Egon asked.

“Of course! Give me your proton pack.”

Quickly, Egon slid the proton pack’s shoulder straps off and picked the heavy equipment up off the ground, putting it on Charlie’s back. In return, Charlie handed over his camera.

“Guys, try keeping it in the middle of the room!” Charlie shouted.

Then, he pointed his particle thrower at the ceiling. He started burning sigils into the concrete above the kraken, careful not to mess up the perspective or shape. It wasn’t that easy after all. But finally, the sigils started to glow, bright light raining down on the kraken. Charlie cheered, but he cheered too early. The kraken’s arm shot out to grab him, snaking itself around Charlie and the proton pack, pulling him into the light. Immediately, Charlie felt nauseous, the world started spinning, he felt like he was dissolving. Then, everything stopped and he fell down, into the void. From then on, he barely noticed anything happening. He caught a glimpse of bright light, possibly from a trap, felt himself be picked up and covered beneath some sort of fabric, heard the siren of Ecto-1, bits and pieces of conversation… But after a while, it all stopped.

Egon and Winston carried Charlie out of Ecto-1, his body covered by a banner from the aquarium. It had been an impulse decision because they hadn’t wanted the crowd and the reporters to see what had become of him. Now, looking back at it, it might have been a stupid decision, considering it looked like they were carrying a corpse. Janine shrieked when she saw this.

“My god, what happened?!” she gasped, running over from her desk.

“Charlie got in contact with a surge of psychokinetic energy,” Ray said as Egon and Winston carried him towards the stairs.

“Is he dead?!”

“No, he’s alive. He’s gonna be alright. I think.”

“You think?!”

“We’re sure,” Peter lied. “Just… get back to your desk, alright? We’re gonna take care of him. For now, he’s asleep and we’re gonna see how he feels when he wakes up.”

“Okay… whatever you say…” Janine murmured.

Upstairs, Egon and Winston put Charlie into Egon’s bed. They pulled the banner away and stared for a few seconds. Before them lay a creature that looked like the Charlie they knew but also wildly different. This creature had long, twisted horns that had been quite the obstacle while carrying him, pointy ears, fluffy white hair and light blue skin. A bow and a quiver with various metallic arrows were swung over his shoulder.

“It’s the silhouette we saw on the Aura Video-Analyzer,” Winston remarked. “What do you think happened?”

“Whatever sigil Charlie burned into the ceiling must have weakened him,” Egon theorized. “Just like it took the kraken’s power away and shrunk it, it must’ve destroyed Charlie’s human disguise.”

“Do you think we should figure out who he really is?”

“Maybe. For now, I’d like to know about the sigil he painted. - There should be a book on one of the shelves in my lab, a lexicon of runes and sigils. Would you get that for me?”

“Sure.”

As Winston left, Egon stayed behind. Carefully, he pulled the quiver and bow off of Charlie’s shoulder and leaned them against the nightstand. Then, he pulled the blanket up to Charlie’s collar. He wanted to leave, but then his attention went back to the bow and quiver. Curious, he pulled one of the arrows out of the quiver. It seemed to be made entirely of rose gold.

“Egon!” Peter called from outside the room, causing Egon to jump.

Before he knew it, the arrow’s tip was nudged into his fingertip and dissolved into sparkling dust. At first, Egon felt no different. But then, when he looked at Charlie again, his heart suddenly beat faster and he felt all warm and fuzzy inside. It was almost like a feeling he knew, like when Charlie had had his hands on his cheeks before, but a lot stronger.

“Egon!” Peter called again.

Reluctantly, Egon left the room and closed the door behind him. As it turned out, the proton pack Egon had worn hadn’t been fully waterproof and would have to have some parts replaced. Quickly, Egon got to work. Once he was done, he headed back to the bedroom to check on Charlie. But when he opened the door, Charlie was gone, along with the bow and quiver. Egon started to get a horrible feeling. Could he have lost his connection to this realm entirely? Did that mean he had just dissolved? Was he, perhaps, really dead? No, he couldn’t be dead. According to all the measurements they had taken, Charlie was a demon or demigod and that meant he couldn’t die. But what if he did? And if he hadn’t, would he even come back?

Three days went by and there was no sign of Charlie. In the meantime, Egon went out of his way to research who Charlie really was. Maybe it was invasive, but he had to know. Perhaps Charlie needed help to get back to the human realm and that was why he wasn’t back. He had to want to come back, right? They hadn’t done anything wrong, had they? Either way, Egon needed to see Charlie again. He found himself thinking of him even more than usual, in situations where it was really less than practical. One thing was clear: Egon would be more than willing to summon Charlie if necessary. Or Chandrah, as he had found out. A demigod capable of strong spells of love. But then did that mean… that Egon was in love? No, that couldn’t be. He barely felt any different from before the arrow had touched him. Or maybe that was exactly the point. Had he always been in love? Either way, he would have to see Charlie to make sure.

On the fourth day after Charlie’s disappearance, the Ghostbusters had yet another emergency call: Apparently, the museum was being terrorized by a mammoth. As it turned out, this job was even harder than the kraken job had been. Within only a few minutes, the Ghostbusters were all on the ground. The mammoth came stomping towards them with an aggressive cry, ready to crush them. Egon crawled backwards frantically, the heavy proton pack wearing him down. Suddenly, a beam of light shot through the hallway, hitting the mammoth right between the eyes, causing it to stumble backwards and fall. Egon turned around and couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Charlie!” Ray cried out, scrambling to his feet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Charlie said with a smile.

He stood there in his demon form, quiver over his shoulder, proudly holding his bow. As everyone else got to their feet, Egon stayed down, motionless in shock. He only started registering what was going on again when Charlie held his hand out to him to help him up.

“Charlie, you came back,” Egon gasped, cupping Charlie’s face in his hands.

“I’m sorry I left,” Charlie stammered, “I was scared, I was-”

He was suddenly quiet when Egon pressed a kiss onto his lips.

“Woah, lovebirds!” Peter shouted. “Can you wait ‘till after we have this ghost locked up?!”

It was just now that Egon truly realized what he had done. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Right.”

#ghostbusters oc #oc: charlie drake #eros and psyche au #fanfiction #opc2023

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himero-love · 2 years

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“how could you not know something was wrong earlier??”

*tells me that they worship me & love me so deeply* *chooses furniture & house decor with me the day before our breakup & lets me place a $300 order for our shared room* *agrees that we should “stay strong, focus on our love together as a team” against a potentially scary law situation* *talked about saving up enough money to go to julian or big bear together & that i had to “just listen to them abt money decisions & we can go :)” the day before they broke up with me* *not tell me that them going to the psych ward was dependent on me* *talks about how stable our relationship had grown to be* *invites me to join them for christmas AGAIN THE DAY BEFORE*

& they kept asking me why i couldn’t see it coming & couldn’t accept it so easily. they hid their hurt from me months past AND BROKE MY TRUST MONTHS AGO AND I TRIED SO HARD TO REGAIN IT IN THEM BECAUSE THEY SAID EVERYTHING WAS OKAY ONLY TO BLAME IT BACK ON ME. THEY SAID THEY WOULDNT TURN THEIR WORDS ON ME AND MADE A PROMISE THEY WOULDNT AND THEN THEY LITERALLY DID. WHEN I MADE SURE TO MAKE IT CLEAR TO THEM & TOLD MY CLOSE OTHERS SO THEY COULD KEEP AN EYE ON HOW THINGS PLAYED OUT & THEY SAID THEY WOULDNT PUT IT ON ME AND THEY DID. THEY TOLD ME I WAS THE MANIPULATIVE ONE.

I’m not even sad right now, or angry or ANYTHING, but god will i remember that it’s a testament to my strength & how GODDAMN hard I’ve worked that I’m okay. I let someone who gaslit me into my life so deeply, into my friends’ and family & house & holidays & outings. After all this emotional abuse & toil, after countless hurt, after a broken ass car & having to haul THEIR belongings & furniture out for their dad- they didn’t have the guts to get it their damn self- after their lies & being evicted with the deadline on last christmas, after multiple times at a psych ward/crisis center WHERE THEY RELIED ON ME & CALLED ME ONLY TO FUCK ME OVER THE FOLLOWING DAYS WHEN THEY COME BACK, may i never forget that i’m enough. that my life was worth so much more than this. that this hurt and grief cannot be the sum of my being, that i deserved joy & trust & love. that my body’s betrayal and trauma to please be released so i can be happy in this only home that i have for certain. may i never stop loving myself even when it’s hard. i don’t even know what that would be like anymore. but i’m trying hard to learn.

when i die, may i be full of joy and light. please

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xtruss · 7 months

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Life Inside The Brutal U.S. Prison That Awaits Julian Assange

Over Two Days This Week, A U.K. Court will Hear Julian Assange’s Appeal Against Extradition to the U.S.

— Deconstructed | February 20 2024 | The Intercept

People Walk by a Graffiti Depicting Julian Assange on Leake Street in London on February 19, 2024. Photo: Hesther Ng/SOPA Images/LightRocket Via Getty Images

Starting Tuesday , A U.K. Court Will Review Julian Assange’s Appeal Against Extradition To The United States. At the center of the extradition controversy is concern that Assange will be tortured and put in solitary confinement in what’s known as a CMU — communications management unit — in federal prison. This week on Deconstructed, Ryan Grim is joined by Martin Gottesfeld, a human rights activist who was formerly imprisoned in two of the nation’s CMUs. Gottesfeld shares his experience incarcerated in CMU facilities, where his access to visitors including his wife were severely restricted.

Ryan Grim: Welcome to Deconstructed, I’m Ryan Grim.

Later today in the United Kingdom a court will be reviewing, over the span of two days, a high court decision made to extradite Julian Assange to the United States. This could be the final appeal, the final hearing that Julian Assange has before he’s sent over here to the United States.

At the center of the controversy over the extradition in the court proceedings has been whether or not Julian Assange will be tortured, will be mistreated, here in the United States, whether or not he will be put in solitary confinement and, specifically, in what’s known as a CMU, a “Communications Management Unit.”

Now, the Department of Justice sort of pretended to make some kind of offering to the U.K. high court that they would not do this. But then, in the very next sentence of their pleading, they said, unless we decide that we actually would need to do this.

So, to talk today about what a CMU is, and why this has been the focus of human rights advocates who are concerned that he may actually wind up in one of these, we’re going to be joined by Martin Gottesfeld, who himself has spent a significant amount of time in an American CMU.

Marty, thank you so much for joining me on Deconstructed.

Martin Gottesfeld: I’m happy to be here, Ryan.

RG: And so, Marty, before we get to your experience in the CMU, let’s talk about how you wound up in prison in the first place, because I actually think that’s relevant to this conversation. Because it does appear like this is a place where a lot of people who are essentially political prisoners wind up.

MG: Yeah. And I was not the only one, although I do think my case is representative of the larger group, largely representative of the larger group.

So, the government alleges that I am a master hacker with Anonymous. The government also alleges that during a 2014 human rights and child custody matter, I launched one of the largest distributed denial of service —DDoS — attacks that the government had ever seen, to try to free Justina Pelletier, who is being held against her will and against her parents will in a Boston Children’s Hospital psych ward, and then in various residential facilities throughout the state.

The case reached the very highest levels of the political system, with people on both sides, parties on both sides of the aisle commenting on it. Mike Huckabee, Sean Hannity, others on the right, and then the Massachusetts HHS Secretary, uh, Polanowicz; he actually ended up getting involved from the left to eventually send Justina home, which is where most people felt she belonged the entire time.

And before that case, I had been involved — I don’t want to say with, but I guess kind of alongside — Anonymous, protesting the American troubled teen industry, which is also just a political lightning rod, and has been subject to congressional hearings, GAO reports, media exposés, for well over a decade, for the torture and death of American children for profit.

RG: And so, your journey in federal custody actually began in New York. Talk about that a little bit before we get to the CMU, because you actually wrote a piece for us about what it was like in the first jail you were in. And, if I recall correctly, wasn’t Chapo there too?

MG: So, that wasn’t my first jail. I was arrested in Florida, and then I made a very long extended journey through the federal system to get back to the Northeast. And then I started writing for the Huffington Post, back when you were the D.C. bureau chief. And very shortly after I began writing for the Huffington Post and started a hunger strike seeking pledges from the 2016 election to curtail institutionalized abuse against children and political prosecutions, the Justice Department transferred me to MCC, New York, the Metropolitan Correctional Center, New York, and it’s 9 South SHU and 10 South Sam’s Unit.

And that is where Chapo was held at the time, and it’s also where Jeffrey Epstein later died. And the communications program they have in those units is kind of connected at the hip to the CMUs. It’s run by the same so-called counterterrorism unit inside the U.S. Federal Bureau of Prisons, which is part of the Justice Department.

And yeah, I wrote a piece there for the Huffington Post — several pieces, actually — about that facility, calling on public officials to do something to reform the facility, because I foresaw, even in 2016, that people were going to die there. And then, sure enough, a few years later, Jeffrey Epstein died there.

RG: It was my sense that your willingness to write for us — both at The Huffington Post and then later at The Intercept — while you were behind bars was one of the things that led to you eventually getting moved to a full-on CMU. Do you think that that’s accurate? What do you think? What drove the decision making that got you stuck in that hole?

MG: Oh, I definitely think it was the journalism. Twelve days after my first Intercept article was when they transferred me to the CMU. And that Intercept article was about El Chapo, his confinement, the conditions of his confinement, the human rights violations, and that was what directly precipitated the move to the CMU.

And then, on top of that, when they transfer you to a CMU, there’s not really a lot of due process involved in that decision, and the courts have tolerated that, but they do have to give you this one-page paper with the supposed justification, right? And mine just basically said, you’re a member of Anonymous, Anonymous is this group that we have to watch. So, therefore, we’re putting you in a CMU.

The problem with that, of course, is that there were other guys in the federal prison system associated much more with Anonymous than I was who never were placed in the CMU. So, Jeremy Hammond was one… And I’m trying to remember the gentleman’s name, but he wrote for the Intercept a lot, but his articles didn’t really challenge federal judges, challenge federal prosecutorial discretion. He just kind of satirized the whole thing. And they were very good, but they didn’t really make people uncomfortable the way my writing made people uncomfortable. I named names.

RG: Right.

MG: And I named facilities. I named specific human rights violations, and that, I think, made them very uncomfortable.

And I can tell you, too, from how I was treated, and the other cases that were there, which I guess we’ll get into in a little while, it certainly seems that I was placed there to suppress my first amendment-protected conduct.

RG: Right. And so, where were you sent, and what’s the place like as you first get there?

MG: I spent time in both CMUs, there are two in the federal system. I was first sent to Terre Haute, Indiana, and that’s kind of the first, and that’s the harsher of the two CMUs. And then, later, I spent time in the CMU in Marion, Illinois.

When you first walk into the CMU, it’s a relatively small unit, there were only about 30 guys there when I first got there.

RG: This is the Terre Haute one.

MG: Yes, the Terre Haute one. It’s actually the old federal death house. So, they built a new federal death row elsewhere in the compound, and then they put the CMU in the old federal death house. So, like, I’ve been inside Timothy McVeigh’s cell. And there are guys who say they’ve seen the old electric chair in the basement, that they have not moved that.

And you can actually see the new death house. Like, we have a very small quote-unquote “outdoor rec area,” right? Where you can go and get fresh air. But they make sure that, within sharp view of that place, whenever you’re outside, you see the actual building, where in 2020 and 2021 they killed 14 people.

RG: What is your cell like? Because this is the place that people assume we will send Julian Assange if the U.S. successfully extradites him.

MG: The cells are very small. They were built in a former era — the building itself dates to, like, the 1930s — and they were built, I think, for a single person, even back then. So the cells do not actually meet the minimum square footage that the Bureau of Prisons publishes in its own policies, in terms of the minimum needed for a human being.

And then what they did is they went in, and they retrofitted a bunk bed onto each one, so that they can double up, and they did do that in the time that I was there. It’s a sardine can, and it’s smaller than you would get elsewhere in the Bureau of Prisons. It’s a concrete and brick building without air conditioning so, in the summer, you just bake. And if there’s a lockdown, and you’re not out of your cell for three or four days, they’re just baking you, they’re just cooking you like a turkey.

RG: So, while you are there, there are two of you? How much room is [left] after the bunk beds are put in there?

MG: There’s less than 56 square feet in the whole cell, and a lot less if you don’t count the toilet, the actual bunk. Now, I spent time there both single-celled and with a cellmate, it depends on the number of guys they have in the unit. But when you’re a journalist like I am, you’re one of the first people they double.

When they try to double you up as a journalist, they doubled up… They doubled me up with a guy who was a known informant, who was actually in the law library as an informant, right? And when I reacted negatively to that, they acted like I was the one who was misbehaving, you know?

But, again, these are all political cases. So, to force you to bunk with an informant and risk violence, right? Because that’s something that’s a direct risk of violence. And the Bureau of Prisons does not care. They do not care.

RG: Yeah. In general, do people want to be doubled up or not?

MG: No. People generally want the single cell. You have no modicum with privacy any other way.

RG: Right. So, you’re doubled up. How often can you get … If there’s not a lockdown, how often are you out of that cell?

MG: So, you’re out, actually, most of the day. They pop the doors around six, seven in the morning. During the weekday schedule you’d be out until just before four, and then there’d be a count, and you’d be released after the count anytime between like 4:30 and 5:30.

Sometimes the guards are lazy, right? And they don’t want to do the count right away, or they don’t want to unlock you right away after the count. So, even though the count’s done, you can be in your cell till 5:30, 6 o’clock. Then you’re out for dinner, and then you stay out until about nine o’clock.

On the weekends, there’s an additional count at 10 o’clock in the morning. And so, you lock in at like 9:45 and be out around 10:30, 11.

RG: And so, what’s the communication management part of it? Like, what’s different about Terre Haute or Marion, compared to a typical federal prison? When it comes to your ability to communicate with the public, with your attorneys, with your family, and so on?

MG: So, the unit is entirely self-contained. It’s part of a larger federal complex, but if you’re a regular prisoner in that complex, those times that you’re out, you’re not stuck in your housing unit. You can go to the athletic facilities, you can go to the sports fields. There’s a lot more to do.

In the CMU, when you’re out, you’re still kind of stuck in this sardine can. And the communications management … So, elsewhere in the federal prison system, you get between 300 and 500 minutes a month of phone time, and that’s kind of in flux now with the First Step Act and all that. And you get in-person contact visits; like, your family can come and hug you.

In the CMU, you get two 15-minute phone calls a week, max. You have no contact visits, you basically never leave the little unit until you’re either released or you’re transferred.

Those phone calls elsewhere in the Bureau, they say they monitor, but there’s so much call volume that they cannot really effectively monitor; they kind of keep recordings for a little while in case they have to go back and do something. But in the CMU, your phone calls are monitored in real time, and they can be cut off in real time. And so, several times I was speaking with journalists, and they would just cut the call off. And they would never provide any justification for that.

After NBC dropped the four-part docuseries on my case, they just deleted my wife from my contact information, never provided me any written justification for that, effectively banned me on the phone without providing any written justification whatsoever. And you get lawyers involved, and nothing really happens. The system is completely unwilling to check their discretion. The judges just don’t want to hear it.

The judges in Terre Haute get spun. They hear that this is the terrorist unit for Al-Qaeda guys, and that whatever they file is frivolous. And these judges are mostly former federal prosecutors. Like, you’re dead on arrival in court.

I have a federal habeas pending now that I’ve been released, but it’s been pending since July, fully briefed, right? And the judge won’t rule on it, just to give you an example. And federal habeas is supposed to jump to the front of the list, it’s the very first thing a federal judge is supposed to rule on. And in Terre Haute, it becomes the very last thing. Especially if it looks like you’ve got a case.

RG: Let’s talk a little bit about who goes out there, because I remember from more than ten years ago, there was a lawsuit, or there were complaints against the CMUs on religious grounds, where the argument was, you’re sticking all of the Muslims in these prisons, and you can’t do that, that is discrimination based on religion. The Bureau of Prison’s response to that was, oh, well, we’ve got a couple people convicted of ecoterrorism here and there. And so, they kind of just threw them into it, and said, well, look, it’s not all Muslims anymore, so you don’t have your case anymore.

When you were there, what’s the kind of demographic, and what’s the profile of the kinds of people that you’re with?

MG: At any given time, it’s between about 30 and 45 percent Muslims, most of them. It tends not to be the big cases that you would actually associate with a unit like that. It tends to be, like, some 20-year-old guy who got indoctrinated over the internet and was trying to fly to Syria, and they catch him at the airport, right? And he’s never actually hurt anybody. In some cases, these people were entrapped, right? And it tends to be those kinds of cases.

These are not really the serious terrorism cases that one would think they are, but these cases are worth a lot of money. The Bureau of Prisons gets a lot in their budget based on building these guys up as some international threat, even though they’ve never hurt anybody, and had no serious potential to hurt anybody. That’s the majority of the Muslim cases there.

Then you have probably about 15 percent political cases. And then the rest… They actually started changing the demographic after I started complaining that there was a high concentration of political cases, so now they’re running through guys who get caught with a cell phone in federal prison. That was largely a reaction to my coverage.

It’s definitely not what the public is sold. And these CMUs, they cost millions of dollars, they hire dozens of so-called intelligence analysts to review the cases there. My understanding is that the qualifications of these so-called intelligence analysts wouldn’t meet the bar at the state department or anywhere else. A lot of cases, these are just former prison guards who have no special intelligence training that I’ve ever seen, right? But they do get these exorbitant salaries, once the Bureau of Prisons kind of designates them as intelligence analysts.

And the CMUs, they were started during Iraq and Afghanistan, and the idea there was that, by mining the communications of these jihadis, they would come up with actionable intel to use in the war effort. And the one thing that — to my knowledge anyway — the CMU has never, ever produced, is actionable intel to use in any war effort whatsoever.

RG: So, how often would you wind up in solitary? What’s that system there?

MG: So, I started doing the prerequisites to file a lawsuit that they didn’t like, and they called that extortion, and they threw me in solitary.

RG: How long, that first time?

MG: So, that was about a month and a half. And then they celled me up with that informant. And when I started talking to the media saying they celled me up with an informant, they threw me in solitary for another three, four months. Those are the two stints that I did in solitary in the CMU.

And the solitary cells in the CMU, by the way, are even worse than the regular cells. They’re insect infested, cockroaches everywhere. There are serious sewage issues. The water is not really drinkable. And so, they go out of their way to make those solitary cells very, very heinous, and it’s something that Julian, I’m sad to say, can expect to experience himself the first time he reaches out to a journalist, the first time someone tries to file a lawsuit to vindicate his First Amendment rights, you know? It’s hell.

RG: What kind of insect infestation? That sounds utterly terrifying.

MG: Spiders, cockroaches, various other insects that we couldn’t identify. I actually, at one point, got in — it took some effort — but I got in a North American field guide to insects and bugs, just so that we could identify all the various creepy crawlies, and so that we would know what’s potentially venomous and what’s not. Because they don’t provide any training, any safety. There’s nothing to tell you, don’t get stung by that one, don’t get stung by that one, right?

And there’s an insect there that’s called a “cow killer,” OK? And it’s called a cow killer …

RG: That doesn’t sound good.

MG: Yeah, it’s not because its sting is so venomous that it would actually kill a cow, but the sting is so painful that it can cause a stampede. So, one of these things stings one cow, the cow bucks because it’s in so much pain. This causes a stampede, and you end up with a herd of dead cows, right? And that insect was crawling around the rec yard out there. And, again, there’s no signage, no warning, no anything. If you don’t have the knowledge of the guys who are already there to say, hey, don’t get stunned by that guy, you might step right on it.

RG: What’s it like trying to sleep, knowing that the cell’s crawling with bugs?

MG: In my cell I always slept on the top bunk, even when I didn’t have a cellmate, because they’re just less likely to get at you up there. But yeah, I’ve woken up there with a cockroach staring at me, like, on my chest, just staring at me, and I’m like, oh hi. Had to brush him off the bed.

Guys wake up with spider bites, you know? Like, a big rash going all the way down the leg.

Yeah. Just, nothing is done. I filed remedies all the way up to Washington, in the Bureau of Prisons, saying, you guys got to do something about this. And they basically said, we don’t see any bugs, you guys are fine. And they just lie. I mean, they lie, in writing, on federal documents, they sign them … You know, if you see something, anything from the government talking about the conditions in the CMU, from my perspective, they’re just lying.

RG: And this is all related because — as people I’m sure have gathered by this point in the conversation — you’re the kind of person that is going to be a squeaky wheel. Like, they can do whatever they want to you, and you’re not going to stop pushing back and fighting for your rights. That is also the kind of person that they’re going to retaliate against constantly.

MG: Yeah. They’re trying to break you. That’s their goal. Really. I mean, they’ll never admit to it, but there’s a widely known thing among the CMU prisoners that, if you kind of go to them and you say, hey, look, I’ll stop, just get me out of here. And you drop all your lawsuits, and you stop complaining, that’s the one time they’ll let you out.

And no staff ever threatened me, but I’ve talked to a lot of guys who were threatened, who staff told them, if you don’t stop, we’re going to make sure you never see your kids again. If you don’t stop, we’re going to keep you here. Or, complaining is not the way to get out of this unit, right? That’s the one you hear the most, is that complaining is not the way to get out of this unit.

RG: The way you got into it, and the way you stay in it.

MG: You stay in it. Yeah, exactly. I think that’s the implication.

RG: Right. And Julian Assange is not the kind of person, either, that is just going to just sit back and accept the fate that he’s dealt. He’s somebody that’s always been completely about transparency.

MG: I mean, the only reason they’re prosecuting Julian — let’s just be real here — is because he told the truth about some things that people in power found really embarrassing.

RG: Yes.

MG: Without that, there would be no prosecution. They’re, they’re, they’re grasping at straws to try to make a federal violation out of something that is arguably protected press conduct. And that’s why the Obama administration didn’t prosecute him in the first place. They had the so-called “New York Times problem.” If we prosecute him, how do we justify that we’re not prosecuting the New York Times?

So, I understand he’s become somewhat of a controversial figure because of a lot of the media narrative that has been run against him. But there was a time in this country ten years ago when he was widely perceived as a hero, and very little in terms of his conduct has changed since that time.

So, his case, my case, many other cases that are at the periphery of prosecutorial discretion, right? Those are the kinds of cases that end up in the CMU. And we as a country, I think, have to ask ourselves an existential question of, can we tolerate these kinds of units?

Because you go to prison, and you’re supposed to keep your first amendment rights, right? There’s no valid, what they call penological reason. There’s nothing relevant to protection of the public, rehabilitation, any of what the supposed goals of prison are that says you shouldn’t be able to speak, you shouldn’t be able to speak to the media, you shouldn’t be able to file in court. But those are the things the CMU exists to curtail, right? That’s why those units are there.

And the actual stated purpose of the unit — keep the public safe, help fight the war on terror — again, the units never produced a single piece of actionable intel for that. And they’ve slept. They’ve missed more than a few of these things.

There was a shootout in Texas where the mass shooter was trying to get a female federal prisoner freed from the female-equivalent of these CMU’s. And there was no intelligence to say that he was going to do that, they didn’t stop that. She was in one of these units, supposedly to stop that very kind of mass killing. And these people missed it, and Americans died.

And had they not put her there in the first place, frankly, it wouldn’t have happened. I’m not saying that justifies the shooting, of course. But if you’re going to put people in these kinds of units to stop terrorist actions, and you’re going to take millions of dollars from taxpayers to do it, then you ought to at least stop the terrorist actions. And they’re not even doing that. They failed at that.

RG: Let’s even grant them, though, in some imaginary world, where they actually managed, at some point, to do that with somebody who was convicted of a charge of terrorism. How do they justify putting Julian Assange or you in a CMU, when there’s not even any claim that you’re even remotely connected, that either of you are remotely connected to terrorism?

MG: We actually had a district court ruling in my case. The federal judge, who’s not a pro-defendant judge, he’s known as a hanging judge, a very harsh sentencing judge, right? He was Aaron Swartz’s judge. And we actually had that judge rule that the government could not say, could not imply that anything I did was terrorism, right? Mine was an activism case. We actually had a ruling from the bench before the trial and sentence, right? That argument would literally be frivolous in my case, because a district court already decided the matter, and the government never appealed it to challenge it, right?

So, the thing is, they don’t really have to justify it at all. That’s, really, the scary thing. The relevant precedent in the Supreme Court is called Sandin v. Conner, OK? And the Supreme Court basically said, unless what the prison is doing is an atypical and significant hardship as compared to the normal hardships of prison life, then the prisoner has no due process to challenge his placement, wherever the system wants to put you.

So, what they do in the CMUs … You asked before, how often are you out of your cell? So, you’re out most of the time. The reason you’re out most of the time is not out of the goodness of their heart. It’s because they have to say we treat them just like any other prisoner. This is a general population unit, they actually try to maintain that the CNUs are a general population unit. But then you look elsewhere in what they say and in what they do, and it becomes very clear that this is not really a general population unit. But, so long as they keep lying and saying it’s general population, and as long as the federal courts continue to credit them that it’s a general population unit, they can really put whoever they want in these CMUs.

RG: And I guess when it comes to the definition of atypical, it’s in the eye of the judge and the prison. Because when I think about what you said about getting just, what, two 15-minute calls a month? That to me feels like an atypical and radical departure.

MG: Yeah. That’s mentioned with no-contact. I wasn’t able to hug my wife for four years.

RG: I feel naïve asking as if they’re going to give some rational answer to it, but what did they say to you when you would challenge them, and say, this is an atypical deviation from the rest of the federal prison system?

MG: No, they just say it’s a general population unit. You have all the same things everyone else on the compound has. It’s because we have to manage your communications to ensure public safety.

RG: They go back to the public safety argument.

MG: Yeah, even though we had a federal judge rule that mine was an activism case with no real public safety ramifications. And the government in my case failed to prove that anything that I did affected a single human individual. They put it before the jury, right? They asked the jury to find that something I did had affected, or even potentially affected a single human being, and the jury would not convict on that.

So, they got me for financial damage to multimillion- and multibillion-dollar institutions that tortured and crippled a human child, but that’s actually what I was convicted of. And when the government sought to convict me for actually being a potential danger to even one human person, they were not able to convict me of that. But they still sent me to a CMU.

RG: What was the time in solitary like for you? What are the phases that you go through?

MG: So the first time I was in solitary I was on a hunger strike, and that actually lasted 42 days; it was the second longest hunger strike I did in federal prison. The longest one, which we covered together at HuffPost, was a hundred days, and that was during the election.

So, after that hundred-day hunger strike, I had lost a lot of muscle mass. I prepared for that hundred-day hunger strike for six months. People ask me all the time, how do you do that, how do you survive a hundred days? And the answer is: you prepare ahead of time. I prepared for nine months to survive that.

So, the second time, I didn’t have that preparation. I had lost a lot of lean body mass. It was actually much more concerning from a health perspective the second time than the first time, but that colored my experience in CMU solitary quite a bit. Because it’s one thing to be in solitary, it’s another thing to be in solitary and reject, I think it was, 105 straight meals where I did not eat.

I was trying to fight my case at that point, I was still up on appeal, I was trying to change attorneys. Your legal calls are pretty much entirely at their discretion. They open your legal mail, they opened and read my legal mail right in front of me when I was in solitary the first time, even though they’re not supposed to do that. Legal mail is supposed to be kind of sacrosanct. Like, they can inspect it for contraband, they can like make sure no drugs fall out when they open the envelope, but they’re not supposed to read it.

But they went through my incoming legal mail, reviewing for content, and actually confiscated things; like, parts of my appellate brief they would not let me have. When I was trying to change lawyers, they made that very, very difficult, and it was something that, had I not had my lovely and talented wife Dana on the outside fighting for me — and that’s something most of these guys do not have, a spouse, a significant other — I wouldn’t have been able to do that.

So, they make it very, very hard to fight your case, and that adds a lot of stress, too. If you feel you have meritorious claims, you want to get these claims heard before the court.

So, the first time I’m in solitary in the CMU, I’m on a hunger strike, I’m trying to change attorneys, they’re interfering with my legal mail. I mean, they’re basically trying to drive you to kill yourself. To me, that seemed like what the goal was. Like, if I had hanged myself in that cell, they would’ve just wiped their hands of it, and they would all consider that, you know, a squeaky wheel, as you put it, had now been silenced.

RG: Right. Do you have books in solitary? Do you get to leave at all to go outdoors, but only by yourself? Like, how does that work?

MG: So, there are books. The Bureau provides, really, kind of shoddy, like, pulp fiction kind of stuff. Thankfully, in the CMU, since you have this concentration of political prisoners, and it’s really a very smart crowd in that unit compared to the rest of federal prisons. So, the books have been interspersed with books that other guys received from their families. So, you actually have really good reading material, it is one of the best libraries in the Bureau of Prisons, is the irony.

But it’s not that way because the Bureau provides good reading materials, it’s that way because they only allow you to keep so many books in your cell. So, you either can donate them or give them away, but what ends up happening is that the library gets filled with really interesting… And a lot of the classics, a lot of the Western canon. I’d say there’s a better selection there than there is in most public high school libraries. So, that’s one of the good things, I did get a lot of good reading.

RG: So, how much time did you spend in both of these CMUs?

MG: So, I was in Terre Haute from April 1st, 2019 through January 21st, 2021, then I was in Marion from January 21st, 2021 to, I think, November 10th, 2022. And then, again, in Terre Haute from November 10th, 2022 till, I think, June 9th of 2023.

RG: What was it like when you finally got out of there?

MG: Words fail me, because you’re out in public again. Like, they just put you on a greyhound bus; when I was released, it’s like, they just drop you off at the bus station, and you’re out in public again, and you can talk to people.

RG: Like, 24 hours earlier, you’re just…

MG: Yeah, you’re completely cut off, isolated from the world. They blocked Dana, so I couldn’t talk to my wife for seven months, with no kind of process, no official anything ever handed to me to justify it. And you get out, and you get to the Greyhound station, and it’s just … Can I borrow your cell phone, I need to make a call real quick.

And they didn’t want me to leave with my legal work. So, I had 210 pounds of documents about the CMU, and about my case, between the two, right? And I still have them, but they would not allow my lawyer to come to the prison the day before I was released to pick up my legal documents, even though their own regulations kind of specify that they have to allow a prisoner to exchange legal documents with an attorney, and they knew I was being released. They were really hoping that they would make it logistically difficult for me to bring my legal documents with me, and that I would then trust them to mail these documents home. But, having spoken to guys who had been through the CMU program — and some of them, it’s like their 2nd, 3rd, 4th trip through the CMU program — I was not prepared to rely on the Bureau of Prisons to mail these very sensitive, very compromising legal documents home.

So, I actually had to carry, by hand, 210 pounds of legal documents to the Greyhound stop, and then Dana arranged for somebody to meet me there. And I put the legal documents in that person’s car, and then that person — you know, bless her heart — took them to UPS, and had them shipped home for me. And that’s the only way that I have these documents that show, in detail, the kind of thing that Julian can expect. And the writeups, the bogus disciplinary charges that I got for trying to speak to the media, trying to litigate, trying to tell people what’s going on, trying to help other guys who I feel are wrongfully incarcerated in the CMUs, [to] litigate.

And there’s one case in particular that I really want to mention, and that’s Donald Reynolds, Jr. His case is related to Operation Fast and Furious, which was when the Justice Department walked high-powered, fully-automatic, so-called cop-killing firearms to the Mexican drug cartels. You had mentioned Chapo earlier, right? And so, this was when the Justice Department was actually handing those cartels armor piercing firearms.

RG: Yeah. This became a scandal under the Eric Holder Attorney Generalship.

MG: Yeah. So, Donnie was a Black NRA member, firearms collector. He had a lot of historic weapons, like World War II-era firearms, and a lot of high-powered stuff. And they went to him, they asked him to become an informant for them, he refused. They buried him as a first-time nonviolent offender with a life-plus-75-year sentence; so, they actually hit Donnie off with a longer sentence than El Chapo received. And it looks to me and to others like Donnie is wholly innocent, and they basically just did this to keep him quiet.

And we actually had The American Conservative from the other side of the aisle do a months-long investigation into Donnie’s case. And The American Conservative ended up recommending clemency for Donnie, because of the prosecutorial irregularities. And then a different organization — similar name, The American Conservative Union — on the other side of the aisle, not really known for taking a pro-defendant, anti-law enforcement kind of stance, also recommended clemency for Donnie because of these prosecutorial irregularities.

RG: What charges did they end up hitting him with?

MG: Drug trafficking, and using firearms in pursuit of drug trafficking. But here’s the thing: they never found any drugs on Donnie. Never. They searched his house, they searched his parents’ house. They never found anything.

RG: And he was a player in this entire scandal. So, the thinking is, from your perspective, that holing him up somewhere is an effective way to do PR for this scandal. Is that what you’re thinking? Or what’s the rationale for why in particular they would go after him?

MG: I think that, in his case, you have a lot of what are called Brady violations, which are discovery violations. Donnie’s defense was entitled to information about Operation Fast and Furious to prepare his defense, which he never received. And if it comes out that this information was never turned over to his defense attorneys, well, then that’s a big issue. Because then his conviction is going to have to be overturned, and if they choose to continue to prosecute the case, he’s entitled to all this information about Fast and Furious, which the House committees were trying to obtain from the White House, and the Obama White House asserted executive privilege to quash those subpoenas.

Well, you can’t assert executive privilege to quash Brady, right? Donnie’s entitled to that information if they’re coming for his liberty, which they are. And Donnie had no idea that it was Fast and Furious. It took years for information to come out about Fast and Furious for Donnie to put it together that this was likely Fast and Furious.

And then, when these months-long investigations were done, lo and behold, the names involved in his case are some of the same names involved in Fast and Furious. The dates all line up, as one would expect them to line up. It’s really uncanny. So, there’s a piece at The American Conservative about it called “The Knoxville Kingpin Who Wasn’t,” and that has more of the details about it.

But this is another great example of a CMU case, right? The Obama administration literally asserted executive privilege to stop any investigation into Fast and Furious. Here you have an innocent guy who is being held in a CMU to keep a lid on that, even to this day. And I’m convinced of that, and I think the facts do bear it out, but if people can read the investigation, then they can come to their own conclusions.

RG: What’s he like?

MG: Donnie’s a great guy, he’s a smart guy. He was a businessman. He ran four businesses before they locked him up, he was married before they locked him up, he’s a father. His father worked at Oak Ridge National Laboratory, had a security clearance. He’s a great friend to have, and he doesn’t deserve at all what’s happening to him, and I really hope someday the truth comes out.

Donnie is one of the many guys who helped keep me safe while I was there. He was also the unit barber, so he cut everyone’s hair. And he’s a funny guy, he’s got a great sense of humor. You’d think after they do all this to you, it’d be very hard to keep your head up, right? And Donnie maintains this sense of humor.

RG: How old is he now?

MG: He’s a few years older than I am, so he’s in his 40s, he’s in his early 40s.

RG: And looking at life.

MG: He’s doing life. He’s been locked up longer than I was. He’s been locked up since, like, 2011 … I might be off by a year or two there. And he’s been in the CMU practically the entire time.

RG: And you mentioned, keeping you safe. What is the violence like there? It’s a small place, and I don’t know if that makes it less or more violent.

MG: Yeah. Six months before I got there, one of the jihadis garroted to death one of the minimum security prisoners there, and stabbed another guy 11 times. And they just completely covered that up. There was a press release that there had been a death at the Terre Haute federal complex, but they did not mention that it was the CMU. There are multiple theories about what predicated that attack, but the one thing that everyone seems to agree, is that the Bureau of Prisons knew ahead of time that it was going to happen, and did nothing to stop it.

There is sectarian violence, but I’m a brown Jew, and they put me in a unit full of radical jihadi Muslims. Like, it’s hard to say that that itself wasn’t an assassination attempt. What they weren’t banking on, though, is that the government’s saying this whole time that I’m a member of Anonymous, right? And Anonymous has a fairly good reputation in the Middle East after the Arab Spring. So, you know, it didn’t work out the way they thought it would.

RG: So, you were cool.

MG: Yeah, I was cool. And I do a lot of legal work for guys. I’m like the resident jailhouse lawyer, anywhere I go. And so, that always keeps you safe. Like, if you’re headed to federal prison through no fault of your own, pick up a Black’s Law Dictionary and get good with the law, because you will become an indispensable person.

But the thing is, about prison, especially about that unit, is it’s never going to be one-on-one. Like, it’s him and his boys versus you and whoever’s going to get your back. And that’s also what is potentially so very dangerous about these units. These units are a powder keg just waiting for a spark to go off. And, in 2018, before I got there, they had that spark go off and, and one person died, and another person was stabbed 11 times.

RG: And, since you got out, you mentioned all of that information that you were able to take with you. I know you’ve been in touch with Julian Assange’s legal team. I don’t know what you can say about that. How are they feeling about this upcoming hearing? And were they able to make use of any of the insider CMU knowledge that you were able to give them?

MG: So, in terms of their feeling about the hearing, I’m going to defer to them. You’re going to really have to speak to them on that matter.

They were limited. By the time I got out, the lower-court proceedings had already been concluded, and so, they were limited to that record on appeal. So I don’t know that they were able to actually use any of the documents that I got [over] to them, because it was just too late by the time those documents got there.

Now, if the case gets reversed, if he gets to go back to the lower courts, then I think, potentially, some of the documents that I have are really potentially useful. I don’t know what they’ve used and what they haven’t used. Presumably it’s a public docket and we can see.

But I think unfortunately, very unfortunately for Julian, my experience and my records in the legal sense will not really come to bear until the next CMU extradition case. And, at that point, all this stuff can be briefed in the district court, in the lower court, where it’ll become part of the record of the case, and be arguable on appeal, and on appeal to the European Court of Human Rights.

RG: I think one thing I just want to leave people with, you know, you’re no fool, you knew what kind of system you were getting into. And the prosecutors offered a plea deal that would’ve given a significant — because I remember you and I talking about this at the time — would’ve given you a significantly shorter prison sentence. I don’t remember exactly the details now, but I remember you saying, it’s not about that. I am not ashamed of what I did. Like, I was standing up for Justine. I’m going to take this all the way to the jury, and if the jury finds me guilty, then so be it.

That’s just an unusual amount of courage, I would say, to willingly stare down a much more extended sentence under brutal conditions. And I think that it’s a fact that that is unusual courage, because I think something like 95 percent of federal cases — some extraordinary number of federal cases — end in plea deals.

MG: Yeah, it’s higher than 95. The trial system is so unfair in the federal system. I mean, it’s not a fair system. And I would invite anyone who finds that shocking, as I did initially… I get that it’s a shocking thing. This is America, you expect the courts to be fair.

Go do a little research on the federal system, look at cases like mine. They would not even let me plead defense of another, right? Like, they wouldn’t let my jury consider it, that I acted to defend a human life, right? They found that defense inconvenient, so they simply prevented the jury from hearing it.

RG: Yeah, I think any system that has a 95-plus percent success rate for the prosecution, you can pretty fairly say is tilted in their favor. And that’s why so many people take deals.

MG: Well, they want you to believe that these prosecutors are just that good, and they’re just that righteous.

RG: Absolute geniuses. Yes.

MG: Yeah. But, again, just look at it, and just look at the cases they’re bringing. Look at the case they’re bringing against Julian. Look at the case they brought against Barrett Brown or Jeremy Hammond.

RG: Now, Barrett Brown, that’s who you were trying to think of earlier.

MG: Yeah, yeah. But just look at the cases they bring, and look at the cases that they do not bring, right? You had the 2008 financial crisis, right? Who went to jail? The whistleblower. You have the Bush torture program, right? Who went to jail? The whistleblower.

RG: Right. And look at the war crimes that Julian Assange exposed, the only people to go to prison, Chelsea Manning and Julian Assange, right?

MG: Julian, yeah.

RG: Well, Marty, thank you for fighting, and thank you for joining me today. I really appreciate it.

MG: Thank you for having me, Ryan.

RG: That was Marty Gottesfeld, and that’s our show.

— Deconstructed is a production of The Intercept. Jose Olivares is our Lead Producer. Our Supervising Producer is Laura Flynn. The show is mixed by William Stanton. Legal Review by David Bralow and Elizabeth Sanchez. Leonardo Faierman transcribed this episode. Our theme music was composed by Bart Warshaw. Roger Hodge is The Intercept’s Editor-in-Chief. And I’m Ryan Grim, D.C. Bureau Chief of The Intercept.

Thanks for listening. See you soon.

#Julian Assange #Extradition to the US 🇺🇸#UK 🇬🇧 Court | Case Review #Brutal US 🇺🇸 Prison #Deconstructed | The Intercept #Ryan Grim #Martin Gottesfeld #Communications Management Unit (CMU)

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madamebristow · 1 year

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Going, Going. Gone. (Remember The Time)

I'm changing the title! But, here's chapter 3!

Warnings

Amputation

Mention of Death

Enjoy!

The day after Mario and Peach’s talk, Mario, Mia, Toadette, and Rosalina go down to Peach’s infirmary to check on Daisy who’s still not talking to anyone. The four eat lunch with her keeping her company. “Blowing off your human world? Wow,” Toadette exclaims. Mario rolls his eyes as he bounces his daughter on her leg. “You're blowing off Sarasaland. Wow.” “No,” Toadette shook her head. “I'm postponing Sarasaland until Toad is better. Junior did the same thing for his father.” “And I stayed,” Rosalina sighed. Mario chuckled. “And you stayed because you have no place else to go.” Rosalina gives Mario an offended look. “Sorry,” Mario sighed as he gave Mia one of her toys.

“How’s Toad’s infection? Is it getting any better?” “Don’t know, haven’t seen him yet.” Mario gives Toadette a confused look. “What do you mean? You're his wife.” “You really think he wants to talk to me?” Toadette asks with an irritated tone. “I mean, what am I supposed to say to him? ‘Hey, remember the time that I quit on us, you got pissed and took my seat on a plane that crashed, and now you're trading in your little brown boots for a peg leg?’ Sorry. My bad?” Mario sighs as he starts bouncing his leg that Mia is on.

A few minutes later, Bowser Jr. comes into Daisy’s room with his notebook and bag of pencils. “Hey,” He greets the five. “Hey, Juinor, you're talking to your dad, right? Keeping him updated,” Mario asks the young Koopa. Junior sits down on the floor and starts to draw. “Yeah. Not about king stuff, though. He doesn't need that kind of pressure right now.” Mario rolls his eyes. “What is wrong with you two?” Junior looks up at Mario with a confused look on his face. “I just said that-” “No,” Mario interrupts him. “I'm just saying, they're fine. They're gonna be fine. Toad's not gonna lose his leg, and Bowser is coming back. They're coming back. So let's act like it. They're gonna be fine.” He turns to Daisy who’s looking at him, deadpan. “We're all going to be fine.” Daisy still doesn't respond.

“How long are we saying that this is okay?” Toadette asks Mario. Mario sighs before responding. “As long as she needs.” “I, for one, find it refreshing,” Rosalina says. “They say, if you don't have something nice to say, She never has anything nice to say. Come on, Sarasaland. I'm wide open. Just hit me.” Daisy doesn’t say anything to Rosalina. She turns her head the other way. Mario and Toadette giggle as Rosalina gasps at Daisy.

+++++++++++++ Later in the day, three toad guards stand outside Daisy’s room, staring at her. “So she doesn't speak at all?” The Yellow guard says, confused. “She hasn't yet. She just stares and breathes,” The Blue guard shudders. “It's kind of weird, but the way that the King and Queen talk about her, it's like she's a legend, you know?” Another guard says. The Yellow Guard chuckles “Mm. And now she's like an end table.” The Blue Guard hits the yellow one on the arm. “That's horrible. Stop it.” Suddenly, Daisy throws the flower vase on the end table in her room at the window. The guards scream and run off into the castle.

+++++++++++++++ The next day, Mario goes back down to Daisy’s room to see the head doctor and another doctor arguing in front of her room. “I said no more damn restraints!” “: Look, she is clearly a danger. She doesn't even belong here! She is violent and uncommunicative, and I'm worried. There is nothing physically wrong with her. She belongs in the psych ward.” The head doctor storms off in a huff as the doctor runs after him. “Sir! Sir!” Mario shakes his head and runs to Daisy’s bedside. “Okay. Okay. It's time. It's time to get up. They are gonna take you upstairs and they're gonna pump you full of antipsychotics. And you're gonna go slack-jawed and cuckoo's nest and you'll never be you again.” Mario’s voice starts shaking as he gets on his knees and holds the princess’ hand.

“Dais, please, I am begging you. Please. You have to say something. I’ve already lost Luigi, I can’t lose another sibling. Daisy, please. Do you hear me? Say something, please.” A few sobs escape from Mario as he brings Daisy’s forehead to his. Are they really going to be fine? Or is this reality?

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

Thanks for reading!

#luigi #the super mario bros movie #super mario bros #mario and luigi #mario #no princess peach this chapter #no toad this chapter #no bowser this chapter #angst

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roving-boi · 1 year

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Dear Diary

So, a lot happened I guess. To start, I don’t live with my dad anymore. A few days before school started I made the last minute decision to live with my mom. The new house is actually pretty nice. I have my own room, I go to a new school now. But it was kinda ugly making the leap. My dad was very angry and when I went back to his house to collect some of my belongings he basically kicked me out and screamed at me. It’s been about a month and He’s tried to contact me since but I haven’t said anything to him. I probably won’t talk to him again for awhile.

Things at my moms house have been alright. I have a functioning shower, my own space and bathroom, and nobody criticizes me. School is kinda weird though, and I’m not used to like a million people crowding the halls. I don’t really like being exposed to so many people. It makes me feel so little and small, like my existence is not really that significant. I wonder how many other people feel the same way. I think there’s just too many people, how does one to expect to find the love of their life if there’s like 8 billion people and millions all around you. Human relationships are so weird.

I guess things are better for me lately though. I’ve been more relaxed and less stressed out. And I think my acne is starting to clear up. I’m happy to be spending time with my brother and my mom. My step dad and I had like a long talk with my mom and we sorted everything out and I got closure and an apology for how he treated me as a child. I feel relieved and I’m happy my mom is helping me get my life back on track. My dad refused to give me my social security card so I had to get a replacement which was a pain in the ass. Now I have to go get an ID and then soon after get a license.

I’ve been having dreams about jay still, I’m still angry about what she did. Since I’ve lived here I’ve had a dream I kicked her ass in the school bathroom and another’s where I shoved her into dirt. Selu recently got out of a psych ward for trying to overdose. I’m so mad that nobody seems to care but me. Jay most likely doesn’t care at all and neither of her friends who pretend like they do. Nobody cares. This world is so sick and I want to throw up.

Anyway on a more lighthearted note, I hope to decorate my new room soon. I’m thinking of putting up white Christmas lights or something with some posters. I wanted to paint my room pink but my mom said no but it’s alright.

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jswdmb1 · 2 years

Text

If I Had a Boat

“And if I had a boat

I'd go out on the ocean

And if I had a pony

I'd ride him on my boat

And we could all together

Go out on the ocean

Me upon my pony on my boat”

Lyle Lovett

I currently coach high-school boys in a park district basketball league. One of the players is a friend’s son, and they needed to put an “adult” down as a coach. She asked if I would be interested in helping as I had recently expressed a desire to coach again now that my kids no longer need my services. I asked her if they were up for me coming to practices and games to do what they needed, and they agreed. During the first practice, I mostly watched, and then I asked them what kind of league this was. They started naming teams of kids, which gave me some pause. One is made up of varsity football players with a kid that is 6’ 5” in the middle. Another team is last year’s JV basketball team, who just missed this year’s varsity team cut. Most of the others are club teams that have been together for a while. None sounded like a group of undersized friends of varying levels of experience looking to have a little fun on Sunday afternoons. I didn’t say much as I like to keep things positive other than let’s see how things go, and we’ll take it from there.

They lost the first game we played last week by 52 points. Remember that we are playing with a running clock, no press, and the other team had to drop behind the three-point line once they got up by fifteen, which was early in the first quarter. It is almost impossible to lose by that much in that amount of time under those conditions. But these kids never gave up. There are only eight on this team, so it is a short bench. That means lots of minutes with little rest, and I never saw a decrease in energy. Despite the long odds and disappointing results, I was pleased to see their effort never diminished. The challenge was now on me to figure out how to accentuate the positives we could take from the defeat and build on it. Our weekly practice was in a few days, so I had some time to think through it.

When Wednesday night came, I gathered them around before practice and gave a brief talk. Remember that none of these kids belong to me, and I don’t even know most of them. Still, I felt responsible for letting these young men know that days like last Sunday would happen. It’s a reality you must accept in life; the sooner you hear it, the better. Besides, who better to listen to it from than me? I like to think I know a thing or two about bad days (who doesn’t – I don’t pretend I have the market covered on them). The question was how to articulate it. The best I could come up with was, “Boys, you are going to have days in life when you get your ass kicked, and Sunday was one of them. The question is not why this happened, but what life is trying to tell me and how I can use that to improve.” That may be paraphrasing, and then I went on with some basketball stuff, but you get the gist of it. Nothing particularly creative there, and possibly even cliche, but something that needed to be said, and I said it before moving on.

The problem with giving advice, even if it is decent, is that often you don’t take it yourself. Or worse, no one is around to give it to you when you need it most. I have had a decent share of my ass getting kicked in the past few months. A lot of those (most) were inventions of my own imagination. Worse, I let them get to me and spent a lot of time asking why. Little to no time was spent either figuring out what I could learn from these experiences or simply moving on because the event was so trivial. It took a legitimate ass-kicking a few years ago really get the message home. A few months after my dad died, I finally broke down. I took a break and spent a few weeks in an outpatient program. It was essentially spending time in the psych ward, but I got to go home at night. Most of the people there were coming straight from the hospital. Many had gone through a recent suicide attempt. Others were suffering from addiction issues, bipolar disease, and one who heard voices (one of the nicest people I have ever met). It was a profound experience that may have saved my life.

The biggest thing we learned was that you must find ways to express yourself. A daily exercise in the program was journaling. You would sometimes be asked to take what you wrote and read it to the group. The point was that getting it out of you and onto paper was the first step, but saying it aloud made it real. I wrote and said some things that were bottled up for years and finally gave some legitimacy to what I had kept inside for so long. Finding this side of me was liberating and exciting. I even thought I saw hints of creativity in my writing, which I never believed I had. When my release came, I knew I wanted to keep doing it, but I wasn’t sure how. That’s roughly when I started this blog, and rough is a good word to describe my work. Not that it has smoothed out much in the last few years, but I feel it has come together with some practice and inspiration. The source of that inspiration was my favorite DJ and best friend in the world, Lin Brehmer.

If you are reading this, you know my love for music and that WXRT is my favorite radio station. I discovered it around the same time Lin took over as the morning host in 1991. Coming out of the 80s as a teenager had me awfully confused from a musical sense (among many other senses that were confused). The music on XRT grounded me and, more importantly, expanded my horizons. Remember, there was no internet or streaming music at this point, so self-discovery of new music, while possible, was difficult. Especially if you didn’t get a hint about the latest hot new band, an upcoming show at the Vic, or where to get some of this fine music at the non-corporate neighborhood record stores. DJs on the station, like Terri Hemmert, Marty Lennartz, and Frank E. Lee, were like professors guiding a young student along his way. While I loved them all, there was a guy that stood out who seemed to really take me under his wing. That, of course, was Lin.

I did not listen to Lin in the mornings so much at the time because I wasn’t usually up until well after he signed off at 10:00. But I heard him often at night when they would play his latest Lin’s bin segment. It was often on the way home after taking my first job in accounting. His soothing voice and wise words (often funny) helped right the ship after a particularly bad day. I would think, “I wish I had that job,” and dreamed of someday losing the shackles of my office work and spinning records while waxing poetically about whatever came to mind. That, of course, never happened because I don’t have any talent for such a job, but isn’t that what dreams are for?

Many years later, this blog is my realization of that dream in my own little way. Everything about it is stolen from Lin. This includes the connection to music in the title, the mix of topics that inspire me whenever they happen (which accounts for the haphazard timing of my posts), or the attempt to find a little more meaning out of this life than what appears on the surface. I don’t even think to pretend that I come within the same universe as Lin, but he taught me that it doesn’t make any difference. It’s about what is inside you and living your life true to that. You don’t have to be somebody else. Just be yourself.

That is why yesterday was so tough. My first instinct after hearing of Lin’s passing was to be pissed. Another good guy in this world who was important to me was taken too soon. Most influential men in my life are gone and left this world much earlier than I felt they should have. I just went through this less than six months ago with my father-in-law, Mike. Now, I must deal with it again, and I really don’t think it’s fair. Why can’t it be someone kind of rotten? There are many great candidates to nominate, but I quickly stopped creating a list. That is not what Lin was about. I spent the rest of the day yesterday going about my day and thinking through what his life really meant to me. Here was a man I had never met but who had so much influence on my life, and I found myself as profoundly sad as I ever had. Instead of questioning things further, I went with the feeling. I ended the night with a couple hours of listening to Terri Hemmert’s beautiful selection of songs honoring Lin. I finally had to turn it off because it was getting too sad. I knew there would be plenty of time for that today.

As I write this, I am listening to the tribute show on the air at XRT. It started with me crying (took twelve minutes from the start of the tribute), but it quickly moved into writing as those emotions needed to flow somewhere. I have not been able to write a thing of worth since Mike died, but today this essay poured out of me in about 45 minutes. I have been able to do nothing else since I sat down at the typewriter. There was no way I couldn’t. If Lin taught me anything, it is to go with your heart and treat every day as the gift that it is. It is simple advice but awfully hard to follow. Kind of like what I told those boys at that practice recently.

After my talk, they went out, practiced their asses off, and looked better than I ever saw them in my brief stint as their coach. I said so afterward and encouraged them to take that with them into the next game, and we will see results. That game just happened to be a few hours after Lin’s death, and just like in a fairy tale, they went out and lost by 42 points. I don't say that as a joke. I was truly heartened to see them work and improve over a very short time. In one week, they doubled their point total (from 15 to 31!) and cut their margin of the deficit by 20%. I don’t care how you want to analyze things, but those are metrics that really show success regardless of the final outcome.

That may not be true, but there is no denying that while I was standing on those sidelines, I could hear Lin’s voice telling me it was. He had an optimism on life that was tinted with just the right touch of cynicism that really spoke to me. It is summarized as enjoy the moment but recognize it for what it is worth and not what it could be or isn’t. So, despite everything else that was important to me that I learned from Lin to enjoy, like music, writing, fun, good food, and baseball (we differed on teams, but the passion is the same), nothing matters more than his signature catchphrase “It’s great to be alive.” That could sound ironic on a day like today, but it doesn’t in any way whatsoever. That’s because Lin was genuine when he said it, and I truly believed he lived his life exactly the way he preached. As sad as I am, I feel pretty good about that, and I also think I made a pretty good choice for a role model. What is even cooler is that thousands upon thousands of people feel the same way I do. And isn’t that what life is really about? Living it to the fullest and making a difference in the lives you touch. And Lin is an excellent choice if you are searching for a role model. His death does not eliminate him from the job; it may even accentuate it. It is a perfect tribute to him, and in return, I guarantee you will find out that you have a new best friend in the whole wide world.

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wyn-n-tonic · 2 years

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I'm No Saint

Word Count: 1.2k Warnings: Smut but not, like, explicit smut I don't think. Author's Note: Right, so like... it's not xReader because it's not written in second person but, like, it's still a pretty blank slate and I personally feel like first person tense is easier to imagine yourself in as the I and me statements make me feel like I have ownership and autonomy in the story? Anyway, if you enjoy this and would like to check out more of my writing, please check out my MASTERLIST and my original story available on Kindle Vella: Flash In the Pan (a new chapter comes out 8/1)! *narrator voice* She's back on her bullshit, lads.

"Mm, 'tiago, baby," I reach out for him, my finger tips brushing the scar that runs the length of his neck. "What's wrong?"

The mattress shifts beneath his weight and I watch through half opened eyes as he pushes himself into a sitting position. "Go back to sleep, mi amor," he says as he turns towards me. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Uneven breathing and tossing and turning? Darling, don't lie to me."

"Don't." He huffs a laugh and his head shakes. "Don't you start with that darling nonsense because—“

"Because what?" I sit up, holding onto the sheet across my bare chest with one hand as the other supports my weight.

Dim light flows from the bathroom and catches on the silver of his hair, more of which pops up every day with each new stressor or heartbreak or bad dream. I hate how much I love them, knowing it's not just his age that causes them but his pain too.

"Because first it starts with darling," he says, silhouette turning towards me. "And then it becomes honey and sweetheart and let me make you some tea. I can't take it, not tonight. I can't take being—“

"Loved, Santiago?" I ask him.

"Babied," he insists.

"Babied?!" I push myself up further and let the sheet slip as I reach for his shoulder. "How do I baby you, Santiago?"

"Because you won't stop trying to take care of me," he bites back. "Always, with your soft hands and soft voice. I'm not broken."

"Nobody ever said you were broken, my love. Maybe you did, maybe you do. But not me. If you were broken—somebody I thought I had to spend my life fixing—I would not have married you, I would have—“

"Put me in a fucking psych ward. Or a prison. Where I belong."

"You're being dramatic, Santi. Fucking prison? Really? The people who belong in prison are the ones who called the shots, not the ones who had to deliver them. Do I wish you had never enlisted? Do I miss the sweet boy I fell in love with at sixteen?" I pull him back flush against my chest, wrap my arms around him and press my lips into his cheek. "Yes, my love. To both questions. But I wouldn't give you up for anything. But I have to wonder...if you hadn't enlisted, would we be here right now? Would I have ever found my way back to you?"

He pulls away and turns to look at me with those deep brown eyes, so full of warmth and glassy with pain. "You're not the cold man you think everybody thinks you are, Santiago."

Silence falls between us and I watch as he scrubs a hand down his face, finally releasing a deeply held breath. "I'm kind of cold right now actually," he says while a smile cracks across his face. "Why do you insist on keeping it freezing in here?"

"You're changing the subject."

"I know but I can tell I said something that hurt you so I'm trying to walk away from it right now, okay?"

"Okay."

He looks me up and down and his smile stretches wider. "I can tell you're kind of cold too, sweetheart."

"Really?" I ask him. "You're turning this into a sex thing?"

He twists and leans forward, pressing his lips into mine. "Don't all my bad dreams end between your legs though?"

"That makes me sound like I'm your nightmare," I tell him. "Is that really how you expect to get in pants right now?"

Santiago pushes me back into the mattress and crawls above my body, bracing himself on his forearms. He's so beautiful and so... bent in places he wasn't when we were children. His hand smooths my hair back, thumb rubbing gently against my forehead and I can feel him growing against my hip.

"I'm telling you that you're the good that came out of my worst nightmare and you're the good that greets me at the end of every single one."

"And, yet," I begin, tracing the soft lines at the corner of his eye with my thumb, "here you are telling me I baby you because I love you."

"Because I don't deserve it."

I shake my head. "Maybe not." I run my finger around his orbital bone and up to the bridge of his nose before following the curve of it all the way down to the tip. "But that's not exactly your decision to make now is it?"

"Well then maybe I just think you don't deserve the shit I put you through."

I scrunch my nose. "Again, not really your decision to make. Like it or not, you're stuck with me so, are you gonna do anything with that dick or are you gonna tell me what a sad boy you are all night?"

"Screw you, sweetheart."

"That's what I said."

He buries his face into my neck, shifting all his weight into one side of his body and runs one hand down the length of mine. He stops when he comes to the hinge in my knee, fingers curling around and dipping into my flesh and he pulls until I'm hooked around his hip. Leapfrog. He calls it leapfrog whenever my leg is raised like this. Tells me how cute it is that I just naturally lay in this position that opens my hip so perfectly for him to just slide in.

"Made for me," he speaks into my neck. "Like it or not."

His hips move against mine, lifting slightly as he readjusts himself to rest his tip at my entrance and his grip on my leg tightens. "So wet already."

"I never dried up."

"That shouldn't have been so fucking hot," he says, biting into my neck as he pushes into me in one fluid motion.

"Is your solution to hurting," I wince slightly, "to make me hurt as well?"

He laughs, lips dragging up my jawline and to my lips. "Play with my hair," he tells me as he starts building pace in his small movements.

His hair is soft between my fingers, his overgrown curls running wild. I flex my nails along his scalp and pull the strands taut at the top of his crown as he grinds his hips down against mine.

His mind is still in that dream though, that terror. I can see it in his eyes. Because I can't fix this, I can only be his bandaid to the bad days. My body goes rigid and I push a hard breath out before he's shuddering against me, collapsing against me.

I've been a lot of bandaids lately.

"Santiago, my love," I cradle his head against my chest and feel him twitch inside of me at the endearment, "I think we should talk to that therapist again."

He nods as best he can and sniffs loudly as he maneuvers his arms to encircle my body. "Yeah, we can do that."

Silence falls between us again and his breathing evens out. I think he's asleep and I'm about to coax him awake when he looks up at me.

"Hey, baby?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I liked it when you called me Tiago earlier." I feel my eyebrows pinch and he stutters over his words to continue. "When you were barely awake," he says, "you called me Tiago. I liked that."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because," he takes a breath, "I'm no saint."

#santiago garcia fanfiction #santiago garcia #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #soft santi sunday

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lizzie-boo · 2 years

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Guessing Stranger Things Characters

So basically my fiancé has only seen a couple of episodes of Stranger Things. Like maybe three or four episodes across all 4 seasons. So I made up a list of a bunch of pictures of characters and asked him who he thinks they are, if they are alive or dead, and what he thinks they are like. I gave him a couple of easy ones that he knows and then threw in a couple of hard ones that I know he has never seen before. Below are each character, his answers for each, and then my thoughts on his answers. Enjoy!

Eleven, she is crazy. Alive.

This one he kept short and simple and refused to elaborate more.

Eddie, looks like he would kill you in your sleep. Gives off Breakfast Club vibes. Dead

There’s a lot to unpack with his thoughts on this one, but I gotta say he is right about Eddie looking like he should be in The Breakfast Club. Like can we get a crossover with Eddie in it? I’d pay to watch that, lol.

Ellana Barker, cougar. Dead.

I like the effort of giving her a last name, even if he was wrong with both. But what he lacks in naming he makes up for with his spot-on character description, because what is Karen besides a cougar. We all saw her trying to pick up Billy.

Samantha, a nerd, most likely bullied, is definitely dead.

I mean he’s not that far off on this one but also Barb deserves all the respect in the world. I love her very much and he didn’t have to go so hard on her.

Ted Bundy, he gives off the same vibe so that’s what I’m guessing his name is. psych ward patient. Alive and on the loose.

I really enjoyed how unhinged his answers for this one were. Like he really took the image and ran with it and I am here for it.

Tod, just an extra who is dead because he couldn’t run fast enough.

First, the Bob slander that is taking place has me rethinking this whole marriage. Secondly, I’m gonna need him to watch this whole season with me just so that he knows what a great guy Bob was.

Mary, gives off strong bitch vibes. Seems like she would be stuck up. Is gonna live to the end.

I mean she is kinda a bitch but mostly she’s a bad bitch. And she better live to the end cause if she dies, then I’m dying with her. Also, she doesn’t look like a Mary so he needs to work on his naming skills.

Nancy, the unofficial mother of the group. Alive.

I’m surprised that he remembered her name. Also, you can tell he doesn’t watch the show much if he thinks Nancy is the mom of the group. We all know that role belongs to Steve and Steve alone.

Dr. Smith, important business guy, evil. Is alive for the story arc.

I mean he got the doctor part right so I’ll give him that. Plus he is kinda important for the story arc so he did pretty well with this one.

Billy, yeahhhh, school bully, bullies the nerds, dead.

Context for this one, I showed him the shirtless pool picture of Billy. Which is why we got a really enthusiastic yeah. Which in the moment made me laugh so hard that I cried. I genuinely love that he enjoyed the picture that much.

Alexei, funny guy, best side character there is, Russian spy, dead.

So this is one of the few episodes he’s seen. He was very excited to see Alexei make this list and he knew him right away. I’m pretty sure that if Alexei were a real person my fiancé would leave me for him instantly. And honestly, I respect that very much.

Tucker, cop guy, definitely alive and kicking butt.

Hopper and Tucker are similar so I can see where the name came from. He really struggled with the name and tried very hard to convince me to tell him. I also enjoy that he thinks highly enough of him to say that he’s off kicking butt somewhere. Side note, that phrasing is just great and I’m glad that out of all the things he could have said with the same meaning he chose that.

Vladimir, crazed Russian, dead.

He wouldn’t give me any other thoughts than that. But he did kinda get the basics right so I can’t complain. Besides at this point my hand was cramping from writing down what he said so I was here for the short and simple answer.

Steve, cool guy. Alive because he’s gotta be and he’s still slayin’.

If you can’t tell he really likes Steve too. One of the few characters he knows but I respect that out of all of them he knows one of my favorites. Plus it’s safe to say he loves Steve just as much as the rest of us do.

Dumbledore, crazy eyes, probably tries to get kids into his van by offering candy. Dead.

I find it funny that his default answer to alive or dead is just to assume that everyone is dead. Which for a show like Stranger Things is understandable. Overall, there is a lot to unpack with all of his thoughts. I mean his eyes are a bit crazy if that’s how you wanna look at it. I’m not sure what is giving off the vibe of a child predator but apparently, something here is. I’ll make him watch this season and he can reassess his thoughts then.

K.C. but no one knows what it actually stands for. The cool guy that everyone likes and that everyone gets their drugs from. High all the time. Is the human version of Bobby from The Goofy Movie. Alive.

First of all yes he gives off the same vibes as Bobby and if they ever make a live-action Goofy Movie I want him to play Bobby. Most of his assessments are pretty accurate. Also, I agree that he seems like the type to have a mysterious name that no one knows what it stands for.

Molly, scared and always screaming. Has to be alive to keep screaming.

I enjoy that one of the few people that he thinks are still alive is Sarah and for the dumbest reason. Why they would keep around a character that only screams, I don’t know. Yet, he thinks they would. I appreciate that he stuck with his answer and elaborated on it to give us his ridiculous wonderful answer.

Will, in love with Mike. bowl cut guy. The group worrier, nerd. I don’t trust him, he is suspicious.

Hey, hey, hey someone who has only seen a handful of episodes has also picked up on the fact that Will is in love with Mike. Let my boy Will be happy already. Why he thinks Will is suspicious is unclear, he refuses to explain his reasoning. Also he had to throw in that low blow about the bowl cut, oof.

Julie, school crazy that is dating Eddie. On some kind of drugs and probably selling them too. Seems kinda terrible.

He added in a bit of matchmaking that I wasn’t expecting. I now wanna know who else he thinks is dating. Maybe I should get him to give me who he thinks would date based on pictures. I think it would be fun, let me know if you wanna see that. Also, his assessment of Kali is way off but it is fun to see the version of her he created.

Billy? Older brother of someone. Has to be dead, I haven’t seen him in a while. Seems like he has wise ideas.

So does this mean he doesn’t actually know how Billy is and that he’s just been guessing it for all the older brother characters? At least he knew that he is an older brother, so he gets half credit for that. He is very quick to assume people are dead. And does he really have wise ideas or is it just the drugs talking?

~~~

That is all I have for my fiancé’s thoughts on Stranger Things characters. Let me know if you liked this and would want to see more of it. I could probably do another with ST characters or if you wanted I could do it with other characters from whatever you would want to see. I had a lot of fun doing this so hopefully, you all liked it as well.

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elphiej · 3 years

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Be My Light - Chapter 4: The Mad Leader

*Genre: Mafia, angst, eventual smut, slow burn

*Warnings: References to violence, minor assault,

Author’s note: First off, I’d like to send a special Thank You to someone who was a huge inspiration to me and to this story. This is the chapter that really started it all and I was inspired by @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng ‘s mafia reaction series. She is a fantastic person and was one of the first people I showed this Be My Light to when I was too scared to post it. She is a beautiful soul and wonderful writer. Thank you for the push.

Another Big thanks to my editor for sticking with me all this time and into the future. And, of course, to all the people who are reading, commenting, and reblogging this. I can’t tell you all how much is means to me. Thank you all and I hope you enjoy this next installment of Be My Light. (P.S. I have a thing for RM in a long trench coat.)

Tag list: @lolalalooo @bangtan-sonyeonddaeng, @barbikatherine , @mrsfortune1306 , @lovesick-heart0 , @iamnamjoonsbxtch , @deathkat657 , @deeepvibes , @sugamonster22 , @weiinihao, @hemmofluke , @rainbow-zebra-unicorns , @joyfullyobsessed , @elvencantation ,

Chapter 4: The Mad Leader

You stared at the cell phone clutched in your hand, your mind spinning with so many questions. Who were those people? Why did talking to this ‘RM’ make you feel like something bad was coming? With that deep, serious tone, were they just as dangerous as the man with the cane? And what kind of normal person calls themselves ‘RM’? Agust was already on the edge of interesting and odd as it was. Scanning over the still lit screen, you wondered what other names were in the contact list. Other than ‘God of Destruction’, the last few calls you could see without going through the device belonged to ‘Mochi’, ‘My Favorite’, and ‘Worldwide Pain in my Ass’. Based on those names, you couldn’t begin to imagine who was gonna match those names.

It was safe to assume that this RM guy was concerned about the man in the suit trying to finish the job. The hospital had a good security team but you thought it best to talk to Doctor- Henry- to see if more could be done. Your hand paused as it went to put the cell phone back with Agust’s things; if RM or any of the odd named voices tried to contact you for an update, they would most likely call that, instead of trying to navigate the hospital switch board. Figuring it was the best option, you placed the phone safely in your scrub’s pocket as you moved to the bedside for one last check on the patient. Agust hadn’t moved again since right before the phone call and was still as could be. The monitors were all reading normally. There was a blood transfusion line in his arm to help replace what he had lost, along with another IV pushing fluids and medication. You adjusted his arm to make it more comfortable for him once he woke up.

“I’ll be back to check on you as soon as I can,” you said as you fixed his blankets. “Please, try not to do anything until I get back.”

You slipped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind you. There was an anxious feeling that crept back into your gut, the same one you felt when you had first heard the gun shots ring out from the silence of the construction site. Your mind had so many thoughts and scenarios running through it that you felt overwhelmed. Things like, ‘what if the man with the cane and rough voice came here? Would he shoot his way through the floors until he found Agust? Were you really as safe as you hoped?’ The hospital had been under a few threats but nothing had ever come from those except words. It would be best to stay as cautious as possible. You had too many friends and patients to not take your feelings seriously.

As you made your way towards your station, you were surprised to see that Henry was already there leaning over the desk with the phone pressed up against his ear. He pulled a pad of paper from the other side of the desk and started scribbling something down as he nodded and spoke in a low tone to whomever was on the other end. That saves me from having to page him, you mused. Henry did a double take towards you when he noticed you out of the corner of his eye. He beaconed you over with an urgent wave of his hand. The calm yet awkward demeanor from earlier had been replaced with a more serious one. Once you were within an arm’s reach of him, he reassured whomever he was talking to that ‘everything will be taken care of’ and hung up.

“Good,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I need you to help me.”

“Henry, about that John Doe patient. I was able to talk to someone close to him. I think we may need to alert the security team about- “

“I’ve already talked to them. The hospital is going on alert for any suspicious activity entering the hospital. And we are actually moving the patient to one of the private units upstairs. I just got off the phone with the director and we’ve got everything worked out for you so you’ll be safe,” he said over his shoulder as he started walking down the hall.

“Wait, what does that mean? What do you mean by worked everything out?” You took extra long steps to keep up with his brisk pace.

“The same person who demanded higher security for that patient requested that you be kept with him as his private staff until otherwise. Which means you’ll be in the secure ward with him in case anything happens. It’s gonna be for the best. You were the first one with him and it’s gonna be more comfortable if he doesn’t have to get acclimated to someone else after all this. Don’t worry, we’ve got it worked out with Jax already.”

Henry led you back into Agust’s room and made fast work of disconnecting him from the machines that surrounded him. He pulled the IV bags down and placed them on the bed by the still form. Meanwhile, you were frozen at the end of the bed, feeling dizzy from how fast he seemed to expect you to understand what was happening. This wasn’t the first gang related case you had been assigned to since starting at Mercy, nor was it the first gunshot case; why did this sudden change to the routine make you feel ever more nervous? Never had you moved a patient into a secure wing designed from more severe or quarantined patients before just because someone had requested it. Henry called your name to shake you from your thoughts and motioned you to move to the side of the bed as he unlocked the wheels of the gurney and pushed the bed from the wall. As you helped guide it from the room, you couldn’t help but feel the tension grow.

“So, I am just supposed to stay locked up in some room like a prisoner? And be someone’s private nurse? What about the rest of my patients here? I can’t just leave Amber to tend to them all alone. We are short staffed as it is,” you mentioned as you navigated everyone into the elevator at the end of the hall.

Henry hit a button and the elevator started to move. He leaned close to look you in the face, his eyes filled with seriousness. “Listen, Y/N, I know this is strange but you just have to trust me. I don’t know all the details but someone particularly important has to be involved to make the director so quick to comply with whatever they asked. But no matter what, your safety is my priority, maybe a bit more than my patients. I’m sure the director thinks that too. Whoever it is must just want to make sure this guy has the best care possible. And when he gets here, he’ll probably want to hear from you what happened. And if whatever gang did this does try anything, I don’t want you to worry because no one is going to get to him or you. Only the director, you, and I will have access to this room or know where he is. Apparently, the man the director talked to said he would have a way to get a hold of you and prove his identity to gain access. I know how you are, Y/N, you are a great person. That’s why you’re so good at what you do. But don’t think that you are inconveniencing anyone; Jax has already rearranged everything and made some calls. I really need you to think about yourself now. And what is best is for you is to do what I am asking and not over think this right now.”

Henry was being so sincere that you couldn’t find the voice to make any arguments. You gave him a weak nod and tried to take what he said to heart. As Amber had pointed out before, one of your qualities was that you put others well before yourself. Hence, why you were in this predicament. As the doors opened onto the new floor, you promised him that you would try.

The door opened onto a floor where the more severe, long term patients were kept. This floor could, also, be used for quarantining or the more delicate of patients. At the moment, you knew it had only a few occupants: a coma patient, a patient suffering from extreme burns, and someone from the psych ward that needed more focused attention. To enter this ward, you needed a key card, making this more isolated than your full and frantic floor. Henry commented there was no record that Agust had been moved in any of the files. And if anyone tried to look him up, it would be like he never existed. The person who had called to make all this happen had said he’d contact you and that he and his colleagues were to say they were here to perform community service if asked by anyone else. Apparently, they deemed it as security protection. Henry had you swipe your ID to gain access to the floor and you made your way down the silent hall to the vacant room Henry had staked out for you to stay in. The room was bigger than the one you were used to on your floor. There was a small couch across from where the bed was to go, a private bath off near the entrance, and even a TV in the corner. There was, also, a small recliner near where the head of the gurney was to rest. You imagined you’d be there most of the time. Henry helped you set everything back up in the room and did a quick check on the patient after he was secured in his new residence.

“Hopefully, he’s gonna wake up a bit soon. He’s reacting well to what I’m doing,” Henry commented as he checked Agust’s pupils constrict as he shined his pen light in them. He gave some instructions about his IV and transfusion processes. He gave you a quick run down of the floor in case you needed anything. “Until he wakes up, I guess feel free to do whatever in here. It can be like a mini vacation. You know, if you ignore all the weird stuff happening. You can watch some TV or order some food. The mysterious man said to spare no expense when it came to our patient or you. I promise by Friday this will be all over and we can go out and talk about nicer things. Okay?”

Before you could stop yourself, you felt your cheeks get hot and you turned your eyes to the floor. This was not the best place for this, but you knew Henry did it to only ease the anxiety you were feeling. He was almost too perfect. Henry promised to check in once he had finished his rounds as he left from the room and pulled the door shut behind him. You heard the security lock click into place, knowing it would only open from the inside or if you had an ID card. You allowed yourself to drop into the recliner, allowing everything to wash over you. Paranoia was thick in the air as you tried to make sense of everything. Henry was right; whoever these people were they must just want to talk to you and this was easier than scouting the halls. But the thought did very little to chase the nervousness away. Your hands started to rub together out of tension, squeezing your fingers, cracking your knuckles one by one with your thumbs. You took a few deep breaths as you tried to force yourself out of the impending panic. Your eyes looked over at the bed. You tried to remind yourself that you needed to keep it together and be strong for him. Then your eyes landed on his hand. You remembered when you were hiding behind the counter when the man with the cane was getting closer and closer. And when Agust had reached over and squeezed your hand. In that moment, he gave you reassurance with such a small gesture, not thinking of himself. You remembered how genuine it felt. It’d be nice if you could do that now, you thought with a weak smile.

Instead, you settled for forcing yourself to think of something else. You read through his charts, tapped through some news on your phone, and tried to people watch out the window behind the couch. The afternoon sun had started making its way towards the horizon; how quickly the day had ended up flying by. You had decided against turning on the television for now, thinking how awkward it would be for him to wake up to you watching some trash TV show. You tried walking around the room to get a sense of where you’d be staying for the foreseeable future. But all of that only killed twenty minutes and you were still stir-crazy. There wasn’t much you could do for Agust at the moment, except allow him to rest without you trying to hold his hand or anything else.

Suddenly, there was a buzzing in your pocket; it was Agust’s phone. You were a bit ashamed at how quickly you reached for it. There was a new text message. It was from a new named contact: Sunshine. The preview of the message said, ‘To Miss Nurse’, making your assumption that the people on the other end would have expected you to keep the phone on you correct. And since it was addressed to you, you didn’t feel too bad about opening the phone again. You swiped open the text and tried not to scroll anywhere higher into their previous chats.

- Sunshine: To Miss Nurse. if you see this, please take good care of our Hyung. And if he gives you any trouble, tell him I said to behave. RM should be almost there. He tends to speed.

There were a couple silly emojis next to it that made you smile. Surely, they can’t be bad people if this is how they communicate. They must be close friends. Though, you still wondered how they had gotten the director to do all this. Maybe there was someone else doing all of this? You shook your head and typed a quick message back, so not to have them worry.

- I’ll take good care of him. That’s my job.

You really hoped Agust didn’t mind you messing with his phone. Though, you figured it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission in this scenario. There was no response which made you think that it was all he needed at the time. Gazing at the clock on the phone, you had wasted thirty minutes in the room so far. You thought of your backpack in the locker room a few floors down and some of your things at your stations that you could pass the time with. Since Agust was secure here, you thought it may be a good idea to gather some things to help you waste time until this RM shows up. It was unlikely that Agust was going to wake up yet, and you could be fast so he wouldn’t be alone for long. You slipped the phone back into your pocket and rose from the chair, heading for the door. You cast one more look at the still figure in the bed before dimming the lights and pulled the door shut behind you.

You set off at a brisk pace for the elevator and took it down a few levels to where the staff locker room was kept. You raced in, pulled your bag from your locker, and left before anyone noticed you. You were sure since the director had put the whole hospital on alert that everyone was making rounds to keep eyes everywhere. You hoped grabbing your stuff from your station was just as easy; you weren’t sure about how to explain why you had suddenly deserted your station. Amber wasn’t there but you could hear her and Jax talking loudly from a back room. You wanted to talk to your best friend, to help ease some nerves and have her tell you exactly what you needed to hear. But you didn’t want to wait around or take her away from her new workload. You pulled open the drawer where you kept some personal items, incase of slower work days, and shoved them into your bag. You froze when your fingers hit against something that you knew, instantly, should not be in your bag. Peering into the opening, your eyes locked onto a metallic, black, studded object that you had seen earlier that morning.

The gun Agust had placed in your hand.

How did that get in there? You didn’t remember grabbing it unless it had happened in the chaos of the EMTs and police rushing to assess the situation. Well, if you weren’t already anxious, this just made it worse. Let’s just add this to the ever-growing list of stupid things I’ve done today, you berated yourself. You brought a potentially loaded gun into a hospital. You needed to get back up to the room and get this out of your possession. Maybe when this RM got there, he could take it from you. You pulled the bag shut and slugged it over your shoulder, trying hard not to think about it.

You moved away from the desk and down the hall towards the elevator. But as you stepped into the silent hall with all the doors closed, one was not closed as it had been when you left; the room where Agust had been. And there was someone looking inside. There was a man, tall and stocky, and dressed in a simple navy uniform. He wasn’t a part of the hospital staff and you didn’t think he was there to clean the room with the lights still off. Trying to stay as unnoticed as you could, you took longer strides towards the end. As you passed behind him, you peered beyond him into the pitch blackness of the room to just make out another figure lurking there. He wasn’t dressed in the same way as the man in the door. He was in darker colors that you couldn’t make out and wore what looked like a fedora on his head. What caught your attention as you passed, was the small peek of icy, blue hairs that were just visible on the side. A deep grumble that sounded from the room made your breath catch in your throat, and made you stop in your tracks. It sounded so familiar to the sadistic voice from this morning. The man with the cane had gotten into the hospital?! How, they upped security measures, hadn’t they? Maybe it was your imagination playing with you with all the stress. Not wanting to stick around to figure out if you were right, you tried to get away before they had noticed you.

But, sadly, you weren’t that lucky.

“Excuse me, nurse. Perhaps you can help me.”

You felt your whole body stiffen as the voice was all to clearly the one that had stalked you from beyond the counter. The voice that dripped with crazed malice and venom as he called out for Agust, that had taunted and tried to lure him out. The voice that you were sure would haunt your dreams. It was the man with the cane, though he didn’t have it now. As you turned, he looked nothing like the half-crazed man yelling and destroying things around him. He looked almost normal, save for the fake smile he had plastered across his lips. He was no longer dressed in the light blue suit and fur coat you had caught a glimpse behind the counter, but in a simple dark blazer and trousers. The man who lingered in the doorway had come to stand next to him as they walked up to you, dressed in a police uniform. His uniform cap was pulled low to obscure his face, though you could see bruising and swelling through the shadows. Both of them gave a slight bow to you.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Inspector Taop, this is officer Chen. We are here following up on a patient that was supposed to be brought here. I’ve been looking everywhere, but no one has an answer for me whether he is here or not. And I haven’t seen a single worker on this floor.”

He had never seen you at the scene so you knew he didn’t recognize you, or could see that you didn’t believe anything that was coming out of his mouth. That would help you, you decided. You took a deep breath and tried to hide the fear and nervousness. Just act normal. Try to stall until someone comes around.

“Sorry, officer, we’re a bit understaffed as it is. What can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for a patient that was brought here. Gunshot victim, a young man, brought in this morning?”

“Can you be a bit more specific? We are a hospital. Do you know how many young men we have come in here with some kind of bullet wound? I had six this month.”

You saw the smile slip and irritation rise in those cold eyes. He cleared his throat, trying to hold on to his polite composure. “This one would have come in this morning. There was a shooting downtown. He would have had multiple gunshot wounds. One nurse said he was brought in by ambulance this morning, but then another said that they found no record of him. And the last person I talked to sent me here. Please, this is very important.”

“Can I see your badge, sir?” He looked completely off guard by the question. You, also, seemed confused. It had just jumped out of your mouth before you realized it. But it seemed like the right thing to ask. You continued, “There’s been a threat made to the hospital, you see, and I need to make sure that everything is in order. I would get in trouble if I gave such information about any patient to an imposter.”

You could see the wheels in his head turning. But you didn’t expect him to nod his head, understandingly, and reach into his pocket to hand you a leather, bifold wallet. Was this psycho really a police officer? How could someone so vile be in law enforcement? You thought back to what little memories of your father that you had lingering in the back of your mind and couldn’t begin to imagine him doing anything like what this man had done, no matter how bad of a criminal they were. Before you could think, your body seemed to act on it’s own again and opened the wallet and your eyes started to dance across the metal shield. You weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for at first. Until your eyes caught it and something clicked in your mind. It was a fake, but an exceptionally good fake. Anyone else would have just taken it at face value but something in your mind flashed and screamed that this was a fake like the smile still on the ‘inspector’s’ face. In the reaches of your memory, you remembered running your fingers over your father’s badge, memorizing every detail. And you still did that when you were stressed out; you still had his badge and it was currently in the front pocket of your bag. And you seemed to recall your father teaching you how to identify a real badge from others.

A sudden anger took hold of you that seemed to spur on some brave part of you. You closed the wallet and handed it back to him, keeping your face neutral to hide that you were even more sure of his act. Maybe it was the dishonor to officers like your father, or that he was trying to get to the boy you had risked a lot to save. And your hard work was not going to waste. “I’m sorry officer. But like I said, we have a few patients that could fit your description. None on this floor at all. And if the other nurses said they have no record of him, I’m not sure what I can do for you. Besides that, if we did have a patient come in with multiple gunshot wounds, I imagine that they’d need extensive surgery and wouldn’t be conscious to answer any questions you could have. And with no guardian to act in their place until they are awake to consent to a line of questioning about a traumatic experience, I can’t let you go any further. You should know that, Officer.”

The smile was wiped from the man’s face. The uniformed man’s eyes got wide at your declaration and they shifted towards his leader in panic. Taop, or whatever his real name was, straightened up and took a step towards you. He towered over you and the energy radiating from him would have intimidated you into submission. Just like with your ex. But you needed to protect Agust. In any case, all you needed to do was scream and someone would be alerted. There wasn’t much this asshole could accomplish without being found out. But he continued to advance until he backed you up against the wall. Even still, you never broke eye contact with him.

“I don’t think you understand the situation of this, little girl,” he said, rage tittering on the edge of his voice. “There are some really dangerous people and it would be a shame if you got caught in the crossfires. It’s in your best interest to answer my questions and tell me what I need to know.”

“Then bring a warrant,” you challenged.

His hand collided with the wall next to your head, making you jump. His face was so close to yours now, and there was the crazed man you remembered from this morning. Your heart was in your ears. He, suddenly, took a deep inhale then another before tilting his head to the side. “What a brave little girl. Tell me, where were you this morning? Something tells me you may be exactly who I need to talk to.”

“Hey, back off her!”

Both you and the man turned to look down the hall towards the elevator towards the source of the deep voice that had interrupted the line of questioning. The doors of the elevator were opened and from them stepped a young man with platinum white hair. His eyes were haunting and strong, like a dragon woken from his peace. He was exceptionally tall, taking long strides towards the scene. You couldn’t help but let your eyes take in the man who was coming to your rescue. Dressed in a dark trouser and a white buttoned up shirt gave him a classic handsomeness, and a long black coat with a hood drawn up that accentuated his height. As he approached, he slid the hood down and swiped his hand up to push the stray white hairs from his face. If you weren’t terrified, you would have appreciated how handsome he was. You glanced back at the man caging you; his body tensed as the newcomer walked up but his face never showed.

He let out a sigh and a small smile reappeared, but it was not the same he had tried to charm you with. It was one of arrogance. “Ah, Mr. Kim,” the inspector said, not moving from his position, “how nice of you to drop in.”

“You’ve got some nerve,” the handsome newcomer said, his tone low and smooth.

“What for? Being too formal? Do you not like me using your surname? I’m not sure which name you prefer now; you change names so often, it’s hard to keep up after all this time.”

“You’re one to talk. What name are you going by now, officer? Here to investigate a fraud? Or are you here to put yourself into more trouble?”

“Such a negative attitude. Officer Chen and I are here on official business,” the detective flashed his badge at the so named Mr. Kim. “And this nice young lady was willing to help me out with some information. Isn’t that right, Little Girl?”

“It sure doesn’t look that way coming from the elevator. I think you need to take a step back,” Mr. Kim ordered with a strong but suggestive tone that made you question what kind of power someone as young looking as him could possess.

The fake detective made no sign that he was planning on heeding the newcomer’s words to move from your personal space. His eyes shifted from Mr. Kim back to you. His stare bore into you sharper than claws and made your breath catch. You weren’t sure if he was trying to scare you into agreeing with him or just threaten you. But Mr. Kim was having none of that; he gave the older man’s shoulder a hard shove and wedged himself in the space between you to keep you away from the other man. Mr. Kim reached a hand behind him and placed it on your arm, to keep you secure behind him and to give you some reassurance that he was not going to hurt you. You couldn’t help yourself, as you fisted your hands into the back of his coat and peered around his massive frame.

“You always have to play savior, don’t you Rapmon?” The way he had said the name made it seem like he was trying to strike a nerve in Mr. Kim. But the other man gave no sign that he was bothered. “You make it seem like I was doing something unseemly to her. You and your broken boy scouts always turn things difficult. Speaking of, where are the others? Maybe they could answer some questions for me. There’s one in particular I’m interested in seeing. I’m checking up on a victim from a shooting downtown. Just making sure he’s doing alright.”

“You’re really committed to this bit, aren’t you Choi? Oh, sorry- what name are you going by today? It’s so hard to keep track, isn’t that what you said?” Mr. Kim tilted his head to the side, eyes twinkling with a mischievous shine.

“What a nuisance you are. I’m just trying to get information to make sure things go well. Though come to think of it, your boys may not know much. Word was that the victim was all alone. Left all by themselves, bleeding and hurt in such a dangerous situation. What kind of friends would let someone knowingly go into that situation alone? Now, I’d really like to finish my conversation with the little lady, Rapmon.” When Choi, as you figured his name actually was, took a step towards you, Mr. Kim moved the both of you to keep you behind him and further away from the other. “Well, since you seem hellbent on keeping me from doing something so simple, I could always ask you. Though to be honest, your being here may have answered my questions.”

“My being here answers nothing,” Mr. Kim challenged. “Unlike you, I am here to do good for the community. And it’s a good thing I came by when I did. You’re already on thin ice after all the trouble you’ve caused. Imagine what would happen if you caused any problems while on Hallowed Ground. If you were to hurt anyone staying or working here, you would have more than my family looking for you. The rest of the Families would be looking to teach you a lesson. Imagine what most of them will think when they hear about the deceit you pulled this morning. After what I witnessed, you can be sure I’ll have eyes monitoring this place. You will not go against the Accords.”

“Don’t you lecture me about the Accords, you psycho. I’ve been around just as long as they have and lived them. I taught them to you.”

“And yet, you only follow them when they suit you. Just like your leader and his before him. But things are different now. They are gone, and your hold is slipping. I have enough pull now to ensure Accords are followed. And if you want to make a further spectacle of yourself, I’ll gladly show you I’m not that kid anymore that you ordered around. You saw what my boys can do when pushed. Try me.”

Choi started to laugh, eyes shining in disbelief at the younger bossing him around. As you peered around Mr. Kim’s frame, you saw him go to say something to officer Chen, but couldn’t form the word. He raised his hand towards the white-haired man, but let it drop with a growl. Whatever look was set upon the elder made him rethink his next move. He settled for raising his hands in a surrender and jerking his head towards his companion to tell him they were leaving. It surprised you that he was giving up so easily after how he had acted towards you. You weren’t sure what Mr. Kim meant by accords and families, but it was more than obvious that it meant something to them. Glancing up at your protector, his face remained locked in the same stern and serious mask he had when he had appeared. His eyes, perfectly lined and accentuated with makeup that only made him more intriguing, followed the pair as they turned down the hall.

But before they could get too far, Choi stopped. He turned enough to gaze at the two of you over his shoulder, the dark and manic gleam from that morning flashing like a warning sign. He chuckled before his teasing and taunting voice that had called out to Agust filled the hall like glass shattering. “Look at how far our little maniac has come. Really living up to the title of Mad Leader, aren’t you? He thinks he’s so big and strong that he can just order me around and act like a knight in shining armor to the weak. The Mad Leader’s trying so hard to put up a front, to hide who he is, to hide the other side of the looking glass. But lest he forget, I know things he wouldn’t want others to know. And I seem to recall,” Choi turned fully around and took a full stride back towards Mr. Kim, “you had an issue with places like this. You don’t enjoy being here. Are you falling down the rabbit hole? You even have an Alice this time it would seem. So tell me, Mad Leader, are the walls closing in on you yet? Are you feeling anxious?”

You could feel Mr. Kim tense up at the name ‘Mad Leader’ each time Choi said it. He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself. He gave you a polite push away from him before fixing Choi with a glare that made officer Chen startle. You could almost feel the air change as he stepped up to be nose to nose with the thug.

“Since you can’t seem to remember my name, asshole, let me spell it out for you. It’s RM, R to the M. And I’m a motherfucking monster. Keep pushing me. I dare you. You hurt one of my boys. You better pray that he makes it out of all this ok. Or you’ll see just how ‘mad’ I can get.”

Chen seemed to realize that something bad was building as he took hold of his superior and pulled him away from RM, newly identified. Choi kept the taunting smile spread across his lips as he allowed Chen to lead him away. Before he got too far, he looked over at you and gave a nod, “We’ll be in touch, Little Girl.” And then he disappeared from the floor, leaving you in the presence of RM. You can’t say you had expected this person to belong to the voice on the other end of the phone, but it would seem like that was the theme of the day. The tall man took a few deep breaths and ran his hand through his white hair before turning back to you. The serious mask he had worn had slipped away and was more approachable. He straightened his clothes before returning to your side.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, “But he shouldn’t be back. He talks a good game but he knows when he’s out done. Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head. “I can’t believe he got in. The hospital is on lock down.”

“Well, he’s been around a while. He has his ways. Now that he’s gone, I was hoping you could help me. I’m looking for a nurse called Y/N.” You locked eyes with him and gave him a nod of affirmation. He gave you a smile, showing off a pair of dimples in his cheeks that made him much more innocent and sweeter than the man who had gone nose to nose with the monstrous thug. “That’s a coincidence. Nice to meet you. Can you show me where to go?”

“Prove that you’re who you say you are,” you said, taking a step away from him. Despite that you were sure he was the one you had talked to, it seemed like nothing was safe. He looked at you for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone before letting his finger glide across the screen. A moment later, Agust phone sounded off in your pocket. He glanced over at you with a bemused look as you pulled the phone out and saw the screen lit up with a notification.

- God of Destruction: It’s me.

“Sorry,” you said, feeling embarrassed by your sudden suspicion, “but after that guy flashed a fake police badge at me, I just wanted to be sure. Thank you for coming and for helping me. Are you Agust’s brother or a friend?”

RM’s eyes narrowed when he heard you say Agust and gave you a strange look. His eyes seemed to dance about you, as if he was trying to figure something out. But as quickly as it appeared, the look disappeared and he smiled again. “We usually call him Suga. Only people who don’t like him call him Agust. I don’t think he’d want you calling him that. Can we go see him now? We’ve been worried about him.” You nodded and motioned him to follow you back to the elevator. As you waited for the doors to reopen, he leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Hyung you had his phone.”

“What? Does he have some embarrassing things on here,” you joked.

“Maybe,” came the reply and heard RM chuckle as he allowed you to step into the elevator.

You hit the button for the floor that they moved Agu- Suga to, the doors slid shut, and the lift jolted to a start. As the sound of the mechanisms filled the space, you caught a glimpse of the tall man flinch. It seemed odd, seeing as he had just faced off against the most frightening person you had ever seen. The taunting words he had said to RM before leaving came to mind, about not liking it in a hospital. It wasn’t uncommon for people to have bad experiences related to hospitals, so you tried to brush it off. Once you had made it to the secure floor, you led him down the hall. You explained that the floor was only accessible to a few people and how they had followed the directions as specified to the director. The entire time, RM listened very intently, eyes never leaving you. He was the picture of professionalism and sincerity. You swiped the two of you into the ward, and he held the door open for you as you led him down the hall to the room. As you neared the room, you wondered if you were going to survive the present of two very handsome men. Hopefully, the rest of his friends that you heard over the phone were somewhat average.

As you both entered the room, RM came to a stop in the threshold of the door, his eyes staring at the bed. You could see the worry and panic that you had heard over the phone slip across his face. You reached out and touched his arm. He looked at you with an almost innocent gaze, like he was questioning if it was alright to get closer. You gave him a nod and he was beside his friend in a flash. He looked as if he was debating to reach out to Suga, as if he were made of glass, but settled for taking hold of his hand. RM let out a breath and looked relieved to have finally seen his friend. From your place at the edge of the room, you could see how much one meant to the other and all worries about them being as bad as Choi disappeared.

“Is he going to be ok? What did they do to him,” RM asked, never taking his eyes off his companion.

“Dr. Na took good care of him,” you said, reaching for the file at the end of the bed. “He was shot twice, once in the shoulder and on his left side. The gunshot wound on his side appeared to be at close range and the bullet went through. Thankfully, there wasn’t much damage done. The bullet was lodged in his shoulder, but Dr. Na was able to remove it and mend up some of the damage. We’ll know more when he wakes up, but he should have full range of motion after some rest. He, also, has some bruised ribs and a slight concussion. Along with bruising and defensive wounds pretty much everywhere. He, also, lost a lot of blood. He’s in the middle of a transfusion now. But he is responding well to everything and we believe he should be waking up soon. With enough care, patience, and support, he should make a full recovery in no time. Which is amazing; when I found him, I was worried with how much blood he had lost that he may have had a harder road to recovery.”

RM flicked his eyes over to you. “You found him?”

“They must not have told you. I was on my way to work when I heard the gunshots. I was the first to find him and get him to safety.”

RM looked like he wanted to ask more questions, when a soft groan came from the bed and drew the attention. Suga took in a deep breath and his body shifted as if fighting to wake and identify the voices. After a tense moment, his body relaxed and his eyes opened slightly. From the edge of the bed, you could see the glazed and shiny effects of the medication still trying to hold him in the state of unconsciousness, and realized he may not fully be aware of what is happening. But you were sure the presence of RM had drawn him out enough to give them a sign that he was okay. RM called out to his hyung softly, drawing Suga’s attention as he gazed about the room.

“Hyung, hey, can you hear me?”

Suga’s eyes fully landed on RM. It seemed as if he was fighting his way to recognition before he gave a small, drugged smile back. “Joon,” his voice sounded exhausted and stained.

RM laughed. “Yeah, Hyung, it’s me. You’re gonna be okay. You’re safe.”

“Joonie, I think I’m dead. I saw an angel.”

The whitehaired man reached out and ran his fingers, gently, through his friend’s hair. “No, Hyung, you’re only tired. That bastard messed you up but you’re gonna be alright now. Why don’t you go back to sleep? The boys and I will be here when you wake up.”

“Oh,” Suga said, almost sounding disappointed as the drugs started to drag him back to oblivion, “too bad. It was a pretty angel. Prettier than Jiminie and Hyungie combined. But don’t tell them I said that.” And just as fast as he woke, Suga went silent and still again.

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goffilolo · 3 years

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Revival of Midoriya Izuku: Chapter 4 "My depression may be chronic, but my ass is iconic"

I bet you didn't think you were ever gonna see an update. well neither did I. What can I say? writing with a broken hand is a struggle.

Link to the fic on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929483/chapters/81090403

Izuku’s first day of high school was interesting, to say the least, or it would’ve been if he actually went to school instead of spreading mayhem amongst UA’s first years. Shinjuku Metropolitan has been rather lenient in regards to his attendance or lack of thereof, thanks to whatever bullshit Shin wrote to the school on his behalf to ensure that the faculty would accommodate his ‘condition’. Which is just fancy wording for ‘I got a get out of school card’. Truth be told, this is probably the best thing that the doctor has ever done for him since Izuku was nowhere near ready to return to mainstream education, not after everything that has happened in middle school. The last thing he needed were looks of pity and guilt-induced niceties from people who otherwise had no problem laughing at his misfortune.

So instead Izuku has decided to spend his time productively - if you could count tormenting your ex-childhood friend and having an accidental family reunion as such.

Uncle Shouta always had a bit of a mean streak to him, although it never really felt as such when Izuku himself interacted with him. From what little of his childhood he could remember that didn’t involve trauma and discrimination, his uncle was a somewhat kind, but grumpy man. He believed in a brand of tough love - that somehow did not correspond with the way his mother raised him in the slightest and went above and beyond for things and people he held close to his heart. Sure they haven’t seen each other since Izuku was 4, but if his uncle’s empty threats from today’s Quirk Apprehension Test are anything to go by, not much has changed.

Which brings him back to now; sitting in an empty classroom that he does not belong to - a school that he does not belong to, writing down his ever-so-detailed notes about the quirks he will only be able to admire from afar. Not much has changed , indeed.

It almost feels like a betrayal. Almost , being the operative word, because he has no reason to cling onto the things that he no longer cares about - should no longer care about, for they had died along with him that day on the roof, and were properly buried within the four walls that Izuku called his own during his stay in the hospital.

But well...looks like today Izuku is in a mood to dig up old corpses.

Metaphorically, that is.

“God, you’re still here!”

“Kacchan we’ve talked about this” he replied, rather dramatically “God is dead and all that’s left is me”

Kacchan clearly did not appreciate his superior sense of humour, if the lack of response is anything to go by. “No seriously, why are you still here?”

“I could ask you the same”

“I actually study here you fuckwit!” the blond exclaimed in his ever explosive fashion “Besides I had to come back and get my change of clothes since that demonic pet of yours was sitting on them when we were all leaving for the test”

“Huh, that actually reminds me...where’s Bandit?”

“Oi, don’t change the subject you shitty Deku” replied Bakugou, as he kicked one of the chairs over towards the desk that was currently occupied by Izuku and slumped down in it in a way that would perhaps appear as non-caring to absolutely no one “I didn’t know your uncle was a pro-hero.”

Ah, so that’s what he was bothered about.

“That makes the two of us”

“Wait, really?!”

“Honestly Kacchan! Did you really think that IF I knew my uncle was a pro-hero that I would be able to ever shut up about it?”

“No way in hell!”

“Exactly!”

Well, now that the topic of his uncle has been cleared up, there wasn’t much else to talk about, at least not much that wouldn’t result in collateral damage or a Bakugou shitshow 2.0. Both of the boys were well aware of it of course, but let it never be said that either of them could be stopped by things like common sense, especially when it came to avoiding conversational land mines.

“So...what are you scribbling over here?” asked Bakugou in a rather poor and possibly the most awkward attempt at establishing small talk that has ever been known to man and sheep kind alike.

“Ok, no! That is not happening” snapped Izuku, who very much saw where this was going and was having none of it “We are NOT having a civil conversation!”

“Why the fuck not?!” replied the blond, his anger as booming and apparent as his quirk.

“Because that is not something we DO Kacchan!” shouted the teen, banging his hands against the desk, his notebook long forgotten.

“Well, maybe we should?!” exclaimed Bakugou, who was quick to anger, yet quicker to notice his ex-friend’s unusual mood as he tried to make an effort to de-escalate the situation.

“Oh? Should we really? !” sneered Izuku, feeling the kind of anger and disdain he hasn’t felt in a long time, not since that fateful day in the ward.

“That’s rich coming from you” he continued as he stood up form the chair, unable to keep still in his fury as he circled the classroom “All you ever did was shout at me, insult me and throw baseless accusations at me left and right for god knows how long, but suddenly YOU want to have a conversation with me? Isn’t it enough that we kinda talked about our feelings that one time when I was still stuck in the psych ward?!”

Honestly, what do you expect Kacchan?” asked Izuku, feeling raw and hysteric and all kinds of wrong, spilling his metaphorical guts to his ex-bully/friend “That we will just start having normal conversations like nothing ever happened, act like we’re friends or some shit? Because let’s be honest, we haven’t been friends for a very long time, that ship has sunk long before I even attempted suicide! ”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” screamed Bakugou, feeling equally angry, but mostly out of his depth in the situation. He expected Deku to possibly mock him for his awkward attempts at small talk. What the blond didn’t expect was for him to snap, in a way that was somewhat familiar but not quite, as even the few times they’ve spoken back when Izuku was in the hospital or when he got released, his tempter felt controlled in a way it was not at the moment. Katsuki wasn’t sure what exactly triggered such a strong response, but he was not looking forward to having another fight, at least not one initiated by him.

“I’m not trying to pretend it didn’t happen” he explained “I just want to move forward. I’m not the same asshole I was last year and neither are you, so I don’t want to be stuck on how things used to be ! It makes me feel like I’m going nowhere.”

“Ok! Fine! You wanna talk?! Then let me fuckin TELL you something! You asked me what I was ‘scribbling’ over here?” exclaims Izuku, as he stomps his way back towards the desk and snatches his notebook, waving it aggressively in front of Bakugou “IT’S THE SAME STUFF I’VE BEEN SCRIBBLING THE ENTIRE GODDAMN TIME!” he screamed “Those quirk analysis notebooks you used to mock me for? It’s another one of those because as it turns out I still AM the same asshole I was last year! Now then, can YOU tell ME how many of those I’ve had?”

“Thirteen…” mutters Bakugou, feeling like he’s walking into a proverbial trap.

“Good boy, you can count! Now, can you tell me what number does it say on this one?” sneers Izuku sarcastically as he points once again at the notebook in question.

“Is this a trick question? There’s fuckin nothing on it”

“EXACTLY! And you want to know why?” screamed the distressed teen, no longer feeling angry, but tired and vulnerable, unable to stop himself from having a conversation he didn’t even want to be a part of “Because these notes used to serve a purpose, a purpose I no longer have. Hero Analysis for the Future , to be exact. But guess what Kacchan…” he whispered, no longer looking at the red eyes that used to bring him so much pain “...I no longer have a future…”

The blond hung his head in shame as he listened to his childhood friend break down in tears while hiding his face behind the very notebook that started their argument, all the while Trash Bandit who woke up due to their screaming was trying to get his owner’s attention with pathetically quiet ‘baaah’s.

“You have the right to be angry with me, after all this shit I put you through” stated Bakugou after what felt like an endless silence broken only by Izuku’s stuttering sobs. He never thought of himself as a coward, but at this moment he could not find enough bravery to sit face to face with the crying teen.

“I KNOW that you shithead-” replied Izuku as he shakily tried to take a breath in between the sobs “-but what good is that gonna do?! You’ve actually admitted that the way you treated me was wrong, hell you even voluntarily went to therapy! You’re basically going through a whole-ass redemption arc and what do I do? * sob * I’m still stuck in the past and I can’t let go of my grudges, which isn’t doing me or you any favours. I’ve told you to get your shit together, and this is exactly what you’re trying to do and instead of being h-* hic *- happy for you I’m mad-”

His rant broke off as he took another breath with tears still rolling down the freckled cheeks despite the boy’s best efforts. Izuku slumped down in his seat and with shaking hands he took out a cigarette and lighter from his backpack that was still hanging by the hook on the side of the desk. And although putting the cigarette in his mouth was relatively easy, lighting it was another matter. As Izuku grew more frustrated with the quiver in his hands, so did Bakugou. The blond became impatient as he grumbled “give it here damn it” much more quietly and gently than he normally would’ve done as he leaned forward, all the while grabbing the other teen by his shoulder with one hand, as he used to the other to quickly light the cigarette with a small explosion. Izuku’s flinch at the sudden but familiar noise and heat did not go unnoticed.

To say that Izuku was shocked by his ex-friend’s action would’ve been an understatement, but he was pleased nonetheless. If anything it proved his point that Kacchan was trying to be nicer to him, even if the attempts were somewhat awkward. The freckled teen, feeling only marginally better, leaned back in his chair facing the ceiling as he continued to blow circles of smoke up into the air, trying to regain his original train of thought.

“You’d think they would have a fire alarm in here or something” mused Bakugou as he stared at the disappearing circles.

“Hmm” replied Izuku, absentmindedly “You’d think”

The silence has once again stretched between the 2 boys, although this time it felt less oppressive in its need to be filled. Bakugou was happy to wait for Deku to finish what he started, it was the least the blond could do seeing as he was at fault for the current state of things between them.

“I’m so fuckin angry...” stated Izuku as he crashed the burnt out cigarette against the desk, which Bakugou conviniently ignored seeing as the desk was his. “I’m so fuckin angry-” he repeated despite his tone and words not matching at all “-because this proves that you could’ve gotten your shit together this whole time” he continues while gesturing vaguely between the two of them.

“You could’ve stopped this bullshit and apologised to me!” exclaims Izuku in a tone that is half resigned and half accusing “You could’ve spared me the misery, and yet you didn’t. I feel like I’ve suffered for nothing-”

“You did!” interrupted the blond.

“What?”

“You’ve suffered for nothing” clarified Bakugou “There’s literally NO good reason for you to have gone through even half the shit you did”

“I dunno about that Kacchan” teased Izuku “I’m pretty sure the reason is sitting right in front of me”

“I said no good reason damn it, don’t go around twisting my words you fuckin Deku!”

And Izuku couldn’t help but break out in laughter, because he was pretty sure that this was the first time ever that Bakugou had made a joke at his own expense and this moment was going to live in his brain rent free from now on.

“Oh God, Kacchan-” he wheezed, trying to stop himself from laughing “You were right, you really aren't the same asshole that you were last year!”

“I sure fuckin hope not” replied Bakgou who was just as close to laughing “Otherwise I would’ve had to demand refund for all of those shitty therapy sessions”

“Look at us Kacchan” said Izuku, his laugh now subdued “We’re still a fuckin mess”

“I guess we are” agreed the blond as he stared down at his friend’s notebook in a thoughtful expression.

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

After the truthfully embarrassing heart-to-heart with Kacchan, Izuku wanted to do nothing more than sink into the void for the next eternity, or at least until he gets his reminder text that he’s running late for yet another therapy session. Unfortunately neither of these options were viable seeing as he was on a self-appointed mission to catch up to his uncle. The boy hoped that uncle Shouta would still be somewhere on the premises seeing as his ugly-ass sleeping bag was still in the classroom. Izuku used that to his advantage as he gave the sleeping bag to Bandit who promptly sniffed it and began to follow the scent of a premature-midlife-crisis. Who knew that sheep could make such good hounds?

Bandit had dutifully led their owner through an ever inconvenient maze of corridors, which eventually ended with the two entering the teacher’s lounge like they had every right to be there (which they kinda did, shoutout to Nedzu!). As expected, Izuku’s uncle was in the lounge, surrounded by fellow members of staff as they tried (unsuccessfully, at least by Izuku’s standards) to get any information out of him regarding his class this year. Uncle Shouta for the most part looked like he’d rather be doing anything else and so Izuku has made an executive decision to insert himself obnoxiously into the situation.

“In my humble opinion-” he said, as he sat down next to his uncle, while Bandit jumped up on his lap “that Mineta kid should’ve been expelled. Like, we get it uncle, he has potential ” continued Izuku, as he spat the word distastefully “But how far is that potential gonna get him when all he does is harass the entire female population, like every other mediocre straight guy with self awareness of a sea cucumber?”

“A sea cucumber? Really?” asked uncle Shouta, sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he is.

“I mean don’t get me wrong” he continues, completely ignoring the unnecessary commentary “Straight people are already embarrassing as they are, but this guy is on another level, the kinda level that usually leads to a straight jacket, am I right?! Hah- I just made a pun!”

“The little listener does have a point, Shouta” replied Present Mic.

“Also, did he just say uncle ? Shouta, is there anything you’d like to tell us?” asked Midnight, you know, like a traitor.

“No”

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

It wasn’t until they walked past the gates of the school that his uncle finally stopped in his tracks to voice at least a portion of the questions that have been bubbling in his mind since the impromptu family reunion with his nephew.

“Izuku” says Shouta, with as much concern as an uncle-who-you-haven’t-seen-in-almost-a-decade is allowed to voice “What the fuck?”

“Look, I heard that question far too often in my lifetime, mostly from my therapist, so you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific” replies Izuku sounding like the unimpressed bitch that he hopes to evolve into through the sheer power of genetics and generational trauma.

“Look kid-” says the hobo looking man that has the privilege of being related to Izuku as he puts his hands together, takes a deep breath and prays to whichever God he believes is not yet dead for some guidance on how to handle this “-as much as I’d love to elaborate on the sheer amount of confusion I am experiencing right now due to your questionable way of life, I do actually have to go on a patrol so this conversation is gonna have to be postponed. In the meanwhile give your mother my regards, and I’ll hopefully see you in the near future when you decide once again to wreak havoc in my classroom.”

“No” replies the freckled teen in a total disregard for other people’s prior engagements, thus truly earning his title of a problem child.

“What do you mean no ? Izuku, I have a job to do!”

Instead of replying, Izuku has decided to simply pull a pro-gamer move, by quickly taking out a familiar pair of handcuffs from the side pocket of his backpack, cuffing one side to his uncle’s hand and the other to his own. That on its own is probably not particularly impressive, however it is the speed of the action that has earned it the title of a pro-gamer move, which Izuku is quite proud of. His uncle on the other hand is definitely less so, looking at his cuffed wrist like it has somewhat betrayed him.

“Please tell me you did not just do that”

“I did not just do that”

After wasting about 10 minutes of his life on fruitless struggle of trying to get the handcuffs off like an untrained dog trying to chew off its own leash, Aizawa Shouta; the underground hero Eraserhead, the infamous Erasure Hero has slumped in defeat, internally swearing to himself to one day get revenge on his unruly nephew.

“God, I am so going to have a talk with my sister about this” he says, as if a threat of authority had any meaning to the green headed teen.

“Yeah, no shit, that’s the whole point, we’re going to my house now” replies the teen, completely disregarding any attempt at ‘ an adult asserting their authority ’ over him.

“I still have to go on a patrol tonight” repeats Shouta, as if it was somewhat relevant.

“That sounds like a you problem”

#demise!au #bnha #revival of midoriya izuku #fanfic

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