#the more you dig into Doyle's life the more I think it becomes clear

[astudyinimagination]

That's... kind of the internet version of the story. And I think the real thing is so much better.

Sherlock Holmes was dead. For ten years. It was three months shy of an entire decade between the publishing of "The Final Problem" and "The Empty House."

It wasn't fan demand that brought him back.

It was his creator.

People really like to think that Arthur Conan Doyle hated Holmes from 1893 to the end of his life. And sure, I think that Doyle did hate Holmes, from about 1892 to some indeterminate time afterward. He did kill him off, very purposefully.

But Doyle kept coming back to Holmes. There was the play that he was trying to write, that William Gillette ended up rewriting and finishing and thus became the first major Sherlock Holmes actor. There was The Hound of the Baskervilles, when Doyle had a spooky story he wanted to write — and he'd already written plenty of spooky stories! — and he decided that this would work best (or at least sell best) with Sherlock Holmes in it.

And then he needed money. And he asked an ungodly amount from the Collier's magazine. They were willing to pay. And thus, Holmes returns from the dead in "The Empty House."

Sometimes Doyle still grumbled about it, but he knew that his detective was a cash cow, and he kept returning to him. Sometimes when he had an idea; sometimes when he needed the money. But he kept writing Holmes stories, on again and off again, up until 1927, just three years before his own death at the age of 71.

He'd been writing Holmes since he was twenty-seven, in 1886 (yes, he had to wait more than a year for A Study in Scarlet to be published once it was finally accepted). He stopped in 1927, just over forty years later.

No writer, no creator, no artist does that "for the fans."

He did that because, in the end, even he couldn't hate Holmes forever. Even he felt some measure of just how big his creation was.

Doyle kept coming back to Holmes, of his own free will.

And I think there's something so, so beautiful in the idea that you create this character when you're really young, and then you grow to hate him because he's so hard to write, and then you kill him off, and then he won't leave you alone, because he's still there in your head. And in the end, you don't hate him, because he's part of you.

Sometimes I remember he died, he was dead for real, but SO MANY people loved him SO MUCH that he was brought back to life and got to have so many more adventures and get old and eventually retire and yes it's a fictional character but sometimes I think about that and I have to lie down and have a cry about it. We love you Sherlock Holmes

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Pt. 53 - In the Shadows

Title: Irreverent Pt. 53 - In the Shadows

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~6K

A/N: It’s been so long. Sorry, life happened. Hoping to get back to a more regular posting schedule.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Derek watches Hotch out of the corner of his eye as he drives as quickly as possible towards Quantico. The news that Easter had resurfaced was the best news they'd had about you and they'd all felt that collective rush of what felt vaguely like hope, flicker through them. It didn't say anything about how you were, and yet, you'd been seated right next to Easter moments before the bomb had gone off. It would stand to reason that if he had survived it, then so had you.

Hotch was staring out the window while Derek storms through traffic, his mind still reeling from everything that they'd all seen. This was worse than Prentiss and Doyle. The image of you, strapped down to a table and begging with them to let you go – that was going to haunt him forever. He could only imagine what it was doing to Hotch. Hotch who, it seemed hadn't taken a real breath since they'd all seen the bomb go off the day before. Who had already been looking worse and was distracted when the two of them had worked out during the last week or so. Whose barometer for handling stressful situations was the highest Derek had ever seen, and yet the past 24 hours had shaken him beyond belief.

Derek had seen the light leave his eyes when the video of the bomb and turned black. Had watched as he tried in vain to get answers as to your whereabouts. Though one thing had bothered him – why hadn't Hotch just asked someone higher up. McKinney had to have some way of getting in touch with you or Easter even if the two of you were working a deep cover. It was only after, at the house when Hotch had left to go sit outside, that he'd voiced his question and Rossi had told him that you'd broken it off. That you hadn't warned Hotch at all, and Strauss had dropped off the paperwork at his desk. Derek had felt himself blanch at that. With the added context of everything Easter had put you through, it made some sense what you'd been trying to do. But Hotch hadn't known that. Not then. The man had spent the last couple weeks living in a house that was a shrine to the two of you, thinking that you'd just ended everything. Derek's not sure how he would take something like that. Would he have the faith to believe it had nothing to do with the two of you? Wait it out until you were back and could explain? He's not sure he'd be cut out for something like that.

He meets Prentiss's eye in the rearview mirror as she's seated in the backseat with Rossi. JJ, Reid, and Garcia had stayed behind to continue digging into the Atlantis files and see what they could find. Garcia was convinced that if you'd left them the email how you had, then there had to be more. You must've left them something else to help them find you.

Prentiss's gaze slips from him, over to Hotch who's seated in the passenger seat, dead quiet ever since he'd informed him that Easter had turned up. Derek doesn't have to ask to know what she's thinking. They're all worried about him. The man was an enigma in the best of times. Now? All bets were off.

Now, after having seen everything that they had, Derek can only imagine the various scenes playing in Hotch's head. The numerous ways he has to be considering just killing Easter with his bare hands. If they didn't need Easter to find you, Derek would help. He had a few ways of his own to help Easter experience even half the amount of suffering he'd made you endure. However, be that as it may, the fact remained that right then, they needed Easter. They couldn't afford to piss him off if they were going to get answers. They couldn't afford to get thrown out of the Bureau or arrested for assaulting him unprovoked.

Derek knows what he would do if something happened to Savannah and he's acutely aware of the depth of what Hotch feels for you. The man smiled around you – had ever since you'd joined. When they'd all worried that he'd become a complete loner and even surlier after the divorce, somehow you'd prevented that from happening. When Haley had died – you'd still been that person for him to go to. Derek knew that in that time, both Hotch and his son had become familiar with the spare rooms at your place. If Derek hadn't known you better, he would've thought the two of you were hooking up a long time ago.

None of them needed to know what the two of you talked about – what you saw in a guy over a decade older than you whose idea of a good time was filling out a case report probably. All they needed to know was that there was something about you that kept Hotch from becoming the worst version of himself. When the two of you had finally gotten together, it had felt like some sort of inevitability to the rest of them. Maybe you hadn't known, but they always had in some way. Even when you were dating other dudes and even when you and Hotch were just friends, they'd all known to some extent.

Derek clears his throat as he pulls into the parking garage leaning back, and turns to Hotch with a concerned expression on his face. "Hotch, you know you can't kill Easter, right? I know you want to, man. Hell, we all do. But you can't. Yeah?" He raises his chin up, confirming if Hotch understood what he was asking, hands gripped tightly to the steering wheel.

Hotch's hands are tightly balled fists on his thighs and Derek exchanges another worried glance with both Prentiss and Rossi as he turns the car off and the four of them exit the vehicle. Hotch still hasn't said anything.

Derek knows that he has to step up. Hotch can't be the one to deal with all of this and still be the guy in charge. As Hotch rounds the car, Derek quickly grabs his arms and lightly pushes him against it to stop him. He meets Hotch's impassive look, as though he wasn't even really bothered by Derek manhandling him like that. "Hotch, I know you want to beat the ever living crap out of that asshole, but he's the best lead we have to her right now. He's the last person we know that saw her. We need to get him to tell us everything that he knows and we need him to help us. You get that, right?" Derek's eyes search Hotch's for understanding, still holding him tight against the car. Behind him, Derek knows that both Rossi and Prentiss are watching, their breath held tight. They all need to know that he understands. It's quiet and tense for a few seconds. Derek watches as he swallows, a harsh breath leaving him as he nods to assure them all that he understands. That he'll keep it together and not commit murder inside a federal building.

Derek looks at him for another beat before releasing him with a quick nod, and the four of them briskly continue towards the elevators and straight up to the floor that McKinney's office is on. Garcia was tracking his visitor badge and had informed them that that was where he had headed only moments before.

*------------*

Derek walks behind Hotch and Rossi, keeping pace with Prentiss as the four of them exited the elevators and headed towards Director McKinney's office. He has an eye on Hotch – they all do.

Rossi brushes them all past McKinney's assistant – Derek remembers you mentioning that her name was Gladys when you'd been searching for a snow globe for her at the airport in New York – despite her protests, insisting that the Director was in a meeting. They knew exactly what meeting he was in. Prentiss takes the assistant aside deftly, explaining that it was an emergency situation and that the Director would surely understand the interruption. Looking past where Prentiss was talking to the woman, Derek sees the mini snow globes lining the shelves on the wall behind her desk. He can just barely pick out the small red one you'd picked out for her, the empire state building and a yellow taxicab at the center. Neither Hotch nor Rossi spare a glance to the assistant as Rossi knocks and then doesn't bother waiting for an answer, quickly opening the door. Both Derek and Prentiss are quick to walk in behind them, before the door shuts in Gladys's disgruntled face.

McKinney looks up from behind his desk, startled at the intrusion. He stands quickly. "What is going on?"

Easter stands too and Derek watches Hotch tensing even more, as if he wasn't wound tight as it were. He shares a quick look with Prentiss, looking around at the room. Neither of them had ever been inside McKinney's office before.

"Walter," Rossi starts, deciding it was best for him to take the lead, "I believe we need to be part of this conversation between you and Agent Easter." He turns towards Easter before continuing. "Where is she? Is she alright?"

Easter stays quiet, deferring to McKinney to intervene.

Director McKinney looks between Easter and the rest of them, his brow furrowing in question. "Dave, I don't know why the BAU is barging in on this meeting – "

"Is she alive?" Hotch interrupts, his eyes focused solely on Easter, who is leaned back on his heels, an odd expression on his face,.

He shrugs in response to Hotch, far too casually for any of their liking. "As far as I know, yeah. She's alive." His posture and tone suggesting that he could care less whether or not you're alive.

"How do we know you don't have her locked up somewhere?" Derek speaks up then. He can't believe anything that came out of Easter's mouth. Not anymore. Not after everything they'd seen.

Easter's eyes narrow at the question but he appears appropriately taken aback. "Why would you think I would have her?" he asks carefully, looking around at all of them, his back straightening ever so much more.

"Because it wouldn't be the first time you locked her up somewhere," Emily retorts, walking up closer to him, past both Rossi and Hotch, her eyes narrowed with barely held hatred and rage. She's looking at her old boss with entirely new eyes.

McKinney seems surprised at that, alerting them to the possibility that he might not be privy to Easter's preferred methods of testing his coworkers. "Agent Prentiss, that is a serious accusation."

"Which can be backed up with proof, Walter." Rossi looks at his former friend who had risen far beyond him from their early days starting out in Bureau training together. Wordlessly imploring him to rely on their shared history and trust him in that moment. The two of them look at one another as McKinney takes stock of the situation at hand. He looks at the four agents standing in front of him and then looks at Easter, whose stance has become far more guarded in the past minute, as though ready to defend himself against any one of them.

McKinney clears his throat and addresses the four of them once again. "Agent Easter was just about to begin briefing me on the most recent developments regarding the assignment that Agent L/N was on. However, the details of the assignment – "

"Director, with all due respect, we are all aware of the details of Project Atlantis. I'm sure that's something we can address at a later point, however I think it might be best if we all speak candidly to understand what exactly is going on here," Hotch interjects, effectively cutting off McKinney's attempt at brushing them all away.

McKinney's eyebrows raise as he's met with the Hotch that Derek is used to. He was in usual form now, after having learned that - at the very least - you're alive. His shoulders are back, he's standing tall, his jaw is tensed – he's in control once more. That was the boss he was used to having in his corner.

McKinney appraises them all once more, all thoughts and feelings on the matter hidden behind an impassive mask. He wasn't the Director of the FBI for no reason. He had to be fuming at how easily Hotch had admitted to them all knowing everything about Atlantis – despite them being warned off from it. Hell, Garcia had nearly been charged with treason for breaking into the files. Now here Hotch was, just admitting they knew all about it.

"Given that my current priority is to ensure that Agent L/N is brought back safe," – McKinney comes out from behind his desk and walks towards the larger conference table at one side of the large room – "I will allow you to stay for Agent Easter's report."

Easter makes a noise of dissent at that, but he's quickly silenced with a look from McKinney, who gestures them all to the table.

"Agent Easter, we have limited resources to spare given the events in Philadelphia. If the BAU is offering itself as a resource, then I believe you would be wise to take them up on it." McKinney stares down Easter as they all grab chairs around the table, Hotch seating himself directly across from McKinney while both Emily and Rossi made sure that Easter couldn't grab a chair beside Hotch.

Easter has a deeply pissed off expression on his face as he looks at them all seated around the table. It was plainly obvious that he'd been counting on having this conversation with McKinney on his won.

However, after a few more seconds and with a deep breath, Easter pulls out a file and puts two photographs – a man and a woman – side by side. "These are Agents Cavanaugh and Novak of the CIA. Their work history is classified, however they both retired and settled down in the east coast under new identities under the charter of Project Atlantis. Last week, they both disappeared and their new identities popped up in a missing persons' report, which was flagged by our systems. L/N and I have been following similar cases across Europe with ex MI6, DGSE, and Interpol agents also under the protectorate of Atlantis. These agents typically end up being sold as counter-intelligence assets to the Chinese, the Russians, you name it. We had been working to figure out how their acquisition and sale was being handled and we were at the jazz club, posing as potential buyers."

Derek shares a look with Emily as they process everything Easter just said. It definitely explained a lot about the level of secrecy around the project and the subsequent reaction to the files being hacked by Garcia. It also implied that the case they had been working on was somehow linked to this, but that was a secondary problem.

At McKinney's nod, Easter continues. "We received a text message asking us to meet outside, which was a change in the original plan. However, we made a calculated decision to comply, and as soon as we stepped out into the back alley, the restaurant blew up and they'd been waiting for us outside."

"Why blow up the restaurant? What does that achieve?" Rossi asks, his fingers interlaced together as he looks at Easter, his forehead knitted together.

Easter offers a vague shrug and grimace. "Not entirely sure. There's a few options – either it was to show us how serious they are. That they don't mind collateral damage nor are they worried about repercussions. Or it was a way to make it seem – "

" – as though you're dead," Emily finishes, following where he was leading.

Easter nods.

"What would that accomplish? Do you think your cover was blown?"

Easter sighs, before looking once more at McKinney, and they all tense, realizing that whatever came next was likely the reason he hadn't wanted them there during this conversation with the Director.

Ignoring Emily's question, Easter continues. "They covered our heads and next thing I know we're tied up somewhere. She was next to me and we were both trying to get out, but not being able to see, we weren't sure what we could do. A man came in and he – he spoke to them, in Greek, I believe. Couldn't understand him. Next thing I know, I can hear them undoing her bindings and taking off the bag on her head."

"But not yours?" Derek questions, a growing feeling on unease creeping in.

Easter shakes his head. "He knew her. She recognized him – called him Uncle Erasmus."

"Erasmus Jansen?" McKinney's eyebrows rise up while the rest of them look on, confused.

"Yes." Easter turns back to the rest of them after answering McKinney's question. "The CIA confirmed, during its investigation, that Jansen was part of her father's organization – he was probably third or fourth in command."

Derek's bad feeling was confirmed and he can see Hotch tensing at that.

"What happened after that?" McKinney asks, giving Easter his utmost attention now.

"Not sure. They left the room. Next thing I know, she's back. Some other guy took the bag off of my head and she was standing in front of me with a gun in her hand."

"They gave her a gun?" Rossi's surprise was plain to hear in his voice.

"Yes. And she shot me. Twice."

The stunned silence in the room was deafening. Derek looks up and meets Hotch's eye, knowing they're both thinking the same thing. You'd shot him. You'd shot him twice. Yet, Easter sat there looking perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him. You don't miss - not if you'd meant to kill.

"You were wearing a vest?" Emily asks, finally breaking the silence.

"Yeah, a thin one. She didn't know I was wearing a vest. She shot me dead center. Knocked me out. By the time I came to, the entire place was cleared out, as if no one had been there at all."

"What are you trying to say, Agent Easter?" McKinney asks, his voice low as he appraises the man seated beside him. His posture has changed, any relaxed manner from earlier gone.

"I'm saying, Agent L/N is the mole. She's been her father's plant from the very beginning."

*------------*

It is pin drop silent in the room after Easter's accusation had thundered through. Derek squares his shoulders and tilts backwards from the table with a silent scoff, his incredulity mirrored by both Rossi and Prentiss. Hotch just seems shocked, as though he couldn't quite believe the turn this entire conversation had taken.

The Director, however, was leaning in towards Easter with a great deal of interest and both Derek and Prentiss note that, exchanging worried looks. Hotch wasn't making eye contact with any of them, still looking just past Easter.

"You believe that Agent L/N has been undercover for the entirety of her tenure with the Bureau?" McKinney's hands are knitted together and placed on the table, his lips pressed tight as he appraises Easter's assertion.

"Everything points towards that, yes. Her family background. The fact that she was recognized by the people who took us. That she shot me at their instruction and left me for dead." Easter's delivery was cool and detached. It almost sounded like he expected you to have been the mole.

"You're alive though," Prentiss reminds him. "She had to have known you were wearing a vest."

There's a silent standoff between the two of them while Derek watches Hotch, processing the gravity of what Easter was implying. If what he was saying was true, then that meant that you had been a plant from the very beginning. That you'd duped them all into picking you to be on the team. That you'd become friends with all of them, been their confidante. Hell, you were in a relationship with their Unit Chief. You slept in his bed. Shared his home. You'd infiltrated all of their lives, all as a front for your father and his business. That was what Easter was insinuating.

Derek was perhaps the only person in the world who had eyewitness testimony to exactly how untrue that was. How unlikely it was that you would ever do anything for your father. How implausible the suggestion of you choosing to do that man's bidding. However, he couldn't exactly share that the sole reason your father was buried six feet under with a bullet in his brain was because of you. You and your raw, unfettered hatred for the man. They'd all kept that under wraps for a reason and now wasn't the time to start blurting out that particular truth.

"The facts are," Easter finally breaks the silence, "she is friendly with the guys that blew up an entire restaurant. She was recognized by them. She was released by them. Instead of helping me and getting us both out, she shot me in the chest. I think it's fair to say that whatever she's doing, her plan isn't to come back."

"If her plan was to not come back, she would've made sure that you were dead," Derek counters, his shoulders set and tone confident. "It doesn't help her to have you running around saying she's the mole. It would've been better if she just killed you and came back the hero that escaped. Keep the cover in place."

If you had wanted Easter dead, there'd be a bullet in his head and not conveniently lodged in the vest he just so happened to be wearing.

"Maybe there was a wrench thrown in their plans. Fact is, she's not here."

McKinney looks at Hotch and the rest of them, contemplating their stance as well as Easter's accusation in tandem. Derek knows that the Director was looking at Hotch differently - putting their whole team under the microscope on the off chance that Easter's accusation was right. Because if it was, it meant that a mole had infiltrated the FBI, right under the noses of the Bureau's top profilers. The idea was ridiculous. No one could pull off a deception like that - not to the degree that Easter was accusing you of. Hell, even Prentiss had only lasted a year as Doyle's fake girlfriend.

"Y/N is not a mole," Hotch asserts quietly to McKinney, speaking up for the first time since Easter's preposterous accusation. Derek can feel the restraint in his tone, the calm sureness of his statement. It radiated sincerity and that he has to admire that. In the face of this kind of scrutiny, when you'd given him nothing to hold onto, he still had that kind of faith in you. "I can guarantee that."

McKinney looks carefully at Hotch, and it's plain to see that he's weighing both sides carefully – Easter's accusation brought out of months of working together, only to be shot by you. Or so he claimed. Or his own team of profilers with an excellent history of being right. Derek can just begin to see McKinney start to nod, when Easter decides to inject his opinion in.

"Well, let's just say I'm not comfortable taking the word of the guy whose dick she's been wetting this whole time," Easter jabbed with an eyeroll, his face contorted with derision.

Derek was on his feet in an instant. "Watch your mouth!" Both Prentiss and Rossi had retorted as well, their words drowned out as Derek turned to look at Hotch again, who had remained seated. His jaw was tensed completely, a tick there the only evidence that he'd heard what Easter had said. The restraint on that man was unreal.

McKinney quiets everyone quickly and gives a warning to Easter, his expression uncertain as he looks between the two groups. Derek sees him take a deep breath and lean in towards them, and knows that he's come to a decision. He can only hope it is one that allows them the time to find you.

"The BAU knows Agent L/N well and I still think they would be helpful in bringing her back. Any judgments regarding her culpability shall be made after she's brought in. Agent Easter, you will work with – "

Easter cuts him off. "I'll have my own team work on this. They can work it too, but you'll understand if I don't exactly trust them to bring her in properly."

McKinney's expression is marred with displeasure at his instructions being ignored, however he nods, allowing it for the time being.

Easter stands, ready to take his leave. As he comes around to the table, he takes something out of his pocket. "She's not coming back, mate. Pretty sure she left this for you." With that, he sets something down with a thunk on to the table right in front of Hotch, before striding out.

Derek recognizes the chain and locket that sat on the table in front of Hotch, the emerald shining brilliantly in the sunlight. You'd worn it every single day since Hotch had given it to you. He remembers you telling them it had been a birthday present, your fingers curling around it as you spoke, your eyes admiring it while your face broke out into a relaxed grin. He watches Hotch as the man reaches out to grab it. For the first time, Derek sees something akin to hope fill his eyes.

*------------*

"We think we have a lead."

Those were the first words out of Garcia's mouth when Morgan had called in to ask for updates. The four of them in the car quickly exchange a look before Morgan gives Garcia the go ahead.

"Spencer remembered something that Y/N said to him while we were in New York," JJ begins quickly.

"When we were in New York, Y/N was on the phone and she asked me to remember an address for her, and said she'd ask me for it later. I had assumed it was related to the case at the time, and since she didn't have a pen on her, she just wanted me to remember it." Reid's frantic explanation squawks through the speakers on the phone.

Rossi notes Aaron's agitated state before turning back to the phone. "The point, kid."

"It's to a storage facility here in Virginia. Garcia pulled up the manifest of storage owners and there's a name on there – "

"Blare Sky Hoo," Garcia interjects

"It's an anagram – " Reid continues "– for Haley Brooks."

Aaron feels his heart beat pick up. That sounded exactly like something you'd do if you were leaving clues meant specifically for them – for him. You were leading them to you. The knowledge that you'd relied on Reid's ability to remember an offhand address that you'd told him months prior was something he chose not to focus on at the time being. After he finds you, then he was going to have a talk with you about over relying on Reid. It also doesn't escape his notice that you'd told Reid this in New York. Started building your failsafe months prior. In hindsight, it explained so much – how tired and spent you seemed anytime you were home. All of this had to have been weighing heavily on your mind. For months now. You knew – even back then – that there was a chance everything could go wrong. You'd planned accordingly.

"Another thing we found is a folder in the partition of the drive that only Y/N owned. It's an empty folder with nothing in it, titled Lady L."

"Does that mean anything?" Morgan asks, his confused glance matching Aaron's.

"Well," Reid answers, "Lady L is likely a reference to Lady Lazarus. It's a poem by Sylvia Plath – Y/N and I have discussed her work at length. Plath wrote this poem only two months prior to her suicide. It's a reference to Lazarus, who in the Gospel of John, was raised from the dead by Jesus – the main theme being one of resurrection."

"An empty folder, huh." Rossi looks at Aaron and Morgan before they all turn to look at Prentiss.

She meets their eyes for a second before turning back towards the phone. "You think it has something to do with me?"

"It would stand to reason," Reid says. "The empty folder. Your empty coffin. The resurrection from the dead."

"She helped your mom pick out the headstone," Morgan recalls. Aaron can see the guilt from that flitting across Prentiss's face briefly.

"In New York, she said – " Prentiss's voice cracks as she meets Aaron's eyes "– she said I only get one. One funeral. After the fire."

Aaron manages to offer her a look of commiseration, as Morgan instructs Garcia to send over the address to the storage facility. They'd stop at the cemetery on the way.

As Morgan pulls out of the parking garage, Aaron's fingers latch on to the chain sitting in his pocket, the metal cool beneath his fingertips, his thumb rubbing against the stone of the locket. Easter was wrong. That necklace didn't mean that you'd left. His mind flits back to that day at the airport when the three of you had been on your way to Paris. Your soft voice, lips turned upwards into a flirty, sweet smile that set his heart aflutter. Your words echoed in his head. Hang on to that, will you? I'll come back for it.

*------------*

It had taken them an hour or so to drive from Quantico, to the cemetery, and they now stood outside the storage unit that Garcia had directed them to. In Morgan's hand was a key that had been wedged into a slot in Prentiss's headstone that still stood there. Aaron has a feeling you'd spent quite a bit of time there during his mission in Pakistan. The thought of you going and sitting by Prentiss's grave after he'd abandoned you has a ripple of guilt rolling through him.

"There's a second lock," Prentiss points out as Morgan goes to unlock the one towards the right with the key.

Aaron looks to the other side and sees a four digit combination lock. Before Morgan has a chance to dial up Garcia and Reid to get them to start running through possible combinations, on a whim, he leans down and enters the passcode from the safe at home. His fingers roll the metal wheels and get each of the numbers aligned, and he pulls. No luck.

There's a quick flash of smooth skin and elegant black script in his head – delicate flesh that his fingers have brushed over countless times. Ink that his lips have hovered over, caressed. Numbers traced by his tongue, with only the faint morning sunlight to help guide the path.

Quickly, he tries again, shifting the metal wheels once more and realigning those four numbers with the arrows. With a click, it falls open.

He looks up to see the rest of them looking at him and he simply shrugs, before both him and Morgan hoist up the door by the handles, the action causing the metal to clang and echo down the hallways.

Prentiss has her flashlight out and Morgan is quick to find the light switch, bathing the 10x15 room in yellow light. In front of them are boxes and boxes, the room filled to the ceiling. They each grab a box. Prentiss manages to find one that had been sitting near the top that had been left in slight disarray and she focuses on that one. Beside Aaron, both Rossi and Morgan have grabbed a box each as well.

It's quiet for a little bit as the four of them look for anything that could be helpful. Aaron finds himself looking up frequently. You had to have had this stuff for years now, likely only having changed the name on the roster recently. This room held a lot of your past from before the two of you had met. In one corner, he can see the motorcycle you'd told him about from your training years, the handles jutting out from underneath the blue tarp covering. There's another large crate that they haven't gotten to yet, since they'd need a crowbar to get it open.

"I think it's research," Prentiss suggests, her eyes still reading through the paperwork in her hand. "Research on her father and his businesses."

Aaron nods. That made sense – you might've abandoned your revenge against him, but you'd kept everything you'd found. Based on what they'd learned from Easter, that your father's friend was involved, it must've jogged something in your memory while you'd been working on this case. Something had to have felt familiar to you.

"Yeah, this has a lot of stuff on shell corporations and property that's registered under each of them," Morgan adds, pointing to the box that he had been looking over.

Rossi stands from his crouched position, dusting off his pants before placing his hands on his hips and surveying the landscape in front of them. "Y/N wouldn't have led us here for no reason. If her father was involved and she had information like this on him, then there's a chance that the people he used to work with still own and use those properties. Somewhere in these boxes is the answer to where she might be right now"

Rossi was right, but it was starting to feel overwhelming. They were never going to make it through it all. There had to be over fifty boxes in there. Even with Reid's ability to read at the speed of light, they'd never make it through quickly enough or know what mattered enough.

Mind made up in an instant, Aaron stands straight, drawing the attention of the rest of them. Dialing Garcia, he puts the phone on speaker so that the rest of them can hear as well.

Garcia picks up immediately with a quick - for her - greeting and asks what he needs. "Garcia, can you please get me information on Johnathan Hawthorne?"

Morgan's eyebrows raise as Prentiss's brow crinkles, the both of them having stopped their perusal of their share of the boxes and waiting to hear back from Garcia. He can hear the tapping of the keyboard as she quickly looks up everything she could.

After a minute or so, her voice is back with a crackle. "Johnathan Hawthorne, 35. Resides in Midtown Manhattan. Columbia law school - he clerked for Supreme Court Justice McGuire. Left a lucrative partnership at Bain & Ross three and a half years ago and has been with the New York state's District Attorney's office ever since. Highest conviction rate of any ADA there," she rattles off quickly.

Aaron starts - both at the McGuire clerkship as well as at the news that John was now an ADA.  He doesn't have the time to process that the change had followed yours and John's final time together by a mere six months. You'd broken it off and six months later the guy had changed his entire life. He doesn't have the time to wonder at the implication of that.

"Garcia, get me his direct line. Now."

[fyeahhozier]

The Irishman is deeper and darker than he's maybe been given credit for... but the geniality and swoon factor remain high.

Variety: Hozier Proves He’s a Career Artist in Gratifying Greek Show

At Hozier’s sold-out show at L.A.’s Greek Friday night, one of the first things you couldn’t help noticing on stage —because it’s still an anomaly — was that his eight-piece lineup was half-male, half-female. Knowing his penchant for socially conscious songs, his decrial of “the anthems of rape culture” in his lyrics, and a general female-friendliness to his appeal, it’s easy to figure this gender parity is a conscious one and think: That is soooo Hozier. Which it is … and so effective, too, like just about every choice he’s made so far in his short, charmed career. On the most practical level, if you can bring in that much female harmony while also getting ace players in the bargain, why wouldn’t you? But it also makes for a good visual emblem of some of the other dual energies Hozier is playing with in his music: darkness and enlightenment; romantic hero and cad; raw blues dude and slick pop hero. He’s got a lot more going on than just being an earnest do-gooder. (Although he does do good, earnestly.)

During Friday’s hour-and-three-quarters set, Hozier focused largely on material from this year’s sophomore album, “Wasteland, Baby!,” which sounded good enough on record but almost uniformly improved in the live experience. Sometimes the upgrade came from making full use of the multi-instrumentalists on hand. The first album’s “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene” now had Hozier on guitar facing off against violinist Emily Kohavi, trading solos — and if it’s hard to hear an electric guitar/fiddle duel without automatically thinking “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” it was one of many welcome moments making use of the MVP skills of Kohavi, the newest addition to the band. Other times, the improvements on the album versions just had to do with Hozier allowing himself louder and gutsier guitar tones. He’s a bit like Prince, in that way — someone you’d happily listen to playing a very nasty-sounding six-string all night, although he has so many other stylistic fish to fry, which in this case means a still slightly greater emphasis on acoustic finger-picking.

For somebody who made his name on as forlorn but powerful an anthem as his 2014 breakout smash “Take Me to Church,” and who can milk that melodrama for all it’s worth, Hozier has a lot of other modes he can default to. He treads very lightly into the area of soul with songs like “Almost (Sweet Music),” the lyrics of which consist of either name-checking or alluding to some of the great jazz vocal classics of the 20th century, in an idiom that’s not so much jazzy itself as folk-R&B. You could almost cite it as the subtle kind of Memphis-swing thing Justin Timberlake should aspire to, if the tricky polyrhythm and oddly chopped up meters Hozier adds as wrinkles weren’t so un-replicable. Bringing up Stevie Wonder’s “Living for the City” as the night’s sole cover also established that early ‘70s era and sound as an influences he’d like to make perfectly clear. At the other extreme, this son of a blues musician can hard back to those roots so well, in noisy numbers like “Moment’s Silence (Common Tongue)” and the brand new “Jack Boot Jump,” that he could give the Black Keys a run for their money.

“Jack Boot Jump,” which is scheduled to go on an EP of completely fresh material that Hozier said he plans to put out before Christmas, was possibly the highlight of the night, even though — or because — it stripped his excellent band down to just him and longtime drummer Rory Doyle. Having earlier played the current album’s “Nina Cried Power,” which is maybe more of a tribute to other historic protest songs than one of its own, Hozier gave a lengthy introduction to “Jack Boot” indicating that he’s aware of the traps that come with the territory. “I do have some reservations about the words ‘protest song’ and ‘protest music,’” he admitted. “But if you’re familiar with an artist called Woody Guthrie, he wrote the evergreen anthem ‘Tear the Fascists’ down. I was kind of looking into songs in that sort of tradition, that singing out, and I was worried that this is 2019; it’s a very unsubtle way to approach songwriting.” But, he added, “it was a funny few weeks, with 70 people shot in Hong Kong and arrests obviously in Moscow; Chile now at the moment also. And I was thinking, forget about subtle art — what is not subtle is this murder of protesters, and what is not subtle is the jack boot coming down in Orwell’s picture of the future: ‘If you want to imagine the future, imagine a jack boot stomping on a human face forever,’ that chilling quote from ‘1984.’ Anyway, I was just thinking, yeah, f— it, it’s not subtle, but let’s do it.” His electric guitar proceeded to be a machine that kills fascists, and also just slayed as maybe the most rock ‘n’ roll thing he’s written. (Evidence of the new song on the web is scant, or should be, anyway, since he begged the audience “in good faith” not to film it.)

If there’s a knock people have on Hozier, it tends to be the sincerity thing. He’s a nice guy who’s finishing first, which doesn’t necessarily help him become an indie-rock darling or Pitchfork favorite. (Predictably, “Wasteland, Baby!” got a 4.8 rating there — that’s out of 10, not 5.) At the Greek, there was an almost wholesome feeling that would’ve been an immediate turnoff to anyone who insists on having their rock rough, starting with his graciousness in repeatedly naming the band members and repeatedly thanking his opening act (Madison Ryann Ward, a fetchingly husky-voiced Oklahoman filling in on this part of the tour for a laryngitis-stricken Freya Ridings). That extended to a sense of uplift in many of the songs that doesn’t always match the themes of the material. But then, there was the impossible good cheer and attractiveness of the young players, to match Hozier’s own; this is a group where everyone looks as if they could be in Taylor Swift’s band or actually looks like Taylor Swift. The swoon factor in Hozier’s appeal is undeniably high, and it’s safe to say no one left Griffith Park less smitten.

But ladies (and gentlemen), do be aware that Hozier has some dark-side moments that can almost make Leonard Cohen look like Stephen Bishop. The only time he really overtly accentuated that in concert was in introducing and playing the new album’s “No Plan,” a love song that is also an amiable statement of atheism in which Hozier reminds his beloved that the universe is going to collapse upon itself someday. This may be rather like the gambit in which the ‘50s boy gets the girl to make out with him in a fallout shelter, but in any case, Hozier didn’t stint on the end-of-all-things aspect of it, even putting up on screen behind the band a statement from astrophysicist Dr. Katie Mack pointing out humankind’s and the galaxy’s ultimate fate. (“Honestly I never really imagined I’d end up being name-checked in a song for talking about how the universe is eventually going to fade out and die so this is all very exciting for me,” Mack tweeted in replay earlier in the year.) Suffice it to say that with that soulful a vintage ‘70s groove and that fuzz-tastic a guitar line, many babies will be conceived to the tune of “No Plan,” whether it foresees generational lines ending in a godless black hole or not.

Other Hozier songs reveal darker gets more estimable the more you dig into it. With its bird talk, “Shrike” sounds sweet enough, till you realize that a shrike is a kind of bird that impales its prey on thorns, which does add a rather bloody metaphoric undertone to what sounds like a reasonably pacifist breakup song. “Dinner & Diatribes,” meanwhile, is just deeply horny, not thorny. The most brooding song of the set, “Talk,” has verses where Hozier sings in lofty, literary terms about the romantic myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, only to reveal in the chorus that he’s talking to this woman in such high-minded terms because he just wants to charm her into the sack. As a piece of writing, it’s hilarious, establishing a devilish side of Hozier it’s good to hear. As a piece of performance, it’s just sexy.

But as enriching as it is to realize Hozier has a healthy sense of humor in his writing, bad-boy wit is never going to be what you’re going to come away from a Hozier album or show with. The main part of Friday’s concert ended, as expected, with “Take Me to Church,” his outraged take on abuse and homophobia in the scandalized Catholic church — which just happens to be easily taken as a lusty hymn to sexuality. Following that, the large band returned to a stage that had now been decked out in some kind of ivy, as Hozier talked about his love for the late Irish poet Seamus Heaney (whose last words he has tattooed on his arm) and, “since I’ve come this far,” went ahead and recited his poem “Mint,” sharing his hero’s affection for the plant and its “tenacity for life.”

Tenacity is likely to be a buzzword, too, for Hozier, given his leaps and gains as a writer-performer and seeming level head atop his tree-top shoulders. Taller still of voice, musical dexterity and good will — and still just 29 —  he’s somebody the swooners and even some cynics should feel good about settling in with for a very long Irish ride.

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 9

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 241: Shit day at work. To cut a long story short, I could complete a task Sueanne gave to me and then I got it in the ear, including a snotty email ay 5:40pm. Pissed off.

Day 242: Had a meeting with Sueanne (our weekly 1-2-1 actually) and she was alright. I feel much better tonight. Last night I didn’t even have an appetitie - unheard of! Going to make up for that tonight, pie and loads of veg! A much better day. Ridiculously, I believe yesterday was all my own fault - I take work for granted sometimes and I let myself down by ignoring the urgency of a task just because it was Sueanne asking me to do it and she was a peer. She is now my boss, and I should respect that.

Day 243: So-so day at work. It’s strange how used to work I am after over six months on furlough. It’s been less than two months back but all the highs and lows amd frustrations are commonplace. Most importantly, it being Thursday, I cannot wait for tomorrow eveninga dn to kick back, drink and smoke. Spoke to dad this morning, he’s same as...that’s always good to know. Sugar levels have been a fucking roller coaster today, and it has really fucked me off! No salad at lunch due to them being so fucking high when I got back from my walk. It ended up being my tea. Sarted watching The Undoing...it’s OK. 

Day 244: Glad it is Friday. Just cooking a (very hot) chicken madras, cracked open my first beer. Gonna eat, drink, smoke and watch a good film.

Day 245: Gold was the film I watched last night, with Matthew McConaughey and it was a good choice. I then watch a Kevin Hart stand up show on Netflix...very Eddie Murphy, very funny. I did a 12 km walk today...fucking felt it in my legs. Walked the footpath from Stoke Doyle road to Benefield road for the first time. I liked it and it comes out between Lytham Park and Wakerley Close....I posted on FB about the fact that when I move to Oundle, Clifton Drive was the last street heading out of town. Saw Becks on the walk down Benefield road, She mentioned she’s tired of lockdown. I replied that I’m tired of the virus!

Day 246: Up at 1pm, nice long walk, ordered new slippers and waterproof jacket (my Craghopper is bust again).

Day 247: I screwed up at work today, went for a (ridiculously) late lunch right when I was meant to be at an online meeting that Sueanne had reminded me about in the morning. There’s mitigation but, when push comes to shove, I fucked up and now Sueanne’s on the warpath - one more slip up and it’ll be an offical disciplinary matter. 

Day 248: Suzanne wants me to troubleshoot a ticket she has in her queue, some database request for a Cork guy. It’s a test and it’s fucking me off.

I did testing for a network change tonight...8 till 11:15pm.

Elliot and Aaron cleaned the windows today. It was nice to see them.

Rita sent a couple of emails recently. Dad’s ear is all clear but Paul has got testicular cancer.

Day 249: New waterproof jacket arrived today. It’s very nice, bargain for £25 odd. Also picked up slippers from M&S food hall in Corby so, while over their, did a shop at Tesco’s...£109 mainly booze.

By the time I was back, I ended up doing my evening walk at 9.30pm!

Day 250: Leigh from Oundle Chronicle has got back to me. She (he?) has selected the photos that are going to be in the article and wants me to write a sentence on each - where they were taken and what inspited me to do so. Whether that means the stuff I wrote before is not going to be used, or not, I dunno! New slippers are OK and the new jacket is still impressing me.

Day 251: Typing on Day 252. Usual Friday, beers, meatballs, pizza, long chat with Fog. I should mention that, as we approach the end of Lockdown2 in England, Boris and his government have laid out a three tier structure for how the second lockdown will be eased. It’s caused confusion and consternation across the board. None of it affects me, still isolating like I was on day 1. Day 252: Totally forgot about my diary entry yesterday! Up at 1pm, nice long walk, nipped rong Elliots to pay for my windows, had a chat with him, Artron and Camilla - it’s so nice to socialise! Gonna make fish pie and supp a few ales. Day 253: The weekend is over way too quickly. It’s 7.30pm on Sunday as I type and I wish it wasn’t. I wish it was 7.30pm on Friday. Day 254: In a meeting, a working Zoom, with Andy Ashler in the US re: qfiniti, which Sueanne pissed me off about earlier in te day (RCI diary updated), but the meeting went well. I am desparately trying to buy an iPad on Black Monday. As usual with tech, I cannot make my mind up which to buy! Day 255: I haven’t bought an iPad....I’ll wait for the 10.2″ iPad to come down in price. I had more involvement with Andy Ashler and in the US with the Qfiniti project at work. I’m really enjoying it, it’s very technical...although I didn’t finish ‘til 6pm because of it. The Oundle Chronicle is out and an article about me and my pics is on the back page. Leigh, the editor, sent it to me electronically. It’s good. I am chuffed!  Day 256: I booked some holidays today, making sure that I didn’t include any days off in the week December 14-18 (SB’s off). So, this coming Friday (4th Dec), Next Weds-Fri and Monday 21st. I know I have only been back from Furlough a couple of months but I am more than ready for some kick-back time.  1-2-1 with SB today, it was a relaxed affair, most espcially becaus eof my success thus far with the Qfiniti project - that being said, I got pretty much nowhere with it today.  Ordered a couple of long sleeved Ts and a fleeced hoody from a shop called Doubletwo today, well cheap in the sale. I saw half a dozen joggers on the Milton Road blind bend tonight, oblivious to any other potential path user. I posted about it (in my own, sarcastic way) on the Oundle Chatter FB group. It was met how I’d expected plus some direct digs so I deleted it. Cowardly but, I figure, I don’t get my point across, the vast majority of joggers really don’t think they are doing anything wrong by bulldozing there way around town and, lastly, I couldn’t be bothered with the flak, and its tennis like back-and-forth!

Day 257: Got tomorrow off so worked late tying up loose ends, including the qfiniti project - fucking nuts really, making sure no one asks any questions of SB or the team, in terms of my work load, for just one day off! Still, just had tea, cracked open a beer and am watching Shaun of the Dead. Nice.

Day 258: The main thing I did today is walk. It was about 12km but felt much longer ‘cos it was wintry, pissing down, windy and slippery as fuck. And I really enjoyed it! Badge messaged me today to ask how I am and, in replying, I mentioned that I think I am becoming addicted to walking...it wasn’t a throwaway comment. Just cooked up a chilli (which I think I have ruined with a Knorr beef stock pot), and will tuck in with beers, smokes and telly. While it’s been a day off, this Friday evening will be as all others are at the moment, late, drunken and solitary fun - no doubt.

Day 259: Typing on day 260. That chilli last night was actually OK. Plus I ‘invented’ a meatball wrap - moving on from the TikTok ham and cheese wrap you fold into the toaster, I tried the same with meatballs but no fucking way could I fold it into the toaster slot (pissed up kitchen shenanigans), so I wrapped it in tin foil and heated it in the oven, Fucking delicious. I watched Shaun of the Dead. I think it’s the first time since its release and I couldn’t help thinking “zombies just aren’t like that [in real life]” Wtf?

Day 260: I was quite sensible (for a Saturday) last night, in bed by 2am, up at my alarm this morning, 10:30am. Nice long walk, taking in a new path up by Biggin Grange and took plenty of pics that turned out really good. Btw, posh lost yesterday at Portsmouth (with 2000 fans there) and they lost midweek and last weekend in the FA Cup to Chorley, at home. 

Day 261: It’s freezing today...actually 0 degrees. This house is so fucking cold, even with the heating on.

Day 262: Typing on day 263. Last day of work for 5 days. Beers are in order. And a sausage casserole. Day 263: I completely forgot to do a diary entry yesterday....concentrating on starting my work break off on the right foot, which I did. As a result, I didn’t get up until 1pm. So, to stop that sort of day wasting, no beers tonight. Just got back from a shop (£90 in Tesco’s), trying to sort out Romiley’s Christmas present, then something to eat (more sausage casserole) and a early, sober night.

Day 264: So, after abstinence last night, I was up before 11am and did a walk that included the track from Benefield Road to Monson Way past Park Wood. It was fucking hard work due to mud. I have lost coumd the amount of times I nearly slipped right over. Throw into that a hypo, the 12-13km walk was tough. Sorted out Romiley’s present (guitar stand, music stand and guitar exercises book). Took soime nice photos today as well which I’ve prepared and shared. No booze today/tonight either. Some break, a younger me would say!

Day 265: Friday, and I am typing with a beer, balti on the hob and I am just gonna choose a film and roll a single skinner. I am knackered. Up at 10am, cleaned the hall and stairs after a 10km walk. Also, I spoke with dad who is, as always, fine.

Time to make up for the last two sober nights.

Day 266: I am typing this on day 267. So drunk last night I left nearll a full can of beer and went to bed in my jogging bottoms and t-shirt. I have had a day off from any exercise at all which felt very odd. A few beers and watched Snatch. Day 267: While I was nowhere near drunk last night, due to sleeping in late (2pm) I was up ‘til 3am watching TikTok so today I struggled out of bed at just before 1pm. Watch the start of the season’s final GP (Verstappen won from pole and it was boring af), back on the exercising including a 9km walk. Back to work tomorrow which I feel totally conflicted about! Posh won yesterday at home to Rochdale (with the allowed 2000 fans) 4-1 including a 17 minute first half hatrick from Jonson Clarke-Harris.

Day 268: Back to work - Sueanne’s off and it’s the first day I’ve been at work with Jon in charge which involves a daily ‘SUMO’ (whatever that acronym stands for?) at 9.30am every day. I am still involved with te qfiniti upgrade project which seems to have taken a step backwards in the 3 days I had off, so I was working until gone 9.30pm! I have decided to do a quiz, hopefully for Christmas, whereby I don’t want the actual answers (to 25 particular questions, all with a common theme in the answer), merely an omitted question!  

Day 269: Stand Up Meeting Online. SUMO. Ian Bird told me. I might struggle with double Y for my quiz. Work was OK, more Qfiniti stuff. Posh drew away to MK 1-1. Posh were 0-1 up but Lincs lost at home. I can’t undertsand why that pleases me so....oh, yeah I can Steve Dee.

Day 270: Struggling to order Dad and Rita booze for Christmas without it being a Morrison’s delivery that I can do through Amazon Prime. That would be OK but it’s just a bit clinical! Meanwhile, now I am paying for Prime, and they are showing some Premiership games (for example, tonight I watched Liverpool v. Spurs (2-1), I really have to contact Sky - I am paying £71pm atm! Sam posted pic of her Christmas tree but mentioned how she’s finding it hard to get in the spirit - Paul has testicular cancer and the outlook is bleak - fuck know’s what she’s going through with all that, trying to shield Romiley from the worst without lying!

[thomastair]

Could you do a kitty first kiss fic pls?? I'm having a really bad day and I need something to light up my mode

I posted this on ao3 a while ago and I’ve been meaning to post it on here so here you go! 

Sparks:

Kit jumped from a rafter hurling a butterfly knife into a target with one hand and drawing a sword from its’ sheath with the other. He rolled into a somersault and came to a halt, panting.

He glanced at the target. The knife was stuck quivering a few inches from the center. He was getting better at that. A few more weeks and his aim would be perfect.

I’ll still never be as good as any Shadowhunter that’s been training since they could hold a knife. He thought dejectedly. He pretended it didn’t bother him, but there was a part of him that regretted the fact that even Tavvy was going to be a “better” Shadowhunter than him one day.

He flicked his sweaty hair off of his face just as a boot collided with his back. The impact sent him sprawling and soon after the weight of another boy was pinning him to the warped wooden floor of the training room.

“Ack!” Kit choked out. He twisted to see Ty’s solemn face staring down at him with a hint of amusement.

“You’d never be able to take a break in a real fight.” Ty said. Sunlight was shining down onto his hair which was distracting, because Kit really didn’t need to see Ty’s face surrounded with a golden glow right now.

Ty stood with the grace of a cat and held out a hand to Kit. Acting out of impulse Kit wrapped his hand around Ty’s and yanked him to the ground. He pivoted so his entire weight was on Ty’s chest.

“You’d never be able to help someone up in a real fight.” He laughed. Ty grinned up at him. His hair was feathered on the floor and Kit became uncomfortably aware of how close they were. He would only have to crane his neck a little to press his lips to Ty’s.

Woah where did that thought come from? Kit could feel his face burning.

“Kit?” Ty asked. His voice still had a trace of laughter in it. Kit realized he had been staring at Ty’s lips for ten seconds longer than he was supposed to. He forced himself to make eye contact with Ty.

He was surprised to see that Ty’s cheeks had a hint of pink to them. Nothing to compare to his undoubtedly cherry red face he presumed, but still.

He watched as Ty’s lashes fluttered. Kit still half expected them to make dark smudges against his cheek bones when Ty blinked.

Ty shifted, moving to rest his hands on Kit’s hip bones. His dark grey eyes filled with curiosity.

It was suddenly very important to have space between him and Ty.

Kit jumped up, startling a small breath out of Ty. He stood awkwardly over the taller boy, not quite sure what to do with his hands. He wiped his palm on his gear and held out a hand to Ty.

As Ty’s fingers closed around his Kit imagined sparks traveling from his hand to Ty’s. Some spark of attraction that only they could feel.

As soon as he was able to he let go, shaking his hand as if that would make him forget the feeling of Ty’s skin. He cleared his throat awkwardly trying to calm his hammering heart.

Ty looked confused. “Did I do something?” He asked, as if worried he had scared Kit away. No no Ty, it’s all me. Kit wished he could say, but he just shook his head.

Hoping his laughter didn’t sound forced, he swatted Ty on the arm playfully. “Nah man come on. It’s just that we’d never be able to stay still that long in a real fight.”

Ty was sitting on his bed. The pages of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s book providing a relaxing rustle. Panic! At The Disco filtered through his headphones as Ty absorbed himself in Sherlock’s world.

He found himself thinking back to the training room earlier that day. What had Kit been thinking? He’d definitely been uncomfortable, but Ty didn’t think that he’d done anything.

And Kit had stared at his lips a little too long. What was that supposed to signal? Social cues were exhausting sometimes, though everyone else seemed to pick up on them quickly.

Ty groaned, tossing his book to the side and stretching onto his back. It was much easier observing people instead of decoding his own feelings.

I bet the internet has answers. He thought. Ty had barely used the computer since Livvy’s death. She had been the only one who could work it as well as he could.

Thinking about Livvy stabbed something deep inside of him. Every time he went to sleep he saw Annabel burying The Mortal Sword into her heart. Blood spraying across the tiled floor, Julian’s scream of disbelief, and the numbness that had overwhelmed him when he realized that his other half was gone. And they were going to become parabatai. You agreed too late and now she’s gone. He thought angrily, digging his nails into his upper arm.

Joints popping, Ty heaved himself into the worn chair in front of the computer. He went through the motions as if this task had a series of steps he needed to check off on a list.

1. Open Google2. Search: What does it mean when someone looks at your lips?3. Search: How to know if your friend likes you?4. Search: How do I know if I’m attracted to someone?5. Search: How to kiss????

“Whatcha doing?” A voice behind Ty asked.

He started, heart hammering. Ty quickly closed all tabs of incriminating evidence and turned to face Kit.

Kit was leaning on the doorframe. He looked like he had just taken a shower and water droplets dripped from his hair to his collarbone. Ty swallowed. “Uhh, just googling stuff…” The lie didn’t sound believable at all.

“Wow, stuff!” Kit remarked sarcastically. He crossed the room and flopped onto Ty’s bed. His wet hair left a dark stain on the quilt.

“Nice to see you using the computer though.” Kit murmured quietly. Ty stiffened.

“Yeah I haven’t really felt like it.”

Kit gazed up at him. “Not since Livvy died?” His voice caught on Livvy’s name.

Ty nodded. Desperately avoiding eye contact. He had a sneaking suspicion that he would start crying if he looked at Kit.

He felt Kit wrap his hand around his. Ty hadn’t realized that he’d been twisting the blankets around his fingers. Kit’s hand was warm and Ty laced his fingers through the other boy’s.

Reminded of the night on the roof in London when Kit had held him tight Ty laid his head on Kit’s shoulder. Kit froze for a second before relaxing into the embrace.

“I miss her too.” He heard Kit whisper as he fell asleep a while later. “I miss her too.”

Kit didn’t know at what point he fell asleep. He didn’t know exactly what time he got up. At that moment he didn’t think he cared.

Ty was sleeping next to him. Kit watched as his chest rose and fell softly. A lock of Ty’s hair had fallen over his eyes. Kit reached over and brushed it to the side.

Ty let out a soft sigh and shifted so his body was even closer to Kit’s. Kit’s heart pattered. Ty looked relaxed, all worry had been smoothed out of the lines of his face by the hand of sleep. No one could have known that he was a seasoned warrior who had lost his parents and twin.

Seized by a sudden inexplicable urge. Kit leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Ty’s forehead. A feather light kiss that Ty would never know about.

Kit eased himself out of bed, tiptoeing to the door. He had to go somewhere to clear his head. Somewhere no one would look for me. He made his way to the library, being careful not to wake any other residents of the institute.

In the early hours of the morning Kit could pretend he was completely and utterly alone. No other life moved through the halls and the library was abandoned.

He climbed onto a lower bookshelf and leaned against an old dictionary of runes. Diana had made him memorize it when she’d started tutoring him. Consequently he had retained a healthy dislike for it.

After staring at the floor for what seemed like ages Kit heard someone else enter the library. He looked up to see Ty, still wearing a rumpled shirt and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

His heart caught in his throat. He’d thought he’d have a little more time to cope with his feelings before seeing Ty again.

“You left.” Ty’s voice was groggy. Kit swallowed and gestured to the bookshelves.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Ty nodded. He strode to where Kit was sitting and tilted his head to look up at him.

“I didn’t think you’d come to the library.” He said softly. His eyes were very grey, and while they were always intelligent, right now they were a different kind of intense.

“I just-” Kit started to say. Ty had put his hands on Kit’s knees. No matter how tentative the touch was Kit’s tongue stopped working.

“Can I kiss you?” Kit asked, fearing that he was ruining the only real friendship he’d ever had. For a brief moment Ty hesitated. Kit let out a nervous breath.

Instead of answering Ty reached up and pulled Kit to him. It was a gentle, lingering kiss. Ty smelled like ink and books and Kit could feel his pulse on his neck.

They stayed in that position for a while until Ty pulled away, breathless. He smiled at Kit. For once Kit had nothing to say. He had kissed lots of girls before, even some guys, but this had to be the best kiss yet. Because it was Ty.

After the library Ty wandered towards the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised to see Julian there. He had noticed that his brother had gotten up earlier since Livvy’s death.

Ty sat down. He smoothed the rough material of his jeans. He stared at the way Julian’s hands deftly chopped vegetables. He felt unexpectedly nervous. He didn’t even really know what he was going to ask Julian. Was he going to tell Julian about the kiss? The lack of course of action made him agitated. He twisted his right hand around his left wrist, finding small comfort in the pressure.

“Why are you up?” Julian had turned around and was in the midst of dumping onions into scrambled eggs.

Ty shrugged. He figured he shouldn’t say anything if he didn’t know what exactly he was doing here.

“Can I ask you something?” He blurted before he could reason himself out of it. Julian wiped his hands on his sweatpants and sat down across from Ty. Ty could see Julian was trying his best to exude confident “big brother vibes.” It didn’t ease his nerves.

“Sure,” said Julian. “What’s on your mind?”

Ty bounced his leg under the table. Julian had dark circles under his eyes. Had he gotten any sleep lately?

“Um, yeah. I was wondering if-” Ty could feel heat rising to his cheeks. Keenly aware of how his pale skin would make his blush all the more apparent he continued quickly, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible. Why did he ever think this would be a good idea?

“-if you know how to tell if someone likes you?” His voice cracked on the last word and he cursed himself in his head. In hindsight he thought that since Kit had kissed him, he must have some feelings for him. Ty really didn’t know what he was doing here.

“And you like this person?” Julian asked. His face was probably redder than Ty’s.

“I think so.” Ty deadpanned. He didn’t really want Julian to know he liked Kit. Not yet.

Julian shifted, clearing his throat. “So have you acted on this- attraction?”

Ty looked down at the knot of his hands in his lap. “Does kissing count?”

Julian looked horrified. “Since when are you kissing people?”

Ty groaned, burying his face is his hands. “It’s just hypothetical.”

Julian wasn’t convinced. Ty could see his mind whirring, trying to figure out who exactly Ty would have kissed. Finally he looked resigned and Ty let out a breath. He hadn’t realized how hard his heart had been beating.

“Well if you’ve kissed them already Ty, I guess you just have to ask.” Julian mumbled, as if not sure his advice was sound.

Ty had made that deduction five minutes ago, but he wasn’t going to tell Julian that. He made to leave before Julian asked who exactly he had kissed.

His chair scraped against the tiles as he got up. The sound was unpleasant. It reminded Ty of when people got up too quickly and left things unresolved.

“Good luck.”

Ty turned to see Julian standing at the sink. He wasn’t looking at Ty, but Ty could see that Julian looked pained. A stab of guilt tore through him. Julian had never had time for relationships, thanks to his parental duties. Ty had his suspicions about Julian and Emma, but that wasn’t open to the public, so it didn’t count.

Stepping out into the hallway Ty tucked one headphone into his ear. Glancing back over his shoulder he muttered, “Thanks…”

He walked away before Julian could make it more awkward.

The waves lapped quietly against the beach below The Institute. Kit stared out at the roiling mass of deep blue green, so much like the Blackthorn’s eyes, and buried his feet into the cool sand. The sky was overcast with a cool breeze coming in off the water. The cool weather meant there were less tourists. The beach was quiet around Kit, filling him with a sense of calm.

The soft pad of footsteps startled him out of his reverie. Ty settled on the blanket next to him. The breeze lifted his dark curls and they blew across his forehead in an unruly tangle. On impulse Kit brushed the hair out of Ty’s eyes.

Ty reached up, grabbing Kit’s hand and holding it between them. He wasn’t looking at Kit’s eyes, but his silver grey irises were focused on their locked palms. Kit was certain Ty could feel his pulse through his wrist.

He swallowed, feeling heat coming from where his skin touched Ty’s. Sparks only they could feel. Kit moved their hands down to settle on the blanket he had dragged out in a “romantic” attempt at a first date.

“Tell me about your dad.” Ty said. His eyes were serious. Kit rolled his head back, staring at the clouds.

“What do you want to know? He was a pretty mysterious dude- and all that.” Kit said, attempting to ignore the pang in his stomach that came with any mention of his dad, along with the memory of the ripping sound he had made when torn apart.

Ty let out a disappointed breath. Kit was filled with the urge to tell him anything about the father that Kit knew he hadn’t really known at all.

“He used to tell me to make lists about the people that I met,” Kit murmured. “To take note of their mannerisms and shit like that.” Ty had turned his head to peer curiously at him.

“You have a list for me?” He asked. Kit’s breath caught. He nodded. Far overhead a seagull cried.

Ty looked at him expectantly. The late afternoon light made his eyes almost glow.

“You don’t like big crowds because it’s a lot of information all at once, you find facts comforting because they’re consistent, you don’t like people touching you unexpectedly but you like pressure because it grounds you.” Kit babbled all at once. A part of him wondered if it was creepy to know those things about a person, another part of him wanted to present Ty with details.

“You’re good at reading people’s body language but not voice inflections, you sometimes worry that a social cue is supposed to be obvious so you prefer teaching yourself, you like hunting for clues in books when we’re trying to figure out what demon attacked someone, and you don’t watch too many movies because you like books better,” he finished.

Ty gave him a lopsided smile, his hands had started playing with Kit’s fingers. And you’re still learning how to perfect kissing because you never kissed anyone before me. Kit thought, thinking back to the library and the smell of ink that Ty seemed to carry around with him.

As if picking up on Kit’s thought process, Ty leaned forward and kissed him.

Ty tasted like ocean water. The wind blew his hair into Kit’s face and Kit’s free hand tangled in the dark curls. The kiss was gentle. It seemed like a promise. I’ll never abandon you Ty Blackthorn.

At some point during the kiss they had fallen onto the blanket. Ty’s weight was pressing him into the soft ground. Kit’s heart expanded with a feeling that made him want to drag Ty around the world with no restrictions. A feeling that made him want to kill whoever hurt Ty.

He pulled away. Those feelings were something of a shock. He’d never felt anything like it before. It scared him, this deep longing for something that he really shouldn’t burden Ty with.

Ty was looking down at him with something like puzzlement. He let Kit stand up, brushing off his own jeans and folding their blanket. Kit could see that Ty’s cheeks were pink. The observation filled him with a sense of accomplishment.

He held out his hand to Ty, who was carrying their blanket as they climbed the road to The Institute. Ty’s fingers laced through his and, as their grip tightened, Kit imagined sparks.

[oumakokichi]

Hi, friend. I’ve really been digging the content you’ve shared with us on the game in its early release. I’m wondering, from a creative standpoint, how did you personally feel about the protagonist swap pulled after the first chapter? Personally, I was angry at first that Akamatsu was taken out so harshly, but after some critical thought and insight from other sources on the game, including yourself, I started to take a shining to Saihara. But again, what are your thoughts on the matter? 

I talked a bit on the protagonist swap in the ask justbefore this (found here), but I feel like this is a really excellent opportunityto discuss my feelings on Saihara as a protagonist more! I do honestly loveSaihara as a protagonist, and I think it’s precisely because he was such anunlikely fit for the role and so different from the usual standpoint of whatmakes a protagonist.

Others besides me like @kaibutsushidousha on their Twitterhave talked pretty at-length about how Saihara is not meant to be a “relatable”or “self-insert protagonist” in the way that many others, including Naegi, Hinata,and Kaede were, but a character in his own right, and I agree. Saihara is firstand foremost a detective—the detective,in fact. Even though he’s clearly uncomfortable with what being a detectiveentails and what it requires of him as a job, he winds up being forced intofront and center stage precisely because he’s a detective, and becausetraditional mystery rules require a detective being allowed to investigate allcrime scenes.

Getting involved with the idea of “the detective of amystery” while looking at it from actual murder mysteries and their sets ofrules and comparing it to the protagonist of an epic “hope vs. despair” battleof ideals type story will naturally provide you with some glaringcontradictions. And that’s precisely why Saihara is such a better fit for ndrv3as a protagonist than he would be in dr1 or sdr2, where it’s obvious he wouldnever have wanted or been allowed to step into the spotlight at all.

It’s tremendous fun to play around with the idea of aprotagonist who never quite intended or even wanted to be a protagonist. Kiibois fun for many of the same reasons, although he’s still different consideringhe’s much more like Ouma in that Tsumugi clearly intended to make him “Naegi2.0” (or 53.0) the same way she planned to make Ouma “Junko 2.0.” With Saiharathough, we have a protagonist who was never supposed to be the protagonist, noteven from the audience’s perspective, or Tsumugi’s, or his own, and he’s not even sure if he reallywants to keep being a detective on top of all of that.

People who might call Saihara bland or undeveloped areprobably looking at him from the standpoint of the same kind of protagonist asKaede, or Naegi. In terms of a character who is meant to appeal to the playerby being extremely relatable, or exhibiting qualities we ourselves want toemulate or perform in order to be “a leader” or “to take charge,” Saiharadefinitely isn’t the same as those kinds of protagonists at all. The thing is,he’s really not supposed to be.

We’re introduced to his backstory and his struggles andcharacter arc as early as Chapter 1. Saihara is not supposed to be relatable,as Comun has already said, because he’s introduced as an entirely separatecharacter, and while we’re playing as Kaede, no less. Saihara’s problems areseparate from the player, and are ultimately related to the same kinds ofmorally grey “truth vs. lies” middle ground that ndrv3 handles the whole waythrough.

His entire problem is that he’s a detective who has neveractually been sure what the pursuit of the truth means to him. He stumbled upona case by accident, solved it by accident, and when he was showered withattention and praise that he didn’t expect in the first place, he learned thatthe truth he had exposed was actually a very dangerous, hurtful thing—theculprit he caught had actually killed a man responsible for murdering his entirefamily, and by exposing him and jailing him, Saihara saw the man’s hatred inhis eyes and felt he had ruined his entire life.

A detective’s goal, and sole duty, is to obtain the truth.No matter how painful, no matter how many people they have to suspect along theway, that is their objective. This is something Kirigiri and her family haveembraced as a matter of fact for some time now, and Kirigiri has mastered therole and achieved her own SHSL Detective title by virtue of knowing how todoubt and also how to come to trust after suspecting someone first.

Those like Jin Kirigiri, who tried distancing himself fromthe role and the job, and who stuck to an idea of blind optimism without evertruly doubting or suspecting anyone the way a detective is supposed to, werepunished relentlessly for doing so. A detective who loses sight of the truthand fails to pursue it no longer has any role, and therefore becomesexpendable. Even when Kirigiri learned about Jin’s death at the end of dr1, andhad suspected as much since earlier on, she couldn’t help but comment on thefact that his foolishness probably was exactly what led him to such a result.

Obviously, Saihara is no Kirigiri, and he’s no Jin either.He’s stranded before he can even truly start his journey as a proper detective,because remaining in fear of the truth itself is the single biggest obstacle toperforming the role that’s undeniably required of him. His in-game backstory istruly the biggest form of irony, because Saihara definitely has the inherentqualities required of a detective—he’s immensely curious about absolutelyeverything around him, that curiosity prompts him to want to look at thingsfrom so many different possible perspectives, and he does want to know theunderlying truth of things deep down.

But by making him a detective who is “afraid of the truth”because of the painful consequences it can cause and because of the ways it canbe wielded as a weapon, it was one of the most entertaining “subversions” ofthe detective trope Tsumugi and the producers could manage, probably.

Saihara ultimately overcomes his fear of the truth piece bypiece, and step by step. Kaede’s encouragement to not shy away from the truth,Momota’s later understanding that Saihara does, in fact, need to doubt peoplein order to grasp the whole story behind things, and Ouma’s lessons that truthremains unchanging while lies themselves can become a “reality” or a “truth”for different people in question depending on one’s perspective, all helpSaihara to take the next step forward and do what is expected of him, not as “aDanganronpa protagonist,” but as a detective.

It’s impossible to say he has no development, because hisdevelopment is clear to see across each chapter, and every time he starts tofall into the pitfalls of “hope vs. despair” ideology and become distracted bythings irrelevant to the real truth of the matter, he takes huge steps back, asin Chapter 5 when even he is actually on the wrong side of the matter in thetrial for a while, because the truth is so much more painful that he’d rathernot believe it. But by overcoming these mistakes of his and setting himselfback on track every time, he becomes more comfortable in his role as adetective, and more set on determining what “the truth” is to him personally.

The detective ultimately isn’t meant as a character to bewell-liked, certainly not as a protagonist. Many of the most well-knowndetectives in famous mysteries are not particularly likable characters, or ifthey are, their immense popularity was contrary to the expectations of theauthor because they were designed to be unlikable(looking at you Conan Doyle).

Saihara stepping into the protagonist role despite literallyeveryone’s expectations is a huge nod to the fact that the detective has suchan unsatisfying and untasteful role that the audience and players are supposedto be kind of…well, not pleased with this result. Kaede was likable. Naegi waslikable. Hinata was likable, even if he was much more unorthodox as aprotagonist, because ultimately his struggle was one of hope vs. despair on aninternal scale. Saihara is not supposed to be likable in the same way as thesecharacters, but that’s precisely why he islikable as a huge twist and subversion of all of this.

A common, tacit rule of any murder mystery is that whereverthe detective goes, a crime will follow. Usually, by and large, a horrible andunpleasant crime. Because without this turning point, there isn’t any mysteryat all—and without a mystery, there’s no need for a detective. In Saihara’s ownlab, there’s nothing but lethal poisons, antidotes, case files full of murdermystery tricks and deaths, all things that reek of unpleasant reminders thatbeing a detective is really not all it’s cracked up to be.

People don’t like a character that exists solely for thesake of trying to find out other people’s secrets, or expose them about things.They don’t like a character who can’t put aside their suspicions and trustthem, because a detective is supposed to doubt as an inherent part of theirjob. They don’t—and yet Saihara is so sincere in his pursuit of the truth, andso wracked with guilt over these moral dilemmas that the people around him can’thelp but like and respect him (not least of all because he’s saving their assesquite a lot in the school trials).

Everyone in ndrv3 goes from suspicious of Saihara, torespecting him quite a lot for his detective skills, to accusing him of beingfar too skeptical, to finally understanding that he has to be allowed to go onhis own journey as a detective and as a character, and that these are thingsrequired of him. And I think these twists and turns of emotion are kind ofthings that the player is expected to go along with, too.

After all, anyone who didn’t already see the Kaede twistcoming in Chapter 1 probably thought Saihara was the most likely suspect, andthat he would be the actual culprit the same way that Maizono had tried to setNaegi up in dr1. We were all suspicious of Saihara at first, and then we allhad to come to understand that Saihara himself had to be suspicious of othersaround him in a game literally all about lying and deception.

Saihara has plenty of development, it’s just not developmentin the traditional sense of a protagonist. If people don’t like him as anindividual or because he seems a little bland to their tastes, that’s okay!Everyone wants or likes different things out of their protagonists. But Icouldn’t help but come to love Saihara quite a lot precisely because he’s notwhat the audience or anyone else wanted, but someone with an entirely different“mystery” perspective on things thrust into a game that Tsumugi and theproducers wanted desperately to be about ideals and fiction instead.