#there were already several red flags in the phone interview before this

[punching-today-in-the-dick]

So, I’ve just had an interview that has kind of blown me away. And not, in any respect, a good way. More in the way that, even though I’ve been unemployed for a year now and am rather desperate to find a position that will let me relocate cities (which this one would do), had me thinking no one in their right mind would accept this job.

I was already concerned when the job description was long enough to be three people’s jobs, but that’s just what EA jobs tend to be. And then this guy started talking and…. Yeah. This interview went for an hour and a half, by the way. He just kept going.

“We work predominantly with the mining industry”

Okay. Alright. That’s a bit squicky for me, ethically, right out the gate but I can probably grit my teeth and bear it if the rest of the job is respectable.

“Because we work with a lot of international clients, we’re really not a 9-5 company”

Okay, so I imagine you’ve got some sort of flexi-time or hours tracking thing going on.

“No.”

Alright, but there would at least be overtime, right?

“No. You’d get a yearly bonus that I get to decide arbitrarily and, because of that, we feel like we have the right to have you on-call 24 hours a day.”

Okaaaayyyy…..

“We’re an American-based company”

That doesn’t make you exempt from Australian labour laws, mate, and what you’ve proposed is very much illegal. I know you know this; you have a Law degree.

There’s literally no other compensation for forfeiting my entire life to this job?

“Nope! Just the bare minimum required by law and, actually not even that.”

“Let’s talk about your mental health…”

Buddy, respectfully, fuck you.

“Yeah, the woman currently in the role is leaving because she’s exhausted. So I laughed at her and said she should have taken a holiday four months ago when I told her to.”

Wow, you sound great. Please never contact me again.

[calamitykaty]

The Wedding Date Owen x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3248

Requested: NO

Warnings: Like one swear word, mention of crime, mention of alcohol

Y/N tapped the RSVP for her college roommate’s wedding on the table several times before grabbing the red pen that sat to her left and quickly checking the plus one box. She quickly stuffed the embossed card back into the pre-stamped envelope and pushed her chair back from the table. 

She darted out to her mailbox, her bare feet slapping against the cool concrete of her driveway. Y/N slid the envelope into her mailbox and lifted the red plastic flag on the side. 

“Are...are you mailing something?” Her neighbor and best friend, Owen, laughed as he crossed the street and made his way over to her. 

“Yes, I am mailing something, what’s it to ya?”

“What’s next? Gonna take your horse and carriage to town?”

Y/N stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed at the blonde boy, “I honestly don’t know why I am friends with you.” 

Owen threw his left arm around her shoulders and used his right hand to ruffle her hair, “you’d be much more believable if you could actually hold your poker face.” 

Y/N ducked down so that Owen’s arm fell from her shoulders as they reached her front door.

“You wanna come in?” She lifted her right eyebrow. 

Owen let his gaze fall to the welcome mat as he chewed on his bottom lip before he shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets, “Nah, I should get back to mine… a lot of interviews today.” 

“What a shame, I have an unopened bottle of Jameson that had your name on it.” Y/N teased as she stood in her doorway, cracking a smile at Owen before she let the door fall shut. 

Owen stared at the bright red door for a moment before spinning on his right foot and heading back towards the street. He passed her mailbox and hesitated, his head turned to glance at her house before he took a few steps backwards and quickly pulled the mailbox open. He grabbed the small maroon envelope and stuffed it into the pocket of his hoodie before darting back across the street to his house. 

Several hours and three interviews later and Owen found himself sitting in the middle of his bed, his legs crossed under him and the envelope twirling in his fingers. He tossed the envelope onto the surface of the bed in front of him and rested his elbows on his knees while his hands cradled his face. He stared at it for several minutes and chewed at the inside of his left cheek before taking a deep breath and letting the air exhale in one steady stream from his lips. 

“Fuck it,” Owen muttered to himself and picked the envelope up, his pointer finger ran along the seam of the seal, tearing the red paper. He hastily pulled out the small embossed card that was nestled inside and furrowed his brows as he brought it closer to his face to read. His eyes immediately fell to the small red checkmark on the plus one box, the corners of his lips falling as he frowned. 

He tossed the card back onto his bed with a huff and fell backwards until his head crashed down softly onto his pillows. He stared at the ceiling, confused as to why he was so upset about Y/N having a plus one to a wedding he didn’t care about. 

Owen was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of his cellphone chirping at him. His right hand smoothed across the bed until it found his phone. He held the phone above his face, wincing as he dropped it, the corner smacking his forehead. He sat up, his left hand rubbing his forehead as he looked down at his phone. His lips tugged up into a smile at Y/n’s simple text. 

“Dinner?”

Y/N had only lived on her own for about a year and still hadn’t grown accustomed to only making enough food for herself and Owen was always happy to oblige her invitations to eat with her. He let his thumb click on the thumbs up emoji and clicked send before rolling out of the bed and shoving the phone in his back pocket.

He grabbed the torn envelope from the foot of his bed and wandered over to his desk where he tore a small sliver of tape from the tape dispenser and re-sealed the envelope. He slipped on his shoes and darted out of his house, making sure to drop the envelope back into her mailbox before he jogged up to her door. 

“Is that garlic bread that I smell?” Owen asked as he let himself into her house and made his way to the kitchen where Y/N was pulling out two plates from the cabinet. 

“Y/n!” Owen laughed, peering over her shoulder at the mountain of pasta that was sitting in the pot on the stove, “you made enough pasta to feed a small village.” 

Y/N placed the plates down on the counter and turned around with a smirk on her face. She jabbed Owen in the chest with her pointer finger “well, then I guess it’s a good thing that you’re practically a human garbage disposal.” 

Owen let laughter erupt from his chest as Y/N’s smirk spread into a smile and she stared up at him with a playful gleam in her eyes. He let his eyes scan the details of her face before briefly staring at her lips. Owen cleared his throat and stepped around her to grab a plate, the tops of his ears burned red as he piled the spaghetti noodles onto his plate. 

“So,” Owen slurped the noddle from his fork, “Have Mercy is coming to the Opolis on the 21st, you wanna go?” 

Y/N crinkled her nose and pursed her lips “21st of?” 

Owen twirled his fork around his pasta, collecting noodles before he looked up to catch her eye, “December 21st.” 

“Ah, I can’t,” Y/n pulled her lips into a thin line before letting her bottom lip poke out, “Ashton’s wedding is that same day, I’m sorry.” Of course, Owen had already known that. 

Owen dropped his fork and pushed his plate towards the middle of the table as he shook his head, “no worries, you gotta date to this wedding or you going stag?” Owen let his eyes fall to his discarded plate as the question left his mouth, hoping that his snooping wasn’t as obvious as he had felt it was.

Y/N looked past Owen, her eyes focusing on the vineyard painting that hung on the wall behind him, “oh, ummmm….I actually needed to talk to you about that.” She let her eyes move to the left, meeting Owen’s expectant eyes. 

“Oh?”

Y/N nervously grabbed her glass of water and sipped it through the straw before placing the glass back down on the table. She cleared her throat and let her eyes fall to her hands before looking back up, “I need you to go with me a-as my date.”  

Owen rolled his lips into his mouth in an attempt to stop the smile that was threatening to pull at the corner of his mouth, a sense of relief washed over him at the news that she didn’t have a date. 

“Like a date-date? Or...like a wingman?” Owen quizzed, trying his best to keep his voice neutral while his heart raced in anticipation of her answer. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes at the blonde boy, “please don’t make me embarrass myself even more than I already am right now.”

“I wasn’t...I just want to know my role.” Owen held his hands up by his head in defense.

Y/N eyed the boy nervously and chewed on her bottom lip. Her eyes scanned over his face slowly before she decided that he truly wasn’t making fun of her. She released her lip from the torturous grasp of her teeth and met Owen’s waiting eyes, “a date-date…” she exhaled. 

Owen let the smile he had been holding back spread across his face, his eyes crinkled at the corners, “okay, just don’t accidentally fall in love with me after I swoon you by being the best date.” He said cooly, in direct contrast to the way his palms were nervously sweating. 

The 21st of December snuck up on Y/N and she wasn’t sure why she was so nervous as her doorbell rang, a welcome change to Owen’s typical move of just letting himself into her house. She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, taking one last glance at herself in the full length mirror. She smoothed out the fabric of the royal blue dress that fell from her hips and checked her teeth to make sure there was no lipstick on them.

“Good to go.” She muttered quietly to herself and made her way to the front door. She pulled the door open, Owen stood on the other side in a tight fitting maroon suit with a black button up and black bow tie. 

“You look dapper!” Y/N exclaimed at the same time that Owen let out a breathy “wow…” 

Y/N blushed as she felt Owen’s eyes trail across her body before he extended his elbow to her. She loosely wrapped her arm around his and let him lead her to the car. 

Owen’s fingers lightly tapped against the steering wheel as they drove to the wedding venue. 

“Did you tell anyone about me? I-is there anything I should know?” He glanced over at Y/N.

“Nope! We get to improvise! Good luck!” Y/N joked, her laughter drowning out the song on the radio and Owen let his eyes linger on her face for a moment longer than necessary. 

He pulled into a parking space near the front of the venue and put the car in park before pulling the key from the ignition. 

“Just a sec…” he murmured and got out of the car before quickly making his way around to her door. He pulled the door open for Y/N and offered his hand to her.

‘What a gentleman,” she playfully teased as she placed her right hand into his waiting hand.

They piled into the venue, hushed apologies and knees bumping strangers as they carefully made their way to two open seats in the middle of the fourth row. Owen’s knee bounced anxiously and Y/N found herself placing her left hand on his knee, lightly squeezing it. Owen subconsciously placed his hand on top of hers and neither of them dared to make eye contact through the intimate exchange. 

Y/N’s heart filled with pride as she watched Ashton stand at the alter with Matthew. 

“She looks like a dream..” Y/N quietly whispered. 

Owen turned his head to stare at Y/N, a smile gracing his face at the tears that were welling in her eyes as she watched her friend exchange vows. 

“Yeah...a dream.” He whispered back to her, his heart racing as her eyes met his before the moment broken by clapping as the pastor announced the newlyweds for the first time. 

Owen intertwined his hand with hers as they stood up and slowly followed the rest of the wedding guests to the reception hall. Y/N tugged him over to the guest book and signed their names before dropping the wedding card filled with various gift cards into the card box. 

Owen’s eyes scanned the seating chart until he found Y/N’s name +1, “we’re at table seven.” He informed her and proceeded to let himself be pulled behind her until they reached their table. 

Owen’s eyes widened as she dropped his hand and began squealing alongside three other girls, their dates sporting the same bewildered look as Owen.

“I’ve missed you”

“No! I’ve missed you!”

“You look fantastic!”

‘You have a date!” 

“I do have a date!” 

Owen’s eyes bounced between each of then as they spoke quickly and with enthusiasm and before he knew it, Y/N was back at his side. Her lips tugged into a smile as she introduced him to their table mates, whose names he had already forgotten. 

They sat around the table and Owen tried his best to keep up with the small talk while dinner was served. Owen lifted his glass of water to his lips and nearly choked at the question that the girl with the shoulder length red hair asked him. 

“She didn’t pick you up from a jail cell did she?”

“I’m sorry, w-what?” Owen sputtered. 

‘Oh! You don’t know about Y/N’s illegal activities! This is fun!” The girl that was across the table from Y/N squealed. 

Y/N rolled her eyes at her friends, Jennifer and Chelsea. “I have never been arrested.” She assured Owen. 

Owen raised his eyebrows at her before turning to her her friends, “please, do continue” 

“Okay! Picture this, it was sophomore year and these two,” Leigh pointed to Jennifer and Chelsea, “ had gone home for the weekend.” 

Owen nodded, not sure why that information was pertinent. 

“Okay! Then this one,” she gave Y/N a pointed look, “comes into my room and says that she is bored. So i’m like, well what do you want to do? And do you know what this one says?” Leigh stopped for dramatic effect. 

“She says, I dunno let’s commit a crime!” Leigh is on the edge of tears as she laughs at the memory. 

“Oh? You never told me I was getting involved with a criminal” Owen teased Y/N. 

Y/N rolled her eyes but the smile that her lips curled into gave her away, “it was nothing, I just stole a mailbox.” 

“Nu-uh! You made us steal a street sign first and when we bailed on you then you made us steal a mailbox!” 

“Semantics…” 

Owen slipped his hand into her left hand and brought her knuckles up to his lips, “I don’t know, finding out that you’re a bad girl...is kinda hot.” He kissed her knuckles and let her hand fall back with his down to his knee. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Leigh tutted, “she’s not that bad...she made us bake cookies after committing two federal crimes.” 

Y/N broke out into giggles “oh my god, and I painted the mailbox and use to leave letters for them to find!” 

Owen couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she laughed at the memory. He wasn’t sure when exactly he started looking at her through different eyes but he so badly wanted to kiss her. His train of thought was broken when Y/N pulled her hand from from his and squealed with the other girls as “their” song started to blast from the speakers at the dance floor. She leaned down and kissed Owen’s cheek before making a dash to the dance floor with Chelsea, Jennifer and Leigh. 

Owen watched as Y/N glided around the dance floor while she danced with her friends. He was mesmerized by the joyful way she threw her head back, her curls cascaded down her back and her laughter floated through the air like a melody to a song that only she knew. His chin was resting on his hand, being propped up by his elbow on the red fabric covered round table. 

“I remember looking just like you when I realized I loved my lady.” 

Owen was brought out of his thoughts by the raspy voice of the elderly gentleman that sat at the table across from his. 

“Oh, no..i’m not--it’s not--” Owen sputtered and the elderly man chuckled as he got up from his table and pulled out the chair next to Owen’s, slowly lowering himself into it. 

“Don’t try that with me son,” he patted Owen on the shoulder, “you are completely smitten.” 

Owen’s cheeks were glowing pink at the man's words. He let his eyes travel back to the dance floor, Y/N smiling at him as his eyes landed on hers. Before he had even registered what he was doing, his chair was sliding back against the hardwood floor and he was walking towards Y/N. The opening piano notes of Haley Reinhart's rendition of Can’t Help Falling In Love rang out through the speakers as Owen reached her. 

“Hi, jailbird” he breathed out and placed her hands on his shoulders, his own falling to her hips. His thumbs rubbed circles into the fabric of her dress as they gently swayed to the music. 

Owen grabbed her right hand from his shoulder and spun her around before pulling her back to his chest.

 Y/N smiled up at Owen, her red painted lips parting to show her white teeth and her eyes creasing at the corners, “who knew you could dance, Joyner?” Her breath hitched in her throat as Owen leaned forward and she could feel his breath fanning across her cheek. She swallowed, her eyes following his as they moved from her lips and back up. She moved her right hand to the back of his neck, their lips centimeters apart. She closed her eyes as his lips barely ghosted across hers. 

“Ladies and gentleman, if you could please turn your attention to the newly weds, Mr. and Mrs. Corbin for the newlywed shoe game.”

“I’m sorry, I-i was caught up in the moment.” Owen pulled back, his face flushed red and his left hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

Y/N’s heart sank at Owen’s words. She had never given the idea of Owen kissing her much thought but after it almost happening, she suddenly wanted to experience it. 

“Oh...ummm y-yeah.” Y/N took a step back from Owen and turned her attention to the newlyweds who were sat in the middle of the dance floor on two chairs with their backs to each other. They each had a shoe in one hand and took turns lifting it as the DJ rattled of questions like “who was the first to make the first move” and “who is more likely to wake up grumpy.”

Y/N’s eyes shifted back to Owen, her right hand lifted to her face where her fingertips gently brushed across her lips. Owen watched the girls motion out of the corner of his eye, her nervously chewed on his bottom lip and glanced back to his table where the elderly man was still sitting. The man shot a wink at Owen and lifted his hand in a shooing motion. 

Owen shook his hands out and crossed the small distance between them. Y/N’s brows furrowed for a moment before Owen’s hands cupped her cheeks and his lips gently connected with hers. Her right hand slid up his chest and curled at the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling back. Their short breaths mixed with each others, their lips slightly brushing as they composed themselves. 

“Owen?” Y/N’s searched his eyes for an answer, her cheeks flushed. 

Owen’s thumbs careers her cheeks before his hands fell to grab both of hers, “I don’t know what this is but I wan’t to be your date to every wedding, Y/N. I...I want to try this...try us.” 

Y/N looked down at their intertwined hands, “you were right,” she looked up at Owen through her eyelashes, “you did swoon me.” 

@straywonpil ​ @siennanoelle01​ @choppedhoundsludgeclod​ @cool-ultra-nerd ​ @hxney-bunches-x​ @crybabyddl​ @sorryyoureoutofmyleague​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x ​ @kcd15 ​ @all-in-fangirl ​ @ifilwtmfc​ @onlygetaway​ @iainttakingshitfromnobody ​ @angryknightstatesmantrash​​ @jazzyhales​​ @bathtimejish​​ @lanasfandoms ​​ @miranda0102​ ​​ @emotionalbruv​​ @aliandthephantoms​ ​​ @multifandombabies @kinda-really-lost​ @5sosmukefan​ @alexpjoyner​ @mo-d3ans​ @hannahhistorian92​ @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve​ @i-should-be-writing-my-own-fic​ @sunflowerbecca​ @n0wornever @cherrymaybank 

[mrwinterr]

Who Do You Love?

Pairing: David Budd x Female Reader

Summary: After some months that David’s been working for the Home Secretary, you notice he’s been acting differently. Not wanting to overanalyze the situation, the signs are just too hard to ignore, so when it’s time to confront him there’s only one real question to ask.

Warnings: Bodyguard (2018) TV series spoilers! Adult themes. Explicit language. Light smut. Infidelity/cheating. Mentions of war, PTSD, political assassination, death, pregnancy/miscarriage, paranoia, and attempted suicide. Sad vibes, probably. We’re not gonna have a good time.

Disclaimer: This piece goes hand-in-hand with All For You. It’s not required to read beforehand, but it would be nice. As far as the TV series, yeah, don’t even read these if you’re still planning to watch the show. If you don’t care, you may proceed.

Title Inspiration: “Who Do You Love?” by The Chainsmokers ft. 5 Seconds of Summer

A/N: I want a happy David, I really do, but I’m a heartless writer. I took a break from the smut, so it’s not a huge bulk of the fic this time. I hope y’all still like it! Happy New Year! 

Another night alone was not unusual for you as of late, having grown accustomed to it ever since David had taken up the job of protecting Home Secretary, Julia Montague. Neither you nor David could’ve foreseen his courageous efforts in neutralizing the terrorist attack on the train back home would thrust him into his new position, furthermore the extent of its outcome in his personal life.

It wasn’t a hidden secret that David resented most politicians, and you knew of Julia from the news and her political ambitions in pushing a bill to increase security surveillance. David’s job put a big emphasis on confidentiality, so for his superiors to throw him into a public political warzone was a bit suspicious to you. There was something that didn’t add up, and you couldn’t just outright ask David whose side he was on in all this.

After neglecting the mountain of dirty laundry, tonight was dedicated to the domestic chore. It was nothing out of the ordinary mixing your batch with David’s, but he had a habit of leaving things in his clothes pockets, so it was routine for you to check everyone. You’d moved onto one of the costly tailored button-ups he wore to work and feel something protruding from the shirt pocket. You dig your hand in and fish out a tube of lipstick. Strange. You didn’t use this brand of cosmetics, and even more so the garment smelt different.

Under normal circumstances, this type of discovery would raise a red flag, but you recall one of David’s first days on the job as her bodyguard, the intern had clumsily spilt Julia’s coffee all over her outfit just before she was about to do a live interview, and David had offered her the shirt off his back, essentially saving the day. The man was just too dedicated to his job sometimes, so you shrug it off, but this wouldn’t be the first time you would notice something out of place.

It really started after the first assassination attempt that was made on Julia’s life. With the rate she was going at, her political status had made her a prime target to those opposed to RIPA-18. It was very frightening, you figured that much for her, David had seen worse in war. You just about had a heart attack when you reunited with him that night, the blood still stained on his clothes and missed splotches on his skin.

The both of you clung onto each other all night, lost within the throes of passion. It might as well have been one of the most intense nights yet, even then you could tell something changed by his movements. You didn’t think much about it at first because there’s already so much wrong with him, you’ve yet to learn all his mood swings.

Then one day you’d gotten sick, and discovered it was because you were pregnant with David’s child. One of the few things that made you forget about all the aches and pains that David unintentionally caused, was remembering the beautiful smile on his face when you revealed the news to him. You knew how much happiness Ella and Charlie brought him, you could only imagine what that would feel like, your own family with David.

He was so overjoyed in the beginning. He had quickly phoned his mother, who’d visited and even stayed a few days with you when David’s new position became more demanding of him, claiming she was worried about you being alone. You didn’t deserve to experience this alone, but it was sure heading that way.

Lately, you’ve found yourself occupying the Budd household quite more than often when David’s mom went back home. With David being on duty almost 24/7, you were completely alone, so the little family welcomed you.

Legally, on paper, David was still married to Vicky. It was something you weren't going to verbally admit bothered you, but oddly enough it did. What with the mood you’ve been in as of late, it ate at a part of you. They were separated and the divorce papers were well on track until David’s “promotion” paused the process.

There’s still not a hostile fiber in you towards Vicky. She’d moved on well, been on several dates with someone else, and things were looking great for her. It was lowkey, not even David knew about it, not that he even stuck around or bothered to care. It had to come out eventually because it would affect Ella and Charlie’s lives.

You watch as Vicky rounds the table after placing a cup of tea in front of you then sitting in the seat across and asking how you’re holding up.

You contemplate for a split second if you should be honest or not, but who else could you confine to at the moment? No one else could possibly understand. Vicky herself may not even, but she knew David more than most people did, so surely, she could see where you’re coming from to some degree, right?

Letting out a big sigh, you answer her truthfully, “I’m...not well, Vicky,” your eyes drop down to the cup in front of you, finger tracing the rim, the hot cloud of smoke of the concoction almost burns your skin.  

“Oh, poor thing,” she says, extending her hand over to place it on top of your other one on the table, “it’s the pregnancy. It has to be. It’s taking a toll on you. I can tell.” You look up at her and almost want to cry. No one noticed it was more than symptoms of pregnancy. You were bottling up so much.  

“Let me tell you, while I love Ella and Charlie, pregnancy was not a breeze…” she started to ramble, but you quickly cut her off, exhausted of people telling you the same thing over and over, unintentionally, blaming the innocent baby.

“No. I don’t think it’s that. I don’t want to blame anything on the pregnancy,” you say straight up. You got yourself into this mess, you went headfirst knowing the baggage David came with and you knew full well that protection wasn’t at the forefront in the affairs. Ready or not, you both went in this together and brought a baby into the picture.

Vicky stares, confused, but still genuinely concerned, “then what else could be wrong?” When you didn't immediately respond, she knew it had to be one other thing, or person, and you just didn’t want to admit, well out loud, “David?”

You only nod; you knew you were going to have to face the music sooner or later. So, you start listing things you’ve observed that have caused you to grow suspicious over the course of the last few months. You just hoped you didn’t sound like a mad woman in front of her.

The one time your phone had died, and he let you use his to place a food delivery. You couldn’t unlock his phone, trying every possible combined set of numbers close to David, only to come to a conclusion that the access code had changed. Visibly distressed, he realizes you were attempting to unlock his work phone. You knew that was his though. What work phone?

You didn’t even know he had one of those, let alone why did it have the same crack on the screen in the exact same spot as his personal one? You feigned stupidity and blamed it on exhaustion. Deep down David knew you were suspecting something was up, and he ended up placing the order for dinner that night himself.

The other time you confronted David about coming home smelling heavily of another woman. Whatever, whoever, her perfume was strong, and it made you nauseous. The pregnancy didn’t even do you any favors on this one with your senses heightened and overly sensitive.

Of course, he smelled of another woman, the person he was assigned to protect. You could see all the holes in his alibi. He was lying, and it hurt most when he indirectly admitted your mood swings were irritating him and then flipped it all on you, saying you were overthinking the situation and getting all paranoid for no reason. Accused you of not trusting him, when truth was you had the utmost faith in him, but not when the evidence was piling up.

There’s a solemn look that washed over Vicky’s face. She had expected more tales of David’s PTSD, but none of what you spilled alluded to it. This time David couldn’t blame the effects of war on your suspicions. However, Vicky knew that this was you and David, and if there was a pair that could survive love’s tumultuous doings then it was you two.

“There’s a lot of coincidences, yes, but this is you and David,” she says, grasping your hand for support because she could see the moisture in your eyes building up, “is it silly of me to admit I was always jealous of you,” she confesses, trying to steer the conversation a different route.

She didn’t want you to think she was brushing off your worries, but to remind you that everything you and David had been through to get to this point to be together, whatever you both were dealing now wasn’t anything you two couldn’t overcome. There were high hopes for you and David in Vicky’s mind.  

A small smile cracks your face, and you bring your vacant hand up to dab at the inner corner of your eyes, just before the tears start to race down, “jealous? Of what?” It was almost shocking to think you had something she was jealous of.  

“Every time you visited us,” she starts, “I could tell David held so much admiration for you,” and you know she’s not trying to hurt your feelings, but it’s taking a bit to figure out where she’s going with this.

“That’s silly,” you scoff lightly, “you both got married and had two kids, surely there was no doubt,” then bring the cup up to your lips for a small sip.  

“But there was and look where we ended up?” she says. Your lips cave in to form a tight line in response, and carefully place the cup back down on the dish, before she follows up, “you two are finally together.”

“Vicky,” you pipe up, not knowing where to begin. It was never your intention to steal David’s heart away from another.

“I’m not saying any of this because I’m mad at you. No. I’ve never truly hated you. You’re a good person and you’re finally getting your happily ever after. Don’t ever stop fighting for it,” she comes out wholeheartedly, and this time you make no attempt to keep the tears at bay. It stung to hold them back anyways.

Vicky gets up from her seat, walking the short steps to yours, to wrap her arounds around you. You immediately cling onto her arms and just cry, finally letting everything out.

“Seriously, don’t think of the worst,” she starts advising, while rubbing your back, “David will always come back to you,” she pulls you away from her before reminding you, “you knew going into this wasn’t going to be easy.”  

You feel so pathetic. What she said was completely true, you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. There’s no doubt you love David and want to be with him through the good, the bad, and the ugly, so you nod and try to keep your chin up. It wasn’t to appease her, you were going to get back up, because if not for David, then for the baby.

Suddenly, the front door busts open and Ella and Charlie are bustling into the kitchen, where you and Vicky were. Quickly wiping away the tears, you both noted that school had just let out.

They were ecstatic to see you, especially Charlie as he had currently been experiencing issues of his own adjusting to school. They lifted your spirits greatly; they were more fascinated by the baby growing in you and couldn’t wait to meet him or her. You absolutely adored them. They looked like David and the whole time they were talking your ear off; you wonder to yourself if your own kid will look more like you or David. 

David’s thrusts were deep and good; you made no attempt to hold it in, letting him know exactly how he was making you feel. Nails digging into his firm buttocks, pulling him closer to you, wanting him to just keep going and going; the chase proving to be almost just as good as the climax. You feel one of his hands run up your side and his large hand starts groping your breast, adding onto the pleasure he was plaguing your body with, while the other held onto the small of you back, bringing your hips up to his.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, you could feel his hot breath fanning against your skin and hear his murmured swears and praises. The air in the room was thick, and for the majority of the intimate activity, the only sounds that travelled around the apartment consisted of heavy breathing, moans, gasps, whines and skin slapping, until the annoying distinct ringtone started screeching from a few feet away.

You’d learned to distinguish his work alarm since the supposed mix-up, and it pinged constantly, agitating you. David’s pace notably falters, and the rhythm you’d both built started dwindling, the needy side of you started to panic because he was going to stop and you desperately wanted to come, even more so come with him, but it looked like neither of you would be as you feel one of David’s hands leave your body and make an attempt to reach out to the device.

You grab a hold of his wandering hand and lace your fingers together, hoping to keep him close and forget about the alert. You buck your hips forward, urging him to continue. His grip tightens and cock twitches inside of you in response. Your strategy almost deems successful when he picks up momentum, each swivel of his cock gradually bringing out the starved woman in you. Not to mention, your sex drive had heightened too, you’d longed and craved any affection he could give you.

“David, baby…” you whine, holding a hand to his face, forcing him to keep his gaze on you and only you, the ringtone almost drowning out, “...don’t. Don’t. Fucking. Stop...please,” you resort to begging and hook a leg over his body, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper.

And just when you’re about to tip over the edge, the incessant ringing persists, and David’s halt unintentionally pulls you back down. He unwinds your sweaty clasped hands, no doubt in search of the phone once more, however, you had more leverage than he did, and your hand beats his hand to it. He wasn’t that far behind as his hand covers yours, and he tries to grab the phone to answer the call, but instead you swat it off the nightstand.  

“What the fuck?” David says aggravatedly, while attempting to reach his phone on the ground, all while he’s still inside of you, pressing your body deeper into the mattress, but careful to not crush you.

“No, fuck you, David,” you spit back, and shove his body off of yours. You scoot over to one side of the bed and try to level your breathing. You were both so close!

“What is wrong with you?” He asks, forgetting the phone on the ground.

“Do you really have to answer that?” You ask, attitude on full display.

“It could be an emergency at work,” he tries reasoning.

“You’re not on the clock, David!” You dispute, sitting up, clutching the sheets to your body to conceal yourself.

“That’s not the point! It could’ve been serious. Julia could be hurt,” he says, the words just coming out of his mouth, giving each excuse little thought. His mind was in a frenzy and you didn’t miss a single syllable.  

“You called her Julia,” you say just above a whisper, and suddenly you have an urge to vomit, but you do your best to control it.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what that meant at all to you.

It hurt more that he didn’t realize there was anything wrong and if he did, he was doing a good job at hiding something and making you look like the bad guy. You lightly shake your head, feeling defeated, and lie back down, settling on your side facing the opposite direction of him.

What was going on in David’s head? You tried so hard to understand him. It was like walking on eggshells, and even you had a breaking point. It was just sometimes too much because it felt like you were the only one putting in the effort to keep this relationship afloat.

The bed shifts significantly, letting you know that he’s gotten out of it. What felt like an hour, but were only a few seconds, the room was silent, tension still heavy in the room, and neither of you were willing to be the first to crack. You lie still, unmoving and making no attempt to stop him. It’s only when you hear the swing of the bedroom door creak, you allow yourself to blink the tears in your eyes away.

He didn’t leave the apartment that much you could rest assured of. Rest? That was what you were having trouble with. Things weren’t getting any easier with David and you even though you vowed to yourself that you’d go through Hell for him, the pressure was getting too heavy on your heart and in return, you knew the distress wouldn’t be good for the baby.

Maybe it was all just paranoia, the stress of pregnancy, and you were taking things too personal. You could be understanding about a lot of things in David’s life, his terms and PTSD, his kids, and his job, but was it too much to ask of him to be understanding of you? You suppose you were being selfish, and you were really tired. The only way to help you sleep was to swallow your pride and admit you were wrong.

The rush of the cold air instantly surrounds your bare legs the second you throw the covers off your body to get out of the bed. You throw on the discarded oversized shirt to be decent. Your steps are light, and you’re kind of nervous and, dare you admit, ashamed of how you overreacted that it drove David to the point of sleeping on the couch. After all, you made him feel unwanted in his own bed, and he certainly had enough respect to not steal yours.

Just when you’re ready to apologize and ask him to go back to bed with you, he’s already sound asleep, his legs sticking out from the mere blanket covering his upper body. You didn’t have the heart to wake him up for that. Sleep didn’t find him easy and he seemed just as stressed as you were, so you don’t disturb him. It can wait, right? You turn around and head to your room, shut the door and pray sleep finds you soon.  

It didn’t and neither did the conversation. 

News of the blast at St. Matthews College, where Julia was presenting a speech, rocked not only the political world, but it was the forefront of every news channel and medium. Tons left injured or dead, and as if that wasn’t bad, David was being told Julia had not survived the bombing.

He’s clearly distraught, believing he’s failed her, and on top of that, the weight of his lies started to suffocate him. He was going to have to come clean to you about everything he’s done behind closed doors with Julia. You wouldn’t forgive him, he was sure of that, and if by some chance you did, it would take a hell of a long time for him to regain your trust.

How many more lives does he have to ruin or lose under his watch? It was becoming too much, and it was sad, as he stared at the gun in his hands, that he’d contemplated his next actions more than once, but he really didn’t know what he had left to do anymore. There was a lot actually, he had his kids, a baby on the way, and a new life to build with you, but he was far too gone at that moment.

It’s Vicky that finds him back at the apartment, cleaning the brass fragments from the wound on the side of his head. She quickly puts the pieces together, the notes on the table addressed separately to her, the children and you, and the admission from David that these were brass fragments of a bullet casing.

“Dave, what the fuck? What about Ella and Charlie? What about-” she starts going on but stops when he visibly cracks because he knows your name is next to come out of her mouth, “I’m taking you to the hospital,” she decides and is quick to put away her tools.

“No. No one can know about this,” David says adamantly. They start to argue about his injuries and how David hadn’t been aware that he fired a blank round before he asks her to go back home to the kids.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” she says grabbing a jacket and tries to reason that he shouldn’t be alone right now and maybe being around the kids and seeing you will open his eyes and realize what he was leaving behind had he successfully ended his life.

He couldn’t pretend living like he was okay. What had happened to Julia was not his fault. All David ever did was do his best to protect, protect his country, his family and her.

“You need to tell her,” Vicky says while she hands David a cap for him to cover the wound on his head.

“I don’t even know where she’s been the last few days,” he admits pathetically. His own girlfriend, the mother of his unborn child, he can’t even keep tabs on where she’s been this whole time. It made him feel even terrible that he’d neglected you.

“She’s been staying with the kids and I,” she reveals.

“What? Why is she there?” He asks, and quickly puts the cap on and gets up from his seat.

She didn’t tell David of your whereabouts earlier because you’d asked her not to and she politely respected that, but she knew now was not the time to take sides anymore. You two had to deal with your issues now.

“She shouldn’t be alone, Dave. She’s pregnant with your child and yet she’s going through it all by herself,” Vicky tells him.

“I never meant to bring her into any of this mess,” he says heavily, full of grief. He brought you into the madness that was his world and now you’re trapped in it, bringing a new life along for the ride.

“She loves you, David, don’t sell yourself short. She just feels like she’s been left in the dark. You need to talk to her,” Vicky advises him, “it may not be pretty, but you have to hear her out.”

She knew you couldn’t stand being alone in the apartment without being reminded of David constantly. You weren’t in a good place either and she wanted to help you both before it was too late. 

You’d been left behind at the house with Ella and Charlie in the other room watching TV, while Vicky was out looking for David. He wasn’t answering any of the phone calls she’s made, even ones made on your cell phone, there was no form of contact or communication from him. You knew he was there at the college; he was Julia’s bodyguard after all.

When you heard more than two voices return, you knew she’d brought David back and had told him you’d be here. You weren’t mad at her for ratting you out, it was going to come out eventually. Nothing ever stays hidden.

“You don’t normally wear a hat indoors,” Ella points out the cap on David’s head that stuck out like a sore thumb.

“You said it’s silly,” Charlie reminds his father.

“Then I’m being silly,” David responds as he watches his children chomp away at the slices of pizza in their hands.

While Vicky was on the phone cancelling her date tonight, you faintly hear the end of the conversation he was having with Ella and Charlie over their dinner. He still hadn’t even seen you. Then you hear his quiet, controlled sobs, but he couldn’t detain them enough and be strong around his kids.

“I just did something silly today,” he tells them.

“Wearing a hat?” Charlie asks innocently.

“That, too,” he replies as he clings onto them both in a group hug.

Vicky had just revealed to you of David’s suicide attempt moments ago. You’re numb. Clearly, Julia’s death had affected him rather deeply, so much that he thought killing himself was a solution.

He didn’t care about you or the baby. You both weren’t enough to save him or have anything to look forward to. You can’t even cry anymore. You wanted to lash out and get mad. She advises you to keep calm and think rationally, but you’re tired of thinking about all of this.  

Without warning, David enters the room you’d been staying in. You’re like stone on the couch, arms crossed and starting straight ahead of you, mindlessly at whatever TV program the kids left it on before retreating to the dining area. Your eyes cast themselves on David’s demure stance. He cautiously steps forward and hesitantly takes a seat next to you.

“Is it true?” You ask, breaking the silence and finally turn to look at him. He only nods in response, his head hangs low, ashamed. You felt like your heart didn’t have any parts to break anymore. The confirmation alone just felt like him stomping on it for added measure.

“Ok,” is all you say, biting down on your lip to prevent you from saying anything else. It was petty, but you’d refused to show him any remorse or sorrow of any kind.

“Is this where you’ve been the past few nights?” He questions, rather awkwardly too.

“Oh, so you’ve noticed I haven’t been home?” You ask bitterly.

He was really going to push your buttons. You’re not sure if Vicky was right about you and David having to talk. This wasn’t going to go well at all. You were not in an ideal mental and physical state to be talking about your problems with him, but if not now then when?

“Of course, I have. Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, almost appalled by the accusation, and watching as you get up from the couch to stand in front of him.  

“I hardly see you and when I do I find out that you just tried to kill yourself, so forgive me for not assuming I even ran as a mere thought in your messed-up head,” it was harsh, poking at his mental state, but you were so fed up, your mind was just as clouded, “...you didn’t think about me when you held the gun to your head,” you said ripping off his hat.

Your heart tightens in your chest as you stare at the wound and tears threaten to fall, but you don’t let them, “...and you certainly didn’t think about our baby when you pulled the trigger,” then chuck the cap at him, he makes no attempt to catch it as it lightly bounces off his chest and fall onto his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely and making no attempt to hide his tears as they raced down, “I’m so fucking stupid,” and he gets up on his feet, ”...I need help.”

He’s not even going to use the excuse of work and you’re not expecting him to rat himself out and come clean about Julia just yet. David didn’t work like that and you were absolutely done with it. No, everything had to come out now.

“I know,” is all you say at first. He thinks it’s some form of forgiveness, him acknowledging his problem, until you follow up, “just admit it,” your voice changes in tone from anger and hurt to an icy one, “who do you love now, David?”

All while asking him that question, you’re trying to get his eyes to focus on you, but you simply cannot. He’s looking everywhere but, and it hurts.

“It’s Julia, isn’t it? Tell me!” You shout at his face. When he doesn’t answer immediately, your lips press down together and you don’t hold back the tears any longer, “I can’t believe you,” you say in disbelief, almost struggle to breathe right, “this shit has been keeping me up at night!”

You back away from him and cover your mouth, just to conceal your sobs so the rest of the family doesn’t hear you cry. They most definitely heard you yell, but you didn’t want to further trouble them anymore or cause a big enough scene for them to burst right through.

There hadn’t been a doubt in your mind that David loved you before, but just seeing how he couldn’t open up enough to tell you there was someone else during, filled you with more heartache. Maybe it would hurt less, you wouldn’t know unless it came straight from his mouth.

David starts crying as well and you honestly want to slap him, but instead you start saying nasty things, cutting him way worse than anything you could ever do physically, and you certainly don’t hold back. Claiming you two were never meant to be together, and the baby doesn’t mean anything especially in uniting you both.

“I’ll be surprised if this baby even survives,” you scoff thinking about a past experience, and how cruel life was gifting you this baby.

“What are you talking about? You’re not thinking about-“ David starts getting all frantic suddenly, and not thinking, he grabs both your arms in his hands, holding you in place.

“God no! I would never!” You say in disgust and pull away from him, “I can’t believe you’d think I would…”

“Then what did you mean?” He asks curiously.

“I never told you why I broke up with him,” you don’t really mention your ex’s name these days. While you’d both moved on as civil as the both of you could, it still pangs you to reminisce about the relationship and how it ended.

“He couldn’t handle the long distance,” he said thinking he knew.

“He only couldn’t after...” you pause, trying to decide if now was the time to reveal this secret. David had the right to know, after all, an incident like such could happen again.  

“After what? He was seeing someone else?” He grew increasingly anxious and almost ill towards the thought of another being unfaithful to you.

“No! It was my fault,” you don’t want to slander your ex at all. He couldn’t have prevented what happened to you across the other side of the world even if he tried. “I miscarried. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I woke up one day in my blood and the sharpest pain I’ve ever felt.”

You started reliving that day, how you were alone and the way your neighbors had to come to your aid. Your poor ex felt so helpless, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything for you, but the wave of depression afterwards had strained the relationship. It formally ended when you’d returned from studying abroad.

“I didn’t even know you were pregnant,” David says in shock. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, and if it was stupid to think all this time you could’ve easily had a life without him long before you two finally became a thing.

“It didn’t matter, David,” your voice finally regained strength, and wiped at the tears on your face of the memory, ”you and Vicky were so in love. There’s nothing you could’ve done for me.”

“That’s not true,” David persists.

“I would’ve turned you away, just like him,” you say so sure. David was your friend then, yes, but you didn’t need or owed him this before now.  

“You’re not going to lose this baby,” he promises.

“You don’t know that,” and you’re not trying to be a pessimist about this, you wanted this baby, but you were more than aware of the possibility it could happen again. Bad things just always seemed to be happening lately anyways.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’d protect you both with my last breath,” he vows, grabbing your hands, desperate to feel any part of you.

“I don’t need your protection, David,” your words continue to crush him, that was your subtle way of leaving him and he knew it, “I love you, David. I love you so much!” you say with plenty of emotion, and lightly squeeze his hands in yours, “...but you can’t even tell me who you love right now,” you point out, reluctantly removing your hands from his.

“You need to get help, David. If not for your family, me or the baby, please do it for yourself,” you say last, before placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“I’m going to get help...for you,” you hear David say determinedly just before you walk out of the room. It wasn’t all you wanted to hear, you wanted him to tell you he loved you back, but you wanted him to live easy once again even if that meant him not loving you.

You could manage on your own, and work something out when the baby arrives, but for now it was time for you to go home.

A/N: Nope. Sorry! Whenever Season 2 decides to come out, maybe we’ll get a happier David, so for now I don’t think I can let these two ride off into the sunset…but I can if you send 2020 off with giving this a like, reblog, comment or all of the above!

[andromeda612]

Another exposed Lila prompt

Lila outed herself by telling the wrong lie, to the wrong people in front of the wrong witnesses

Before Ladybug (in this timeline the episode never happens) Adrien is in a photo-shoot just because. And if you saw some of my posts you can say that I’m very in love with Marcaniel, so of course I have to put my OTP somehow here. 

-So Lila is a narcissist so is obvious she doesn't pay much attention to anything but herself, unless is for her favor (like what would be interesting for her classmates, or if they are being fooled by her) but is not like she makes her research (the Jagged’s kitten for kwami sake), so of curse she knows Nathaniel makes a very famous comic book about Paris heroes with the help of a black haired boy, Marc was his name if she can remember of every time someone talks about them or their stupid comic (ugh is annoying) but she doesn't know that the pretty same boys have a blog named "Creations" but different from their comic in which they sign with their real names, in the blog they use a pseudonym (Pen Magician for Nath and Arc-en-ciel for Marc) despite that everybody that is fan of their comic knows about this 'cause they told this in one of their comics when they first created the blog. (And both their classes know because every one of their friends and classmates read their comic)

The blog is for their original creations, other fanfiction and for commissions (of art, comics, or stories) and a way to interact with their fans. They were already very famous for the comic but the blog is threefold successful, Marc' stories are awesome and Nath's draws too, let's not talk about their combined projects. Also they have lots of commissions, and the fans are very happy to interact a little more with their favorites comic creators. They also caught the attention of people like Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale (Marinette may or may not had talked about the comic or the blog with them, but once they saw it they loved it) so they are very popular ;)

-So obviously Lila can't help but want to lie about knowing the creators (their official name when talked about both of them) she would be so famous! Maybe she can get Alya to interview her again, the journalist is also a fan.

-So she does, one morning to the art gang (the more excited about the blog) and in front of the rest of the class (who also like said blog), and backfires horrible since every time she talks she just dig her grave even more, like she says that Arc-en-ciel is a cute girl (because is obvious Nathaniel has something for the writer so saying that she could totally set them up would win her some points).

-But is common knowledge that Marc, sweet and patient Marc, HATES when people thinks he is a girl. He is aware of his androgynous factions, but is how he was born is not his fault and he is a boy damn it! Is of the few things that can make him really angry.

-Is also common knowledge that the only thing worse than telling Marc he is a girl, is telling that Marc is a girl in front of his PROTECTIVE BOYFRIEND NATHANIEL, his equally protective best friend Alix, and his too protective cousin Marinette (is a luck that she is late, because otherwise Lila would be in even more trouble).

First red blag

-And everybody knows the comic duo have been dating for MONTHS, they aren’t even subtle about it! Whoever seems them can see how much in love with each other they are! (Is too cute that is almost painful, even Alix cooed at them even if she denies it later)

Second red flag

-Also she would say that Pen Magician is a cool Lycee boy, maybe Arc-en-ciel’s old brother, and that he is totally infatuated with her. (Because an older boy interested in her? Adrien would be so jealous!)

Another red flag

-Nathaniel is their classmate and again he is dating Marc.

And the class is in shock because Lila is lying in their faces! HOLLY SHIT! Marinette was right!! If she is lying about this, what else was a lie?

And then she makes a comment that snap some of them out of their shock (the art gang)

-She says that she is the illustrator’s muse and she actually helped the writer with several of “her” stories, she also came up with the plot of their most popular comics! She actually was the one to encourage them to create the blog in the first place. She even help to make it.

-NOP, they all (the art gang) know that Marc and Nathaniel work TOGETHER and ALONE, if someone gives them an idea they would ask to use it and give credits. They know how much effort and love Marc puts in his stories and Nathaniel in his drawings, they also know the double love and effort they put in their combined projects, the care, passion, the joy and all the hard work they put in their comics and blog to be where they are. And Lila is taking the credit of that!

-They also know that it was their editor who came up with the idea of the blog, and were Alya and Max the ones who help them to create it.

The final flag

-Finally the rest of the class finish to process the shock and confront her. Lila doesn’t know what went wrong. She tried to lie her way out of this but to no avail, nobody believes her anymore, and there is no sympathy, just angry glares and disgust.

-When Marinette finally shows up is to see her classmate staring at their phones, some are frowning, Rose is at the edge of tears, Alix looks ready to hit someone, Nathaniel is sitting with Ivan and Lila is alone and fuming in her seat.

-When the class acknowledge her presence they immediately jump from their seats and apologize to her, for not listened to her and for being harsh to her for a liar.

-She forgives them, after all they were good friends, after Chameleon they never treat her bad and everybody makes mistakes, is not a crime to be fooled and manipulated.

-She ask them how they find out though.

-“Oh, she just told the wrong lie, to the wrong people in front of the wrong witnesses”

And just to know, Lila knows that somehow she was exposed but she can’t tell why she just know it has to do with that damn blog! And the stupid creators, the class won’t tell her anything. “Let the liar make her research for once”

Bonus: since Lila is exposed they eventually find out about her truancy, and she is punished. Also since Adrien still doesn’t know the extent of Lila’s danger is the class who explain him that his high road in real life is actually an awful advice, after he finds out what happened, the class also finds out that he knew, they confront him about it and when he explains his motives they understand that the boy didn’t knew better (Gabriel’s fault probably) and maybe Nino and Alya explain him the reality of the situation, he understands and apologize to Marinette for his bad advice.  

Now, you can change the lies she tells about the creators or the blog, you can actually change the thing she lies about, I have this same idea, but instead of lying about the blog she lies about knowing Marc, and the art gang already knows she is a liar. You can add some salt if you want. I don’t know if this count like salt, because she is exposed but since this is before Ladybug she didn't do anything too bad... yet. And as I say in one post before, when I’m writing salt/bashing is focused just in Lila, but is up to you if you want to be more salty. 

[romiithebirdie]

From the Furthest Tether: Part Three

Harsh rainfall pelted down from the black sky above, fast droplets hitting Tomura Shigaraki's bare chest that exposed the faint scars littering across his body from the battle at Jaku. Narrowing a hardened scarlet eyes down at the decaying wreckage as he stood high and mighty in mid-air, courtesy of the Nomu who had transported him to Tartarus.

Bullets screeched through the air, some connecting with his skin and blasting his arm into a mangled, bloody mess as crimson liquid spilled over the smouldering brickwork. He barely flinched, immediately activating his Regeneration power that had saved his life on multiple occasions when he was facing the recently disgraced Pro Hero Endeavor.

Behind Father, he spread his chapped lips into a gleeful grin. Oh, how he hoped Endeavor was suffering both physically and mentally in the aftermath. He honestly couldn't wait for Round Two where he'd succeed in reducing the Flame Hero to nothing more than dust in the air.

Jumping from his Nomu's back, he casually strolled past the destruction while rejoicing under the loud blare of the prison alarms that howled out in a melancholic chorus. To the Guards and staff inside, they cowered in fear. But to Tomura Shigaraki? The unbearable sound marked the beginning of his deathgrip on the hero society.

Criminals poured from every entrance and window below his spot above them all, the tattered clothes covering the lower-half of his body billowed in between the whistling air and thick black smoke, like a flag flying high in the night sky.

Tomura's eyes wandered over the stampede, recognising Muscular and other villains crowding together as they beat back a futile stand by a few foolish Prison Guards. A cold shiver ran up his spine which seemed to spike his fury further as he slowly turned around, his senses overwhelming him under the image of All for One standing across the platform.

"Master…" the student rasped, suddenly feeling the urge to scratch at his neck. He glanced down at the body held in All for One's grip with little emotion, noting the small line of blood running from the guard's head.

His teacher began speaking to him, though Tomura could barely understand the words coming out of the villain's mouth as his ears filled with the sound of loud static. A possible reaction to their twin Quirks, perhaps?

"I told you…" Tomura's voice was rough, almost as if it was physically hurting him to speak, "That this is my body, my will, Master…"

"Hmm?" Japan's most feared man glanced down at Shigaraki like he was a small toddler. "You need rest, Tomura," his voice cooed, dripping with faux-warmth as he bared his teeth in a wide grin, "that regeneration Quirk will not work unless your body is at full health."

Don't talk down to me like I'm some weak little child!

Shigaraki's eyes flashed in rage, gnashing his teeth together at the large mocking smirk adjourning his teacher's face.

"I...I am not going to be your pawn," he growled out. Not anymore. He had his own goals, his own desires now.

"Oh?" All for One's grip on the eerily-unmoving guard's jacket tightened. "Now why would you think such a thing? No. To me, Tomura Shigaraki, you are an important successor."

The breathing apparatus floated in the air, held up by an invisible force as Japan's most feared man took another couple of steps towards his protege. "See how those below us desire to submit?" he asked, unfazed by the Tomura snarling at him like a feral animal that had been backed up into a corner. "This will be the story of how I become the greatest demon lord in existence."

His large hands then slowly reached out, akin to a puppetmaster controlling the strings of his lifeless, wooden marionettes…

Until Izuku's eyes shot open, cutting off a gasp which caught in his already-aching throat that felt as if somebody had their hands gripped around it with the intent to strangle him in his sleep.

His blurry vision registered the sickly white-coloured walls and scratchy sheets covering his body…

Ah, right.

He was in the hospital. Recovering from injuries that could- should have killed him back in Jaku. He leaned back against the singular pillow supporting the twinge in his neck.

Tick, tock.

Izuku glanced up at the clock across the room as it clicked back and forth in a monotonous motion. The window blinds of Izuku's ward had been put down, blocking out the strips of orange and red rays of sunlight that left the ward remaining a dark and sombre surround.

He reached forward and slowly picked up his phone that had been left on one of the plastic visitor chairs at his beside. Blinking tiredly with eyes that were heavy from lack of sleep, Izuku found himself slowly scanning over the screen of his mobile device. His thumb was brushing repeatedly over the cracked screen while it continued to illuminate his freckled face with a dull, bluish hue.

He swallowed thickly, still feeling the dizzying wave of nausea hit him every couple of minutes. The teen had been given a large amount of strong medication to minimize his body aches and the sharp throb of surgical stitches littered over his broken body. Izuku moaned to himself softly, muscles protesting the small movements as he slid his phone back on his bedside cabinet.

Since the previous night, he had barely heard from All Might. After his outburst in the middle of the hospital waiting area, he couldn't really blame the retired Pro from steering clear. Deep down, Izuku mused that the hospital staff possibly had more to do with the lack of visitation as it had taken a couple of nurses to return him to his ward the night prior. His mother had followed quietly behind the medical staff as they wheeled her son back towards his ward while trying to conceal her flowing tears.

She'd held his hand while Izuku was hooked back up to his IV, where another nurse had then quickly provided morphine. Whether it was just to help with the pain of his recovering injuries or played a part in settling him down, Izuku had no clue.

He glanced down at the cannula attached to his drip with a small whine, regardless of the hospital's reasoning, it had worked a treat last night and still had Izuku feeling like his head was full of cotton wool.

Izuku's phone buzzed atop the cabinet, the volume completely muted to prevent his head from pounding more than it was. Thankfully, his plump pillows gave him enough height to squint over at the name trying to reach him.

All Might.

Complete with a picture of the grinning Symbol of Peace that Izuku had screenshot from an interview stream several years ago. A bandaged hand gripped the phone and swiped across the screen to answer;

"Hello?"

"Ah, good morning, Young Midoriya!" even though Izuku couldn't see All Might's face, he could hear the smile that his mentor was forcing himself to wear. "How are you feeling?"

"Mm," Izuku shifted his legs through the thin bed sheets, legs tangled slightly as he flopped them down in defeat. He'd been way better but; "I'm getting there, thanks."

This response seemed to be enough to satisfy Toshinori from the other side of the phone line as he bobbed his head in a nodding motion before letting out a soft hum of agreement.

Izuku's eyes returned to his bedsheets, thin pupils scanning over the scratchy patterns running across the thin fabric while the retired Pro breathed heavily over the phone, the silence between them soon growing awkward as they both waited for the other to speak up again.

"So," Toshinori let his voice drag along the 'o' sound for a few moments before swallowing thickly, "any updates with the doctors?"

"Mhm, not really," Izuku switched hands, pushing the receiver against his other ear, "I think they're getting Recovery Girl in today."

Izuku hadn't been told that, he'd listened in on a conversation between hospital staff from outside his door. Not that All Might needed to know about his sudden interest in eavesdropping…

"So I think I'll be able to return to the dorms soon."

"Ah, good," Toshinori paused for a second. "Good…"

Izuku frowned, he recognised that tone.

"Is everything okay?"

He heard the hero splutter from the other end of the call, "E-Everything's fine, why wouldn't it be?"

Izuku's bandaged knuckles tightened around the phone, the plastic making small little cracking sounds of protest. Even without using his Quirk, Izuku's physical strength was more amplified due to his daily workout routine to maintain his Quirk-control.

"Well I-" Izuku's claw clicked shut. Could he bring up what he'd seen while he'd been asleep? Shigaraki and All for One...The villains breaking out of Tartarus… Was that even possible?

"Young Midoriya?"

"I saw more of the First User of One for All," Izuku belted out before he could stop himself. He wondered whether or not he should mention Nana Shimura being there too… Maybe it was better to tell All Might in person than over the phone?

"You did?" there was a small rustle in the background.

"But Shigaraki was there," Izuku chewed his lip before continuing; "And All for One."

"Oh?" Izuku cracked a dry smile at All Might's attempt to mask the concern in his voice. "How very...interesting."

"He could see me, All Might," both of Izuku's hands gripped the phone. "All for One."

"I see," there was a brief silence, the only sound coming from a soft buzz of phone static. "Do you recall anything that could have been said?"

Izuku winced, his chest tightening once again as All for One's cruel taunts forcefully entered back into his thoughts.

"No."

"Midoriya…" there was a slight edge to his mentor's voice and Izuku slumped his shoulders, sighing softly while still holding the phone in both hands. All Might knew he wasn't being truthful so what was the point in trying to hide it, aside from his own pride?

"He, uh," Izuku pushed his head against the wall that his bed lined up against, "mainly spoke to the First User but he saw me there and probably figured it'd be fun to mess with my head too."

Which could possibly explain the cause of his outburst last night and waking up from that weird haze-fuelled dream this morning. From everything that All Might had told him and the things he'd witnessed in the past, All for One was an extremely petty individual. For some reason, that scared the teen even more.

"What did he say?" All Might dreaded the answer, while Izuku dreaded reminding himself of All for One's hysterical tirade.

"Could we do this face to face?" Izuku whispered, bringing his knees up towards his chin and shrinking into himself. "Please?"

All Might was silent on the other end, biting his lip due to the fact that he had upcoming meetings with Tsukauchi and the Hero Commission over the recent events in Jaku. Endeavor was still unconscious but an investigation was already underway…

"Young Midor-"

"It's fine. I understand," Izuku swallowed thickly, understanding his mentor's silence. "It's just…"

"Hard?"

Izuku blinked, taking in air sharply from his nostrils, "Mhm," he shrugged, not caring that All Might wasn't able to see him do it, "his words...Struck a nerve, I guess?"

"Young Midoriya, whatever that monster said to you, do not let it deter you from the path you wish to take," All Might suddenly sounded furious. It made sense. All Might was the villain's nemesis, of course he'd know how Izuku was feeling. "He uses his words and power to emotionally shatter people, either to hurt them or to bend them to his own will. Do not let him succeed in doing that to you."

"I won't," Izuku answered, far too quickly for All Might's taste. The blond had a rough idea that he knew exactly what that bastard had said to his successor. After all, he himself had fallen victim to All for One's influence back in Kamino when he had dropped the bombshell that was Nana Shimura's legacy;

"Oh, surely you remember Tomura Shigaraki? My student?" the masked villain had goaded casually, as if he were simply discussing the weather to the Symbol of Peace. "He's Nana Shimura's grandson."

Toshinori had to admit that after hearing those words, he'd almost shattered upon impact, losing momentary composure in front of the demon opposite him. Thankfully, his mentor and father-figure had been there to keep him grounded and that was what Toshinori intended to do with Midoriya. Despairing was what that creature wanted and he wasn't sinking his claws into his student.

"Izuku, listen to me."

Izuku said nothing, prompting Toshinori to continue;

"You are my successor and the rightful owner of One for All. He wants you to feel this way, so that you'll be more likely to attempt to give up your Quirk willingly. Please remember that."

That...actually made sense, in a way.

Izuku knew the cruel taunts wouldn't leave his thoughts right away, but All Might had offered the teen comforting words that he'd needed to hear, as much as he was currently unaware of it.

"I will, All Might," the teen swallowed thickly, eyes prickling as he tried to force his tears back. "I promise."

"That's my boy," Izuku's heart squeezed hearing those words and this time, he allowed his tears to spill down his freckled cheeks. "I'll come and see you as soon as I can, deal?"

Gulping back a small shudder, Izuku's lips pressed into a wobbly smile, "Deal."

"I'll try and make time either this evening or tomorrow at the latest. You take care until then."

"Same to you too," Izuku breathed out shakily, "hey, All Might?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

Izuku swore he heard a soft chuckle before the phone was put down and his phone screen shut off. Setting it back on the cabinet, Izuku picked up the remote control to the television inside his ward. Perhaps some daytime television could lift his spirits?

Flicking through channels, he almost dropped the controller in surprise at the sight of a reporter clinging to the wide-open door of what Izuku assumed was a news helicopter that was hovering over a massive smoking island.

A smoking island that felt vaguely familiar to the teenager…

"-Seems to be a surveillance breach at this supposed maximum security prison!" the female reporter yelled over the loud chopping sound of helicopter rotors slicing through the rough sea wind. "Footage shows various villains fleeing the island, including Tomura Shigaraki, the young man who was the ringleader for the devastating attack in Jaku City!"

The remote slipped from his hands and clattered to the tiled floor, pieces of plastic scuttling across the ground along with the batteries that had flung out in opposite directions. One ending up rolling under a medical cabinet while the other hit one of the ward wall's skirting boards.

Tight knots began to curl tightly inside his own stomach as Izuku's pale face stared at the television in utter horror.

He hadn't been dreaming.

They were out. The villains. Probably including the ones Izuku had a hand in defeating.

Overhaul, Muscular, Stain...All for One.

"No, no, no," he whimpered. He couldn't take them on now, for God's sake he could barely move! His eyes moved back towards the cabinet and his hand reached back in the direction of where he had set his phone...

[eiwenmaclor]

Criminal minds fic: Emily Prentiss a.k.a. Aunty bear

Summary : Emily Prentiss is protective of children, that's a given. She would cross the world to come to JJ's help, that's a known fact. What would she do if JJ's children were threatened?

 Category: hurt/comfort

Warning: canon typical violence

Word count: 8952

Tags: canon compliant, takes place after the ending of the series, BAU as family

 A/N: It's the first time I share something other than ficlet and my first Criminal Minds fic. Thanks to @lea-audague for proof reading this.

 _____________________________________

"JJ?"

 "Emily, listen to me. I have to go home. They are coming for the boys."

 Her focus sharpened. There was fear in her friend's voice and that alone was all she needed to act before discussing it any further. JJ was scared for her children and Emily channeled all of her assertiveness, hoping to be the rock her friend needed.

 "I'm less than a mile from your house, I'll be there soon."

The unit chief didn't hesitate a second and pressed on the accelerator. She was coming back to Quantico from an interview. It was purely by chance that she was in the neighborhood but Emily wasn't going to let this luck be wasted.

 "Brief me JJ."

 She could feel at that moment how her colleague forced herself to be an efficient agent before being a frightened mother. From the sound of it, JJ was in a car too and Emily hoped that she wasn't the one driving. After a short inspiration, the flow of information came. That was linked to the case the BAU was consulting on for the MPD. Will was part of the raid on a location they had suspected to be a base of operation for the mob. The police were hot on their trail. Whoever was there left minutes only before the raid. The search of the place had yielded a piece of paper with several addresses. All of them of cops. Will and JJ's included. And the SSA added at that point that one of Will's most recent case was a murder that seemed to be linked to the mob.

 "They want to pressure Will. The murder investigation is the most urgent of them all. I know they are planning to take our boys Emily."

 The unit chief heard the voice crack at the end of the sentence and her grip on the wheel tightened in response. Her words were infused with as much strength as she could give.

 "JJ, you know I will not let them do that. If I can't take the boys with me to the BAU, I'll buy time. Trust me."

 The answer was swift and JJ seemed to have regained control of her voice. Oh, how Emily could feel for her friend. Nobody would have faulted her for stumbling in these circumstances. Nobody but herself. Of course.

 "I know. I do. I'm on my way with Mat."

 "Good. Who's with the kids?"

 Emily was trying to keep her colleague on track, not giving her a second to pause and spiral. JJ had once told her how she felt herself freeze when she found her sister after her suicide and again during the case they had in her home town. She didn't want the blonde to freeze and feel guilty about it. So she did what JJ had asked her to do then, she gave her things to do.

 "Sarah, the teenage daughter of our neighbors, is babysitting them. I'm calling her."

 "I'll call Mat as soon as I know where we stand. It will be okay JJ."

 "You don't know that."

 "I know that we will do so that it will be okay. Call Sarah."

 She hung up on that note. She was on the LaMontagne's residence street and needed all of her attention. Emily's eyes were scanning the neighborhood, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Maybe no one was coming to grab Henry and Michael, but a Prentiss was always prepared. In that case, Emily was preparing herself for the worst, and hoping for the best. She needed to be at the top of her game. She loved the two brothers, as much as she loved Hotch's son Jack. The unit chief was finding it both an incredible motivation and a paralyzing fear. Compartmentalizing would come in handy.

 At first, the agent didn't see anything suspicious. She parked on the sidewalk near the house but not in a way that could reduce visibility on the street from the house. Prudent, she used the key JJ had once given her "just in case" rather than ring the doorbell. She knew they might not have a lot of time. Inside, the 16-something babysitter had sprung on her feet at the unexpected stranger but was immediately placated when both boys called the agent by name. The teenager still had her phone in her hand. If Michael was already coming happily toward "aunt Emily" for a hug, Henry seemed worried. The profiler knew him to be very attentive and intelligent. And, after all, he was the son of two law enforcement members... Obviously an unexpected visit from the colleague of one of them would be a major concern.

 "Hi boys! Hi...Sarah, right?"

 The agent had years of experience with young witnesses and victims, she knew how to project what children and teenagers craved in a crisis situation: the reassurance of a capable, trustworthy adult having things under relative control. For now, she would act as if it was only unusual but not as dangerous as it really was. The teenager nodded, visibly relieved but also kind of subdued, somehow feeling Henry's concern and understanding what it could mean. Emily took a second to look him in the eyes.

 "Your parents are okay." She saw his relief as if it were a palpable entity. "But your mom asked me to take you to the office." Emily put her eyes on Sarah. "JJ called?"

 "Yes Ma'am, the boys just need to put their shoes on."

 The unit chief offered a warm smile to the babysitter. She was pretty level headed and it was a good thing. Her voice was clear. The profiler could see her apprehension but she was putting a pretty solid front for the children. Just as she was answering, they all could hear a vehicle park in the driveway leading to the garage. Emily felt Michael go for the door, probably thinking it was one of his parents and she tightened her arm around him.

 "Wait a second buddy."

 This time her voice was more strict as to make him feel that it was an important instruction to follow. Emily went to a window to check discreetly whose vehicle it was and couldn't help but let a small sigh go through her lips. God damn it. The next second, she had put back her collected mask on and was turning towards the children, nevermind her heart that was beating way too quickly suddenly.

 "Change of plans. Listen to me, and listen carefully, it is very important. You are going to hide upstairs. Bad people are coming but you will be hidden."

 The agent was looking to each of the three children, trying to convey some sense of security. She already knew she would die before letting any one of them be taken but the point was to make them trust her on this. Maybe not as dramatically, but still.

 "I will not let them hurt you, okay? I just need you to stay hidden and be quiet."

 Emily looked at Sarah, who was very pale but looked determined.

 "Do not go out under any circumstances. Phone silent. You go out of hiding only if JJ or Will calls you. Got it?"

 She quickly obtained the confirmation from each of the children, including Michael who visibly understood how serious all this was. That, more than anything else at that moment, was deeply comforting for her.

 "Good. Now, go."

 Emily sent a short message to Mat's cellphone while they climbed the stairs. From the window, she had seen an unknown van and three armed men. The agent knew she had only few seconds to spare before they reached the door. Her hand was on her weapon but she hesitated. She knew several children were playing outside in the neighboring front lawns and any shooting in the house could lead to a stray bullet hitting one of the children she had sworn to protect. There was also the fact that they were three and she was alone. She had seen automatic weapons and Emily was pretty sure a shooting wouldn't end well for her. That, in itself, was a risk she was willing to take but that meant letting the children without protection at all after that... Not a good plan either.

 "Shit."

 Her hand reluctantly let go of the handle of her gun. She looked at her phone where a new message from Mat was on screen. They were 10 minutes out. Ten minutes. Emily closed her eyes and called. During the brief moment it took for it to connect, her finger swiped to activate a recording app Penelope had installed on all their devices long ago. She wanted to keep a material evidence of what would happen, whatever was going to happen. Just in case... Before she could think about it, the call finally connected. She didn't let her colleagues talk and her voice was tense and clinical. For the next ten minutes, she wasn't allowed to make any mistake. The stakes were high.

 "Mute on your side. Three men, automatic weapons. I stall. You listen. You'll know what happens."

 She didn't even wait for any kind of answer, hid her microphone clipped at her bra, and put her phone behind a furniture, out of sight. The doorbell rang. Emily had to admit that it was wiser than just force the door. After all, it was a residential area, the police response was good and any suspect activity would certainly be flagged by a nosy neighbor. The agent took the opportunity to gain some more seconds and waited for another ring. Finally, even if she hated having to do that, Emily went to answer the door. The profiler didn't want to make them nervous if she had to manipulate them for several minutes. The door was barely open that the muzzle of a submachine gun was aimed at her chest. She froze her hand above her gun and feigned surprise.

 "What..."

 "Back inside, no sudden move."

 There were simple enough instructions and Emily followed them, slowly, each move measured. What she didn't like was the calm and control imbued in this cold voice and the equally cold face of its owner. They weren't bothering hiding behind hoods or masks. That was a big bright red flag for her, but also for the children. They probably wouldn't let any witness behind, or they didn't care to be identified and had enough resources to be sure to be able to flee. The last man to enter closed the door behind him. The first one was keeping his eyes on her. She tried to install rapport.

 "Who are you?"

 "Shut up and keep your hands up."

 The rebuttal was dry and clear. The profiler was studying them for now. The first one was keeping his gun on her, the second one was looking around and the third one was looking through the window. They were very organized and knew what they had to do.

 "Where are the kids?"

 "What?"

 "Your kids!"

 "I don't have any children."

 The game was on and it was a fragile balance. She had to unsettle them but not too much. Each unexpected information, each unforeseen event would be a source of stress. Emily had to make them feel unprepared. Maybe then, they would hesitate. And hesitation would make them lose precious time.

 "Do not lie to me!"

 "I swear I'm not lying."

 "Where are your children Jennifer?"

 Emily feigned the realization.

 "I'm not Jennifer. My name is Emily."

 "Do not...!"

 "I swear! You can check I have my badge in my pocket!"

 A couple of seconds of silence passed, heavy with tension. Finally the second one let out a low "what the fuck", and Emily took it as a small victory. The same man was ordered to check her pockets, and take her gun while he was at it.

 "She... she's telling the truth... And... She 's FBI."

 "What?"

 "Emily Prentiss, FBI. Look."

 The profiler stayed silent and immobile. She could see the first man, visibly the undisputed leader, think. When he looked at her, his eyes were dangerous.

 "What are you doing here?"

 "I was just passing by... I work with Jennifer and she needed a change of clothes..."

 "You're telling me that you being here is a coincidence?"

 "Yes."

 His eyes searched hers, and then went to her badge. The agent knew that giving up some truths was a perfect way to make some lies believable.

 "LaMontagne's wife is FBI?"

 "Yes? Supervisory special agent Jennifer Jareau?"

 Her tone was slightly questioning, as if they were testing her, when she knew, from their behavior, that they just didn't have any idea about JJ's occupation prior to this moment. This time it was the third one, still watching outside, who let out a swear. The man in front of her was still looking her eyes intently, searching.

 "He's a cop. She's FBI."

 "Yes."

 "You are a colleague here by coincidence."

 "Yes."

 "You do know they have kids."

 Emily felt it was time for her to be more open, maybe seeming more helpful. If he was resorting to sarcasm, it meant he was starting to let some frustration get to him.

 "Yes, of course."

 "So, where are they?"

 "I don't know, not here."

 He clicked his tongue.

 "You're sure?"

 "Yes. I mean, I swear they aren't quiet ones, I would have heard them if they were here..."

 She hoped her trembling voice and sudden rambling would be convincing evidences of the stress and sincerity she wanted to project. He took some more seconds to think and she tried again to return some questions.

 "What... what do you want with them...?"

 "Not your business."

 "They're just children..."

 "Tell that to their nosy dad."

 "What does it.."

 "No more questions."

 The metal of the submachine gun made contact with her throat.

 "Am I clear?"

 "Crystal. Sorry."

 He looked at her for a second before making a decision.

 "Ok, we're going to sit and talk like civilized people. You are going to answer my questions."

 Then he turned toward the second man and ordered him to bring a chair in the living room while he guided her there, gun on the small of her back. He made her wait for the chair and sat on the couch. The profiler saw how tense he was. The couch was comfortable. He had chosen it for that reason, because it was comforting. That was interesting. For her it would be the hard chair, a very classic setting for a more violent interrogation. He was trying to scare her. It might have worked with a civilian but he was underestimating her. Good for her.

 The second man came back and put the chair behind her, guiding her roughly into a sitting position and staying behind her, out of sight but not of hearing. She could feel him, hear him breathe. She had to admit that it could be defined as unsettling, but the profiler knew they were the most unsettled at that moment.

 "Where are the kids?"

 "I don't know."

 "Let's say I believe you. What do you know?"

 "I don't... what do you mean?"

 Playing dumb was always fun. In that case it was very risky but it still had some fun factor, and as always, Emily was properly amazed by how much she could be underestimated as a woman.

 "Do you know if they have a sitter?"

 "Probably..."

 "Probably?"

 "I mean yes. I think they do. They are too young to stay alone."

 "Do you know where they could be?"

 "No? I... I mean... There is a park nearby but I don't know if they go there often or not..."

 "Did Jennifer mention anything?"

 "I... Why would I tell you?"

 She had to defy them, at least a little. He would have grown suspicious of too much cooperation from her. They were talking about children. Her colleague's children.

 "Why? Because I will hurt you if you don't answer my questions."

 "I... I'm a federal agent... you..."

 "I nothing."

 There was a brief silence and his face hardened.

 "You seem like a reasonable person."

 "I... think I am."

 "I can deal with reasonable."

 "How?"

 "Proof."

 That was the only warning she received before he stood up and hit her across the face with the butt of his weapon. She let out a short shout, half from surprise half from pain. Her hand went to the side of her face, she could feel the broken skin under her palm. He sat down as if it had been a perfectly neutral interaction.

 "So... I will repeat myself just once: did Jennifer mention anything?"

 "I..."

 "Do you need more proof?"

 "No!"

 Emily let the pain shine through her voice, which she wouldn't have done usually. He had to think that she was terrified.

 "She... I know the oldest was feeling ill those last days. She was upset that her husband couldn't stay at home... And she couldn't either."

 "See? Progress. What would they do if one kid was unwell?"

 "Sometimes she brings them at work..."

 "Did she?"

 "Not today..."

 "So? Keep talking..."

 "Maybe they left them with their godmother. I think she lives nearby..."

 The man behind her let out a sigh. He then remarked that they couldn't barge into another house without preparation. Too many risks of complication. The leader seemed to think about it and finally nodded. The profiler noted that it was a dynamic relationship. He was making the decisions but he was also taking the advice and opinions of the two other. That was an interesting lever to play with.

 "What do we do?"

 "Let me think."

 They stayed silent for a while. Emily could feel it, they were close to the breaking point. Soon, they would reconsider. Another problem would be what were they going to do with her, but that was a problem for future Emily. The profiler was rather proud of the turn of events. Another good thing was that time was passing and JJ and Mat probably were half way to the house.

 The moment was broken by the unexpected ringtone of the landline phone. Emily cursed internally as the loud sound began to repeat itself. No more words were said among the henchmen and no one moved. Everything was suspended to this ringing. The unit chief knew the men were anxious. She had already pointed out to them every single detail that didn't go as planned and they were one more surprise away from bailing entirely. On the other hand, Emily was preparing herself for the storm. Whoever was calling wasn't aware of the situation and that was an unknown factor she didn't want to deal with. But she would have to. The seconds expanded the agonizing waiting. Finally, the electronic beep of the answering machine echoed in the silent house.

 All of Emily's hopes that the caller would hang up were crushed by an unfamiliar female voice.

 "Sarah, it's Mom. I tried to call you on your cell phone. I just wanted to remind you that we have a reservation tonight. I know you don't mind the extra sitting time but you can't stay too late today. Try to remember to plug your cell and call me back when you have this message. I know you're here, so stop avoiding me Sweetie."

 The unit chief felt her veins freeze over and an uneasy chill go down her spine. One word resonated in her mind. Fuck. Her rigid posture and stony face had not changed since the beginning of the message, giving her a controlled appearance. Which was exactly that. A facade. Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall in front of her. She had to remain calm. But fuck.

 A second passed. And then the weight of three sets of eyes fell on her head. If looks could kill... She forced herself to not show any reaction. They were waiting for one. That much was obvious.

 "So... The kids aren't here...Right?"

 That was a new tone from the head of the trio. She didn't like it. The sarcasm and the sneer weren't doing anything to hide the anger. He was furious. At herself, for lying. And probably even more so at himself for believing her. But Emily would bet that he wasn't going to beat himself too hard... yet. The auto flagellation would come later, maybe. For now, he could be angry at her and so he would be.

 She took an inspiration and opened her mouth before closing it without a sound. She could try to convince him, or to defend herself but that would not be a smart move. Any trust they might have had had been shattered. They were going to search the house even if she tried to deny. And trying to deny anything to this particular guy right now could worsen his anger issue. Defending herself at that point would probably lead to similar results. And if Emily was honest, she was not sure to be able to say anything sarcasm-free right now. Silence, at least, would not antagonize him... too much.

 A fist hit her left cheek. The impact threatened to send her to the floor but she managed to maintain her balance. Half her face was pulsing with pain as she recovered. She was back in her initial sitting position when he struck again. This time she fell off the chair to the ground and a metallic tasting liquid spilled in her mouth.

 "Hold her."

 His tone was sharp and the hands grabbing and hauling her on her feet were rough. Her arms were kept in her back, leaving her exposed. For the first time since the call, she looked at her interrogator in the eyes. His face was betraying his need to regain some control over the situation. By lying to him, she had stripped him of that.

 "Where are they?"

 No way she was going to tell him anything. She could see what he was going for. He was making excuses to let his anger translate to his fists. Was he really hoping to gain anything from beating her? She doubted it. After all, they only had to search the house now. But apparently, she was worth wasting time. Had she bruised his ego that much?

 And then, some part of her brain, the masochist part, noted that every second he was putting into beating her were seconds he wasn't using to find Henry and Michael. Unfortunately, the masochist part was making a pragmatic point and Emily was nothing if not pragmatic. That's how she decided to play the game.

 "I don't know."

 The back of his hand whipped her face. She couldn't help but to have a sense of deja vu. Between her beating by Benjamin Cyrus and her reunion with Ian Doyle, she had her fair share of previous experiences. Strangely, she noted that this time, the mechanics behind the violence were somewhat half way between them. Making a point and punishing her like Cyrus, searching for answers and punishing her like Doyle.

 "You lied to me Emily."

 The profiler in her identified the use of her first name as a red flag. It was not humanizing. It was used to make it personal, intimate. He could have used "agent" but choose to go straight for what he thought to be the weak civilian behind the badge. She could play into that. He wanted a power trip, she could let him believe he had one.

 "I really don't know where they are!"

 She put some desperation in her voice to press his buttons. In response, he punched her in the guts, making her gasp. She would have curled up if it wasn't for the man holding her from behind.

 "Liar. Do you think I'm stupid Emily? Why are you here?"

 The profiler took her time to recover her breath, answering only when threatened to be hit again. Every second she could gain was a small victory.

 "I told you... My colleague asked me to grab some stuff for her because it was on my way..."

 His hand went to her throat and he squeezed. His face was inches away from hers. She couldn't breathe anymore and at that moment she wondered if she had completely misread this man. Would he strangle her to death? Would it sit well with the two others? She had filed him as a control freak and a narcissist of some sort but was he a sadist? No. She believed in her initial profile. This was a power move. He wanted to frighten her, to let her feel as if he not only could but would end her life anytime. His eyes were watching hers but she couldn't see any pleasure in them, any excitement. Just anger, frustration and a need for control.

 "So it's a coincidence. You were passing by... and you have no idea where the kids and the sitter are... Come on! You want me to believe that?"

 He maintained his grip several seconds before finally letting go way before the FBI agent could lose consciousness. The sensation wasn't pleasant in any way for Emily and the wheezy quality of her breathing was making here cringe internally. His hand roughly grabbed a fist of her hair to guide her face in his direction.

 "So... What will it be?"

 Thinking fast, the unit chief opted to let him think she was abandoning the fight. Her voice was strained, tired. Resigned.

 "I'm just telling you facts. I don't have proof. You can believe whatever you want."

 He watched her a couple of seconds before hitting her again in the stomach. As she gasped, the man behind her let her go and she stumbled. Between being strangled and having her breath pushed out of her lungs, she didn't have to overplay her struggle to recover.

 "I believe you're a liar Emily, and I hate liars."

 She had just the time to ready herself when a fist hit her face again, sending her half on a coffee table, half on the ground. The profiler knew she had to take some blows and try to "play dead", or at least knocked out. The bet was ridiculous but it was the only thing she had in her sleeve. If they thought she was not a threat anymore, she may be able to do something. Half stunned she initiated a move to straighten when a foot got her side. She hadn't seen that one coming and her legs stopped supporting her weight.

 The following seconds were a blur of blows received and discrete self preservation moves applied with varying degrees of efficiency. Finally she laid on the floor among some disturbed furniture, bloodied face, immobile and, for all they knew, non responsive.

 "Come on, stop it. She's done. We don't need a fed corpse."

 "Yeah, you're right... Fucking bitch."

 "So... The kids... Their mother is a fed. Are we... okay with that? Because... I mean, pressuring cops is one thing but, bringing the feds to the fight... What do we do?"

 "We have to stop this cop in his tracks, we don't have a choice. This one lied. Search the house, I'm keeping an eye on the street... just in case."

 Two sets of footfalls left the room and Emily could hear the third one get away from her. She opened her eyes cautiously. Or tried to. Her left eye was beginning to shut. No one was in sight. That was good. Now, all she had to do was to get up. Her body wasn't going to make it easy. Slowly, she moved. And everything hurt. The unit chief had to control her breathing to not let any sound betray her. She was convinced that her injuries were mainly superficial but they were painful nonetheless. However, Emily didn't have the luxury to wallow. She had few minutes at best before any of them hit the jackpot and found the children.

 Now crouching, she saw her interrogator looking through the window of the living room, his back to her. He was keeping his focus on the street. They had already stayed too long in the house and any suspicious vehicle could be noticed easily in this kind of neighborhood. He knew they were running out of time and the pressure was becoming heavy. The fear was giving him tunnel vision. The FBI agent he had just beaten up was already a distant thing in his mind. The profiler internally rejoiced.

 He was less than ten feet away. Between them, the soccer trophies of Henry and JJ were displayed on a shelve.

 Emily remembered how proud the oldest son was to win this one. And she fondly remembered how emotional JJ got when he insisted on putting her trophy next to his because it was obvious for everyone except JJ till this point that he wasn't proud to win the soccer tournament, he was proud because he had won a soccer tournament "like Mom". The memory really was a precious one.

 If Henry's middle school trophy might be fragile, Emily had faith in JJ's varsity team trophy's build. Its marble base would make a perfect blunt weapon. Without losing a second, the unit chief grabbed it and struck her interrogator on the side of his head. Both stunned and surprised, he turned around trying to regain a very compromised balance and Emily greeted him with a second strike to the chin before doing her best to muffle his fall. She found it strange to be the one delivering that kind of blow for once but that was a thought for later.

 He was unresponsive, on the ground, blood beginning to form a small puddle under his head. She checked his pulse and found one. Despite the adrenaline coursing in her veins and everything that man had done, the profiler registered relief.

 Quickly, she searched him for weapons, taking back her own gun and separating his submachine gun from its magazine. She didn't have time to find her handcuffs. She would trust his probable concussion to keep him quiet for some time. They were two henchmen left and she had to protect the kids.

 Emily took a short moment to listen for any sound in the house. One of them seemed to be on the first floor and the other was on the second floor. Her priority would be the latter, because the children were upstairs.

 Every step hurt.

 Climbing the stairs wasn't an issue in itself. Climbing the stairs quickly while doing it stealthily, that, was a difficult task for her current body. She did the best she could. She wouldn't let three children at the mercy of an armed gangster.

 When she arrived at the top of the stairs, crouched to mask her presence, she saw him in the hallway, trying to break down a door. At his first impact on it, she heard whimpers coming from this room. The children were there. Before he could try a second time, she raised her gun and stood up.

 "Hey!"

 Not too loud, but enough to catch his attention. She just waited for him to react and face her, to have a clean shot. She pressed the trigger twice. He was dead before he touched the ground. Emily didn't waste any second and covered the feet between them. From habit, she kicked his gun out of his hand before ordering the kids to stay hidden. As soon as the words left her mouth, the profiler heard someone quickly climbing the stairs. The last henchman. She ducked in the room opposite to the one hiding the kids.

 As the footsteps closed in, Emily was deciding what she was going to do. Trying to gain a visual on him was taking a big risk of getting shot. Too big. And without visual, the unit chief wasn't going to use her gun. There were three children nearby and any missed shot could be a lost bullet for them. No gun policy meant she had to disarm the last aggressor. Her pounding headache and reluctant body weren't finding this plan promising. That wasn't going to be easy. But she didn't have a choice.

 Time was up.

 Two things happened at the same time.

 He called out for his dead colleague, giving her his approximate position, which was at arm's length, just around the corner, and she heard several cars pulling up outside.

 Reinforcements were here. But they would never reach him before he finished to smash the door in and find the LaMontagne brothers and their babysitter. She had to gain at least a little more time.

 Time was up.

 Emily jumped from the room and rammed into the henchman. They struggled messily for several seconds, the width of the hallway not giving them a lot of room. One push from the profiler was the final blow for the door-frame and the man fell into the children's hiding room. His gun gliding a few feet away from him. The unit chief saw him scramble, half standing, to reach the weapon. Behind him the large window was giving the scene an overexposed quality compared to the narrowness of the hallway. She couldn't let him grab that gun. Not now. Not with the children at risk.

 She pushed on her legs with all her might. That was a messy move. A part of her brain told her it would have a very messy result too but it was irrelevant. He didn't register her movement before it was too late. She impacted him in a way that would have made Derek Morgan proud. A tackle worthy of the NFL.

 She heard more than felt the glass of the window break.

 The next thing she knew, they weren't in the room anymore. One thought was at the front of her mind: the kids would be all right.

 She heard confusing cracking sounds.

 She found fascinating that, even if at that exact moment she didn't have any idea of where, or in what situation she was, some part of her brain was able to clearly label those cracking sounds as bones. Were they hers? She had no clue.

 Everything was bright. Then dark.

 Pain.

 She was outside.

 "Emily!"

 David Rossi's voice.

 Some things stuck to her. She was at JJ's. The kids were safe. She had been inside and now she was on the grass, outside. Apparently on her back. How? ... Oh... Yeah. Messy results. Yeah. She had tackled him through the window. She remembered. Not her brightest idea. Definitely very messy.

 "Emily."

 Dave's voice was a lot closer than the first time she had heard it. He seemed worried. Like, a lot. Maybe because she wasn't answering and had yet to open her eyes? Come on Prentiss, don't let him hanging like that. Her first try at talking resulted in a wheezy garble. Very reassuring Emily, well done.

 "It's okay, don't move."

 Her second try went better and her eyes, well the one not shut by a massive black eye, opened.

 "Dave..."

 "There you are. Don't move. We called an ambulance."

 She saw him straighten and instinctively made a move to grab him which was both moderately successful and downright painful. Hence another grunt. But she didn't want him to leave. His face above her was anchoring her. Her head was pounding and a lot of things were blurry both visually and metaphorically.

 "Hey, what did I just say? Don't move."

 There was both worry and a fatherly quality to his tone and his expression that warmed Emily's heart. She needed that right now.

 "Stay."

 "I'm not going anywhere. I'm just answering to JJ. She's worried about you."

 And now that he told her, among the blur, she could recognize clearly her friend's voice. It was coming from above but she was not close like Dave. Several other voices were blending together around her but it was as if instinctively, she knew they weren't addressing her, so her focus wasn't on them. The blonde called her name and she could hear what she was saying.

 "Emily! Rossi, how is she?"

 Half a chuckle fell from her lips and she looked at the senior of their team. She knew she wasn't fine, but she couldn't be that bad. She was responsive wasn't she? JJ didn't have to worry about her. Henry and Michael were probably frightened. They needed their mother. Emily was fine with Dave.

 "Tell her... to stay... with the kids... and sorry... for the mess."

 That made the Italian American laugh and he looked up to JJ who was talking from the now open second floor.

 "She's joking."

 "I'm not-"

 The exclamation died in a painful whimper. How could he not know she was serious?

 "Okay, okay, calm down. She's telling you to stay with the boys."

 He seemed to relent but he was still not telling JJ was she had said. That frustrated her when at the same time, she couldn't exactly explain why that was so important... A pressure from Emily's hand on his made him sigh, resigned, and swear in Italian for good measure. To which she answered with a short "dille e basta"before he transmitted the second part of the message.

 "Oh my God. Emily, you can't be serious right now!"

 The tone was half disbelief, half wonder. The brunette felt divided about it. What was it about thinking about the damages she caused, the window she destroyed, that was that surprising? But some part of her mind kept telling her that it would be better to talk about it later. Emily knew that she was missing something important. God that headache was frustrating.

 "Emily, it isn't important right now, believe me."

 "Dave, please, humor me."

 "Did you hit your head?"

 "Why? It doesn't change... the fact that... I'm sorry... for the mess."

 "Understood. Please, just... calm down. JJ, she's sorry for the mess, whatever that means."

 "That's it! Mat, could you... Thanks."

 Dave was looking at Emily with fond exasperation, mixed with now well hidden preoccupation. But even concussed, she knew him well. Was what she was missing that important? Wait... She did received blows to her head. That was it?

 "You had to go and poke the bear."

 The brunette knew JJ was the bear here but she couldn't understand what she had done to "poke" her.

 "What?"

 "Come on Emily, there are far more serious matters right now..."

 "I don't... It's just what comes to mind..."

 What was she missing? The frustration was increasing. Did something happen that she couldn't remember? Did something happen to the kids that she didn't catch?

 "The kids are okay, right?"

 She was absolutely convinced the kids were safe but at the same time, Emily's mind was particularly foggy. It reminded her of the car crash and the evasion years ago. She was definitely concussed. And she missed entirely the look of realization of David Rossi's face.

 "Emily, calm down. The kids are okay, they're safe, they're fine. Trust me."

 He was placating, smoothing. She was confused but she could trust Dave. He wouldn't lie to her nor sugarcoat things. That was good.

 "Okay... Oh! There is a recording... My phone..."

 Another random thought. Why was she thinking about this right now? She couldn't retrace her mental process, and maybe that was what she was missing. How Dave could follow her if she couldn't do it herself... Emily realized she probably was still somewhat disoriented or confused. Or both. And the headache wasn't helping.

 "You used your phone to keep JJ informed."

 "Yes..."

 "And you recorded the call?"

 "Yes..."

 "I understand, it's okay."

 Without discussing it any further he passed the information on to Luke. Was Luke there the whole time? She didn't register his presence. But Dave was compliant now. She counted it as a win and felt calmer. He was listening to her. Still.

 "JJ, she's concussed and confused."

 Dave's tone was both informative and a clear warning. He wasn't going to let anyone mess with Emily. Even the original Mama bear.

 "I suspected it."

 JJ's voice was softer than before and when she kneeled on the other side of Emily, her face was a mix of emotions. The blonde always acknowledged more her feelings. The unit chief found it way more sane than her extreme compartmentalizing. Tears were pooling in those blue eyes and Emily's first impulse was to comfort her friend. Then, she saw that they weren't negative tears. Blue eyes scanned her, brows frowning slightly, before stopping at the unit chief's eyes.

 "Emily, I want you to listen to me carefully. I understand if it's a little hazy right now, but what I'm going to tell you is the most important thing you have to remember."

 The brunette focused her attention on her friend. JJ was controlled and the tone was serious. She did as asked and tried to let go of all the current pieces of random thoughts going through her mind.

 "Me. Listening."

 "Emily, you saved my children. I cannot thank you enough. Without you we have no idea where they could be right now and..."

 The blonde cut herself off before losing her thread to what ifs.

 "Thank you. That's all I care about. I don't give a damn if I have to clean a little extra a couple of rooms or replace some things. I can't replace my children, and I can't replace you."

 The unit chief might have been confused and in pain but she could see the great deal of vulnerability in her friend's eyes and all over her face. The last dozen of minutes were so tense and heavy from her perspective but Emily couldn't fathom what this lapse of time had felt from JJ's part. Not being able to do anything, all the time in the world to second-guess every move and decision of the day to find a better scenario... The brunette understood the weight of JJ's words but something wasn't quite right.

 "You don't have to thank me JJ."

 "I swear to God Emily..."

 "That's what family do."

 They were family. And Emily wouldn't hesitate doing it again. Even if it cost her more, she would do it again. The past showed how far the unit chief was willing to go to protect children, how much she cared. But that wasn't even considering that the BAU was her family, and that included their families.

 Roughly ten years ago she had come close, two seconds close, to blow up because Will was family. She had jumped in a plane, leaving everything behind, to find a kidnapped JJ, and she had not slowed down for a second when assisting her in the rooftop showdown, never mind plunging to grab her friend at the edge of the building. When Hotch had called her back to help the team through a rough patch, she had let go of her Interpol position without much of a fuss. She had taken the lead, however uncomfortable she was with that at the time because the team needed it. In Mexico, she had crossed the line for Spencer, to save his chance for a fair treatment. That was without mentioning how she found him one of the best attorneys of the country, calling personal favors. She had resisted Mr. Scratch's mind games rather than giving him any piece of information regarding Hotch or Jack. She had tried to be the blown fuse to Barnes's enquiry. That had failed spectacularly but she had tried. Finally, the year before, she confronted Dave, their father figure, when he stumbled despite his initial rebuttal, and imposed the team's help on him until he accepted it.

 Because they were family.

 And JJ knew it. She understood that that particular thought wasn't born from a confused concussed mind. No, that was all Emily.

 "I really could hug you."

 "Please don't... That probably would be painful..."

 That mention, however lightly said, brought back the blonde's focus on her state. That much was obvious from the way the blue eyes scanned her again. Emily also felt Dave's hand pressing hers to gain her attention.

 "Speaking of... how are you feeling? You took quite a fall here."

 His warm voice was cautious. As if he didn't want to upset her, or maybe because he, himself, was upset by the situation. For the first time since landing on the grass, Emily took a moment to try to gather some clues about her physical state.

 She was in pain. That much she knew.

 Left eye blackened. That was already filed too.

 Her right hand could grip Dave's without any red flag. But she remembered that moving her arm was painful.

 Her left hand... No. Nope. That hurt. Copy. Not moving that one. She couldn't see it but JJ simply confirmed her that her wrist was broken. For once, Emily couldn't decipher from her friend's tone and face if it was really bad or just really obvious.

 Cautiously she moved one foot, then the other, with only moderate pain in one knee. Again, she couldn't see her own legs but Dave confirmed that she had moved. She suddenly felt relieved, even if she hadn't considered the possibility of nerve damage until that moment.

 So far, the news weren't that bad. Again, the fall wasn't from a very high point and her opponent probably had taken the worst of it.

 "I don't think I hurt my back... But breathing hurts."

 "You may have cracked some ribs."

 That was Dave's calm conclusion. He was simply putting her sensations into clear words without any obvious emotional reaction. She realized that she was calm and more compliant than in previous occurrences. The oldest member of their team really had a good effect on her.  

 "It already hurt... before the fall."

 Dave simply nodded but JJ frowned, visibly understanding that he was missing something.

 "They beat her up."

 JJ's precision made Dave recoil and then sigh. The Italian was torn between anger and concern when the injured woman interjected from her prone position.

 "You should see... the other guys."

 "Emily please, could you drop the sarcasm?"

 "Never."

 That made all three of them chuckle. The brunette knew that displaying her usual wits was reassuring them and she was starting to regain some of her bearings.

 "It's probably looking worse than it is."

 "Good. Because you look like hell."

 "Always the charmer David Rossi."

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

 Emily was relaxing in a comfortable seat, enjoying the simple joy of being able to turn her head without having to rotate her entire body to follow the match of the century that was being played in front of her. A smile was gracing her lips. Team Jareau and team Simmons were trying to prove their superiority in the fine art of... Emily wasn't a specialist but it looked like something between football and soccer. Were they reinventing rugby? Either way it was really good to see all of them enjoying the late afternoon warmth. The air smelled of the flowers Krystall had put in Rossi's vast garden but it was slowly overpowered by the tasty smell of properly barbecued meat. The unit chief felt her mouth water. The senior of their team was once again showing off his cooking maestria. She wasn't going to complain about that.

 The last two weeks had been hard for her, but for them too. It always was when one of them was down. Emily was wholly embracing being outside after the three-day stay at the hospital -God she hated hospitals- and the days being cooped up in her apartment, in pain and restrained by a neck brace in addition to her wrist plaster. Of course she had never been really alone. Each day a new member of the team had came, taking turns making sure she didn't need anything and didn't overexert herself. She would never admit that it would have probably -surely- been the case without supervision. If she had begrudgingly accepted at first, faced with a dead serious Tara who didn't let any crap faze her, she had come to embrace and enjoy it. Yes, she had tried to send JJ back to her boys but the blonde had just told her "no" and stayed. Well, after that, Emily didn't fight their care anymore.

 Now, they were all at Rossi's. Emily had suggested it. They needed to make good memories after the difficult ones. The only tragedy for the convalescent unit chief was her still active ban from alcohol because of the drugs she was taking. All internal bleeding had subsided, her broken ribs were healing, her head wasn't killing her anymore, her wrist would heal in some weeks and the bruises were slowly fading. In a couple of days, she was to come back to work, on desk duty of course, and still not allowed any plane travel. But she would be okay. They all would.

 She was letting her eyes take in every member of that makeshift family. On her second day at the hospital, Will, JJ and the boys had come to visit. JJ had explained to her that the boys were very worried about her and even if she "still looked like hell", seeing her would do them good. And it did, but not only to them. Their hugs and the drawings they both did helped the injured woman to stay sane in a hospital that was only reminding her of particularly darker times. Somehow, Emily knew without having to ask that JJ knew perfectly what she was doing that day.

 Suddenly a loud victorious roar got her attention back to the game. Luke was lifting a particularly happy Michael above his head, the boy throwing his arms in the air as if he had just won the world championship. Emily chuckled. Team Jareau was leading. Of course it wasn't surprising knowing that team Simmons was composed of four children and an adult whereas the former included only the two LaMontagne brothers and three adults. Something was to be said about fairness when one of those adults was a former soccer champion... But well, Mat's children didn't seem upset at all, so it maybe wasn't that important after all.

 A familiar colorful shape approached the brunette and Emily saw a glass of an as colorful liquid appear in front of her.

"Virgin, of course."

 "Penelope Garcia, you're the best."

 The ex analyst waited for Emily to have a good grip on the glass before letting it go. It was subtle but the agent felt it and thanked her friend with a smile.

 "I know Brunette Goddess of Badassery, I know."

 Penelope sat next to her. She and Luke had come together and Emily couldn't be happier for the hacker. She had a smile in her voice was she asked about it.

 "So... You and Luke?"

 "No dear friend, we're not doing that."

 Taken aback by the seriousness of her friend's tone, Emily's head snapped toward her a little too quickly, making her wince for a brief instant.

 "Em, you're okay?"

 The tone was again very Penelope-like, and sorry, and the unit chief was having a new kind of whiplash that wasn't involving her cervical vertebrae. She reassured the blonde incarnation of a sunshine that she had just moved too fast and everything was okay.

 "I feel like I should ask you that question PG..."

 The pinch had come and gone and Emily was looking at her friend, concerned.

 "Sorry... That was a little too abrupt but I didn't want to let you deflect..." A small nod from the unit chief encouraged her to keep going. "Emily Prentiss, you scared me."

 "Oh... I'm sorry Pen. Truly. I know that is a serious crime, and no, I'm not really joking. I'm really sorry to have worried you."

 Emily poured as much sincerity as you could both in her words and her eyes, trying to decipher what was happening in the head and beautiful heart of the blonde. Penelope held her gaze a moment before letting out a sigh.

 "It's just... Could you please stay alive and well? Is it too much to ask my faithful-to-a-fault friend?"

 The brunette smiled with understanding and offered a hug to the other woman. They all had scars from their numerous years working at the BAU, tracking the most violent people, seeing the worst of human behavior. There was no judgment to pass among them for sometimes needing a little more time to digest things. And Emily had learned, with them, how much a good hug could say and do. Penelope Garcia had dispensed her wisdom about it, again and again over the years, welcoming them with open arms each and every time they needed it. The unit chief was happy to give her friend what she needed to heal right now.

 When they separated, the blonde quickly wiped a lonely tear from her eyes.

 "I'm just wondering why sometimes... Why you always put yourself in harm's way..."

 Emily smiled again, with warmth and tenderness. With a small move of her head she encouraged her friend to follow her gaze and let it wander to the two blond boys currently tackling their mother because, apparently Emily had missed a big change of rules in this game. They were laughing.

 "You see that Pen? That's exactly why I did what I did and why I would absolutely do it again."

 They both kept their eyes ahead, on the joyful display and Emily felt the head of her friend gently come to rest upon her shoulder.

 "You, Emily Prentiss, are an Aunty Bear."

 A big smile split the face of the ambassador's daughter.

 "And don't you forget it."

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x OC) Chapter 1

Summary: After an informal interview, Hotch is surprised to find himself inviting his son’s potential nanny - a complete stranger - over to his home for a visit.

AN: Thank you for the love on the prologue! My niche lil series is thriving because of it <3

The instrument Sebastian has in his bag is a venu. It is a flute made of bamboo, used in Indian music.

Sebastian is half Indian on his mother's side - his father's ethnicity isn't disclosed in this story. While I have researched and included parts of his heritage in his character and the story, I'm not going to write about being a POC or being raised a Muslim because that's not my story to tell.

If you are a POC or a Muslim, and you have any advice for me on including his ethnicity as part of the story without speaking over POC voices or perpetuating harmful stereotypes, I would greatly appreciate it.

Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad

Prologue // Masterlist // AO3 Link // Chapter 2

“I still think I should have been there for a second opinion.”

“It was just meeting up for a discussion about what this job might entail,” Hotch sighed as Rossi pressed the button on the elevator. The doors slid closed and a jolt hit Hotch’s stomach as they began rising towards their floor.

Rossi tapped his side twice before making the leap, “So, what was he like?”

“He seemed the most genuine, if a little…” He paused, his eyebrows moving a fraction of an inch closer before settling on - “Nonchalant for an interview. But his references check out. He looked after a set of twins for seven years, and the parents were more than pleased with him.”

“He started early. Must have been like a big brother to them.”

“It was clear they mean a lot to him; he’s still buying them birthday presents.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sebastian was dressed on the edge of smart casual to parallel Hotch’s suit: a bright patterned short-sleeved shirt plus chinos against the well-matched simple button-up and tie respectively. But it was the thick Mancunian accent that nearly tripped Hotch up when Sebastian called his name.

“Aaron Hotchner, right?”

“Yes, and you must be Sebastian. Good to meet you,” Hotch gave a polite smile and offered his hand once Sebastian had dropped his satchel and two boxes from Build-A-Bear onto his side of the booth. He gave a firm shake twice. Out of nowhere, a thought popped into Hotch’s head that his hand had gotten sweaty in the ten second interval that he had seen his interviewee.

Sebastian didn’t seem phased, smiling back as he dropped his hand, “You too.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m alright, thank you.”

Both sat down in the booth of the quiet cafe Hotch had chosen to meet Sebastian at. Across the next fifteen minutes, Hotch mentally noted everything he could about the man he was interviewing behind Sebastian’s resume and references which had printed off earlier in the day.

Sebastian would always take a few seconds to process the questions. When he answered, he used his hands a lot when he spoke. Not out of nerves though. He held Aaron’s eye contact too well, alternating between both eyes and a spot in the centre of his forehead, to be anxious. As Hotch offered to show him some photos of Jack, Sebastian stood then moved next to sit beside him without hesitation. A subtle woody scent accompanied him.

“Aw yeah, little bruiser,” Sebastian said as Jack ran around the field doing the Spiderman webshooter gesture at a teammate who did the same back at him, “And good taste in superheroes too.”

And from that moment on, Sebastian talked about what Hotch wanted for Jack. He listened with constant attention as Hotch spoke. Those smiles he shared with hi,, they had no force behind them, and Hotch found himself gesturing with his hands like Sebastian – albeit on a smaller scale.

They were just getting to talk about the logistics of wages when Hotch’s phone rang out.

“Excuse me,” Hotch stood up to take a moment of privacy, “Hotchner.”

Midway through the call, he spared a glance Sebastian’s way. The man was checking in his bag for something-

Oh. A wooden flute.

It disappeared back into the bag as quickly as it had been pulled out. Hotch turned his attention back to his phone call. That too was over rather fast and he was back to the booth.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve been called back to work.” He shook Sebastian’s hand again once he had stood up, “I’ll be in touch. Thank you for meeting me at such short notice.”

“Not a problem. Part of this job too, isn’t it?”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“I think Jack would get on with him,” Hotch concluded.

“When do you find out if that’s true?”

“He’s coming to meet Jack this afternoon. If all goes well, then he can have a trial day. If that goes well, I’ll consider hiring him.”

“Thorough,” Rossi said just in time for the elevator doors to open.

Another good day followed – meaning it was mostly paperwork – but even with his time in his office mostly undisturbed, Hotch found himself packing several case files into his briefcase. At least he would have something to do instead of pressing his ear up against the wall to Jack’s room for the evening.

Jack charged out of the school gates, crashing into Hotch and flinging his arms around him. Hotch grunted as Jack’s P.E. kit smacked into back but it didn’t stop him from lifting his son off his feet. Those feet didn’t stop kicking, not even when Hotch lowered the volume of the Beatles’ tracks en route home. He listened dutifully while his father explained about the visitor that would be coming over that night.

“He might be around to help your Aunt Jessica look after you while I’m working.” Hotch said as they pulled into the garage, “But, if you don’t like him, we can find someone else, OK? He doesn’t have to stay.”

“OK,” Jack unclipped his seatbelt. Then he carried on talking about how his lunch break game of soccer had gone, all the way up to their apartment.

While Hotch checked on the slow cooker, Jack did his homework. He would occasionally pipe up to ask a question. Not because he didn’t know the answer, Hotch knew that, but because he enjoyed the conversations that would spawn from the homework. One such conversation was cut short at the sound of the doorbell. Jack carried on with his work, his head receiving a tussle from Hotch as he passed to get to the front door.

Waiting patiently in the hallway was Sebastian and Hotch greeted him, “Hello. Did you find us alright?”

“All good, got the third degree from your doorman about my ID though,” and Sebastian flashed the small card before pocketing it. The patterned shirt had been swapped for a muted red number but Sebastian had kept his satchel as part of his outfit. And it was then that Hotch noticed the various patches sewn onto it. Flags and symbols, likely from something Sebastian enjoyed but Hotch didn’t personally recognise any of them. It did, however, remind him a little of Penelope Garcia.

He had already taken one of his shoes off before Hotch could tell him that this was a shoes-on house, so Hotch decided to continue the small talk instead, “He’s very meticulous with his job.”

“Good,” and Sebastian spied Jack appearing around the corner, “Hey, you must be Jack. I’m Sebastian. Is it cool if we hang out for a bit while your dad works?”

Jack looked to between Hotch and Sebastian several times before he nodded.

“Jack, why don’t you show Sebastian your Lego?”

Hotch watched Jack lead Sebastian into his bedroom before he returned to his office, leaving the door ajar. Sebastian would have to walk past to make it out of the flat. Just a precaution.

Discarding his suit jacket on the back of his chair, Hotch lost himself in the slope of paperwork. His mind only strayed once when the toilet down the hall flushed. The conversation, too muffled by the walls to make out any words, became a comforting white noise.

The slowest and simultaneously fastest hour passed.

Hotch had just made a dent in his workload when he heard a shriek of laughter from Jack’s room. Clicking his pen, he abandoned his desk and crept around to the source of the noise. He could smell that the casserole was nearly done. As he peeked around the door frame to see, part of him wished he could blend into the background, just to catch more than a glimpse of what was happening.

Sebastian was lying on his back with his legs tucked into his chest and Jack astride his shins. Thankfully, Sebastian’s hands were around Jack’s middle as he pushed his legs up, and Jack’s arms were stretched up. Both were making sound effects that were fitting to the spacecraft Jack had constructed from random bricks and was currently flying over his head.

Hotch could watch Jack playing for so much longer. But he knew that he had to interrupt if he wanted him off to bed on time.

“And just what are you two doing?”

Both of their heads whipped around to see Hotch, now stood fully in view in the doorway. While Sebastian looked genuinely guilty, Jack just beamed at Hotch and waved his Lego model at him.

“Seb’s helping the spacecraft take off!”

“I see,” Hotch said, just as sternly but a smile creeping onto his lips betrayed him, “How about you go wash your hands, Jack? Dinner will be ready soon.”

Nodding eagerly, Jack dismounted his steed and a dishevelled Sebastian got to his feet.

“I’ll catch you later then, Jack. How do you prefer to say goodbye? High five?”

Jack opted to slap his palm against Sebastian’s then ran off to the bathroom. Both Hotch and Sebastian watched him go. When the door was safely closed, Hotch turned back to his interviewee.

“He’s crackin’,” Sebastian said, letting out an awkward laugh as he finished adjusting his hair.

He looked as pleasantly surprised as Hotch was when he offered a trial day with Jack. Trusting his gut, that’s what Hotch was doing. His gut was seldom wrong, and his gut told him that Jack getting along with Sebastian more in an hour than he had with his grandfather for years meant something was going right for them.

[jaredharrisfest]

The Rachel Papers

TITLE: The Rachel Papers

ROLE: Geoff

SUMMARY: Poised to attend Oxford University, 19-year-old Charles Highway (Dexter Fletcher) decides it's high time to have a romantic encounter with an older woman. With the help of a computer program and several eccentric relatives, Highway sets his sights on seducing Rachel Noyce (Ione Skye), a stunning American in her 20s. However, Highway has his work cut out for him. Noyce has a boyfriend, DeForest (James Spader), and is not exactly receptive to Highway's advances - at first, anyway.

YEAR: 1989

Ugh. I can already tell this is going to be a British version of those “mediocre white guy talks to the camera, bangs as many chicks as possible, and treats women like interchangeable objects until he meets his Dream Girl” movies. BARF.

And is it just me, or does our main character look like the lead in Big Mouth? 

MOVING ON!

Jared Harris is here now (oh, thank Christ). He and Big Mouth Boy are going to some club to try and bump into BMB’s Dream Girl who he saw going up an escalator in slow motion while dramatically backlit before the title card.

(You thought I was kidding? I wasn’t kidding.)

Nice to know Dream Girl is having the same reaction to this main character clown that I am.

Big Mouth Boy strikes out. Geoff notices and makes a snide comment (as all best friends do). We also get confirmation that Dream Girl’s name is Rachel.

Car convo. Geoff is sick of Big Mouth Boy’s bullshit.

GEOFF: I really don’t know why you bother. Why don’t you just give Gloria a call?

BMB: No, I’ve done that teenage thing.

GEOFF: Here we go.

BMB: You spend fifteen to twenty minutes trying not to come. And then when you do you have to give a pretty credible performance.

GEOFF: She went back to her boyfriend?

BMB: That’s not the point. 

BURNED YOU, BITCH!

Oh, look. Big Mouth Boy has started another creepy file.

He finds out where she works - an exclusive prep school - and pretends he wants to enroll there so he can steal her phone number off the headmistress’ desk. I think in the 80s we were supposed to find this charming, at least if you were a white male. As a woman, I’m just like RED FLAG CITY.

James Spader, save me!

(If there’s going to be a douchebag white man in this movie, let it be the douchiest McDudeBro of the 80s himself.)

A brief moment with our boy Geoff, and then it’s back to the mediocre white man romantic races again.

He makes a video about his rejections by her and why she should go out with him. I just....

I’m not sure I can get through the rest of this, guys. We’re only 27 minutes in.

I’m not going to bother recapping the remainder in any detail. Suffice to say Rachel inexplicably falls head over heels for Big Mouth Boy, but then James Spader comes to take her back, and Big Mouth Boy turns into a mopey mess.

Our boy Geoff does his best to cheer him up (as seen in this, the VERY FIRST GIF I HAVE EVER MADE!), but it’s no use.

Let me just point out: loitering outside her workplace like this is is NOT how you win a girl back.

And dude, I hope Rachel IS getting oral from James Spader! She deserves it!

Alas, Big Mouth Boy and Rachel reconnect; they Do It like he dreamed; she moves in with him while her mother’s away on vacation; he realizes she’s a person who uses the bathroom, wears makeup, and occasionally sings off-key; and suddenly Big Mouth Boy is all nitpicky.

JARED HARRIS IS BACK OH THANK GOD

BMB: She had her period.

GEOFF: Yeah, well, girls tend to.

Goeff is the voice of reason in this damn film.

So, Rachel returns to her mother’s house while Big Mouth Boy gets ready for his college entrance interview, and quite literally as soon as she’s out the door he sleeps with an ex-girlfriend.

Rachel comes back saying she told her mother about the two of them and ready to bone, but Big Mouth Boy has used the last condom with the ex-girlfriend (who has fled out the back door or something, who cares). He doesn’t want Rachel to know this, SO HE TRIES TO FUCK HER WITH THE USED CONDOM.

I’M OUT. 

There’s seventeen minutes left in this piece of shit, but that’s the last fucking straw. 

VERDICT: Barely any Jared Harris, and the whole thing made me cringe. Half a Crozier out of five.

[bountyofbeads]

DeVos Aides Pulled Strings for Failing For-Profit Colleges, Emails Show https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/23/us/politics/dream-center.html

⚠️Trump Swamp Corruption Alert ⚠

Emails Show DeVos Aides Pulled Strings for Failing For-Profit Colleges

By Erica L. Green and Stacy Cowley |

Published July 23, 2019 | New York Times | Posted July 23, 2019 |

WASHINGTON — Dream Center Education Holdings, a subsidiary of a Los Angeles-based megachurch, had no experience in higher education when it petitioned the federal Education Department to let it take over a troubled chain of for-profit trade schools.

But the organization’s chairman, Randall K. Barton, told the education secretary, Betsy DeVos, that the foundation wanted to “help people live better lives.”

The purchase was blessed despite Dream Center’s lack of experience and questionable finances by an administration favorable to for-profit education. But barely a year later, the company tumbled into insolvency, dozens of its colleges closed abruptly and thousands of students were left with no degree after paying tens of thousands of dollars in tuition.

Making matters worse, the college is accused of enrolling new students and taking their taxpayer-supported financial aid dollars even after some of its campuses had lost their accreditation, which rendered their credits worthless.

Company emails, documents and recordings show that part of why Dream Center kept going is that it thought the Education Department, which under Ms. DeVos has rolled back regulations on for-profit education, would try to keep it from failing. Mr. Barton emailed other Dream Center executives that the department’s head of higher education policy — Diane Auer Jones, a former executive and lobbyist for for-profit colleges — had pulled strings to help the company’s schools in their effort to regain a seal of approval from an accreditor, despite their perilous positions.

In another instance, Dream Center’s chief operating officer told faculty at an endangered campus that Ms. Jones was changing departmental regulations to help the schools obtain accreditation retroactively.

Although the Trump administration did eventually cut off federal aid to the chain of colleges and precipitate their collapse, Democrats say the department failed to respond to warning signs.

Representative Robert C. Scott, a Virginia Democrat who is the chairman of the House Education Committee, unveiled a trove of documents, including internal communication between executives from Dream Center, in a letter to Ms. DeVos this month. He said the documents suggest that Ms. Jones misled Congress about her efforts to help shield Dream Center from its misdeeds.

“The actions of Dream Center and the Department of Education’s execution of its responsibility to protect students raises grave concerns,” Mr. Scott wrote.

Instead of requiring Dream Center to take action, “the department informed Dream Center executives that it would work to retroactively accredit the institutions during the periods they had lied to students — rewriting history to erase Dream Center’s deceptive marketing practices,” Mr. Scott wrote.

The Education Department has maintained it did nothing wrong.

“This story is based entirely on a wrongful premise,” the department wrote in a statement. “The full and complete timeline shows Dream Center did not receive any unique benefits from policy decisions made by the department. We simply worked to try and get as many students into a new program as possible. While we did not achieve a perfect outcome, our actions helped thousands of students land on their feet.”

In a response letter to Mr. Scott on Monday, the department’s acting general counsel, Reed D. Rubinstein, submitted documentation that he said contradicted the committee’s “unfair suggestions” that the department tailored its policies to assist Dream Center and were not forthcoming with Congress. “The Department categorically rejects these allegations,” he wrote.

“Dream Center’s management received no special treatment,” he said.

President Trump has moved to deregulate any number of industries, from mining and offshore oil exploration to chemicals and internet providers. But Ms. DeVos’s efforts to get the government off the backs of for-profit colleges have come under particular scrutiny, in part because of the spectacular implosions of for-profit college chains only a few years ago, in part because people who once worked in the sector have led the DeVos deregulatory push.

Dream Center’s collapse was the first of the new deregulatory era. Yet Education Department officials insisted, repeatedly, that its demise had nothing to do with the administration’s policies or efforts. Ms. Jones told Congress that she did not even know of Dream Center’s accreditation problems at the time the company said she was working to get it out of its jam. She also told lawmakers the policy change extending retroactive accreditation had “nothing to do with the Dream Center.”

Those assurances are now being questioned.

“The documents further suggest that department officials were not forthcoming to Congress and the public about the information they had about Dream Center’s status and practices,” Mr. Scott wrote. He is requesting emails, text messages and interviews with several department officials, including Ms. Jones.

The letter and documents “raise questions about whether the department took steps to allow Dream Center to mislead students,” Mr. Scott said.

[Read the documents.]

From the start, the Education Department overlooked red flags when, in late 2017, Dream Center took control of more than 100 campuses with 50,000 students from a for-profit higher education company, Education Management Corporation. Around that time, Dream Center’s accreditor, the Higher Learning Commission, notified the organization that it was about to change two of its schools’ accreditation status. Two Education Department officials, including the agency’s director of accreditation, were copied on the letter.

In January 2018, the accreditor published a notification on its website stating that the two Dream Center schools were not accredited by the Higher Learning Commission. It ordered Dream Center to tell students that their courses and degrees “may not be accepted in transfer to other colleges and universities or recognized by prospective employers.”

Yet for five months, Dream Center kept advertising, “We remain accredited.”

By July 2018, Dream Center was running out of cash and knew its accreditation problems could worsen its financial strain. Emails from that month obtained by the House Education Committee indicate that Dream Center officials believed that the Education Department was maneuvering to help it stave off catastrophe.

In written responses to questions from Congress, the Education Department said Ms. Jones was first made aware that the two Dream Center institutions were not accredited on July 10, 2018. She was unaware of the public notice that the Higher Learning Commission had issued nearly six months earlier, according to the agency. She was notified a week later that the institutions were misrepresenting their accreditation status and ordered them the next day to stop, the department said.

Ms. Jones was asked during a House Oversight Committee hearing this spring whether a policy she had issued later that month that allowed accreditations to be granted retroactively was aimed at helping Dream Center. “Absolutely not. It had nothing to do with the Dream Center,” she answered.

But in company emails, Dream Center executives indicated the Education Department tipped them off on July 3, 2018, that a new retroactive accreditation policy was coming, a week before Ms. Jones said she even knew Dream Center had a problem.

“We just got off the phone with DOE,” Mr. Barton wrote. “It appears HLC is in sync with retro” accreditation.

 An email dated July 3, 2018, discusses the Department of Education’s upcoming retroactive accreditation policy. Diane Auer Jones, who is referenced in the email, had claimed she did not know that Dream Center schools were not accredited until a week later.

He said Ms. Jones — whom he directly cited by name — had worked with accreditors, and “they will all agree to one plan with department blessing.”

Mr. Barton did not respond to requests for comment on his emails.

On July 11, Dream Center’s chief operating officer told faculty in a meeting on an Illinois campus that the department would allow the schools’ accreditor to grant retroactive accreditation. He said department officials “changed their regulation to open the door to letting it happen,”  according to a recording of the meeting obtained by the committee. He referred to a conversation with Ms. Jones the week prior where “she said everybody was going to be accommodating.”

Weeks later, on July 25, Ms. Jones finalized the plan allowing retroactive accreditation, which was a major win for Dream Center. While the schools were already slated for closure, retroactive accreditation would have shielded the company from legal action for making misleading statements about its accreditation status.

Ms. Jones said she had begun to revise that guidance months earlier to allay longstanding concerns about the department’s policy stemming from a dispute involving an accreditor of a nursing program. The retroactive policy would have also allowed students to more easily transfer their credits if they were earned at an accredited institution.

In response to Mr. Scott’s accusations, Ms. Jones said, in a written statement to The Times, “The retroactive accreditation policy — which had been under discussion long before I arrived at the department — decided not whether Dream Center would live or die, but whether or not students could transfer their credits for the hard work they had completed.”

In August, after it became public that the two schools would close, Dream Center’s head of regulatory and government affairs wrote an email to other Dream Center officials reminding them that communication should be kept confidential because “Diane is really working behind the scenes to help guide us and keep the accreditors aligned.”

 Dream Center’s head of regulatory and government affairs wrote an email to her colleagues reminding them that communication about accreditation should be kept confidential.

Ms. Jones did not directly address the July 3 and July 11 communication from Dream Center officials, but acknowledged that she had worked with accreditors. She called the Dream Center accreditation issue a “messy and complex situation” and said the accreditor had sent mixed messages about the status of Dream Center’s schools.

Ms. Jones had acknowledged to Congress that she had concerns about the organization’s capacity to manage its closures, and was in regular communication with a group of accreditors to devise a plan to allow Dream Center students to complete their degrees, known as a “teach-out,” after their campuses closed.

“My goal was to get as many of the more than 8,000 students to new institutions where they could complete their programs,” she said. “I stand firm in my decision to work collaboratively with accreditors to hold Dream Center accountable. That Dream Center executives characterize this as being about them is disingenuous but not surprising. They were trying to make it appear they had control of the mess they had made.”

A group of students, represented by the National Student Legal Defense Network, filed a lawsuit last year, saying Dream Center issued “false and misleading” statements about its accreditation status, which broke state laws and caused “substantial harm” to more than 1,000 students.

Mr. Scott also pointed to emails documenting the steps the Education Department took to help Dream Center get hold of some much-needed cash to prop up its failing campuses.

In an October 2018 email, Dream Center officials were preparing to request funding from an escrow account managed by the department.

The funds were intended to offset taxpayer liabilities if some of the chain’s schools closed or failed. Dream Center wanted to use part of the money to pay for expenses associated with closing campuses and helping current students complete their degrees. The department had in August agreed to release up to $50 million; Dream Center wanted more.

Dennis Cariello, a Dream Center lawyer, sent an email to company executives before a meeting with A. Wayne Johnson, who headed the department’s office of financial aid. At the meeting, Mr. Cariello planned to deliver a “list of the asks” that amounted to $75 million.

 An email from a Dream Center attorney discusses a list of expenses they planned to bring up at a meeting with a Department of Education official.

Mr. Cariello communicated that Mr. Johnson “asked that I review the draw requests — there are a few we can’t have in there — bonuses and future rental payments were issues for him.”

Mr. Cariello declined to comment on the exchange. The department had released a total of $40 million from the escrow account to Dream Center by the end of last year, according to records it sent in response to questions from Congress.

Education Department officials have maintained that they worked tirelessly to mitigate the fallout of the Dream Center collapse. The department restricted the schools’ cash flow from federal student loans after Dream Center went into receivership in January, barely a month before it cut off federal student loan funds to Argosy University. That final move was considered the death knell for the company.

But until then, Dream Center executives had reason to believe they had friends at the Education Department. In January 2018, just as Dream Center’s schools lost their accreditation, Ronald L. Holt, a regulatory lawyer on the Dream Center team, sent a presentation to Dream Center executives on the state of higher education a year into the Trump administration.

It included a song he wrote titled, “You’ve Got a Friend in Trump,” to the tune of Randy Newman’s “You’ve Got a Friend in Me,” used in the movie “Toy Story.”

We’ve got a friend in Trump

He’s lifting us out of our slump

We were down — and life was rough

Too many regs, were way too tough

After so many years

We’d just had enough, but

Now, we’ve got a friend in Trump.

[theycallmebeccawrites]

Chris & Ellie Series: Episode 2

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Ellie Spencer (OFC)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: awkward nudity

Episode Summary: Takes place in March 2013. Explains how Ellie ended up working for Chris and their awkward first encounter.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

The Chris and Ellie series is primarily chronological.  It begins with a flash forward to 2016 and has a few other scenes in the future.  However, the majority of their story is told in chronological order starting in 2013 and going through 2017. Each episode starts with a date to help you place it within the story.

The Chris & Ellie Series Masterlist | Chris & Ellie Masterlist

Episode 1.5

Episode 2: The First Encounter

Middle of March 2013

When her alarm went off at 6:30 in the morning, Ellie Spencer was tempted to throw the clock across the room, but her “to do” list still had a handful of things to check off before nine am. Forcing herself to get up, she fixed herself a cup of coffee in the kitchenette of the small guest cottage that was on the property of the house she was the housekeeper for. She then took a quick shower and got ready for the day.

By seven, she was in the kitchen of the main house looking over her “to do” list. She had taken care of the second floor, where all of the bedrooms were, and the vacuuming the day previous, which left her with just the main floor to deal with since her boss’s mom had told her not to worry about the basement yet.

Thinking of her boss’s mom naturally made her think about her boss: Chris Evans, the owner of the house, who didn’t know that he had a housekeeper as his mom had hired Ellie behind his back.

“My son, and his brother Scott, are horrible at cleaning,” Mrs. Evans, or Lisa as she had insisted Ellie call her, had explained during her interview a couple weeks earlier. “They always have been, despite my many attempts over the years to change them.

“Chris owns the house, but Scott usually ends up staying here instead of his apartment in LA when his brother is in town. When they’re both here, I usually find a week or two to come visit, usually to fill the freezer with meals so they’re not going out to eat every night, but I’m tired of arriving to find a complete disaster of a house.”

For Ellie, being a housekeeper was never in her “what I want to do with my life” plan, but then again, neither was having to quit the job she’d moved from Oregon to Los Angeles for because her former boss was a sexist pig who’d suggested she wear a short skirt and tight shirts to work every day.

Thankfully, she’d been able to crash in her aunt and uncle’s guestroom for a several months while working two jobs: the first as a barista at a locally owned coffee shop and the second at a small used bookstore. It was at the bookstore that she met Lisa, who’d come in for the first time last fall looking for a book to read on her flight back to Boston. They’d spent nearly an hour talking about books and Lisa had left with a bag full.

It had been during Lisa’s third visit, in late February, when she’d come in looking for a book on “housekeeping for dummies” to give her sons that had led to the discussion, with another customer at the bookstore, of her hiring a housekeeper for her son Chris’s home. That conversation had led to her staying in LA for an extra week even though her son had left.

In an ironic twist of fate, Lisa had chosen the coffee shop where Ellie was working to hold the interviews with perspective housekeepers, not knowing that Ellie even worked there. Lisa had spent an entire afternoon meeting with interviewees, but none of them had been what she’d been looking for. Ellie had joined her during her lunch break and had found herself informally interviewing for the position. To her surprise, Lisa had offered her the job on the spot and after Ellie had mentioned that she had been looking for a third job in order to be able to pay for a small studio apartment, Lisa had even thrown in room and board with the job offer, with the stipulation that Ellie would remain on the property while Chris was away filming.

Embarrassingly, Ellie had cried when Lisa told her how much money she’d pay her every month. She was certain that Lisa had increased the initial amount because she knew of Ellie’s work and living situations and because they’d become unlikely friends. Ellie had accepted the job right then and there and then had gone back to her manager of the coffee shop and had verbally given them her two weeks notice.

Her love of books, however, had kept her from quitting her job at the bookstore, which Lisa had been ok with as she too was a lover of books. Ellie had simply explained the situation to the manager of the bookstore who had agreed to let her work a couple days a week instead of full time.

She’d moved into the guest cottage a couple days later and then Lisa had returned to her home in Boston, promising that she would come back and be there when Chris got home so she could explain the situation to him.

That had been two weeks ago and today was the day that she’d be meeting her boss. Lisa had assured her that Chris would do whatever she said, but Ellie couldn’t help but worry about the status of her job once his mom left.

Shaking her head, Ellie turned back to her “to do” list and decided to tackle cleaning the kitchen first, starting with the floor. Lisa wasn’t due to arrive until nine, which left her plenty of time for the floor to dry.

Unbeknownst to Ellie or Lisa, who thought his flight didn’t come in until three in the afternoon, Chris Evans was home and asleep in his own bed after catching a red eye flight from his three week “quiet time” at a rented cabin in Maine.

With filming for Captain America: The Winter Soldier due to start soon, Chris had needed the three weeks of isolation in Maine to prepare himself for the whirlwind that was filming a Marvel movie and everything that surrounded it. He loved the process of making the movies, especially when he got to work with the same people, but there was a lot of pressure involved with so many people to impress that he needed to be mentally prepared for it all.

He was awoken around eight by a text from his mom:

Flight just landed. See you when you get home. Love Mom

He smiled and set the phone down after reading her message. Boy would she be surprised when she got to his house and found him already there.

He set an alarm on his phone for another thirty minutes, knowing it would take her an hour to get her luggage and get to his place from the airport. Then he rolled back over and fell back to sleep.

When his alarm went off, he hit the snooze option and rolled back over. It was ten til nine when he finally forced himself out of bed. With just enough time to start a pot of coffee and get dressed before his mom got home, he headed down stairs wearing what he wore to bed: absolutely nothing.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a lemony scent reached his nose, making him pause. He couldn’t recall having smelled it before, but he had gotten home shortly after 2 in the morning and his mom had stayed in town after he’d left, maybe she’d purchased one of those wall plugin smelly things.

Shrugging, he continued his way to the kitchen, but came to a halt in the doorway at the sight that greeted him: a woman, at least he assumed it was a woman from the shapely ass framed in a pair of denim shorts, was on her hands and knees, with her back to him. He couldn’t help but watch as she leaned forward and then backwards, doing God only knew to his floor. Her ass wasn’t as full or plump as he normally found attractive, but it still hypnotized him nonetheless.

As she dried the floor of the kitchen with a rag, an odd feeling came over Ellie. She shook it off at first, but her gut kept insisting that she was being watched. Letting go of the towel, she rose to her knees and then pulled the earbuds out of her ears.

Frozen in the doorway, Chris watched as the unknown woman turned her head in his direction. He watched her eyes widen in shock. That’s when he remembered he was buck ass naked.

In all the scenarios that Ellie had imagined meeting her boss, Chris Evans, in, none of them had included seeing his face and his penis at the same time. It didn’t help that the first thing she saw was said penis as it was practically at her eye level. She’d had to force her eyes up to look at his face and she could tell the second he remembered that he was naked.

Chris saw the woman’s eyes drop to his cock, a second time, and grabbed the closest thing he could find, a roll of paper towels, and covered himself. Or at least tried to.

Embarrassed, Ellie adverted her eyes despite her girly parts getting excited over the first penis she’d seen since moving to LA. Then she heard something that sounded like a heavy door closing, looking up she saw Chris eyes widen and knew that she wasn’t hearing things.

Chris glanced at the clock and with a gulp realized that it was nine and that his mother had just arrived. He could hear his mom putting her luggage down and knew he couldn’t escape the kitchen without running into her. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the edge of the first paper towel with one hand and then used the other hand to unroll more paper towels in an attempt to cover his backside.

Of course, in his haste to cover himself, he hadn’t remembered that he only had two hands which is why his mom found him in the doorway with half his ass still exposed.

“Honestly Christopher!” his mother exclaimed. She quickly gathered what had happened after looking into the kitchen and seeing Ellie in the middle of the kitchen on her knees with a rag directly behind her. Grabbing the roll of paper towels out of Chris’ hand, she completed the coverage he had attempted. “Go get dressed. Now!”

“Ma, it’s not what it looks like,” Chris said, quickly. “I have no idea -”

“I thought I told you to go get dressed,” Lisa cut him off, giving him her best glare.

Knowing better than to argue with his mom, Chris quickly left the room and his footsteps were soon heard on the stairs.

“Oh, Ellie,” Lisa said, covering her mouth to keep from laughing at the pale expression on her young friend’s face. “I am so sorry. I don’t know how this happened.”

“It’s ok?” Ellie asked, unsure of how one properly responded to a situation like this.

“He must have caught an earlier flight,” Lisa said, offering a hand up to the young woman who took it. “Or, I suppose he could have lied about what time his flight came in to surprise me.”

“He surprised the hell out of me, I felt myself being watched, turned around and there was a penis at eye level,” Ellie said without thinking and then remembered that Lisa was Chris’s mom. “Oh my God. Lisa, I- ” She stopped talking when Lisa started laughing.

She was still laughing when Chris returned to the kitchen a moment later.

“What’s going on?” he asked, eyeing his mom who was laughing so hard tears were rolling down her cheeks. Then his eyes moved to the unknown woman standing next to her. She was an inch or so shorter than his mom, but closer to himself in age, probably younger. Her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face and she was wearing a black tank top that dipped conservatively low on her ample chest, revealing a hint of cleavage.

“Ellie was just telling me how you two met,” his mom said, finally attempting to control her laughter.

“And how exactly did we meet, Ellie?” Chris asked, giving the woman a pointed look.

“You came into the kitchen without a stitch of clothing on,” Ellie replied, crossing her arms over her chest.. “About ten minutes ago.”

“Which was not at all how I intended for you two to meet,” his mom said with a chuckle.

At his mother’s words, Chris’s eyes left Ellie’s face and went to his mom’s. “What do you mean, intended?” he asked, slowly.

“Chris Evans, meet Ellie Spencer, your new housekeeper,” his mom said with a smile. “Ellie meet my oldest son Chris.”

“Housekeeper?” Chris asked, giving his mom a ‘what?’ look.

“Ellie, we’re going to let you get back to what you were doing and go upstairs and talk,” Lisa said, grabbing Chris’s elbow and steering him from the room.

“I made the bed for you in the guest room you used last time,” Ellie called after them.

“Thank you, dear,” his mom called back.

The ‘keep your mouth shut’ look his mom gave him kept Chris from opening his mouth as he picked up her luggage and started up the stairs. He deposited her luggage in the guestroom she always slept it and then grabbed her elbow, albeit gently, and led her into his room, which he knew was sound proof.

“What the hell did you do, mom?” he demanded after kicking the door closed behind them.

“First of all, don’t take that tone of voice with me,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “Second of all, I’ve been telling you to hire a housekeeper since you bought your first house here in LA and after the state I found this place when I came for the Oscars, I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“So you just hired someone without consulting me? It’s my house, ma!”

“She needed a job and a place to live and you needed a housekeeper.”

“Wait! You mean to tell me that you met a stranger who told you a sob story and you just hired her on the spot?!”

“Of course not!” She gave him a look that told him she was a offended he’d think that. “I’ve known Ellie since last fall. She is the lovely young woman I met at that used bookstore I told you about.”

“Ok, first, I’m sorry for what I suggested, but second, how did all of this end up happening?”

Lisa explained about her other trips to the bookstore and another customer overhearing her rants about his and Scott’s inability to clean up after themselves. She was very specific regarding the fact that Ellie wasn’t involved in the conversation that led to her deciding to find him a housekeeper and that Ellie hadn’t even officially been a candidate, but that she had been perfect for the job.

“Just take a look at the house,” his mom said, gesturing to his bedroom. “I don’t know if you remember the way you left it, but it didn’t look like this.”

Chris surveyed his room and felt his ears redden with embarrassment as he noted that the room was a hell of a lot cleaner than when he’d left for Maine. He hadn’t even noticed the night before, but he supposed that was because when his mom came to visit she cleaned.

“Ma,” he said, apologetically. “I’m sorry for being the worst son ever. You take such good care of us, I didn’t realize that I’d gotten this lazy around here.”

“You’re not the worst son by a long shot,” she replied then leveled him with a look that told him she knew exactly what he was thinking when he grinned. “And neither is your brother, by the way.

“You both live such busy lives, I know you do, but so do I. When I come out here to visit you boys, I want to enjoy my vacation and while that includes filling your freezer with home cooked meals, it doesn’t include doing three months of your laundry.”

Chris smiled sheepishly and said, “So this Ellie girl -”

“She’s a woman,” his mom interrupted.

“Alright, this Ellie woman, you trust her?” he asked.

“I do,” his mom replied. “She moved here last summer from Oregon for a job but quit it because her boss was a pervert. When I met her she was working at the bookstore and apparently at a coffee shop, but I didn’t know that until last month.

“Chris, she was living with her aunt and uncle and she was going to have to pick up a third job in order to afford a studio apartment! The day I hired her, I had interviewed five other housekeepers from different staffing places and I didn’t like any of them.”

“So where is she living now?” he asked though he was certain he already knew the answer.

“The guest cottage,” his mom said confirming his suspicions. “And before you start asking how much she is paid and all of that, she works for me and her money comes from the money you insist on giving me every month.”

“Ma! That money is for you to use,” Chris insisted.

“And this is how I chose to use part of it,” he mom replied. “The rest goes to savings and my yearly Vegas trip with my friends back home.”

“Alright, so Ellie lives and works here,” he said, quickly shifting the topic away from his mom’s trips to Sin City with her best friends who were also divorced women. There were just some things a son did not want to know about his mother and her activities in Vegas were near the top of that list. “What exactly is her job description?”

“She is the housekeeper, she’ll keep the house clean, though I expect you to keep your room and bathroom clean,” she segued, giving him a pointed look before continuing, “She’ll do the grocery shopping and take care of hiring out any maintenance should something come up.

“She’s not necessarily here to cook for you, but if you tell her you’ll be home for dinner, I’m certain she’d make sure there was something to eat. Most importantly, she’ll be at the house while you’re gone. Which is convenient seeing as you’re leaving in a couple weeks for filming.”

“And if this whole arrangement doesn’t work out?” he asked.

“You’ll answer to me,” his mom replied. “And then I might try and convince her to move to Boston, move into your room and be my housekeeper there.”

“That’s low, ma,” Chris said with a frown.

“Then don’t challenge me on this,” she replied. “She still works at the bookstore, by the way, so she won’t be under foot all the time.”

“Alright, we’ll do this your way,” Chris conceded. He wrapped his arms around his mom and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, ma.”

“I love you, too,” she replied.

“I suppose I should go downstairs and actually talk to Ellie,” he said.

“That would be a good idea,” his mom agreed. “And please promise me you won’t go walking around your house naked unless you know for sure she’s not around.”

“Only if you promise to not go hiring more people behind my back,” Chris said with a chuckle. “Though Scott probably wouldn’t mind if you hired a poolboy.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “You go talk to Ellie,” she said. “I’m going to lie down for a bit, I’ve been up since three this morning trying to get here.”

Chris walked his mom to her the guestroom and then went down the stairs, the scent of coffee growing stronger as he neared the kitchen. He found Ellie sitting in the breakfast nook with a cup of coffee and joined her after grabbing a cup for himself.

“I’m sorry for surprising you this morning,” he said, sitting down across the table from her.

“It’s not your fault,” she replied with a blush on her cheeks. “You didn’t know I was here and I didn’t know you were here.”

“My mom sure got a good laugh over it,” he replied. “Someday, maybe we will too.”

“You’re not going to go all Chandler Bing on me now are you?” she asked and he gave her a confused look. “You know, Friends?”

“Of course, I know who Chandler Bing is,” he replied. “I was just trying to -” he stopped talking when her reference finally clicked, but his memory of the episode was different. “Chandler walked in on Rachel, not the other way around and then Rachel tried to catch him unaware, but the point is, no, I will not actively try to catch you naked.”

“However, should I find myself in a position where you end up naked, I promise I won’t look away. You got an eye full, no, sorry… a couple eye fulls this morning. I think it’s only fair that, if put in a similar situation, I take the same advantage.”

“How un-Captain America of you,” she replied with a laugh. “But if we end up in that situation, I’ll wait a second or two for you to look before I cover myself.”

“I think we’ll get along just fine,” Chris said with a smile. “I’ll probably go for a swim around ten tonight, feel free to leave your blinds open.” Her face paled and he knew he’d crossed the line, especially when his mom’s words about her former boss came back to him. “Shit, Ellie. I’m sorry. I took the joke too far.” He pulled his hands roughly through his hair. “Fuck. If a guy said that to one of my sisters, he would be dead. Please don’t tell my mom about this, she’d murder me.”

“I won’t tell your mom,” Ellie replied, standing up. “But I think I’m going to go lay down for awhile. Your mom said she’d show me how to make some of your favorite dishes while she is here this week, so I’ll take advantage of some downtime.”

Chris watched her leave the kitchen and groaned when he heard the backdoor open and then close. He felt like a fucking idiot. No longer thirsty, he poured the rest of his coffee down the drain and then put his and Ellie’s cups in the dishwasher. Then he headed out to the garage where he kept his gym equipment.

Episode 3

Want to find me off tumblr? I’m @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

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[sapphicscholar]

November 2024

“And CNN can now project that former Governor Catherine Grant will become the President Elect of the United States. By our estimates, she now has more than enough votes to become the 47th president, the country’s second female president, and the first out LGBTQ president. Folks, this is a historic moment.”

The rest of the commentator’s words were drowned out in a roar of cheering as Cat strode out on stage in front of a room packed full of her supporters. Miniature American flags waved in outstretched hands. Red, white, and blue balloons bobbed through the air above them and fell, scattering across the stage. And rainbow confetti—the one “fun” choice Cat had allowed Kara—floated down from the ceiling. Cat kept one hand on Carter’s arm, her other hand clutched in Kara’s, her fingers trembling slightly, still not quite sure whether she could believe the results. After all, it had only been four years ago when she had walked out on stage to give a rather different speech after a long night of contested results and too-close-to-call-it-yet moments that finally ended after 4 in the morning with a slightly uncertain calling of the election for General Lane.

“It’s real,” Kara murmured, and Cat squeezed her hand just a little harder at the reminder that Kara had always been the one to know exactly what she needed to hear. With a quick peck for Kara and a tight hug for Carter, Cat strode forward to the podium, waving at the crowds and calling out her thanks until the tumultuous applause finally died down. She smiled as it quieted, adjusting the microphone and glancing down at the speech she had prepared, hoping but not quite believing she would have reason for it this time.

“Thank you!” Cat shook her head the slightest amount, still wondering if perhaps it was all some dream she would wake up from, finding the election night still to come. “Thank you all for your support and your donations and your hours and hours of tireless campaigning. And now—now we’re here.”

Kara threw an arm around Carter’s shoulders as they watched and listened from the wings, cheering and laughing and clapping at the lines they had listened to Cat practice the night before. “She’s pretty great, huh?” Kara whispered, earning a low chuckle from Carter.

“Think I can get off work tomorrow since my mom’s president and all?”

Kara shrugged her shoulders. “I’m calling off work tomorrow with a case of First-Lady-itis.”

With a snort, Carter shook his head. “You’re the boss. Of course you can call out.”

Not that Kara took off many days. Or any days, really. After the last campaign ended, she had turned down several offers to return to the Senate as a chief of staff or to manage another campaign. The work with Cat had been enjoyable and meaningful, but after watching and living through the dirty smear campaigns and invasive personal attacks, Kara decided she needed to step back and return to the kind of work that had inspired her to turn to politics in the first place. After a year as a senior researcher at one of DC’s progressive think tanks, Kara had applied for grants and gotten seed money from L-Corp’s philanthropic arm to found an NGO dedicated to advancing alien rights and promoting interspecies dialogue—something she saw an increasingly urgent need for in the face of the Lane administration’s attempts to roll back protective measures like the Alien Amnesty Act. But now the country seemed ready to arc back toward justice, and Kara knew, no matter how late they were out that night, she would head into the office for at least an hour or two the next day to be sure they had put out a statement about Cat’s victory.

By the time Cat finished with the speech and started working her way through seemingly countless interviews with the press, most people finally headed home, leaving the large venue quiet after a night of nervous chatter and raucous applause. At a certain point, Carter snuck in for a hug and yet another congratulations while Cat was between interviews, excusing himself to get a nap in before he had to fly back to the West coast.

James likewise caught an early flight back to California after Cat sent him off with a teasing admonishment to “keep my legacy alive, Jimmy.” Even with assurances that he had CatCo’s best reporters on it and had vetted the proofs of the front page himself, James still ended up heading back out, sighing about how the work of a CEO was never done.

Around the time the sun was beginning to rise, bathing the city in a soft pink light, Kara found a very drunk Alex and an only marginally more sober Maggie making out behind the bar and celebrating the return of a liberal to the White House. After taking a few photos for posterity’s sake, Kara shuffled them outside and instructed two of the hired security guards to take them back to their house, leaving them both with stern reminders to drink plenty of water.

“Can you take us to Shake Shack?” Alex slurred as she flopped into the back seat behind Maggie. “They got great fries. Maggie likes fries. Didja know that? Veg’tarians can have fries at burger places.”

“We’ll get you fries at some point today,” Kara promised as she shut the door behind Alex, rolling her eyes as Maggie dropped her head into Alex’s lap, already half asleep.

While Kara waited for Cat to finish her final interviews, she scrolled through her texts and emails, smiling at all the happy messages waiting for her from Eliza, who promised that she had been watching live from the Grant campaign headquarters in California, and Winn, who included several photos of Americans following the coverage in Germany with the caption: “SO PROUD OF YOU!! Time to go: they’re buying shots. Gonna be so hungover for day 3 of the conference…”

Kara’s phone rang with a call from Lucy and Vasquez as Cat sat down with the last of the interviews that Jasmine had arranged. With a little wave to Cat, Kara gestured at her phone and the back corner of the room before wandering away from the cameras to take it. As she slid her finger across the screen, she couldn’t help the excited squeal. “Good news?”

“Double good news!” Vasquez cheered. “Don’t think we didn’t watch the coverage just because we couldn’t be there in person.”

“Little asshole had to choose the most inconvenient time to arrive,” Lucy grumbled in the background, earning a loud bark of laughter from Vasquez.

“Don’t mind her. She’s still a little grumpy from the 18 hours of labor.”

“‘A little grumpy?’” Kara had to hold the phone away from her face as Lucy yelled. “You try shoving a 7-pound lump out of your—”

“Congratulations!” Kara cut in.

“Thank you!” they both called back, and Kara had to chuckle at the dramatic shift in tone.

“Got a name?”

“Nope.”

“He’s baby X for now.”

“And he’s really fucking cute.”

“Okay, well, he’s kinda weird-looking, but they promise that he’ll be looking a little less alien in a couple of days. No offense, Kara.”

“None taken. I guess.”

“He’s so little. Did you know how little they are?”

“But he’s got, like, these itty-bitty fingernails and everything. Like…he’s a full human, only miniature.”

“But with big blue eyes. I don’t think they’ll stay blue, but they’re beautiful for now.”

“And so much hair. I kinda hope it falls out…might be nice to start again without a big shaggy mop of it.”

“They said it would.”

Kara snorted at the back-and-forth, wondering how long the two of them had been awake at that point. “I think Cat’s wrapping up, so I should probably go, but congratulations again!”

“Congrats to Cat too!” Vasquez cheered.

“Yes! About damn time.”

“Hopefully we’ll make it out to see the baby in the next couple of days, if you don’t mind a big team of security stalking out the perimeter of your house.”

“Go for it. And you know, if they want to take out the trash or pick up some diapers while they’re at it, I hear we’re gonna want all the extra help we can get.”

“Well I’m sure baby X’s godmothers will be more than happy to babysit once they’ve recovered from their collective hangover from hell,” Kara snickered.

“That bad?”

“Oh, I took pictures. Don’t worry.”

Lucy let out a little hum. “Can always count on you for that.”

“I think I might save these ones for the next big birthday party, though…” Kara grinned at the thought of the sheer number of humiliating photos she had saved up for that moment. “Anyway, I’ll let you go, but have a safe trip home from the hospital and give baby X a kiss for me okay?”

“Of course!”

Once Kara hung up, she ambled back over to where Cat was gathering her things and stretching after too many hours spent standing in heels. Throwing Cat’s bag over her shoulder, Kara extended her free hand. “Can I take you home, President Grant?”

“Please.”

December 2024

“God, accounting for a security detail for the president-elect is such a pain in the ass,” Alex grumbled as she pulled out the pegs of the seating chart for what felt like the hundredth time.

Maggie laughed as she wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Still better than accounting for the security detail of the actual president, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, because bumping up the timeline for the wedding by four months was so much easier.”

“You’re the one who insisted on having Kara as your maid of honor, and you can’t just not invite her wife.”

“We should have gotten married before them.”

“Please, you had so much fun giving Kara shit for U-Hauling with Cat after only a year. You wouldn’t have given that up for a slightly easier go of it ourselves.”

Alex let out a long sigh. “Maybe not.” After a moment she added, “But I still think Kara should be doing some of this work.”

“Well then tell her so over dinner.”

“Oh yeah, let’s think about how that’ll go. Hey, Kara? Be a dear. In between running an organization and preparing to move into the White House and making decisions about the inauguration and the ball, could you also figure out this seating chart?”

“You forgot to add in that we could really use the extra time for ourselves since your fiancée is kind of irresistible.”

“Mm yes. That too.” Alex’s eyes fluttered shut as Maggie kissed her softly, their hands twining together.

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Coming,” Alex called out, squeezing Maggie’s hand one last time before making her way over to the front door. She swung it open to reveal Lucy and Vasquez, both of them looking a little worn for wear. Lucy had a diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and Vasquez held an infant carseat in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.

“Hey! Come in, come in, it’s so good to see you.”

They followed Alex inside, waving at Maggie as she rounded the corner. As Vasquez set the carseat on the ground, Lucy grimaced at the sound of a little whimper.

Alex leaned forward, unbuckling the straps and lifting the baby up, settling him into the crook of her elbow as she cooed at him. “Oh, come here, little Alex. Your godmother’s got you.”

Lucy pursed her lips and glared. “It’s A.J.”

“Mm, but I believe one of those names could be shorted to Alex. And really, I’m still so flattered that you named your son after me.”

Vasquez’s lips twitched as Lucy groaned. “It was a family name.”

“Say whatever you want to, Luce, but me and little Alex are always gonna know the truth.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows at Maggie. “She’s insufferable, you know that, right?”

“Considering we’re getting married in a couple weeks, I think I know that by now.” Maggie raised herself up to her tip-toes to kiss away the crinkle in Alex’s forehead. “But I love you more than anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I’m holding a baby.”

“And you’re welcome to borrow him anytime you want.”

Vasquez shook her head. “She says that now, but she’s secretly a big softie with him at home.”

Before Lucy could respond, the sound of several SUVs pulling up drew their attention outside. “Cat’s here!” Alex called out. “Maggie, can you deal with the security team?”

Eventually Cat and Kara made it inside, and after a round of passing A.J. around to everyone, Lucy got him to fall asleep in his carseat in time for dinner. When she got back, Vasquez patted the seat next to her, throwing her arm around Lucy’s shoulders and kissing her temple.  

Alex raised her glass in the air. “A toast to little Alex!”

“Also known as A.J.,” Maggie chimed in, winking at Vasquez across the table as they clinked their glasses.

“And to the soon-to-be-married couple for hosting us tonight,” Cat added, earning another round of clinking glasses.

“And, excuse me, let’s not fucking forget,” Lucy cut in, “to the next President of the United States of America.”

“Cheers!” the table chorused.

“Here’s to an overdue victory!”

“And eight long years in the White House!”

[lichlover]

If you’re taking prompts I’d love to know what you think would happen if one of the 100 worlds the seven birds went to was earth. Like how many milliseconds would it take lup and taako to get arrested/what would happen with magic/etc.

okay, so, admittedly i misread this, but it was already turning out in a super fun way so i just decided to run with it. have a little something from post-canon!

please consider donating to my ko-fi!

On the third ring, Joaquin has to step out of his math class, because whoever’s calling him is calling instead of texting and that means it’s serious.

All eyes are on him as he whispers an apology to his teacher and steps out into the hallway. He’s sure it’s not just because of the call; having magic powers tends to make him a target for people’s stares, nowadays. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to have gotten him much else. An exemption from math class, for example.

The door swings mercifully shut behind him, and Joaquin presses the phone to his ear. “Uh, hi, whoever this is?” he whispers, because one of the hall monitors is a few doors down and eyeing him suspiciously. “This isn’t a good time.”

“Hey, kid! Am I on the right frequency?”

Joaquin freezes and cranks up the volume. “Uh, sorry… is this—”

“Taako,” the voice on the other end drawls. “Y’know, from TV? And also the end of the world, keep fuckin’ forgetting about that one. Uh… listen. I’ve got a bit of a—uh, we have a bit of a situation here, and—”

“Whoa, just—hold on a sec.” The hall monitor is definitely staring now. “Where is here? Where are you? How did you even get my number?”

“World savior privileges. So the thing is—”

Joaquin blinks. “Oh my God, are you… are you here in this world? Like, actually here?”

He can practically hear Taako’s shrug through the phone. “Near as I can tell.”

“Oh my God,” Joaquin repeats. He’s starting to feel a little faint, and he’s sure it’s not because of his late lunch period. “What are you doing here? I thought that was against the—the rules, or whatever? Are you gonna get arrested by the dimension police? Oh, shit—” He breaks off when the hall monitor’s glare intensifies, and continues in a lower voice. “Am I gonna get arrested by the dimension police?”

“Probably not. Uh, speaking of which! They told me we only get one phone call, so we really—we really gotta make this one count here—”

“One phone call? Oh, holy shit, did you get arrested?”

From a few meters away, he sees the hall monitor unclip a walkie-talkie from her belt. Why his school has to go so hard with hall monitors, Joaquin will never understand, but he has a feeling his time is almost up. “Okay, okay, just—how did you—no, nevermind, that doesn’t matter. Where are you?”

“Uh…” Taako’s voice jumps a good octave. The receiver crackles, and Joaquin can hear a muffled question, followed by a brief, snappish argument. “This fuckin’ guy, I swear to gods—uh, the Miami Beach police station? Whatever the hell that means. They got better room service in the Eternal Stockade, and that’s—that’s sayin’ something.”

“Miami Beach police station,” Joaquin repeats. “Okay, I’m on my way. Just hang in there, and, uh, don’t do anything stupid, I guess?”

A scoff fizzles through the phone. “You don’t halfta tell me twice.”

“Yes, you do!” comes another, more distant voice. One Joaquin recognizes.

“Is that Lup?” he says, and now his voice is about to jump another octave, too. “She’s there with you?”

“Yeah, she’s—hey, Fantasy Terminator, I’ll tell ya when my time is up, alright? Listen, kid, bring a taco or two with you, alright? It’ll be ironic, and also, I’m fuckin’ starving. Cool. Thanks. Bye!”

“Um, okay, I will. But—” The connection goes dead, which Joaquin will admit he should have seen coming. He shoves his phone in his pocket and flags down the hall monitor, who has the walkie-talkie in her hand and looks about ready to bring out the big guns. “Hey, hey, uh,” he says, trying not to think about how her walkie might be as intimidating as the Hunger itself. “I—um, I’m sorry to disturb the peace and, uh, all that, but I really gotta go.”

The hall monitor walks him down to the counselor’s office, and when the counselor asks him what’s wrong, his brain barrels past “family emergency” and goes straight to “world savior stuff,” verbatim.

It turns out to be the better idea, anyway. Not ten minutes later, Joaquin is standing at a bus stop with the scrapings of a fare in his hand.

It’s strange to be downtown in the middle of the day. He stops by a locally owned Mexican place, feeling guilty all the way, and picks up two tacos with all the embellishments because he had said he would. The police station is a short walk from there. Joaquin recognizes a couple of the officers from their off-duty stops at the taco truck, and they wave at him as he hurries past, but he’s a little too frazzled to offer them anything but a weak smile in return. This isn’t the way he’d supposed he would spend his Tuesday. Granted, his weekdays are a bit unpredictable now, what with the impromptu interviews and the press showing up unannounced to his actual, literal house, but still. This is a lot different.

This is interdimensional.

And yes, it’s a bad and completely baffling situation, but Joaquin can’t help but feel a tiny thrill at the thought. His problems are interdimensional now. How many high schoolers can say that?

He promptly forgets about the cool factor of his morning when the main floor comes into view. There are several desks and a few annoyed-looking detectives between them, but that doesn’t stop Joaquin’s gaze from instantly snapping to the two lounging figures in the holding cell.

“Holy shit,” he says. It’s a perfectly fair thing to say.

From behind bars, Taako, from TV and the end of the world, lifts a lazy finger in greeting. “Took you long enough, huh?”

A bright red jacket hits him in the shoulder. “Don’t be fucking rude,” says Lup, and waves. “ ’Sup, kiddo?”

It occurs to Joaquin just then that he can never, ever tell his friends about this, because if they find out he’s met two of the Seven Birds in person, he can forget about his world savior glory forever. “Uh… I’m good,” he calls, doing his best to ignore the outright stares he’s receiving from the personnel in the room. “All good over here! Yeah.”

One of the detectives comes around her desk and shoots a dubious look at the holding cell. “You called Joaquin Terrero?”

“Is that his full name?” says Taako. Lup’s jacket nails him in the arm again and he tries to snatch it out of her hands, to no avail.

The detective sighs and turns to Joaquin with something suspended between an apologetic smile and an all-out grimace. “They’ve been like that ever since we brought them in. Um, Mr. Terrero—”

“Joaquin is fine.” Ever since Story and Song, he’s been called Mr. Terrero or sir just about everywhere he goes. Weirdness aside, it makes Joaquin feel like he’s always at a parent-teacher conference. “So what, uh… what happened?”

Detective Alvarez, according to her name tag, motions for him to sit down. He does, and she takes a seat across from him, still eyeing the holding cell as Taako and Lup bicker. “There were a few misdemeanors,” she says.

Misdemeanor means not serious. Joaquin silently thanks his social studies teacher.

“The thing is,” the detective continues, “these misdemeanors weren’t standard. I mean—” She sighs. “For one, they just appeared in the middle of a busy street and scared several pedestrians half to death. They said it was thanks to those belts.”

Only then does Joaquin notice the belts. He’d lumped it in with the rest of the twins’ eccentric style, but there they are, silvery and slim and otherwise pretty innocuous. “And that’s how they got here?”

“It’s science, babe,” Lup interjects. “We got it under control.”

She hooks a thumb over her belt with a conspicuous wink, and Detective Alvarez turns pink and clears her throat. “Of course,” she says, hurriedly. “That’s just not the point.”

There’s a look of extreme discomfort on her face, and Joaquin doesn’t blame her. It had been enough of an ordeal getting a call from one of the Seven Birds, nevermind keeping two of them in a holding cell. (There’s a joke there about birds and cages that he’ll have to remember for later.) “Then they went to a restaurant and tried to pay for their food with… well, this.”

Detective Alvarez opens a drawer, and Joaquin’s eyes go wide at the sight of several large, priceless-looking gems in an evidence bag. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, save for an awkward-sounding croak. He’d known Taako was rich—not rich.

Speaking of which. From across the room, Taako cups a hand around his mouth and calls out. “Those the jewels? They’re my husband’s paycheck, for gods’ sake! Are you gonna—are you tryin’ to tell me Death isn’t legit?”

The look on Detective Alvarez’s face seems to imply they’ve had this conversation before. “You can’t pay for food with giant jewels.”

“You can if you’re not a fuckin’ coward,” Taako murmurs, and slouches back against the wall. He takes another jacket to the chest for that.

Joaquin takes a deep breath. “Okay. Uh, Detective Alvarez, I’m really sorry that these two caused a disturbance.”

“Listen, these aren’t—the misdemeanors aren’t serious. We won’t hold them, and we won’t fine them—I mean, they’re the Birds,” says Detective Alvarez. “It wouldn’t be great for the universe anyway. The precinct just wanted to make sure they have someone here who can…” She lowers her voice. “You know, keep an eye on them?”

“They’re not super great at being on Earth, huh?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Joaquin promises. “I’m really sorry, Detective.”

Detective Alvarez offers up a weary smile. “You’re a good kid. Just get them out of here, okay?”

“I will,” says Joaquin.

He does.

They emerge into a bright, warm afternoon, and Taako hisses, yanking a pair of sunglasses over his eyes. “Sheesh. How long’s it been? A year?”

“An hour,” says Lup, checking her watch.

“Oh.” He plucks one of the tacos from the bag in Joaquin’s hand. “Cheers, kid. Not as good as mine, but it—it’ll do, I guess.”

“Thanks for bailing us out.” Lup nudges Joaquin and flashes a brilliant smile. She’s definitely more intimidating in person, and also a full head taller than him, which means he has to crane his neck and squint to see her against the sun. “So, you’re taking us on a tour, right?”

Joaquin blinks. “I—uh, I have school.”

Taako snorts, which, yeah, he deserves that. “That’s gotta be the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“Lame,” Lup chimes in. She picks the other taco out of the bag and says, “Give us the grand tour, kid! We’re only here for… uh, two more hours, looks like. Gotta make the most of our time before we head back home.”

“Oh, yeah, that—you never said what you were doing here?”

“Visiting you, duh,” she says. “Taako wouldn’t shut up about how he realized your potential, and—”

“Yeah, speaking of shutting up!” says Taako, his voice shrill. He takes an unceremonious bite of the taco and tugs the brim of his hat a little lower. “You gonna show us around, or what?”

“That’s not speaking of shutting up, ’Ko.”

“Don’t—you don’t get to lecture me on semantics—”

Joaquin bites back a smile and says, “You guys wanna see the beach?”

“Hell yeah,” they say as one, and high-five without having to look. Drift compatible, Joaquin thinks. It really is a perfect day, and a little magical—not in the actual sense, of course, but there’s something thrilling about knowing school will drag on without him. He’s got some world savior stuff to do; if showing around two of the Seven Birds counts as world savior stuff, of course, and he’s decided that it does.

Of course, that doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences to his actions. But Joaquin’s pretty smart, and he’s already thought of a contingency plan.

“Um, hey, so,” he starts, as they set off down the street. “Lup, uh—I’ve got this friend, Stephanie, and she would kill me if I didn’t get an autograph, or something… do you have, uh, a headshot or something like that? Like, she’s been dying to know if you still have an undercut…”

[divulgacion-alternativa]

Ben Ful Links | August 2/2021:

Source: benjaminfulford.net

This newsletter does not contain links.

Getting To Know The North Koreans

Notice to readers.  So that I may take my annual sabbatical in the Canadian wilderness, the next several reports will be pre-written.  They will focus on the history of how I got involved in fighting the Khazarian Mafia.  Hopefully, this will help readers get a better understanding of what is happening now. Of course, if something really big happens, we will issue an emergency report.

The assassination attempts against me and the murder of many of my colleagues were part of a Nazi coup d’etat that took place in the U.S. after 9.11.2001.  This Nazi faction, led by Fuhrer George Bush Sr., was a sub-group of the Khazarian Mafia.  They were killing journalists as a part of an attempt to control the narrative, the story by which Western society was led.  However, I did not figure that out until a North Korean princess showed me the evidence.

Here is how it happened.  I was running into serious censorship at Forbes.  This started after I had run the story about the murder of the banker, that I detailed in last week’s report, brought me to the attention of the people who gave orders to the Forbes family.

For example, a story about Citibank (a Rockefeller company) being kicked out of Japan because it was money laundering for gangsters was killed even though my source was the Japanese Finance Ministry speaking on the record.  The last straw for me came when I found out that an anti-virus software company was making viruses.  Forbes killed the story, telling me I was “unreliable,” when in fact the story was killed because Steve Forbes had been given $500,000 by the anti-virus company, according to a Forbes whistleblower.

In any case, I was sick of writing business pornography and decided my next career move was to shift to writing books.  The hope was to have them made into Hollywood movies.  So, I sent two chapters and an outline of a planned book to my agent in the U.S.  The book would have described a systematic pattern of the murder of politicians, journalists, industrialists, etc. by politicians and gangsters who were part of the corrupt secret government that really ran Japan.

The day after I sent the book proposal, I got a call from Kaoru Nakamaru, who said she was a princess and a first cousin of Emperor Hirohito.  She told me it would be a bad idea to publish the book.  Obviously she was connected to people who were reading my mail, so I decided to meet her.  When I asked her how she knew what was in my book proposal she said, “A Goddess told me.”  (That Goddess would be Amaterasu the reigning deity of the Japanese security police).

When I met Nakamaru she said, “You understand all about the corruption in Japan but you know nothing about the real source, which is in the West.”  She then gave me a 9.11 truth video.  At the time, I thought “Oh my God, this is one of those anti-Semitic movies about 9.11 that I read about in the New York Times.”  I had no intention of watching it but she kept pestering me until I did.  That was the real red pill for me.  It did not take a lot of fact-checking to realize 9.11 was an inside job.  From a missile hitting the Pentagon without breaking the second-floor windows and leaving no plane debris, to a BBC reporter with Building #7 visible in the background saying it had already collapsed, 20 minutes before it actually did at freefall speed, the evidence was undeniable.

The real problem was wrapping my mind around how incredibly large a group would be needed to carry out a campaign like this.  The implications were truly mind-boggling.  It was only by looking at historical events that I realized such false flags were being commonly used as excuses to start wars.

For example, the sinking of the “innocent passenger vessel” Lusitania in 1914 was used as an excuse to demonize the Germans and get the Americans to join the British in World War I.  It was not until a hundred years later in 2014 that the British admitted publicly the Lusitania was transporting arms and was, therefore, a legitimate military target.  Historians note that ads in newspapers warned passengers prior to the ship being sent into the vicinity of German U-boats as a sacrifice.

In 2001, the people who controlled the U.S. were using 9.11 as an excuse to invade the Middle East (yet again).

In my still naïve worldview I figured that if people found out the truth, there would be a revolution.  After I published front-page articles for major Japanese magazines listing evidence that 9.11 was an inside job, I held a press conference at the Foreign Correspondent’s Club of Japan to present the evidence to the international media.

It was only when none of them (with a few minor exceptions like rural Australian newspapers) reported the evidence did I realize that freedom of the press had been extinguished from the Western media.

Nobody at the FCCJ or in the Western press debated me or presented evidence showing I was wrong.  Instead, all sorts of people I never knew suddenly started a systematic campaign of character assassination against me.  The general story was that I was taking drugs, believed in UFOs, and had lost my mind.  I was put on a black list and nobody in the English language press would work with me.  Many editors told me they had been ordered by their bosses not to publish my stories.

Fortunately, I had published books in Japanese that sold well and provided me with an income.  I was also introduced to a Japanese author by the name of Ohta Ryu.  He explained to me that he had been approached by a group of Japanese who had studied Western power structures before and during World War II.  He used the material they had provided to publish his books.

What Ohta said was mind-boggling at the time.  It was talking about how the West had a secret government run by families like the Rothschilds and the Rockefellers.  This may be common knowledge now but, at the time (around 2005-6) when I did an internet search about the Rothschilds, I found exactly one sentence about them on the entire web.  It was from an Israeli chat room where one participant mentioned a rumor that the Rothschilds were involved in the formation of Israel.

As far as our reputed overlord David Rockefeller was concerned, he was number 300 or so on the Forbes richest list and considered to be a person of the past.  I had to go back to the 1918 edition of Forbes to find out the real story.  It turns out John Rockefeller the first had suddenly become poor overnight by donating all of his fortune (around $300 billion in today’s money) to a foundation.  Once the money was in a foundation, the owners did not pay inheritance tax and did not have to disclose much information.

A paper trail led to over 200 foundations controlled by the Rockefellers that in turn controlled most of the Fortune 500 companies.

What I started to realize was that all the murders of Japanese politicians etc. were part of a Rockefeller & Co. hostile take-over of Japan Inc.  One key man they used to carry out this operation was Heizo Takenaka, who was the Finance and Economy Minister from 2002-2005.  While he was in this job, he dismantled the system of cross-shareholding where banks and companies owned each others’ shares.  Takenaka forced all the banks to sell off their shares in Japan’s listed companies to foreign funds such as Vanguard, Blackrock, and State Street & Banking.  When I confronted him about handing over all of Japan’s listed companies to the Rockefellers etc., he squirmed visibly in his chair and was evasive.

However, the day after the interview, I got a phone call from an official at the Japan development bank who told me there was someone Heizo Takenaka wanted me to meet.  So, I went to a downtown Tokyo hotel room where I met a person by the name of Shiramine who called himself a Ninja.

I recorded with his permission a conversation in which he offered me the job of Finance Minister of Japan as long as I went along with a plan to kill 90% of humanity.  He said it was necessary in order to “save the environment.”  Since war did not kill enough people the plan was to use disease and starvation to kill everyone off, he said.  Shiramine added that if I refused the offer I would be killed.

To his credit when Shiramine met me and gave me this proposal, he also handed me a tape and told me to listen to it somewhere private.  In this tape, he said the problem was the “elders of Zion.”  I was also told by another Takenaka envoy that he handed over control of all the country’s corporations because Japan had been “threatened with an earthquake machine.”

The next day another person called me and said he wanted to meet me.  Again, the meeting took place inside a downtown hotel room.  This time it was someone from an Asian secret society known as The Red and The Green.  He said they had 8 million members including 200,000 assassins who could help.  This group also knew about the plan to kill 90% of humanity because they had secretly recorded a meeting at the Bohemian Grove where they discussed all of this.

Members of this group had long worked with Western secret societies, for example by supplying them with heroin from the golden triangle.  However, it was the attempt to kill them off with SARS, a bio-weapon designed to kill Asians, that finally put them on a war footing.

You can imagine my shock and disorientation in running into all of this over the space of just a week.  As someone who had lived his whole life in the official open world as seen in the public record, this was mind-boggling, to say the least.  In any case, since I could not agree with a plan to kill 90% of humanity, I decided to go along with the Asian secret society.

At first, being a peace-loving journalist, I thought of ideas like maybe the Asian secret society could show 9.11 truth movies in Chinatown movie theaters.  However, eventually, I had what I call my “Kill Bill” moment.  In the movie Kill Bill, there is a scene where a female assassin (played by Uma Thurman) is in a desperate fight for her life with a one-eyed opponent.  When Thurman plucks out her opponent’s eye, suddenly the fight is over.

What I realized was that most Westerners (like me) had no idea what their secret leaders were up to and would be appalled if they found out.  The flaw of the secret Western government was that it was highly centralized.  So, I advised the Asian secret society to “pluck out the eye.”  I gave them a list of all the people who were members of the Bilderberg, the Council on Foreign Relations, and the Trilateral Commission.  I said if you target them, you can stop the planned genocide.

Later when the earthquake machine threat was made directly to me I responded that “you can’t stop assassinations with an earthquake machine.”

The other thing I suggested to the Asian Secret Society was that buying U.S. government bonds was worse than buying opium. “At least opium gives you pleasure but now you are paying them to kill you,” is what I told a top adviser to the Chinese Politburo.

In any case, the Asian Secret Society became mobilized.  They threatened to kill the Western elite and also stopped buying U.S. government bonds.  Thus the attempt to kill off 90% of humanity was stalled.  This was the real background to the so-called “Lehman shock,” financial crisis of 2008, and the birth of the Obama administration.

However, the secret war had only begun.  A lot of new players emerged from the shadows following these events.

Next week I will talk about how I met David Rockefeller.  I will also discuss meeting such groups as the Black Sun, the Illuminati (in two flavors), the secret space program Nazis, the Russian FSB, and former MI6 head Dr. Michael Van de Meer.

Please stay tuned…

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[sophie-zadeh]

Gable Tostee, Warriena Wright and the Missing Phone

I had a request to revisit part of the 60 Minutes Australia interview with Gable Tostee, to analyse Tostee’s behaviour surrounding Warriena Wright’s missing phone. This is a few minutes of the interview which I skipped over in my original article Gable Tostee Reveals his Guilt in Warriena Wright’s Death.

If you’re not familiar with the case, in 2016 Gable Tostee was found not guilty of the murder and manslaughter of Warriena Wright, who plunged 14 storeys from Tostee’s Gold Coast apartment just hours after they met. This is a case that people are passionate about, with many believing justice has not been served.

I should warn you, the 60 Minutes Australia video of the interview with Tostee includes audio snippets of a recording that Tostee made that fateful night. The recording in parts is horrific to listen to, as Wright screams in anguish, pleading to be allowed to go home shortly before plunging to her death.

Let’s take a look at Tostee’s behaviour surrounding the missing phone. I’m filling in the missing parts from the 60 Minutes Australia video editing with the transcript from the audio recording. If you want to listen to the full uncut audio recording, you can do so here.

Gable Tostee Recording Transcript combined with 60 Minutes Australia Interview

Music stops (38:49 audio recording)

Wright

Where’s my sister’s phone?

Tostee

What you after?

Wright

Where’s my sister’s sh*t?

Tostee

That’s your bag there isn’t it?

Wright

Yeah but where is all her sh*t? Where’s my f**king shit?

Tostee

Like what?

Wright

All my f**king data. Where is all my f**king data?

Tostee

What does it look like? Is it in there or?

Wright

It looks like a f**king iPhone. Sh*t.

Tostee

Do you want me to ring it?

Wright

Yeah, I’d love you to f**king ring it.

Tostee

What’s the number, I’ll find it?

Wright

Yeah, well f**king (inaudible/Tostee coughs)

Tostee

There’s some of your stuff right here.

Wright

(Inaudible/muffled) This is f**king serious

Tostee

Hey, look, I didn’t say you had to leave, I just said stop beating me up.

Wright

(Inaudible)

Tostee

No, it’s in there next to the bed.

Wright

Where, where?

Tostee

There. 

Wright

Where? Are you going to f**king untie me?

Tostee

Right there, look. Look.

Wright

Because I will f**king, I will f**king destroy your jaw. It’s not f**king funny.

8:25 (60 Minutes Australia video clip)

After playing a snippet from the audio recording from the night, interviewer, Liam Bartlett, questions Tostee. We hear the latter part of Wright’s statement from the above transcript.

Wright

… f**king, I will f**king destroy your jaw. It’s not f**king funny.

Gable Tostee Body Language Analysis

The Facial Expression of Anger

In response to what he is hearing or the context of the situation (emotions and expressions occur in real-time), starting from an almost neutral facial expression, Tostee gulps, blinks then leans back. Leaning back, a distancing behaviour, indicates dislike or discomfort—a physical distancing reflecting psychological distancing.

As Tostee leans back, a facial movement called Brow Lowerer (Action Unit 4/AU 4) occurs when the eyebrows are pulled together in a downward motion. This is commonly described as a frown. We see this movement take place, but it’s also evident in the still screenshot, with the bulge that appears at the inner corners of his eyebrows.

In addition to Brow Lowerer, we see another facial movement, the Lid Tightener, scientifically called Action Unit 7 (AU 7). In the screenshot, this is evident in the narrowing of the eye, the tension and slight bulge just below the lower eyelid. This is caused by the contraction of the inner part of a muscle that runs around the eye, pulling the upper and lower lid inwards, towards the eye.

These facial movements can be combined with others in the eye/eyebrow area in a few emotional expressions. However, as we see them here, they are either part of the emotional expression of anger or are a focusing mechanism. Well, they are a focusing mechanism, whether independently or during the expression of anger.

Facial expressions serve several purposes, one of which is that they have physiological benefits. We need to focus during the emotion of anger, mentally and visually and these facial movements aid focus. AU 7 seems to be most responsible for focus but AU 4 seems also to play a part. You’ve probably observed people doing this movement/s as they try to focus on something visually. I do it a lot when I’m not wearing my glasses.

Eye Blocking Behaviour

As Tostee leans back, we see an eye blocking behaviour, twice—a momentary eye closure that lasts longer than a blink. Typically, eye blocks last slightly longer than what is observed here, however, since they appear longer than a blink, they are most probably being suppressed by Tostee. We display blocking behaviours when we feel dislike or discomfort. Closing (or covering) our eyes reflect a desire to remove the stimulus.

The Facial Expression of Contempt

We also see a facial movement in the mouth that is possibly an expression of contempt, an asymmetrical expression. I’d have to see this occur from the front to confirm it as contempt/asymmetrical.

Bartlett

She’s pretty angry there.

And so is Tostee!

Tostee

Yeah

As Tostee says, “Yeah”. We can be certain that the emotion he is experiencing is anger—unless he’s faking it, which wouldn’t be in his best interest. What we don’t know is why he is experiencing anger. We can only speculate.

Tostee's anger could have been evoked from the memory of his experience with Wright on listening to the audio clip or triggered when he hears her threat of breaking his jaw. Alternatively, it might be because he is on 60 Minutes being challenged about what had happened.

Bartlett

Why is she so angry she can’t find her phone?

Tostee

Erm, I’m not sure why she got so angry like that, but we were looking for her phone apparently and she couldn’t find it and she seemed to be blaming me for that and I was offering to, you know, call her phone to help her find it. Cough. And erm.

It doesn’t take a statement analyst to realise that “we were looking for her phone apparently” is a red flag. I’d love to hear statement analyst Colin Ector explain what’s happening here with the use of the word ‘apparently’.

Listening to the audio recording of the fateful night, not just this part but the whole thing, there are times where I feel Tostee is aware of what he is saying, as though he’s playing to it. A deliberate concealment of reality, so that what is recorded could serve a future purpose. If this is the case, the use of the word, ‘apparently’, makes sense.

Is Tostee using the recording as a tool to stretch the truth? Is his slip of words a reflection that he thinks his responses to Wright in the recording, might make it apparent that we were looking for her phone?

At the same time, there is a slight twitchy movement in Tostee’s otherwise still body language. It’s hard to see what’s happening with the darkness of the video and most of his body not being in view. This movement could reflect feelings of awkwardness at this point. The twitching also forms a behavioural cluster with the use of the word apparently and his cough as he ends the statement. A cluster of behaviours at a certain point can raise a red flag in terms of deception detection.

Potential Microexpression of Disgust

As Tostee says, “she seemed to be blaming me for that”, there is a slight twitch at the sides of his nose. This could be a microexpression of disgust. Is Tostee disgusted by Wright or disgusted that because of her he is now in this situation? Or something else?

A microexpression is an emotion expressed in half a second or less. Tostee’s potential microexpression of disgust occurs quicker than half a second. Microexpressions are either suppressed or concealed emotions/expressions, or stem from the subconscious before the conscious has caught up with the emotional state.

Bartlett

Did you know where it was?

Tostee

No I didn’t know where it was.

Bartlett

Okay, but at the time, you know, as we just heard, she says, “do you want me to destroy your jaw?”

Tostee

Yeah

Bartlett

So, had she already hit you?

Tostee

Erm at that stage it was kind of, what I, what I understood to be play fighting. But as you’ll see throughout the night it got worse and worse. 

Facial Expression of Contempt

As Tostee says, “at that stage it was kind of”, we observe an expression of contempt, with the lip stretched to one side to the extreme. Even though the other side of his face isn’t visible, we can observe even the middle portion of his lips move slightly to his left, as the lip stretches from the outer corner.

That’s all I have for you for this analysis. As you can see in just seconds in time a lot of nonverbal behaviours occur. Seconds and minutes of footage can lead to hours of analysis and compiling an article or report (if it’s a private case). I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this article and more importantly, that you’ve learned something more about behaviour and communication. I’m leaving you with the transcript of Tostee’s recording of the night, surrounding the missing phone.

Gable Tostee Recording Transcript

Wright

Where? Are you going to f**king untie me?

Tostee

Look there, look. Look.

Wright

Because I will f**king, I will f**king destroy your jaw. It’s not f**king funny.

Tostee

Look there. Look, look, look.

Wright

You may have f**king, (inaudible)

Tostee

That, that’s your stuff right there. You gonna…

Wright

Get it for me. Get it. Get it for me.

Tostee

I don’t know what to look at. That’s your stuff. 

Wright

Get it for me.

Tostee

You get it. It’s right there.

Wright

Will you f**king get it?

Tostee

Right there. Here.

Wright

Give me.

Tostee

I should never have…inaudible

Wright

I’m calling the police.

Tostee

Okay do it.

Wright

I’m f**king calling the police. Give me.

Tostee

It’s right there.

Wright

No, I’m going to call the police. Give it to me.

Tostee

You do that.

Wright

Give it to me. 

Tostee

It’s right there.

Wright

Nah. Get it for me. I’ll call the police.

Tostee

You’re leaving.

Wright

Good.

Wright

(Inaudible muffled), f**king asleep. Get it for me now.

Tostee

Come on Cletus.

Wright

(Inaduible) get it for me. 

Tostee

It’s right there.

Wright

…f**king made me (inaudible). Get it, get it. (Inaudible)

Tostee

Right there. Trust me.

(Inaudible)

Wright

Okay, I’m going to call the police and they’re going to come here, yeah, are you going to be alright with the police coming here?

Tostee

Yeah, because, because um. 

Wright

Good. I’m going to call the police.

Tostee

What are you looking for?

Wright

I’m going to call the police! Good.

Wright

Like, where’s my f**king money? (Inaudible) sh*t. (Gasp)

Tostee

Call them with what? I thought you lost your phone.

Wright

Exactly.

Tostee

So how are you going to call anyone without your phone?

Wright

You stole my f**king phone.

Tostee

I didn’t touch your god damn phone.

Wright

You guys f**king stole my sh*t.

Tostee

Sh*t, I should never have…

Wright

f**king call me?

Tostee

should never have given you so much to drink. I thought we were going to have fun.

Wright

Where’s my sh*t!

Tostee

Where’s your phone.

Wright

Where is my sh*t?

Tostee

What’s your phone number, I’ll, I’ll have it.

Wright

Going hundred f**king psycho bitch. F**king...

Tostee

I don’t deserve this shit alright? I’m a nice f**king guy.

Wright

Ahhh, yeah. No (inaudible). Oh… where f**king so not f**king (inaudible).

Tostee

Your phone must be out of battery. What’s this? Oh that’s mine.

Wright

No, no no no no.

Tostee

It must be on the balcony.

Wright

Oh, I have sh*t loads of money in my…my f**king money.

Tostee

Stop. Just calm down please.

Wright

I’m not calming down because…

Tostee

You’ve had too much to drink, alright.

Wright

I’m not calming down because I’ve had so much to drink and I have sh*t loads of money in New Zealand, it’s not funny. Because I’m a f**king rich in New Zealand and it’s not f**king funny. And it’s sh*tty because I f**king rule in New Zealand and it f**king sucks because people f**king take advantage of me in New Zealand and it’s sh*t because I have f**king money. It’s not f**king funny. Sh*t. You know.

Tostee

Calm down please.

Wright

Do you know? How (inaudible) because no one else has money.

Tostee

Do you even remember what you were doing to me like half an hour ago? It was freaking me out, you were beating me up for no reason.

Wright

Yeah. Exactly.

Tostee

Why?

Wright

Because you said (inaudible) you’re a freak.

Tostee

You thought it was funny or something. It’s not.

Wright

No, I told you

Tostee

Like, you’re kind of strong, for your size.

Wright

I’m pretty strong, that’s what I said

Tostee

So why were you beating me up?

Wright

I’ll be gone. I’ll be going (inaudible). Okay goodbye.

Tostee

Here’s your phone.

Wright

See you later.

Tostee

Such a drama queen.

Wright

No sh*t (inaudible).

Tostee

That’s your phone.

Wright

Oh is it?

Tostee

It is, yeah.

If you enjoyed reading this article, you might also like:

Gable Tostee Reveals his Guilt in Warriena Wright's Death

Gable Tostee Reveals what he was carrying after Warriena Wright fell fourteen storeys to her death

[lordendsavior]

Ruth Capps’ reputation as one of the most hardcore One Direction fans precedes her. In the days before I see her in her pajamas under west London's Hammersmith flyover, I’m told by at least three people that she’s an “angel.” At just 19, she has as many tickets to see Harry Styles through 2018 as years she’s been alive. On Twitter, she posts earnest messages of support for her idol to her 110,000 followers. Offline, she projects a calm rationality that belies the reason she’s become so well-known within the fandom to begin with. Five days before the first UK date of Styles’ solo tour, Ruth is one of nearly 50 girls camped outside the Hammersmith Apollo in sleeping bags and foil blankets. When the Daily Mail stops by to interview them, Ruth diplomatically volunteers to be a representative.

“I’ll make us not look crazy,” Ruth assures the crowd of skeptical girls surrounding her. The reporter kneels down upon the sidewalk and pulls a notebook from her bag as Ruth holds court atop the pallet of £6 Primark duvets, and does her best to explain the situation as plainly as possible. “What’s going on here?” the reporter asks, assuming a “fun mum” tone with the girls in an attempt to get them to open up.

“We’re camping out here to see Harry Styles,” Ruth says, unperturbed by the fact that there are five days until he’ll take the stage. Her honesty with the reporter is a rarity among the camp. The truth is that the girls are waiting for the 23-year-old pop star, but if you ask them why, you’ll get a different answer. One fan tells a passerby they’re waiting for Mary Berry. Jacob Sartorius. A hot dog eating competition. All of which provide a simpler explanation than the reality, which is: it is Wednesday, and they already have tickets to the show on Sunday, but they’re sleeping on the street to perhaps – if they’re lucky – be noticed by Harry himself.

This is “camping culture,” an act of stan devotion in (often uncomfortable) pursuit of the rarest and most valuable fandom currency: proximity and access. For many fans on the street, this will be a one-time thing, an anomalous event only made possible by the grace of its novelty. But for some, camping is merely part of “following” an artist on tour. When the house lights rise in the Apollo on Monday, some will pack up their sleeping bags and head to Manchester. Then Glasgow. Then Stockholm. They will spend several hundreds, even thousands of pounds to see the same show over and over again. But what happens when these fans attempt to take the show into their own hands? What happens after – if, when, finally – Harry notices them?

London, Night One

Grace has spent five days camped outside of the Apollo, but four hours before the show, you wouldn’t be able to tell. In groups of two, Grace and her friends pose for photos in front of the bright red marquee. Last night, they cuddled on the pavement in sweatpants; now they’re made up in florals, high-waisted flares, berets. The temperature is 13°C, and Grace wears a crop top. Now 19, Grace became a fan in 2011, when she found solace in One Direction after moving from the US to Italy. “I wasn’t happy in high school, so I kind of invested in myself fully,” she tells me. What is it about Harry in particular that makes him stand out? “He’s just very accepting. He believes you should be whoever you want to be, and everybody’s going to love you.”

It’s this message of acceptance that makes Harry’s shows both empowering and entertaining. For £35, you can buy merchandise that reads, “Treat People With Kindness.” In the crowd throughout his set, hundreds of mini Pride flags – passed out by fans in the queue for free before the show – wave up at Harry as he sings. And when a larger flag makes its way onto the stage, he holds it up and dances, urging the crowd “to be whoever you want to be”.

“It’s not that I don’t have people in real life telling me that, but it’s different when someone you aspire to be like says it,” Grace explains. As anything might, these messages of support feel more significant when delivered from a stage, and echoed back by a crowd who agrees. From Harry's mouth in a room filled with admirers, such messages feel not only powerful, but genuine.

London, Night Two

Harry Styles, notoriously, doesn’t say much. While parasocial celebrity-fan relationships thrive on Twitter, his tweets read as if randomly generated by an extremely grateful bot. His live show is similar: each night, his between-song banter is near-verbatim to the previous, a carousel on which phrases like “I’m Harry, and I’m from England,” and “My job for the next hour is to entertain you,” spin round evening after evening. To see one show is to see them all. But for those in the front row, following Harry on tour feels like the only way to access the person beneath the persona.

“Because he’s so inaccessible online, it means more in person,” Grace says, “We’ve learned to work around that. If you’re first or second row, he’ll interact with you in some way. That’s your accessibility.”

Yesterday, fans attempted to use this access to bring Harry’s attention to the Black Lives Matter movement. Hoping for an acknowledgement similar to his support for the LGBTQ+ community they brought Black Lives Matter signs which – whether intentionally or not – he didn't pull up on stage to wave as well. By the second night Harry’s lack of attention toward these placards has become a big point of contention among fans; the fact he didn’t respond to the signs the previous night felt, to some fans, off brand from his accepting persona. And yet, once again, his eyes passed over the raised signs as if they read a message in a different language and, for Harry, they might as well have. Aside from a small hat-tip to “all the different kinds of messages in the crowd”, the evening passes without note.

After the show, one fan roasts him online with a photoshopped image of a hand that reads like a cheat sheet of his onstage script: “You all look ____ this evening,” it says, alluding to the slight variation in adjective each night. After a parenthetical reminder for Harry to smile, it urges, as if he were in danger of stating the directive instead of acting, “Don’t say out loud!” But Harry doesn’t need the reminder. He doesn’t, after all, say much of anything anyway. He dances his dance, recites his script, then the lights go off.

Manchester, Night Three

Four hours before doors open, Ruth applies makeup in a hotel room she’s rented to store her things, which is littered with tour merchandise, hair straighteners, and phone chargers. When I ask about the second show in London, she confesses that she left the show early in order to join the Manchester queue. “We had to miss Harry in order to see Harry,” she explains. “I was in the back, having a great time, but I would sacrifice three songs to be able to see him closer for the whole set.”

For fans who follow their fave, going to multiple shows permits this type of comparative economics. But tonight, Ruth is worried more about Harry himself. After 16 nights of the same set, she’s concerned that he’s bored. Each night, Harry performs his new single “Kiwi” twice. Initially repeated at the request of fans on the American leg of the tour, the song’s encore has now become somewhat of a gimmick, as Styles and the band stop and restart the song depending upon the crowd’s level of energy. Tonight, however, Ruth is hoping for a change. “Instead of chanting ‘Kiwi’ again like normal, we’re gonna chant ‘Girl Crush,’ and see if he wants to mix it up a bit. As much as I love seeing it, he must be bored doing the same thing.” Ruth admits that that probably won’t happen. “But I think it’d be nice for him to know that people are interested in change,” she shrugs.

That evening, Harry sings “Kiwi” twice, as usual, and gives the same speech that he gave in London, that he’ll give in Amsterdam and Milan. His job, tonight and in perpetuity, is to entertain us; ours is to be whoever we want to be in this room, and the next, and the next. Injecting variety into this process feels a bit like a Sisyphean task, but the struggle is enough to keep fans coming back each night anyway. One must imagine Harry Styles fans happy. And they are. It helps, in the end, that the show is an entertaining one.

Amsterdam, Night Four

Dani, 21, is showing off her new trousers. After sleeping on the sidewalk, she realised she had nothing fun to wear, and stopped by H&M. Their floral print, she says, reminded her of Harry’s own predilection for flowers and patterns. Though One Direction “weren’t big back then” in her home country of Bulgaria, she’s been a fan since 2010 . Tonight is her fourth and final show, and she compares her three previous ones casually. Night one in London was great, but Harry seemed better the second night – happier, and “less stressed.” Manchester was her favorite because “he was more himself.”

Like many fans, Dani knows Harry’s performance by heart. But she finds the show’s sameness exciting: “He’s so predictable, I love it. I end up talking over him. But you never know what’s going to happen. All you know is, ‘I’m seeing Harry tonight.’ What if he ends up doing something nobody expects?”

Before the show, I’m given a “Black Lives Matter” sign which I hold from my spot in the second row. When Harry sees it, he nearly flinches, either in shock or out of discomfort. Though I expect this, the reaction stings as much as it empowers. Because for a moment, I understand why Ruth, Dani, and Grace sleep on the street – to look at Harry and have him look back is intoxicating. All continues as usual, but Harry Styles and I now share a secret. Few people notice that the show, for a second, teeters on his silence, his adherence to a script that most don’t even realise exists.

Milan, Night Five

Grace has decided against queuing.

“It’s not about the show count. It’s about seeing and being with him. Obviously I’m there for the music, but it’s the same every time. I’m supporting him.”

For Grace, this means holding Harry accountable for what he does and does not say. And though they try to intervene, fans do understand the repetition. When I catch up with Ruth, it’s with the same kind of diplomacy that made them look less crazy back in London that she says, “Concerts are for people to go once, they aren’t meant to go to 500 times.”

In a few hours, the curtain will fall on the European tour without an unscripted word uttered about black lives, the controversy his silence has stirred up amongst fans, or anything else of significant consequence. Instead Harry will wave a Pride flag, silently. Grace will cry when he speaks Italian. For now though she’s visibly frustrated, longing for something that, seemingly, all his travelling fans are waiting for: the moment Harry goes rogue and deviates from the script.

“It’d be nice if he said something you didn’t think he was going to say,” she says, and it sounds a bit like his refrain in “From the Dining Table.” Why don’t you ever say what you wanna say? Styles is the one asking, but fans want an answer.

From Pride flags, to treating people with kindness, a good portion of Harry Styles’ popularity with fans lies in his populism. On stage, he is the embodiment of the will of the fans, the vessel who waves the flag they throw, and in him they find all things from acceptance, to fashion inspiration. But for many fans, his comfortable silence is, to quote the man himself, “so overrated.” For those who see themselves in Harry, urging him to use his platform to speak about issues that matter is as integral to the fan experience as camping and queueing and loving the product itself. The European tour may end tonight, but they will be back in the spring, and in the summer.

“Use your voice, Harry,” Grace sighs. She pauses, then adds, whether in defense of herself or of him: “I’m still here though.”

[bountyofbeads]

Hundreds of ISIS Supporters Flee Detention as U.S. Prepares to Withdraw https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/13/world/middleeast/syria-turkey-invasion-isis.html

Hundreds of ISIS Supporters Flee Detention Amid Turkish Airstrikes

The attacks caused about 700 Islamic State families to escape a Kurdish-run camp. The American defense secretary also said the U.S. would pull about 1,000 troops from the area.

By Carlotta Gall and Patrick Kingsley | Published Oct. 13, 2019 Updated 1:14 PM ET | New York Times | Posted October 13, 2019 |

AKCAKALE, Turkey — Hundreds of relatives of Islamic State fighters fled a Kurdish-run detention camp on Sunday morning after Turkish airstrikes hit the surrounding area, deepening the crisis prompted by the Turkish-led invasion of northern Syria.

The escapes came hours before the United States military said it would withdraw its remaining troops from northern Syria in the coming weeks, despite a likely resurgence of the Islamic State amid chaotic efforts by Turkish-led troops to wrest the region from Kurdish control.

A Kurdish official also said that the flag of the Islamic State, also known as ISIS, had been raised in the countryside between the camp in the Kurdish-held town of Ain Issa and the Turkish border, another indication of how the Kurdish authorities were losing control of a region they had freed from the extremists only months ago.

“We are facing very fierce attacks and we’re forced to decrease numbers of guards,” said the official, Ciya Kurd, of the Kurdish-led regional authority, who confirmed the break from the displacement camp after the Turkish strikes.

Defense Secretary Mark T. Esper announced in an interview with CBS’s “Face the Nation” broadcast on Sunday that the United States would be evacuating about 1,000 American troops from northern Syria in a “deliberate withdrawal.” About 50 United States troops were previously removed from the area in anticipation of the Turkish incursion.

He said that the United States found itself “likely caught between two opposing advancing armies” in northern Syria, and called the escalation of the conflict in the region a “very terrible situation.”

The defense chief added that the United States had learned that Turkey was likely to expand its incursion “farther south than originally planned and to the west” in Syria, according to a transcript of his remarks published by CBS.

The Kurdish authorities are in negotiations with the Syrian and Russian governments to form an alliance against the Turkish force, Mr. Esper said, adding that the United States did not want to be caught in the crossfire.

The Kurdish authorities are “looking to cut a deal, if you will, with the Syrians and the Russians to counterattack against the Turks in the north,” Mr. Esper said.

President Trump took to Twitter to defend his decision last week to pull troops back from the border, where their presence had shielded Kurdish allies, effectively clearing the way for the Turkish incursion. His decision has generated intense criticism from Republicans and Democrats that he had betrayed Kurdish fighters who fought alongside American troops against the Islamic State.

“The Kurds and Turkey have been fighting for many years,” Mr. Trump wrote on Sunday. Referring to the Kurdistan Workers’ Party, a faction of Kurds known as the P.K.K., he added: “Turkey considers the PKK the worst terrorists of all. Others may want to come in and fight for one side or the other. Let them! We are monitoring the situation closely. Endless Wars!”

Even as he sought to wash his hands of the region’s intractable conflicts, Mr. Trump tried to assuage his critics, including Senator Lindsey Graham, a South Carolina Republican who has usually been one of his strongest allies but broke with the president over his Syria decision and is promising bipartisan legislation to slap economic sanctions on Turkey.

“Dealing with @LindseyGrahamSC and many members of Congress, including Democrats, about imposing powerful Sanctions on Turkey,” Mr. Trump wrote. “Treasury is ready to go, additional legislation may be sought. There is great consensus on this.”

Mr. Trump has declared ISIS defeated, but his decision to pull back American troops could result in the group’s resurgence and has raised questions about the fate of thousands of Islamic State detainees that the Syrian Kurds, had been holding in makeshift wartime prisons.

The decision has already had devastating consequences for the Kurds. They lost thousands of fighters in the battle against the extremists and are now fighting a war on two fronts. A video capturing the execution on Saturday of at least two Kurdish prisoners by Turkish-backed Syrian Arab fighters illustrated the fallout of the invasion.

On Sunday, American troops stationed in Ain Issa withdrew from the town as Turkish-led forces moved closer to its perimeter, a United States military official said, even as relatives of ISIS fighters mounted an escape from the detention facility elsewhere in the town.

The retreat came as Turkey’s airstrikes pummeled Ain Issa, about 20 miles south of the Turkish-Syrian border, causing panic and unrest in a camp that housed nearly 13,000 displaced people, fewer than 10 percent of whom were relatives of Islamic State fighters.

Scores of people, including more than 700 relatives of ISIS, fled the camp, according to the Kurdish authorities. The number could not be independently verified, but a witness confirmed by phone that he had seen crowds of people hurrying from the camp around 9:30 a.m. Sunday.

The humanitarian aid group Save the Children also confirmed that foreign nationals had left the camp. Sonia Khush, who oversees the group’s work in Syria, citing her colleagues at the camp, said that a secure facility that housed ISIS relatives was now empty.

“What was not clear to us was whether some of the women and children were taken by coalition forces or whether they all managed to escape,” Ms. Khush said. “It seems to be a mix of the two. Some women and children may be in the main camp.”

The Kurdish authorities had repeatedly warned that, while they were confronted by the Turkish invasion, they would not have the resources to secure the prisons and camps containing ISIS fighters and their relatives.

After establishing a foothold on Saturday in Ras al-Ain, a strategic town close to the Turkish border, Turkish troops and their Arab proxies made major progress on the ground on Sunday. A Syrian Arab militia under Turkish command pushed deeper into Kurdish-held territory, blocking major roads, ambushing civilians and claiming the capture of a second strategic town in northern Syria, Tel Abyad, that lies adjacent to the border.

President Recep Tayyip Erdogan of Turkey announced that his forces now controlled nearly 70 square miles of territory in northern Syria. They have also taken control of the most important highway that connects the two flanks of Kurdish-held territory, the Turkish defense ministry said. This allows Turkish troops and their proxies to block supply lines between Kurdish forces.

Mr. Erdogan also suggested his campaign was now expanding in scope. He announced that the Turkish force would attempt to capture Al Hasaka, a major Kurdish-run city that sits well beyond the territory that Mr. Erdogan initially said he had set out to capture.

Turkey and its Syrian Arab allies are trying to wrest control of northern Syria from a Kurdish-led militia that spearheaded American-backed operations against the Islamic State and that is the offshoot of a Kurdish guerrilla group based in Turkey.

Since the Syrian civil war began eight years ago, northern Syria has changed hands several times, as secular rebels, Islamist rebels, extremist groups and Kurdish factions have vied with government forces for control.

After partnering with American troops to drive out the Islamic State, the Kurdish-led militia emerged as the dominant force across the area, enraging and frightening the Turkish authorities, who see the group, which calls itself the Syrian Democratic Forces, as a terrorist organization.

On Sunday morning, Turkish-backed Arab militias ambushed and captured four employees of the Kurdish Red Crescent, a medical aid group, traveling north from Ain Issa toward the besieged town of Tel Abyad, a member of the aid group said by phone. The four employees were in a two-car convoy.

The Turkish-led force also took control of Suluk, an Arab town about five miles inside Kurdish-held territory, according to the Turkish state-run news agency Anadolu. A Syrian activist in touch with the combatants and civilians in the area, Mustafa Hamida, confirmed the news.

Close-fire fighting could be heard in Tel Abyad on Sunday morning from the Turkish border town of Akcakale, suggesting that Turkish forces had entered the town after a four-day siege. The two adjoining towns are separated by customs buildings and a cement border wall.

Turkish-backed Arab fighters posted photos on an online chat room of combatants standing in front of a security building in a western neighborhood of the town, and Turkish television footage showed Arab fighters within the town’s perimeter.

The invasion has caused a huge surge in displacement, with more than 130,000 people fleeing their homes since fighting began on Wednesday. Many had already been displaced during the Syrian conflict.

Carlotta Gall reported from Akcakale, Turkey, and Patrick Kingsley from Istanbul. Ben Hubbard contributed reporting from Dohuk, Iraq, Eric Schmitt from Washington, Hwaida Saad from Beirut, Lebanon, and Iliana Magra from London.

Pullback Leaves Green Berets Feeling ‘Ashamed,’ and Kurdish Allies Describing ‘Betrayal’

By Eric Schmitt, Thomas Gibbons-Neff, Ben Hubbard and Helene Cooper | Published Oct. 13, 2019 Updated 12:36 p.m. ET | New York Times | Posted October 13, 2019 |

WASHINGTON — American commandos were working alongside Kurdish forces at an outpost in eastern Syria last year when they were attacked by columns of Syrian government tanks and hundreds of troops, including Russian mercenaries. In the next hours, the Americans threw the Pentagon’s arsenal at them, including B-52 strategic bombers. The attack was stopped.

That operation, in the middle of the American-led campaign against the Islamic State in Syria, showed the extent to which the United States military was willing to protect the Syrian Kurds, its main ally on the ground.

But now, with the White House revoking protection for these Kurdish fighters, some of the Special Forces officers who battled alongside the Kurds say they feel deep remorse at orders to abandon their allies.

“They trusted us and we broke that trust,” one Army officer who has worked alongside the Kurds in northern Syria said last week in a telephone interview. “It’s a stain on the American conscience.”

“I’m ashamed,” said another officer who had also served in northern Syria. Both officers spoke on the condition of anonymity to avoid reprisals from their chains of command.

And the response from the Kurds themselves was just as stark. “The worst thing in military logic and comrades in the trench is betrayal,” said Shervan Darwish, an official allied with the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces.

The next flurry of orders from Washington, some fear, could pull American troops out of Syria altogether. Defense Secretary Mark T. Esper said on Sunday that roughly 1,000 American troops in northeastern Syria would conduct a “deliberate withdrawal,” at least farther south — and possibly out of the country entirely in the coming days and weeks.

The defense secretary’s statement came after comments on Friday pushing back on complaints that the United States was betraying allies in Syria — “We have not abandoned the Kurds” — even as he acknowledged that his Turkish counterpart had ignored his plea to stop the offensive.

Army Special Forces soldiers — mostly members of the Third Special Forces Group — moved last week to consolidate their positions in the confines of their outposts miles away from the Syrian border, a quiet withdrawal that all but confirmed the United States’ capitulation to the Turkish military’s offensive to clear Kurdish-held areas of northern Syria.

But as the Americans pulled back, the Kurds moved north to try to reinforce their comrades fighting the offensive. The American soldiers could only watch from their sandbag-lined walls. Orders from Washington were simple: Hands off. Let the Kurds fight for themselves.

The orders contradicted the American military’s strategy in Syria over the past four years, especially when it came to the Kurdish fighters, known as the Y.P.G., who were integral to routing the Islamic State from northeastern Syria. The Kurds had fought in Manbij, Raqqa and deep into the Euphrates River Valley, hunting the last Islamic State’s fighters in the group’s now defunct physical caliphate. But the Syrian Democratic Forces, or S.D.F., as the Kurdish and their allied Arab fighters on the ground are called, are being left behind.

American Special Forces and other troops had built close ties with their Kurdish allies, living on the same dusty compounds, sharing meals and common dangers. They fought side by side, and helped evacuate Kurdish dead and wounded from the battlefield.

“When they mourn, we mourn with them,” Gen. Joseph L. Votel, a former head of the military’s Central Command, said on Thursday at the Middle East Institute.

The Kurdish forces and American military have survived previous strains, including President Trump’s sudden decision in December to withdraw all American troops from northern Syria, a decision that was later walked back somewhat.

This time may be different, and irreversible. “It would seem at this particular point, we’ve made it very, very hard for them to have a partnership relationship with us because of this recent policy decision,” General Votel said.

As part of security measures the United States brokered to tamp down tensions with Turkish troops, Kurdish forces agreed to pull back from the border, destroy fortifications and return some heavy weapons — steps meant to show that they posed no threat to Turkish territory, but that later made them more vulnerable when Turkey launched its offensive.

Special Forces officers described another recent operation with Kurds that underscored the tenacity of the group. The Americans and the Kurdish troops were searching for a low-level Islamic State leader in northern Syria. It was a difficult mission and unlikely they would find the commander.

From his operations center, one American officer watched the Kurds work alongside the Americans on the ground in an almost indistinguishable symmetry. They captured the Islamic State fighter.

“The S.D.F.’s elite counterterrorism units are hardened veterans of the war against ISIS whom the U.S. has seen in action and trust completely,” said Nicholas A. Heras, a fellow at the Center for a New American Security, who visited the S.D.F. in July to advise them on the Islamic State, or ISIS.

During the battle against ISIS, coordination between the United States military and the Syrian Democratic Forces has extended from the highest levels to rank-and-file fighters, according to multiple interviews with S.D.F. fighters and commanders in Syria over the course of the campaign.

S.D.F. commanders worked side by side with American military officers in a joint command center in a defunct cement factory near the northern Syrian town of Kobani, where they discussed strategy and planned future operations.

The battle of Kobani that began in 2014 gave birth to the United States’ ties to the Kurds in northeastern Syria. ISIS fighters, armed with heavy American-made artillery captured from retreating Iraqi army units, surrounded Kobani, a Kurdish city, and entered parts of it.

Despite the Obama administration’s initial reluctance to offer help, the United States carried out airstrikes against advancing ISIS militants, and its military aircraft dropped ammunition, small arms and medical supplies to replenish the Kurdish combatants.

That aid helped turn the tide, the Kurds defeated ISIS, and American commanders realized they had discovered a valuable ally in the fight against the terrorist group.

Thousands of S.D.F. fighters received training from the United States in battlefield tactics, reconnaissance and first aid. Reconnaissance teams learned to identify Islamic State locations and transmit them to the command center for the American-led military coalition to plan airstrikes.

Visitors to front-line S.D.F. positions often saw Syrian officers with iPads and laptops they used to communicate information to their American colleagues.

“For the last two years, the coordination was pretty deep,” said Mutlu Civiroglu, a Washington-based Kurdish affairs analyst who has spent time in northeastern Syria. “The mutual trust was very high, the mutual confidence, because this collaboration brought enormous results.”

“They completed each other,” he said of the S.D.F. and United States-led coalition. “The coalition didn’t have boots on the ground and fighters didn’t have air support, so they needed each other.”

That coordination was critical in many of the big battles against the Islamic State.

To open the battle in one town, S.D.F. fighters were deposited by coalition aircraft behind the Islamic State’s lines. At the start of another battle, United States Special Operations forces helped the S.D.F. plot and execute an attack across the Euphrates River.

Even after the Islamic State had lost most of its territory, the United States trained counterterrorism units to do tactical raids on ISIS hide-outs and provided them with intelligence needed to plan them.

Even in territory far from the front lines with the Islamic State, S.D.F. vehicles often drove before and after American convoys through Syrian towns and S.D.F. fighters provided perimeter security at facilities where United States personnel were based.

The torturous part of America’s on-again, off-again alliance with the Kurds — one in which the United States has routinely armed the Kurds to fight various regimes it viewed as adversaries — emerged in 1974, as the Kurds were rebelling against Iraq. Iran and the United States were allies, and the shah of Iran and Henry A. Kissinger encouraged the Kurdish rebellion against the Iraqi government. C.I.A. agents were sent to the Iraq-Iran border to help the Kurds.

The Kurdish leader Mustapha Barzani did not trust the shah of Iran but believed Kissinger when he said that the Kurds would receive help from the Americans.

But a year later, the shah of Iran made a deal with Saddam Hussein on the sidelines of an OPEC meeting: In return for some territorial adjustments along the Iran-Iraq border, the shah agreed to stop support for the Kurds.

Kissinger signed off on the plan, the Iraqi military slaughtered thousands of Kurds and the United States stood by. When questioned, Kissinger delivered his now famous explanation: “Covert action,” he said, “should not be confused with missionary work.”

In the fight against ISIS in Syria, Kurdish fighters followed their hard-fought triumph in Kobani by liberating other Kurdish towns. Then the Americans asked their newfound Kurdish allies to go into Arab areas, team up with local militias and reclaim those areas from the Islamic State.

The American military implored the S.D.F. to fight in the Arab areas, and so they advanced, seizing Raqqa and Deir Ezzour, winning but suffering large numbers of casualties.

The American-Kurdish military alliance against the Islamic State in Syria and Iraq “began with us helping them,” said Peter W. Galbraith, the former American diplomat who has for years also been a senior adviser to the Kurds in both Syria and Iraq. “But by the end, it was them helping us. They are the ones who recovered the territory that ISIS had taken.”

Eric Schmitt and Helene Cooper reported from Washington, Thomas Gibbons-Neff from Kabul, and Ben Hubbard from Erbil, Iraq.

Defense Secretary Announces Withdrawal From Northern Syria

By Julian E. Barnes and Eric Schmitt | Published Oct. 13, 2019, 12:28 PM ET | New York Times | Posted October 13, 2019 2::00 PM ET |

WASHINGTON — Defense Secretary Mark T. Esper said Sunday that President Trump ordered a withdrawal of American forces from northern Syria, a decision that will effectively cede control of the area to the Syrian government and Russia, and could allow a resurgence of the Islamic State.

Mr. Esper, appearing on both Fox News and CBS News, said that American troops, mostly Special Operations forces, would move south but not leave the country in the face of Turkey’s incursion into the section of Syria controlled by Kurdish forces, a group of fighters trained and backed by the United States government.

The Pentagon has slow-walked previous orders by Mr. Trump to evacuate from Syria, to protect its Kurdish partners and hold the ground it took back from the Islamic State. But Mr. Esper’s comments Sunday indicated that this time Mr. Trump’s drawdown order was being acted on with haste.

The bulk of the roughly 1,000 troops in Syria are positioned in the northeastern part of the country, and the new orders will push those troops further south. Military officials said plans remained fluid, and it was not clear how far the troops would withdraw to. But in any case, the implications were clear: American forces will not be coming to the aid of their Kurdish allies in the face of the Turkish-backed offensive.

Appearing on “Fox News Sunday,” Mr. Esper defended the planned withdrawal of what he said was “less than 1,000 troops” as prioritizing the safety of American soldiers in the crisis, and he said the United States would ultimately have been unable to deter Turkey from invading Syria.

“Fifty service members are not going to stop a Turkish advance,” Mr. Esper said, referring to the “trip wire” force along the Turkish border that Mr. Trump ordered removed last week. “The U.S. doesn’t have the forces on hand to stop an invasion of Turkey that is 15,000 strong.”

Mr. Esper said the Pentagon expected Turkish forces to annex even more territory than originally estimated. He also confirmed that the commander of the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces was “cutting a deal” with Russian and Syrian government forces who are now heading north to fight back against the Turkish offensive.

Throughout the fight with the Islamic State that began in 2014, the Kurdish forces proved to be America’s most able partners. But Turkey has long viewed those forces as an offshoot of what it and the United States consider a terrorist group it has long battled inside its borders and throughout the region.

The Kurdish forces were key to breaking the Islamic State’s control of territory in Syria, effectively destroying its self-proclaimed caliphate. Despite Mr. Trump’s claim that the Islamic State is defeated, the fighters remain an effective insurgent force in Syria and Iraq. If the Turkish incursion into Syria breaks the power of the Kurdish force, some military officials believe the Islamic State could once again find lawless safe havens from which to rebuild.

American military forces pulled out of Ain Issa, a Syrian town north of the Islamic State’s former self-declared capital of Raqqa, on Sunday morning after an advance of the Free Syrian Army, a rebel group backed by Turkey, according to American military officials.

The remaining Special Operations forces are working out of about a dozen bases or outposts in northeastern Syria. One of the most important of those is Manbij, where nearly 200 American forces are based. That base is the most likely to be evacuated next.

Turkish officials have long objected to Kurdish control of Manbij. Ankara has repeatedly said it wants Kurdish forces to withdraw from Manbij, and give control to its Syrian Arab allies.

The United States also maintains a small contingent of troops at the Al-Tanf base in south-central Syria, as a deterrent to Iranian movements in that region. It was unclear whether the withdrawal order affects that post, which American officials have said in the past would be the last United States presence in the country to be withdrawn.

Defense officials emphasized that their plans for Syria remained fluid. During the next couple of days, American commanders in the region and at the Pentagon will assess options on which forces should withdraw, in which order and where. Some may withdraw to Iraq or Jordan, and others could go back to the United States or Europe. The Air Force will continue to provide air cover for the military troops that are withdrawing.

The withdrawal from northeastern Syria is expected to be complete perhaps as early as the end of October, a military official said. But the pace of the withdrawal will depend on how quickly Turkish-backed forces advance.

American forces will try to avoid contact with the Turkish-backed forces, but the military official warned they will defend themselves if attacked.

Chris Cameron contributed reporting.