#a lot of it seems like shaming- your concerns for this stuff should be targeted at the companies or the fans who obsess over it

[cheekyquokka]

.

#I do just be scrolling through shorts on YouTube and the amount of times something pops up that’s like #‘kpop idols who got plastic surgery’ ‘kpop idols weight gain/loss’ ‘idols who are insecure about x’ #it’s just another thing that’s like why is this the culture? why comment on it? #let these people do a dancey dance and sing-a the songs #it’s like- I do believe attention should be brought to some issues but the way people go about it it seems like faux concern #a lot of it seems like shaming- your concerns for this stuff should be targeted at the companies or the fans who obsess over it #why are you directing it at the idols themselves- they’re doing what they’re pressured or told to do #or what they think will make the fans happy #and some of it is potentially not even true- it's just assuming and/or projecting #I’m in a 🙄😒 mood today if that hasn’t already come across lol #and for some reason I’ve chosen fandom culture as the target #I just want them to be able to do some dancey dance and sing-a the songs- literally what they signed up for #oh and behind the scenes fun of course- love seeing that part too #btw the video I just watched that sparked this rant- #they said Binnie had chin reduction and proceeded to show a 'before and after' #the 'before' picture was pre debut skinny binnie at one angle #and the ‘after’ was super buff bin and a completely different angle 🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️ #a few videos before was about Yuna's ribcage- I scrolled past it almost immediately so can't say for sure but it started off very shame-y

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

⇺ ⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂⁂ ⇻

↣ Masterpost

↣ inspired by @haik-choo’s post

↣ wc: 1.7k 

↣ warnings: some self inflicted pain (nothing major!), cheating mentions, serious heartbreak. 

↣  song recommendation:  tolerate it - taylor swift 

↣  preamble (as written by haik-choo):  akaashi keiji doesn’t get that not everyone can understand how someone feels with one look. he puts an extra sugar in his coffee and expects you to know that he wants to go out to a bakery, he clicks his red pens a few extra times and expects you to know that he needs refills – he says he has a lot of work tonight and expects you to make him midnight snacks. to him, that stuff is easy. why can’t you understand him? he does it for you – he shouldn’t have to say it out loud. you should already know what he’s thinking. if you don’t, maybe you don’t love him as much as he thought you did.

The complexity of love has never been accurately represented in the media. Films present reality through the lens of a fractured mirror to provide viewers a sense of emotion they cannot find elsewhere. Fairy tales are perhaps the worst form of media to exist. They are created to be consumed by young impressionable children who develop unrealistic expectations that are later thrust upon the unfortunate souls that become their partners. You were one of those children who bought the falsities sold to you. Love was something magical, the intertwining of two hearts.

You were sixteen when you fell in love for the first time. Enthralled by how one emotion could paint new colours in the horizons, you allowed yourself to fall… it was perfect, until you found yourself crying on the bathroom floor, wondering why the fairy tales lied to you.

You were seventeen when you first experienced heart break. Even now, you can remember the shame that drenched your soul when you learned that the one you loved, had slept with someone else. Each inch of your skin was tainted by your “prince charming.”

That night, your mother had to drag you out of the bath. The pads of your toes and fingers had shriveled up, while your arms and legs burned a bright crimson from the incessant scrubbing. Yet the tingling of your skin was merely a scratch in comparison to the laceration inside of your heart, and there was no band aid that you could apply there.

That was December 3rd 2014 – the date you abandoned your foolish ideals.

You met Akaashi Keiji exactly six months later.

If you were ever asked to describe the mystery that is Keiji, where would you begin? Were there truly any words that could accurately capture the very essence of his kind soul? Or the depth of this mesmerizing eyes? How would you possibly begin to explain how a single caress by his calloused fingertips had melted away the imaginary grime that had coated your skin? If anyone was prince charming, it was him.

But little did you know that sometimes he doubted whether you were his Cinderella. His happily ever after…

The first indication of his veiled concerns occurred in your last year of high school. With the departure of his third-year friends, Akaashi was titled captain of the boy’s volleyball team. While he enjoyed volleyball, he was never obsessed with the sport like his best friend. Volleyball was his hobby, nothing more and nothing less. He was more concerned with maintaining his high academic record than securing a ticket to nationals. Last year balancing the various fragments of his life was simple. But the absence of his friends weighed on him, each day the anxiety increased until he could barely sit without jitters swarming his limbs. As his girlfriend, you should have known the stress he was battling… Sure, he was pushing you away, but you should have known why.

Yet, when you attempted to thwart his efforts to establish distance, you were chastised for your lack of understanding.

“Y/n. I am busy. Please do not disturb me during practice.” Not the slightest bit of respect was allocated to you, despite your status as his girlfriend. And while his pointed response was undoubtedly directed towards to you, his attention was on the practice commencing inside of the gym. “Listen, I need to go back. If you want to talk, consider picking a more appropriate time in the future.” Rolling the towel within his grasp, he refused to acknowledge you beyond sharing these words.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” To even utter an apology stole the limited resolve you had to address the situation. How much did you have to degrade yourself to fix a relationship he evidently did not want?

But the following day at lunch period, a dozen roses were delivered to you with an apology note attached to the stems. It was only natural for you to grant him the forgiveness he sought. Dismissing his actions was simple once you rationalized it as a normal reaction to an abundance of pressure. Diamonds may be created under pressure, but he was no diamond, and neither were you.

The second indication of his concealed doubts did not emerge from a set of actions, nor did it include the exchange of harsh words. Rather, it was his silence that nurtured your insecurities and provided you confirmation that while he was your happily-ever-after, you may not be his.

To celebrate Keiji’s 19th birthday, his mother had offered to host a gathering at his childhood home. When the details of the party were conveyed to you, excitement had fluttered to life inside of your stomach. It was the perfect opportunity to develop your relationship with the woman who had raised your wonderful boyfriend. Yet, not even the purest of intentions would save you from the humiliation that awaited you that night.

At one point of the evening, Keiji had vanished for a considerable amount of time. Naturally, you searched the house for your boyfriend. When you peaked inside of the kitchen, you found him engaging in a conversation with his mother. You almost called out to him instinctively, except your vocal cords denied you access when you caught the end of their conversation.  

“Has she been tending to your needs yet? Or has she remained as useless as before?” The older woman clutched the stem of her wine glass, with a scoff clawing at her throat. It seemed that the liquor coating her tongue had turned the muscular organ into a knife.

Keiji stood with his back pressed against the kitchen island, listening without a reaction. The nonchalance emanating from his demeanour indicated that this was not the first occurrence. No, this had happened before, otherwise he would have had some form of a reaction. A flinch – a twitch – anything. But he stood still, emotionless, distant. The targeting comments were equivalent to a whisper in the wind – not deserving of a response, nor a stir.

“Keiji, you are aware that you are wasting your time and yet you stay with her?” The sigh falling from her stained lips was extended to emphasize her distress, and the gentle sound was enough to weaken your knees.

No longer able to support your own weight, you leaned against the wall, allowing your eyelids to flutter shut. Your fingers tangled with the fabric of your shirt as you waited for his response.

Say something – anything. Just tell her she’s wrong.

Yet the denial never came.  

The first two indications were shoved aside, dismissed with excuses that would serve as a band-aid on your decaying relationship. But then came the third.

The third indication of his doubt occurred on an average college night when you were in the process of selecting your outfit for the night. Bokuto had arranged an unofficial Fukurodani reunion for the boy’s volleyball team. As Keiji’s girlfriend, the invite was naturally extended to you. Usually your boyfriend would be in higher spirits knowing that he would soon be in the company of his high school friends. But tonight, a frown remained etched into his features, not wavering for even a single moment.

“Which one? I don’t want to be underdressed. But on the other hand, Kou is always dressed really weird. So, I don’t know.” Two outfits were presented towards the male, a scarlet cocktail dress and a navy pantsuit with a low cut.

“Does it matter, y/n?” The sharp remark was blown out with a heavy sigh. It was as though he could not muster the energy to care for your feelings. Or perhaps, he simply chose to display his inner conflict, with no concern of the consequences of his decision.

The noise was startling enough to strip you of the excitement that once animated your movements.

“I guess not, but is it wrong that I want to look good for my boyfriend?” The counter question was voiced barely above a whisper, with each word sounding fainter than the last.

“Maybe if you knew me well enough you wouldn’t have to ask.” His eyes did not meet yours, rather they stayed fixed on the writing utensil within his grasp. “It’s not that hard, y/n. You just don’t care enough to put in the effort.”

The verbal assaults implanted daggers into your chest, but the pain would only become worse – since he was not done just yet.

“If you refuse to love me with your entire heart, what is the point? Let me go.”

“Keiji!” Pain cut along the inside of your throat from the shriek erupting from your chest. Had you ever screamed his name in quite a harsh manner? Liquid blurred your vision, and with your air-filled organs wheezing in distress, your words were stated between staggered breaths.

“I am not a fucking mind reader.” The fog of desperation encompassing you was comprised of poison, one that soon threaded throughout your system. The properties of the poison enflamed your lungs, burning the organs and halting the flow of air. Instinctively your hands were sent to your skin, clawing at the flesh as if you could simply rip out the emotions suffocating you. “Just because I don’t love you the way you think I should, doesn’t mean I don’t.” Whether the words spilling from your lips were responsible for the bitter taste in your mouth, or the tears now gracefully parading down your cheeks was unknown. Either way, the release of the steaming liquid eased the burning sensation in your lungs.

“I’m done, Keiji. I’m done.” Slowly claiming your insides was a thin layer of ice. By now, you had run out of excuses for his behaviour. There were no longer any band-aids you could use to tend to the wounds. The question of whether your boyfriend considered you “the one” was answered.

Despite the ache weaving into your muscles, your feet dragged you to the front door. A piece of you desired to catch one final glimpse of him – as your heart knew this would be the final time you would see him. But afraid you would lose your resolve to leave, you pressed the car keys against your palm, and remained fixed on the exit.

Behind you, the brunette voiced a weak apology – you were unable to catch the exact words, as they were muffled by the fabric of his sleeves. But not even the sweetest words could remedy the situation. Since, now you had accepted the truth.

Love was never a fairy-tale, and Akaashi Keiji was not a prince. Love would never be what you wanted it to be, and it would always hurt.

Love would always hurt.

A/N: I ended up finishing this today because I got into a bad mood and so I needed to channel it into something lol 

Taglist: @sayakaaaaaa @sanitisegermsfree @haikyuufairy @newfriendjen @lvoejimin @moonlightaangel @gyozaaaaa @byun-nies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @amberalisa @graykageyama @yourstarvic @chaichai-the-weeb @chibishae34 @haikyuusimp91 @volleybloop  @rajablast @idiot-juice-enthusiast @melonmayhere @cuddlesslut  @athenarosaline @memes-and-money @coconut-dreamz  @mismatched-loves @elianetsantana @tsumume @tsukkismamagucci @the-golden-jhope @camcam1617 @prettyforpapiiwa @swoonhui​ @neobakas​ @azumane-kun @elephantloser​ @dreamstormings​ @anejuuuuoy​   

~ message me to be removed from the general taglist + bolded means I can’t tag ya 

#akaashi haikyuu #akaashi keiji #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi x y/n #akaashi imagine #akaashi angst #akaashi x you #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu

[soulmate-game]

Okay, I’m not sure if what I was trying to say in my last post was said very well.

I completely understand the tagging situation from the First Wave with the DC fans. That’s discourse that is mostly solved and we can’t do anything about those who are forever gonna be bitter or lazy. I’m not talking about that stuff.

The stuff I want to prevent/limit is the hate that comes after our fandom deliberately. And yes, I know I can’t stop it. None of us can stop bitter, antagonistic people from being bitter and antagonistic. None of us can stop people who just want to be angry.

I’m not talking about stopping them, though.

I’m talking about what we can do to protect ourselves as creators and consumers in this fandom. As people who love and appreciate what the creations and people in this fandom have to offer. In simplistic form, I’m saying we need to learn how to shield ourselves from bullies. And there are methods we can use to make ourselves less of a target to the people who go after us, and methods to cut their attacks off short. None of these methods are fool-proof, but they will work to filter out a good majority of the shit we would otherwise be showered by, like a big umbrella against Assholery. Sure, the wind might still blow some in our face and we might splash in a puddle or two by accident, but at least we aren’t soaked.

So let me list the various things that can help you shield yourself from hate/harassment/antis who might just be out to get you.

1) leave the fandom.

The most effective, but least attractive method possible. This is limited to being a last ditch effort, if things have just gotten too hard to handle. I’m covering it first though, because we have to acknowledge that it is a viable method. If you feel trapped, hated, bullied, I’m sure all of us in this fandom would prefer you take a break and leave us for a while in the sake of your own health and safety then stay where you are miserable. This is less of a problem for us though, because mostly this option is gonna be for fandoms where the discourse and attacks are internal. Maribat is largely a peaceful and supportive/healthy environment once you’re inside our little bubble, the main discourse comes from outside in. So let’s focus on the main point of this post— how to keep our bubble from popping.

2) Make it apparent right away that you are Unapologetic.

Whenever you post content or are approached by someone about the topic of your fandom, don’t you DARE ever apologize for liking what you like or posting unproblematic content. You need to make it clear right off the bat that you are not gonna be swayed, bullied, or shamed out of your fandom. Stand with pride and make it clear, but don’t be verbose about it. A simple “Don’t like, don’t read” is classic but sometimes if you’re posting/talking during a more confrontational period of the fandom, you need to up your game to reflect that. The funny thing is, people can easily be intimidated by swearing if it isn’t directed at them or clearly antagonistic. If you’re swearing in a joking, casual or even in a manner that shows you’re not taking yourself too seriously, people will usually avoid picking fights with you. For this, my favorite lines to use on my work include;

“Don’t like, I don’t fucking care. I fell down the rabbit hole.”

“Don’t bother reading if you’re not into this, this shit bitch-slapped me and dragged me along on it’s adventure.”

“I’m addicted to this fandom, don’t bother trying to save me. If it bothers you, I don’t give a fuck. Save yourselves.”

3) Don’t approach or interact

Unless someone comes at you first, never try to persuade someone away from hating us. That just makes you a target in an empty field, for the vultures to surround and gang up on. If someone approaches you with provocative but not overly insulting or intelligent language— I.e; trying to start a fight, vague insults not always relating to the fandom itself, trying to insult your character/judgement— do not respond. Delete the message, block the account, and surround yourself with fluffy good stuff to forget the wanna-be harasser. These people are often not brave enough to outright start a fight, and want you to get defensive first so they know the weak points in your armor to exploit. Defensive statements declare your own insecurities, don’t get defensive. It gives them a way to win without having to defend themselves or feel vulnerable— it’s like exploiting type differences in Pokémon. You wait for an unfamiliar Pokémon to expose it’s type, then snipe it with the moves it’s weak to. Then, you have a near sure-fire win even with under leveled Pokémon on your team.

Don’t be a proud Infernape that gets sniped by a weak-ass level 5 Piplup. We’re strong, don’t show them the chinks in our armor.

4) Have a support network. Even if they don’t know they are your support network.

The fandom as a whole serves this purpose, and this is mostly gonna be a tactic you use when the discourse is inside the fandom, but there can be uses for this in discourse from outside the fandom as well. If someone tries to act like they like your story/art “but...” they passive aggressively state things they “would prefer” or they try to make it sound like you made stupid mistakes (a tactic to make you insecure about yourself) instead of kindly pointing out errors or offering constructive criticism (ex: “you know you put your trigger list somewhere where it’s useless right? Love your story though.)—THESE ARE ALL PROVOCATIONS. They are trying to make you insecure so that you change things about yourself, your work, or jump through hoops to try to “make it up” to them when you did nothing wrong and there are no problems to fix. Do not fall for it! Instead, politely as possible, bring the issue into a public space where you feel safe/trust the people in that space to keep the bullshit from escalating. For me, I straight up explain my reasoning for the placement of my trigger list as if I’m advertising a particularly boring but important product that I’m selling, then offer places for them to bring the issue into a discussion with others. I send them to a discoed group or right here to my tumblr, and I immediately make the issue into a big discussion (do YOU think there is anything to change? Let’s ALL talk about it) so that I am no longer isolated and easy for them to harass. They might refuse to join the discussion and further try to pressure you, but do not cave. Merely say that a public discussion has been started, and if they are actually, legitimately concerned about the way you do things then they can debate it in a public setting. This way, you have back up. 9/10 people who try to target you this way will back off and never enter the conversation you started.

5) Do not fight back.

This sounds counterintuitive, but a lot of the time once discourse gets this bad, arguing/defending/ trying to prove your point only fuels their rage more. I have found that people hate very little in this world more than they hate being wrong. And people who hate being wrong will fight to the bitter death about their opinions, no matter how invalid or hurtful they are, in the favor of their blissful ignorance. Remove yourself from harmful discussions or those that seem to be going in circles as soon as possible, and try to surround yourself in your support group. Never let people make you feel stupid, your opinions illegitimate, or your likes/dislikes invalid or evil.

6) Try to learn how to recognize bullies in disguise

It’s too much for me to try to cover here, but you need to PLEASE look into how to spot gaslighting. Tactics of gaslighting are often used to attack others and try to make them feel like their own opinions are invalid or their mindset untrustworthy. People will often approach you in the guise of friendship/support/ “I am not into this, but...” and while this is not always a red flag, we have to keep our eyes open for any signs of this person or their approach being rooted in anything other than legitimate curiosity or kindness. Not all suggestions that say they are out of concern actually ARE. Keep an eye out for warning signs, and cut off interaction once things seem like they may lead to an argument or you being in a vulnerable position if you continue interacting.

(Brief mention of s**cide and threats in the section below)

7) If all else fails, BLOCK THEM.

No hesitation, we don’t need this shit. They make a second account? Block that too. Don’t respond, only take screenshots or reblog if it is directly harmful information that can/should be documented (words that encourage suicide, threats, insults that seem a little too specific for comfort) and give the evidence to someone you trust to look out for you. A therapist, a family member, or even the authorities if you deem that necessary. Just don’t handle it alone.

We are not responsible for other people’s actions, opinions, or anger. Take the steps to protect yourself instead of trying to reconcile. Sometimes, reconciliation isn’t an option. Both parties have to be willing to reconcile, and it is clear they have nothing in mind but hurting us. So raise your shields and protect yourself and your friends, we’re not gonna lose a war to petty jerks.

#tw: harassment #bully prevention #bullying prevention #steps to protect yourself #maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (3)

masterlist. 

Content Warning: swearing, violence, sex, PTSD

IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE SKIP THE SEX SCENE. It’s the last part of the chapter, and all you need to know is that is happens. 

*****

There were never enough showers. 

Never enough showers to wash off the grit and the smell and the fear. Not from the dumpster—that came off pretty easily—but from before. 

Riley had initially turned the handle all the way hot, but she didn’t turn it down when she stepped into the shower. Water scalded her back, her chest, her thighs, but she didn’t care. She welcomed the pain with open arms. Anything to keep the numbness from returning. 

She left the glass door partly open. During her first shower since coming home, Riley had closed it normally and immediately panicked. The once spacious shower was suddenly too tight, closing in on her with each breath, like if she didn’t open the door right then she would’ve been trapped in it forever. Now Riley left the door open. The shower felt less like a cage when she did that. 

Riley went through the motions almost mechanically. Wash face. Shampoo hair. Wash body. Condition hair. Shave legs. In that order. Always in that order. 

She turned the water to freezing cold for a minute before stepping out. The shock to her system hurt worse than the hot water did. It felt like force-rebooting her body the same way she would a malfunctioning computer. 

She pictured the start-up graphics on a screen as her brain woke back up. Blackness. The mouse appeared, barely more than a white smudge against the dark. Then the loading screen. 

She got dressed, and it felt like typing in her password. The first outfit felt wrong, like she’d typed in the password incorrectly. Riley tried again. She got it the second time, mental fingers landing on the right keys, in the right order—clothes that felt like her, embracing her body. 

Skinny jeans. 

Rolling Stones t-shirt. 

Silver hoop earrings. 

When the mirror unfogged, Riley re-did her makeup—smokey eyeshadow and eyeliner sharp enough to stab the demons colonizing her mind. All part of her armor against the world. 

She’d need it with the whole team in her apartment tonight. 

Unsurprisingly, Desi and Cage let themselves in without bothering to knock. Riley’s only warning was an unmistakable squeal that could’ve only come from Cage before someone pounced on her from behind, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground. Pale arms wrapped around her, and Riley awkwardly reached back to hug her friend. 

From somewhere behind them, Desi scoffed, “You could’ve at least waited for her to turn around, you know.” 

Cage shot back, “Don’t be all macho. You already got to see her.” Riley didn’t think picking her, Nikki, and Jill up from their dumpster adventure counted, but she didn’t correct the blonde. 

Cage let go only long enough for Desi to give Riley a real hug. Lowering her voice so Cage couldn’t hear, the more reserved woman whispered in Riley’s ear, “If you need anything, even just to talk, you come to me, okay?” 

Riley whispered back, “Okay.” Desi gave her a long, knowing look before pulling away. 

They brought Italian takeout from the fancy place downtown and an ungodly amount of wine. Riley eyed the expensive labels. She’d long been banned from alcohol duty; Nikki didn’t mind beer and tequila, but Cage and Desi just sneered and said she and Nikki drank like college students. Which, to be fair, they did. 

Cage poured a glass for each of them, and the trio migrated to Riley’s black leather couch. “So,” Cage began, “how does it feel to be out?” 

The interrogation was beginning early, it seemed. Carefully sipping her wine, Riley answered, “Good.” Cage narrowed her eyes at the one-word response, and Riley fought not to squirm under her all-knowing gaze. The former interrogator was literally a fucking mind reader. 

Cage pressed on. “What was it like in there?” 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Desi quickly assured, shooting her girlfriend a warning glare. There was something in Cage’s returning look that made Riley think this wasn’t the first time they’ve talked about this. 

Of course the team had talked about her while she was in prison. They had to process the events leading up to Riley’s arrest too. Riley didn’t blame them for that. But for some reason it still stung that they talked about her behind her back. 

She was saved from answering Cage’s question by Nikki’s loud arrival. The blonde gasped audibly from the doorway, eyes locking on the wine glasses in their hands. “You started without me? Rude.” 

Riley rolled her eyes. “Speaking of rude, did you all forget what knocking is?” 

“If you wanted us to knock then you shouldn’t have given each of us a key,” Desi sneered. Riley frowned but didn’t disagree. 

Jill cautiously trailed Nikki into the apartment. Riley arched a brow in surprise; she hadn’t been sure the woman would actually show. She put up an icy exterior before speaking. “So,” Riley drawled. “You came.” 

Jill smiled awkwardly. “Hi.” 

“It’s Jill, right?” Cage got up to introduce herself. “I’m Samantha.” Riley watched the exchange carefully, studying Jill’s body language. She seemed to fold in on herself under Cage’s intense gaze, but Riley didn’t blame her. Even after six years of friendship, Cage was just as scary as the day Riley met her. 

With food in front of them, the conversation flowed easier. Riley was content to let Cage and Desi pester Jill with endless questions while she ate her pasta in peace. Hopefully they’d forget all about interrogating her. 

“So how did you all meet?” Jill asked after Cage finally ran out of questions. 

Riley smirked, but it was Nikki who spoke first. “Well, I met Riley the day I was fired from my first job. We ran around with the lowlifes of LA for a while until we met Cage, who was a professional gold-digger at the time.” Nikki took a sip of her wine. “And it was all fun and games until one day I found myself making breakfast for this cranky ex-military chick Cage brought home—” a pointed look at Desi— “who did the walk of shame out of our apartment every day until she moved in.” Desi stuck her tongue out at Nikki, who returned the gesture with glee. 

Meanwhile, Jill’s eyes widened with each new piece of information. “There is so much to unpack there.” She pushed her glasses up her nose, focusing on Cage. “You were a professional gold-digger?” 

Cage smiled and poured herself another glass of wine before snuggling into Desi’s side. “I was.” Desi wrapped a protective arm around her girlfriend. 

“She had a good thing going for a while,” Nikki explained. “Get with a hot millionaire, spend a year embezzling his money, fake her death. Repeat.” Cage wiggled her eyebrows, making everyone laugh. It was moments like this Riley missed most in prison—the gossip, the easy laughter. 

“And what about the other girl?” Jill asked. The laughter died immediately. “The one I’m replacing.” 

Riley’s grip tightened around her glass. “My best friend from high school.” There was just enough edge to her words to keep Jill from asking anything else about Leanna or the past. Riley knew what her next question would be: If she was your best friend, then why isn’t she here now? 

She’d asked herself the same question every day Nikki visited her in prison, alone.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Carefully timed trips to the kitchen enabled Riley to get Cage and Desi’s opinions on Jill without arousing suspicion. The team was in agreement—recruiting Jill was a yes. 

After the movie ended and the dishes were done, Riley gathered her team in the kitchen. There were times in prison she thought she’d never see this again—Nikki standing to her right, Desi sitting on a barstool with her boots on the counter, Cage just sitting on the counter, and now Jill, who miraculously knew how to both be polite and sit in a chair correctly. But here they were. Her team. In her kitchen. Waiting for Riley to pitch their next job. 

“So,” she began. “I’ve got a job for us.” 

Desi snorted. “I had no idea.” Rolling her eyes, Cage smacked her girlfriend’s calves in reprimand. 

Riley ignored her. “Paris Fashion Week is next month, and it’s time we attend. While we’re there, we can do some sightseeing, eat at fancy restaurants, visit the Louvre.” Desi and Cage sat up straighter at the word “Louvre.” Nikki already knew part of the plan, but until now the others had no idea what Riley had been planning. 

Nearly as perceptive as Cage, Jill asked, “What’s special about the Louvre? I mean, aside from the fact that it’s famous and holds lots of cool stuff.” 

“The Louvre,” Riley began, fixing her intense gaze on Jill, “contains some of best-guarded treasures on the whole planet. Which will make them all the more lucrative when they hit the black market.” 

Jill looked between the other women warily, as if she suddenly found herself surrounded by people who should be in a mental institution, and Riley had to fight the urge to laugh. “No offense, but you’re insane,” the recruit said. “Do you even realize how impossible this is?” 

“Not impossible,” Riley corrected. “But the challenge is what makes it fun.” 

Curiosity flooded Cage’s eyes. “I’ll bite. What’s the target?” 

“The French Crown Jewels.” Riley was met with a series of gasps and raised eyebrows.

Even Nikki showed concern. “Riles,” she said softly. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much, even for you?” The others nodded in agreement. 

Appalled, Riley demanded, “Are you doubting me now? I’m gone for two years and then...nothing? Where’s the trust?” 

“Of course we trust you,” Nikki said, stepping closer. “But maybe we should try for something easier.” After what happened last time, her eyes finished. 

Fire roiled in Riley’s gut. Who were these people? What happened to the women who jumped at every batshit plan thrown their way? Riley didn’t recognize the cautious people in front of her. Nikki, of all people, didn’t get to lecture her on easier. 

“This is the plan,” Riley snapped. “Either you’re in, or I replace you too.” She held Nikki’s gaze in challenge, making it clear she wouldn’t back down. 

It was Desi who finally dared to break the charged silence, standing up to pour herself another glass of wine. “Well, if you insist of doing something stupid, I’m not letting you do it by yourself.” 

Riley barely hid her surprise. Desi rarely took her side in an argument, if ever. 

Cage’s lips formed a grim line. “Guess I’m in too.” Even Jill reluctantly nodded. 

That just left Nikki. She glowered, clearly unhappy with being outvoted. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But I’m just as much the leader of this team as you are, and I reserve the right to pull the plug at any time.” Riley figured that was as close to agreement as she was going to get for now. 

She grinned wickedly. “Then it’s settled. We’re going to Paris.” 

*****

The next night, Riley took Nikki and Jill to a headline-making new club that just opened in Hollywood, as both an apology girls night and an opportunity to instruct Jill in Con Artist 101. Even though it was a weekday, neither protested. No local goes out on a weekend. Not in this city. 

The club featured the finest of LA’s nightlife—pulsing music, beautiful women, overpriced drinks, the occasional person who may or may not be a celebrity, and people doing lines of coke on the bathroom counter. Truly a sight to behold. 

The women to men ratio was surprisingly close to equal for an LA hotspot, and Riley didn’t waste the opportunity to check out all the eye candy her city had to offer. At the same time, she watched the crowd for easy victims. 

She found one easily. A young blonde woman barely contained in her tight, sequined dress stepped up to the bar, and Riley could just see the edge of her ID sticking out from the top of her dress. She’d be easy to pickpocket, especially once her large, bubblegum pink drink was in her system. 

The three women ordered their own drinks, and while they waited, Riley pulled Jill aside, lowering her voice. “You see her?” She tilted her head in the direction of the target. “Drunk blonde in a sequin dress.” 

“What about her?” Jill asked cautiously. 

“You’re going to pickpocket her.” 

“I’m what?” 

On her other side, Nikki chuckled, resting a hand on Jill’s shoulder. “Con Artist 101, babe. You’ve got to start with the basics.” 

“Okay.” 

Riley continued, “You’re going to steal her ID. It’s stuffed down the front of her dress—easy, unsecure. First step, watch her to figure out exactly where it is.” This was the first test, seeing if Jill was perceptive enough to pick up the kind of small details most people ignore. It wasn’t enough to just be aware of her surroundings; she had to know exactly where everything was at all times. People in their line of work couldn’t afford surprises. 

After a few minutes, Jill nodded with confidence. “Found it. Right side, in between her boob and her armpit.” 

“Good,” Riley praised. “Now you have to go get it. Bump into her so she’s more focused on that than your hand in her dress. Maybe even spill your drink on her.” 

Jill’s newfound surety was short lived. “Can you show me first?” Unease returned to her voice. 

Riley smirked. “Gladly.” She found a new target for herself—a man, tipsy but not drunk, and not so big that he’d overpower her if he got a little handsy. She spied the outline of his wallet in the left leg of his jeans. “When you’re stealing heavier items, say a wallet,” Riley explained while her eyes searched the bar, “you need to put something in its place. Otherwise your mark will know pretty quickly that something is missing.” The club was swanky enough to use real coasters at the bar instead of napkins, and Riley leaned over the bar to grab one. It wasn’t quite heavy enough, but it would do. “Watch carefully,” she instructed. 

She sauntered right up to the man, eyes focused on a random point in the distance, and collided with his left side. In the brief moment their bodies touched, Riley slipped her hand into his front pocket, snagging his wallet and leaving the coaster in its place. “Sorry,” she apologized with a demure bat of her eyelashes. Slipping the wallet into her purse, Riley kept walking before the man could do or say anything else. 

The theft was as easy as breathing, the thrill short lived. 

“Your turn,” Riley said, returning to Jill’s side. Jill shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “If you second-guess it, it won’t work. Have some faith in yourself.” Emphasizing her point, Riley shoved Jill forward. 

Nikki slid into the newly open space beside Riley. “Are you sure we should just throw her in the deep end like this?” 

Her eyes never leaving Jill, Riley replied, “The only way she’s going to learn is if she practices. You know that just as well as I do.” 

“I guess.” Nikki sighed. “I just don’t want anything to happen to her.” 

Maybe it was the lingering annoyance from yesterday’s fight that Riley had yet to let go of, but something about Nikki’s words rubbed her the wrong way. Riley snapped, “You mean unlike what happened to me?” 

Bristling, Nikki didn’t rise to the bait. 

On the dance floor, Jill bumped into the woman well enough, but she was a little slow on the grab. Thankfully the woman was too drunk to notice. 

Subtly flashing the ID, Jill asked, “What do I do with it?” 

“Keep it,” Nikki said. “She looks enough like you. Use it the next time you get carded.” Jill didn’t look too happy about that, but she slid the ID into her purse all the same. 

Riley murmured just loud enough for Nikki to hear. “See? I told you she’d be fine.” Nikki gave her a look she wasn’t sure how to interpret.

The bartender dropped off their drinks, and Riley knocked back both her tequila shots, one right after the other. Nikki raised an eyebrow. “There something you need to tell me?” 

The burn from the alcohol lingered in the back of Riley’s throat. “Nope. I’m good.” 

“Riles—” Nikki protested, but Riley cut her off. 

“You, however, look desperately in need of a good fuck.” She said it more to get Nikki off her back than anything else. Riley scanned the crowd, eyes settling on a tall, muscular man with dark skin and close-cropped hair. He stood right at the edge of the dancing, talking to a group of guys, providing Riley with an excellent side-view of his chiseled silhouette. “He’ll work.” She didn’t wait for a response before striding through the mass of writhing bodies. 

Riley sidled up next to him, and the whole group of guys turned to her in unison. “Hi,” he said. Riley immediately liked the sound of his voice, deep and smooth and sensual. 

She smiled. “I’m Riley, and if you’ll come with me, there’s someone I think you should meet.” The boldness came easily. The tequila added to her already high self-esteem was just a bonus. 

The man turned to face her fully. “Riley,” he crooned. Her name rolled off his lips like melted chocolate. “And what if I’d rather just get to know you?” Riley smirked. That plan was fine by her. Nikki could find her own man. It had been a long time since Riley had a fuckable man’s hands on her body, and she wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. She lightly tugged on his shirt. 

“Dance with me.” 

They melted into the crowd, and his broad hands found Riley’s waist as she eye-fucked him, gently drawing her into his hard, warm body. He took his time, giving her the chance to change her mind if she wished. His courteousness made him even hotter. Riley pressed her body closer. 

The rhythmic bass rattled her bones, but Riley welcomed the sensation. She let it carry her away, guiding the swinging of her arms and the rolling of her hips. 

The man’s lips brushed her ear as he spoke. “I’m Kalei, by the way.” 

Kalei. Riley repeated his name, committing it to memory. Kuh-lay. She liked the way it rolled off her tongue.  

“Turn around,” Kalei commanded. Biting her lower lip, Riley obeyed, and Kalei tugged her hips firmly against his own. 

Riley leaned back, resting her head on Kalei’s shoulder, running her hands up and down his thick, muscular arms. Kalei’s fingers curled into her hips, his breath was hot on Riley’s neck, and Riley already found herself wanting more. He moved perfectly with her, their bodies in sync. 

Her arms rose up, fingers finding purchase on the nape of his neck. Kalei’s hands steadily grew braver—first skimming up her waist, then down over her thighs—leaving a delicious burning sensation in their wake. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and his palms traveled higher, just brushing the undersides of her breasts. Riley gasped. 

She growled over her shoulder, “Do that again.” 

He did. Again and again and again. 

When Riley finally turned around, the hungry glow simmering in his eyes matched her own. She wanted him. She wanted him now. 

He smelled like cedar and something else she couldn’t quite place with the stench of sweat and alcohol accosting her nose. Riley pulled his mouth down to hers, but Kalei stopped just before their lips brushed. “Shouldn’t I at least buy you a drink first?” 

She chuckled, deep and full of wicked promise. “I already cut myself off for the night. Besides, we both know you’d rather skip that step.” Riley pressed her hips against his for emphasis, feeling him hard against her. 

Kalei tensed. “Are you sure?” 

Riley knew she’d picked a good one. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

Apparently that was all the reassurance he needed. Kalei grabbed a fistful of Riley’s hair and kissed her, hard and desperate. She moaned into his mouth, imagining all the depraved things his tongue could do. Riley planned on becoming intimately acquainted with every single one of those things by morning. 

She started to drag him toward the bathroom, but Kalei stopped her. “I am not fucking you on a bathroom counter. Let’s get out of here.” 

Fair enough. “Your place or mine?” she asked. 

“Do you have a roommate?” 

“Nope.” 

His fingers trailed down Riley’s arm and linked through hers. “Then yours.” 

The cab ride was short, but tense. The driver dutifully kept his eyes glued to the road as Kalei’s hand stroked the inside of her thigh. Riley shivered in her seat. 

Kalei’s eyes bulged when the driver pulled up to Riley’s swanky apartment building. “Wait, are you in the industry? Should I know you?” 

Riley laughed, picturing herself as some whiny, simpering actress. Pathetic. “No. I’m just a businesswoman.” 

The easiest lies were mostly true, after all. 

The lobby was empty, and the elevator doors slid open mercifully quickly. As soon as Riley pressed the button for the top floor and the doors slid shut, Kalei resumed kissing her, hands tangling in her curls as he pinned her against the wall. 

The doors opened, and Riley didn’t waste any time leading Kalei down the hall to her apartment, unlocking the door, and shoving Kalei inside first. 

Her apartment was mostly dark; the only light came from the city lights shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. Riley didn’t bother to turn on a light. Kalei backed her against the door, and Riley let out a gasp as her legs wrapped around him and his mouth lowered to her throat. Her dress bunched around her waist, becoming little more than a shirt. 

“We can stop at any time,” he rasped. “Just say the word.” Kalei held out his little finger in a pinky promise, and the gesture had Riley already contemplating where she’d take him out to breakfast in the morning.

Riley had no intention of stopping. She told him so, and Kalei’s mouth slanted over hers, kissing her thoroughly. Her greedy fingers made quick work of his jacket, then his shirt, and Riley smiled into the kiss as she traced his chiseled abs and chest. Kalei was hot, polite, and ripped. 

In short, he was perfect. Not that she’d ever inflate a man’s ego by telling him that. 

She pulled away just far enough to ask, “Are we doing this against the door or on my bed?” 

Kalei’s dark chuckle set every nerve in her body on fire. Riley wanted to carve the magnificent sound into her memory forever. “Bed,” he murmured. “I want to take my time unraveling you and learning exactly what it takes to make you scream my name.” 

Fuck. Every coherent thought vanished from Riley’s mind. The best she could do was nod furiously as he set her down. 

Riley yanked off her heels before dragging Kalei down the dark hallway to her spacious bedroom. Their clothes came off all at once, without ceremony, and then her back was against the mattress, and Kalei’s delicious weight hovered over her. 

He kissed his way down her body, all the way to her knees before moving back up to where she really wanted him. She was right, earlier, about what his tongue could do. Broad licks, circles, delicate, methodical strokes—magical, toe-curling, spine-arching, embarrassing noise-inducing stuff. 

Riley whimpered his name as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. 

And then his hands were shackles around her wrists, pinning them above her head. Riley froze. The confinement made her want to crawl out of her own skin, and not in a good way. 

Noticing Riley’s shift in body language, Kalei released her wrists and sat up, seeming to know she needed space. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. 

A deep breath. “Yeah,” Riley lied. 

No I’m not okay. 

I felt trapped. 

That’s never happened before. 

“Okay,” he said. “Let me know when you’re ready to keep going.” 

“I’m ready now.” She didn’t hesitate, flipping them so she was on top. 

Despite her reassurance, it was slower now, less desperate. Riley focused on the sounds escaping his lips, letting them wash away the shackled feeling. The more she touched him, the more she felt powerful, in control. Her smirk finally returned as Kalei sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes screwing shut and head tilting back, exposing the strong column of his throat. 

It was control Riley really craved, after not having any for so long. 

And Kalei seemed to be more than happy to surrender to her. Chuckling at her haste, Kalei stroked her calves as Riley ripped open the new box of condoms in her nightstand drawer. His broad hands on her hips guided her, meeting her halfway, but Riley dictated the rhythm and pace, giving her desperate, touch-starved body everything it desired. 

She nearly got off on the high of watching this beautiful man come undone beneath her alone. 

Riley was in awe of how quickly he had figured out her body—how to tease her, draw her pleasure out, send her over the edge. Kalei earned every utterance of his name on her lips. 

And god were there a lot of them. 

When Kalei woke her up in the middle of the night for round two, they tousled for dominance. Riley knew there’d be marks on her body in the morning, but she didn’t care. There would be just as many on him. 

Kalei didn’t touch her wrists again. He only pinned her shoulders and hips, leaving her limbs free to do as she pleased. “Is this okay?” he’d asked the first time he held her down. She assured him it was. 

If Riley had time for love, she thought she might be able to have it with him.

With her common sense still lost in the delicious, post-release haze, Riley said, “I never say this, but do you want to get breakfast in the morning?” 

Kalei pulled her against him, her back to his front, his arm possessively circling her body. “I never say this either, but yes.” 

Riley smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

#beth writes #flawless au #macgyver #riley davis #nikki carpenter #desiree nguyen #samantha cage #jill morgan #macgyver fanfiction

[astrologista]

Kristoph Gavin Character Analysis I

Part 1 of... fucking infinity, I hate this bitch so much lmao.

Well, it's Halloween time and I just thought, why not. So let's answer this question.

What makes Kristoph Gavin a scary character/villain? A soft spoken gentleman with a deadly secret... the Devil, who lives in his hand, that crazy evil scar thing, his creepy music theme... damn, he’s a scary dude. But scariest of all? His psychology, as we all know. (This is mostly gonna be headcanons. but ya know what, I have a license (hands you a piece of paper that says ‘i can do what i want’))

Kristoph seems like a person who is very aloof, particularly when it comes to personal relationships. At first he kind of just seems like the typical anime glasses guy whose main emotion is like whooa he does the glare thing with his glasses sometimes. But... what is he really about?

You know, let me digress for a moment, what's really interesting to me about the AA characters is how much depth they have in their writing. Case in point, Adrian Andrews. There's a character who you assume is just going to be the typical "anime glasses girl" who is a career woman who don't need no man, and is very aloof, cool, and as she says, not concerned with irrelevant topics or things. Later you learn about the true depths to her personality. The fact that she is codependent, that she needs other people telling her what to do in order to survive. Just because she masks these emotions doesn't mean they don't exist. I felt that really gave a lot of depth to her character and added another dimension that stories in this genre don't often address as boldly or fully (especially when it comes to a female character). So the quality of the writing is always really top notch with only a few exceptions. Take this as context...

Now getting back to Kristoph Gavin. Typical anime glasses dude, right? But no, though. One of the reasons why he's so interesting to me is how his emotional understanding of personal relationships really works. Or seems to, anyway. Based on the endgame testimony and his crimes, Kristoph Gavin is extremely dangerous because, should you get involved with him in any way, he will never, ever let go of you, ever. Once you are entangled with him he wants you to stay entangled, not unlike an overbearing parent who refuses to let you go. It's partly that he thinks he knows what's best for you (that is, to stay completely loyal to him). And also partly... because he is pretty dependent on what other people think of him. So he needs to keep them around him closely.

Kristoph's biggest fear was his lying being exposed for what it was. That Phoenix was really the honest, straightforward attorney, and not him. Kristoph would do anything to perpetuate his own false reality. He kept it going for seven years. His absolute worst fear of all was losing his reputation. Being seen for what he truly was in front of others. He could never accept that. That fear drove all of his murders. Fundamentally, he sees himself as benevolent... when nothing could be further from the truth of how he was hurting everyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path.

Kristoph has a need to perpetuate this false identity of himself above all else. A very adjacent second goal to that is to keep all of his personal associates very close and under his control in order to keep the first goal intact.

Reject him and he will stalk you until you are dead. By his hand, or otherwise. Slight him, and he will get you at the first opportunity, case in point, Zak Gramarye. (He only had to get a quick glance at the guy and his fate was sealed. Turnabout Trump is a chilling case.) Replace him, and he will tear your life and livelihood up into little itty bitty pieces. He will then continue to stalk you aggressively for seven years while pretending he is your best friend. Case in point, Phoenix Wright.

Create false evidence for him and you become a loose end. So does your daughter. Like I said, just don't get involved with him. If he feels threatened, Kristoph Gavin will not hesitate to end you. It's definitely an obsession. I mean the first word that comes to people's minds when it comes to Kristoph usually isn't "obsessed", because he gives off the aura of being calm and uninterested. But he is, he's obsessed. You have to be obsessed to do what he did. This shit consumed his every waking hour, and that's what he won't admit. That he was so sick, he completely lost the plot. Phoenix was already living in his head rent free the day he ordered the forgery. And even though Phoenix wasn't physically present at the Misham trial and was only watching everything by video camera, you can bet Kristoph was seeing Phoenix. Hallucinating him, images of him. Probably multiple images of him. That's how obsessive. Imagine letting something or someone control you to that extent. Imagine thinking that you're so important, that Phoenix taking Zak Gramarye's case at all was meant to be a slight against you personally. (It's funny because Phoenix mentions not even knowing Kristoph at all until after the disbarment. So Kristoph's own logic in thinking that Phoenix was just out to shame him absolutely doesn't track. Ob-sessed, dude.)  

It's actually pretty astonishing that someone like Apollo made it out alive. On a side note, I really think Kristoph enjoyed having someone to mentor. He sought someone like Apollo out. Someone naive and new to the field for him to indoctrinate. And maybe I have a post about that later, cuz that's a whole 'nother barrel of monkeys right there. (It kind of involves Apollo’s naivete (also, daddy issues, hello.) being a huge reason why he would gravitate towards having a mentor known for having a “caring” personality. And I think Apollo genuinely liked that about him, which makes the end result so much more awful for Apollo to deal with because to him, that was real.)

But now think of Klavier, right. Being forced to grow up with that. To live with that your entire life. To have a familial relationship that is that smothering, that suffocating, that strangling. That controlling, to criticize every single thing that you do or say right down to the way you say it. And remember... He's never letting you go. I would go on a world tour as a rock star, too. Anything to be anywhere he isn't. This is horror movie tier stuff. (now im imagining a horror movie trailer for aa4 focusing on gavins stuff... eep!)

And Kristoph Gavin markets himself as someone who simply doesn't care. He's the coolest defense in the west and he doesn't care for what you may think about it. Except... he does care. It totally consumes him. Your perception, your opinion, is everything to him. He has shitty self esteem, deep down, because he knows Phoenix is better than him. And tries to mask it with narcissism as the two duke it out. Appearances are everything, evidence is everything. What people think is true is the only thing that matters, truth doesn't. And it makes sense that his closest contacts and associates are the targets for his constant narcissistic abuse and gaslighting. Their opinions matter even more than the common crowd - of course, Kristoph hates them. Which makes it even worse for him when the jury decides unanimously that Vera is innocent (and by implication, he is therefore guilty). The jury verdict was kind of like the ultimate confirmation that guess what, the evidence doesn't matter. The common and boorish masses have passed judgement, no matter how "mindless, emotional and irrational" they are, even they can see behind his crappy little facade. Even a blind woman like Lamiroir can see that insecurity; even a common person can understand it just by looking at the facts. That's what absolutely wrecks him... that his “poker face” couldn’t hold a candle to Phoenix’s. And he loses the “hand” again (because of his “hand”... get it??).

The identity that he needs to maintain is part of how he sees himself in his mind. As Phoenix's protector, not as his stalker. As Klavier's benevolent big brother, not as his abuser. As Apollo's teacher and mentor, not as someone guiding him into ruin. He lives in a false reality.

Try to bring this up in any way, shape, or form and he will write it off. You're just imagining things...

Because at some level, Mr. Black Psyche Locks himself doesn't even realize. (I feel like that might just be basically canonical fact, based on Pearl’s explanation of how black psyche locks are supposed to work.) That’s pretty freaking terrifying.

At the end of the day this is a big part of the reason I think his character is just so interesting. In a very messed up way, Kristoph is one degree away from being such a good person. He could've been obsessively protective of Klavier - the way a big brother is supposed to be - instead of abusive, could've actually been very caring of Phoenix instead of manipulative. Terrible people can have good traits, just as good people can have awful traits. His attention to detail and understanding of psychology (like getting Vera those gifts she would like so much) could've been used for genuine good. He could've been someone who cares deeply about other people because he does care deeply about other people. But only in terms of their relation to himself, what do they think of him, how are they useful to him.

Maybe this is why I kind of like his character. Intelligent, semi-neurotic protective characters are just my ish. But, no, he has to have a narcissistic bent that skews everything into complete abuse. That’s what makes him awful... that he’s devoid of a moral compass or true compassion for other human beings.

So in closing, fuck off, Kristoph Gavin.

Postscript, he's also such a good foil for Phoenix for this reason. Kristoph does everything for himself. Phoenix does everything for Trucy, because he's a dad and he understands the weight of what it means to really care for someone. Kristoph couldn’t understand motives like that. And Phoenix can't help it if he's an order of magnitude smarter and more mature than Kristoph is. He was just born like that. Classy as fuck. You know what, Kristoph Gavin is like the dollar store version of Phoenix Wright as an attorney. Has many of the same functions but actually doesn't have a leg to stand on and will fail you when you need it. And is revealed to just be a cheap knockoff of the real thing.

#kristoph gavin #aa4 #apollo justice ace attorney #im just thinkin thoughts here #dont know why im in such a creepy mood right now #maybe halloween has something to do with it #srsly i need to do some analysis on some other characters lol #and ignore this rat man #btw im totally up to analyze specific characters and interactions #lmk #maybe nahyuta? #or phoenix and trucy #or phoenix and apollo...aaa

[casually-inlove]

Hello. In one of your responses, you wrote: "I also have things that I don't necessarily agree with." Can you tell us about it? I am very interested in your representation of this manhua. What do you think is written well in the story, and what is not? What would you add or remove? What is missing and what is too much in history? I would very much like to know your TianShan headcanon. I have too many "wants". I'm sorry if I was rude.

Dear anon, this was not rude at all. Indeed, you have many questions, so much as I try to be concise in my posts, this one is going to be very lengthy. Let me start with a little disclaimer. Everything below is entirely subjective. It is in no way meant to undermine anyone's enjoyment of the series, nor is it supposed to be an attack against the author. I value the comic's episodic nature and light-heartedness myself, otherwise, I would not have stuck around. It is also true that for the past half a year my interest in it waxes and wanes. Besides, I am well aware that certain groups of fans grow dissatisfied with the manhua direction. That said, I must state once again, OX has every right to write the story as they please, while the fans, no matter how displeased they may be, do not have the room to make demands of the author. So then, without further ado, some of my quibblings follow below. Beware of the wall-of-text.

1) The plot and characters get stagnant at times — these two go hand in hand. I suppose it is a prevalent gripe with 19 Days, and I am sure everyone has experienced it at least once. Some of it stems from the very way the story is told: the manhua timeline moves slowly in comparison with the readers' timeline. It works for depicting slow-burn relationships and subtle changes in the characters' outlooks. The problem is, more often than not, the latest chapters are inconsequential to either plot or character growth. They do not have the substance or the conflict to them. When OX had introduced the characters, while undoubtedly charming and loveable, they were practically walking tropes. Jian Yi, the bubbly airhead. ZZX, the stoic childhood friend. HT, Mr Popular. As time passed, OX did the clever (and the right) thing — they have subverted these stereotypes, by showing us that the characters are not who they appear to be. Thus, we learned that Jian Yi is a lonesome, affection deprived kid who on occasion dreads going back home because it's empty; his bright grin is there to hide his sadness.  We also learned that HT had a dysfunctional family and had been exposed to violence since a tender age; we also learned that he used to lead an empty life devoid of close interpersonal connections and passions, etc. I am not going to write about Mo because it is obvious and self-explanatory.

That sudden change in the perspective is what made those characters fascinating. A few of these developments co-occur with the addition of the “darker” mafia/gangster subplot. Indeed, the introduction of the criminal legacy theme (which is true for Jian Yi, He Tian, and Mo to an extent) allowed to show the wounds and troubles these characters had to face. It also dangled the prospect of an intriguing plot direction — a mafia-related story that is disguised as a school-themed slice-of-life. It was the underlying gangster plot-line that hooked me up; I kept asking myself: Are they connected (the Jian family, the He family)? Were they responsible for what happened with the Mo family restaurant? Will their backgrounds converge at some point? How does Jia Yi's kidnapping fit into all this? That sort of stuff. Alas, right now that subplot seems to be put on a backburner, which is a shame because this is the plot-line that leads to future events, such as Jian Yi's disappearance. The kidnapping is still going to happen and the threat looming over Jian Yi is still real, yet OX does very little to explain anything about it. Naturally, revealing everything at once is out of the question, but if it were me, I would have opted for unveiling bits and pieces now and then. To start with, it would have propelled the plot forward. Apart from that, it would have given the readers some food for thought and kept the intrigue fresh — they would have been cracking their heads to piece the puzzle. Finally, the characters' darker backgrounds provide the opportunity to give them development. For instance, how would Mo's view of He Tian change, if he learned that the latter had to face his warped father to save Mo (ch. 245 and further on)? Or how would Mo react, if he learned that He Tian lost his mother (presumably) due to his family shady dealings? Would it make him understand the other boy, relate to him on some level? Etc. 

The comedy and fun, light moments are precious, but I miss those moments when the manhua challenged my impression of the characters. Right now, the plot stagnates in the sense that we know that someone is threatening Jian Yi, but we aren't being given any clues or updates on the matter, as if the whole thing wasn't important. So, in response to your question “what would I have removed”, I would say that I would probably drop quite a few school-centric chapters in favour of “criminal” subplot. Just a bit: maybe show Mr Jian's messages, or Jian Yi's mother discussing the situation with him, or He Cheng receiving some reports on the situation.  

The character recent portrayal also disappoints me on occasion. They started as stereotypical manga characters, then they were given some depth, and now they are close to becoming yet another set of stereotypes. Yeah, I get that Mo is a tsundere and enamoured He Tian is an idiot in love — OX has been depicting them as such for the past year. It would be cool to take a look at other facets of their personalities now and then too. While it’s understandable that only a few weeks have passed since the beginning of the story, OX should remember that years have passed for the readers; keeping the audience engaged should be among their priorities.

I suppose I do have a bias here because as an adult I have little interest in all things school-related, and in general, I am not too fond of slice-of-life (I typically avoid reading it).19 Days attracted me because it had some universal themes, like dealing with past and legacy, finding your path, healing from the old scars, learning to handle difficult relationships within a family, and of course its low-key “mafia” subplot. It could be that OX truly doesn't have a meticulously chapter-to-chapter thought-out plot, hence why the manhua meanders at times, or it could have something to do with Mosspaca's internal agenda. Perhaps, it is the latter and the company somehow insists its artists stick with simplistic plots for the sake of keeping their target audience. Even so, there's a catch here, which was brought to the attention by @agapaic: the original reader audience has aged up already so to keep them hooked it would be wise of OX to “mature up” the comic as well. Not in the sense of 18+ content, but in the sense of introducing more mature subjects alongside the comedy and slice of life. Perhaps, they are not looking to keep the fans but to attract the new, younger ones. Who knows.

2) Drama and comedy imbalance. It is a pet peeve of mine which I consider to be one of the prominent manhua flaws: there is lots of slapstick comedy which ends up being out of place on occasion. I do realize the comic is humorous, however, there is no denying that OX introduced themes and topics that are no laughing matters. Jian Yi's and He Tian's loneliness, bullying and ostracizing, extortion racket, absentee parents, youth gangs and violence — just to name a few. There is a lot more, but you get the picture.

It is also obvious that three out of four main characters carry the remnants of childhood trauma with them, which directly affects their present selves. All the same, these topics practically fizzle out as soon as they get introduced, or get swept under the rug with comedy. Considering the humorous nature of the comic, it is given that dispersing some grimmer topics with playfulness will be used now and then. To my mind, however, OX relies on that abrupt drama-to-comedy switch too heavily, which makes the transition steep and often out of place. At times, it creates an impression that the author does not take these issues seriously. There have been numerous episodes when emotional moments were subverted and then dropped, without gaining climax and closure. For instance, the moment that sticks out to me the most is when He Tian attempted to tell Mo why he liked him. The visuals made it clear that it wasn't easy for He Tian to say out loud, yet OX never gave the intense moment the needed closure.

Mo brushed He Tian off and the latter just rolled with it, as if it never took him any courage to say those words, and then everything was swiftly engulfed by slapstick humour (the ball-slapping scene). A panel showing a glimpse of He Tian's face sinking to indicate he was somewhat let down by Mo's nonchalant response would have been appropriate — in fact, it would be natural for someone to get hurt when their confession is taken lightly. Likewise, I half-expected OX to show a bit more of He Tian's reaction towards Mo's story about his meeting with She Li. We got to see his expression darkening when he learned that She Li gave Mo the ear piercings, yet this time — mind you, when Mo suggested that She Li might have murdered someone — we never see He Tian react much. For the record, it was He Tian who asked She Li a rhetorical question about being able to take responsibility for taking a life.

Furthermore, I believe that someone romantically invested in another human being would have naturally shown more inquisitiveness upon hearing a story like that. Sure enough, some would say that Mo would not have liked talking about a traumatizing event, and that is fine as well — just show it. A single panel of He Tian being concerned and trying to inquire further and Mo refusing to talk would have been a very neat detail that could have potentially smoothed the transition into humour, while keeping our heroes in character.

3) Sometimes there is too much focus on the couples. The manhua has introduced several reoccurring supporting characters which are directly linked to our main quartet. For example, Mo had bonds before meeting our boys: his henchmen, the Buzzcut. Likewise, He Cheng was the one to raise He Tian; he shaped the boy's outlook on life.  These characters all played important roles in making our boys the people they are today, and yet we know so little of their bonds. Maybe the Buzzcut is unimportant in the larger scheme of things, He Cheng, however, is not only linked to He Tian, but he also plays a part in the underlying mafia/gangster subplot. It would have made sense if he was the one to shed some light on the situation with Jian Yi and He Tian's traumatic past. I would have loved to see our boys interact with other people as well — it would have served to show the variety of relationships out there: friendships, familial bonds, mutual respect between the leader and underlings, etc.

Anyway, I am going to stop now. I could name a few more, but this text is already more than 2000 words long. I have made some posts with my nitpicking before, so if you wish you can read them here.  

link & link 

Once again, this is all entirely subjective and it is not meant to be perceived as me saying that the manhua is poorly written and no one should enjoy it. Writing and creating compelling plots is a tough job, especially when it comes to long pieces. It also goes without saying that the author should keep their target audience and marketing goals in mind. 19 Days appeals to a great number of people of all ages and that means that OX succeeded in creating something compelling. Their writing is indeed flawed at times, but there is no way around it. It is impossible to excel both at being a great artist and a good writer. While there may be things that each of us would want to change (when comes to characters or the plot), it is still important to remember that it is not our creation. We can only decide whether to keep reading and enjoy what we get or move along. There is no point in attacking the author or generating constant pessimism.

#19 days #long post #that...was a tiresome writing #Anonymous #q&a time

[thejudgingtrash]

My unpopular opinion: Chiron is a horrible teacher, protector, whatever. He’s as bad dumbledor. He often manipulates children and put them in danger? Also is RR really trying to tell me not one single demigod from before percy’s generation made it to adulthood? Not even demigods of minor gods? If not then why haven’t we heard from them, why weren’t they called to fight in the war so that literal children didn’t have to? I have more but I’m not brave enough to post them lol

Fuck, I gotta check my asks more often. Too much stuff laying around and oh please people! Send your stuff in! Don’t be shy! It’s so interesting to see what’s on your mind! Let’s have that conversation and ask me!! :D I mean a bunch of people agreed and disagreed with my stances (Part 1/Part 2), let’s see how I feel about yours!

Anyway HERE WE GO BOYS! LET’S GO LESBIANS LET’S GO! 

LET’S HAVE THAT WHOLE DAMN ESSAY!

Chiron is clearly a self insert from Riordan. I mean come on…

That’s a solid Chiron if I see one. Which is pretty ironic as Chiron’s the shitty teacher who we all know and love. Got something to admit, Riordan? You as a former teacher? HMM?

Hiding incompetence under the disguise of the gentle old wise teacher is definitely something that Dumbledore and Chiron share. Chiron is the old centaur who lived for aeons and helped out the most famous heroes of their times, so shouldn’t modern times be considered to be an easier job for him? He’s barely present, highkey vague and has absolutely no problems with tossing children literally out into the open across the entire fucking US and A to clean the gods’ bathroom messes.

Had the heroes been in their 20s like in the original myths (or even older) it would’ve made more sense to let them find their own ways. It would be rude,  but somewhat okay. You could expect adults to find the way and connect the dots. But this is just messing with a bunch of 12 year olds because you can at this point.

Chiron is that supposed sweet teacher that just fucks up. We all had one, you know the one. Seems gentle and nice and but has clearly chosen the wrong job. Don’t know if that’s the trauma of living that long and/or seeing kids dying constantly that’s hitting him in the back of the head.

I have the feeling that people are projecting their teacher fantasies on to him just like step-father fantasies that include Paul. Because we want a guide who is trustworthy, we want an authoritative figure that we can share our concerns with and who guides us to solid solutions without betraying our trust.

But like I said, he’s essentially sending out kids to deathly missions and encouraging deep traumas. Yes, we can partially blame Chiron, but most of the blame goes to the gods who enable and encourage this weird dynamic. Would all of them straight up cut the bullshit and mostly resolve their own issues without using their children as pawns, it would’ve been easier for everyone involved. Additionally, there are many kids in camp to keep busy, look after and care for. I don’t know how many there were pre-TLO but I’d assume the number was in the hundreds? Of course, in larger cabins are camp counsellors that help out and guide next to camp schedules. But since Percy’s the only kid in the Poseidon cabin I guess that thought went south? Percy being the special kid would actually mean that there should be a focus on him unless you’re going for the “I’m neutral” spiel. Chiron knew from day one that Percy was walking Poseidon seed, come on.

Also like I somewhat implied, seeing people die left and right might have impacted Chiron to make him feel indifferent/despressed (could also be a stretch, who knows). Which isn’t an excuse, but might explain some takes. Explaining the same stuff for millennia in its essentials is probably getting tiring.

I think this is the third time that I mentioned it on my blog but showing and telling are the most powerful story telling concepts/fundamentals and you see Rowling and Riordan constantly failing at that which is concerning. Instead of Chiron (or Dumbledore) just simply getting down to the point and telling and explaining stuff briefly, he only eludes, vaguely formulates and it is simply confusing especially for a child in a brand new environment who just lost his mother (if we’re speaking about TLT). This does nothing but add more stress in such a fragile situation especially when a new and bigger threat makes its way.

There’s also the discussion on how much of Greek myth Percy actually gets. He has the basic/ obvious knowledge which many tend to forget. He doesn’t come in with no knowledge. He had Latin classes back at the academy, he studies with Annabeth, he knows some of the monsters. What he simply doesn’t know, is the magic of it all. That is the most confusing part for him.

The actual magic is not explained, which it doesn’t have to be in all of its entirety, but needs to be addressed somehow and gradually.

Percy asking a simple question like how the camp stays sunny and covered 24/7 and how the wardens work and Chiron casually sitting here like you a stoopid one

doesn’t help.

What many people forget: Magic doesn’t erase logic. Even in a magical setting, unless clearly stated, there has to be some kind of logic to connect the dots. It doesn’t need to be a clear cut A to B, but it should be comprehensible for both the readers and the characters in a particular situation. And that’s just not happening for Percy as the character. This also sets up the premise of Percy being ”stupid” which he isn’t. He is surrounded by incompetent teachers and staff that don’t bother telling him how things work and assume that he’ll just manage.

Yeah. Both Dumbledore and Chiron are awfulness in a sweet calm disguise.

Onto part two of the ask. I have had so many talks with people on that exact problem. It simply boils down to one issue:

Rick Riordan‘s inconsistency in world building and setting. The story telling doesn’t make any sense.

So kids are dying like flies before 18 but many are also super famous and in powerful positions? Many are historical figures that made it well over 18? Make that make sense. Also was WW2 supposed to be kicked off by some 12 year olds with that logic? The biggest man made catastrophe of the modern era boiled down to a bunch of fighting kids? No. We all know it. Just simply no. I actually don’t mind the WW2 background but Riordan should’ve given it another thought and be a bit more sensitive…? Like the whole fascist gang being team Hades? Uhh… sure…. nope.

Also the same logic applies to Civil War? You’re telling me a bunch of kids were supposed to have started this stance? Who was for and who was against slavery then? What in the actual fuck? Using children as child soldiers to stand in for these large complex historical issues that stretch over years and show many of humanity’s horrifying sides is just….eh.

No. This whole thing about campers dying as soon as they reach the magic number of 18 are either bedtime stories to scare the kids or toughen them up orrrr my guess, Riordan actually managed yet again to fuck up his own lore.

It’s the same logic with New Rome. You have a whole city full of adults but have a few kids run that bitch? You did your ten years of service as a child soldier and then do one of these?

As if adults magically exit this world. Like is that the reason why Percy’s been 17 for a whole damn decade? Because otherwise he gotta hand riptide in and all of the boys scout medals he has collected so far? Adults would’ve had the experience and expertise to win those fights but it would break the magic and charm of the books that a bunch of kids are saving the world for the younger demographic. Let’s do not forget that the targeted audience of the books are middle schoolers. Makes somewhat sense with PJO but with HOO Riordan really shot himself in the leg. He should’ve matured the OG characters at least.

(Also speaking about the actual myths again. A good chunk of them died in their 20s/30s/40s. Odysseus guided as an old man. The heroes weren’t twelve and dipping by the age of 16. The Trojan war went on for 10 years for example. So whereas the real Perseus lived a longer life and had a somewhat happy ending in comparison to his peers, he wasn’t the only one that made it into adulthood.)

Riordan mixing up his own lore is just a shame. Yes, it’s human and he already gets a lot of flag for other stuff. I also get it as a writer with my fanfic where I really have to scroll up to search tiny details that I’ve embedded and not noted down. Perhaps it’s my inner capitalist speaking, but for I’m way more forgiving towards a free product, a gift like a fanfic, rather than something I’ve paid actual money for when it comes to this. The process of publishing a book is large. You mean to tell me that there was no editor at Disney that bothered to fact check? Riordan got a check from us all and doesn’t even bother looking up his own stuff. A little bit more effort, Ricardo. Please. You have an entire damn wiki you could use to check for free if you’re too lazy to read your own books/don’t use authors softwares. Like what?

It’s stupid. You know it, I know it. And as you can see, I fully agree with you.

#ask #ask me anons #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #chiron #chb #rr crit #rick riordan #hoo #heroes of olympus #my rants #camp half-blood #dumbledore #pjo hot takes

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 9

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Previous chapter | Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

A WHILE LATER

UPPER MONTANA RIVER

Trudging through the dry, golden fields of the Great Plains, Arthur tiredly dragged himself across the state as a lonely wind breezed past him, filling the emptiness with a peaceful silence and the soft rustling of weeds.

There was no one else around at the moment. No civilization, no bandits, no camps -- nothing. All Arthur could see right now was the wide, open sky stretching out for miles above him, and a collection of white clouds blanketing its vast space.

It had been a while now since the Van der Linde gang stopped chasing Arthur, and for about an hour, he had been wandering alone, searching the land thoroughly for Isaac.

He didn’t know if the boy made it out alive, or if he was even still in the vicinity, but Arthur couldn’t deny that he felt like he had failed Isaac by not convincing him to spare Mackintosh.

That poor kid was hurting on the inside. Arthur could see it clear as day. Despite the shield he held in front of himself, and the distrustful nature he carried, it was no secret to the man that his son never quite recovered from Eliza’s murder. And now, they were all paying the price.

Arthur just didn’t know how he’d pull Isaac away from the edge. He wasn’t exactly one to talk when it came to berating others for doing wrong, but it was clear to him now that the boy had no interest in showing the Van der Lindes any mercy.

If Dutch came after them -- and Arthur knew he would -- Isaac would kill them all, or die trying. 

He couldn’t let that happen, though. Death was no longer an option. That boy was the only real family Arthur had left. If anything were to happen to him, he didn’t know what he’d do. 

And he wasn’t willing to find out.

Following Isaac’s tracks to the north, Arthur used the trail of flattened grass and tiny blood splatters to guide him, leading him to come upon the Upper Montana River.

There, he spotted a dark brown Thoroughbred standing next to what looked like an abandoned cabin, as well as a bloody handprint on the door.

He assumed Isaac had taken refuge in the decrepit building and decided to approach it, taking out his gun just in case the man wasn’t alone.

Creeping up to the front door, Arthur steadily made his way to the dilapidated porch and glanced through the shattered windows, seeing nothing but cobwebs and specks of dust floating in the air.

It reminded him of the cabin back at Aurora’s Basin. It had the same isolated mood to it that made you feel separated from the troubles of civilization, and if Arthur squinted hard enough, he could’ve sworn he saw Dutch sitting in his rocking chair, observing the outside as always.

Placing a light hand on the doorknob, Arthur cocked his gun and slowly pulled the thing open, bracing himself for the worst. 

So far, nothing in the house had moved yet, and the only sound he could hear was the creaking of old wood, but if anything unfriendly revealed itself on the inside, the last thing Arthur wanted to do was start another gunfight while he already had a gang hunting him down.

There were Pinkertons still roaming in the area, after all, and Arthur had no doubts that one more shootout was all they needed before they’d be able to track the Van der Lindes down.

He’d have to be extra cautious from here on out. Not just for Isaac’s sake, but also for his.

Stepping into the cold shadows of the cabin, Arthur had barely walked through the door before he heard a man’s voice threatening him to lower his weapon, leading him to bring his attention to the other end of the hall.

“...Don’t move.” The man ordered, sitting on the floor. “Or I’ll shoot your goddamn brains out...!”

It was Isaac, thank God.

“Whoa, easy there,” Arthur said, raising his hands. “It’s just me.”

Isaac relaxed upon seeing Arthur’s face, putting his pistol down as he clutched his wounded ear.

“Dad?” He replied, his voice strained due to the injury. “Sorry. It’s just... I didn’t expect you to actually come. Wasn’t sure if you’d follow me after everything that went down with Dutch, but... I’m glad you’re here. Were you followed?”

Arthur gazed over his shoulder, shrugging. “I don’t think so. I doubt the Van der Lindes would chase me this far out into the country. Not when the majority of their supplies have been destroyed.”

Isaac furrowed his brow in concern. “...And what about when they restock?”

The older man holstered his gun and approached the boy, letting out a worried sigh. “...We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Arthur crouched in front of Isaac, eyeballing his bloody hand. “You feelin’ alright, son? How’s that ear doing?” 

The boy hissed in pain. “It’s ringin’ like hell and the bleeding hasn’t slowed down that much, but... I’ll live.”

The older man leaned in closer. “Well, at least lemme take a gander.”

Uncovering his ear, Isaac lowered his arm as Arthur observed the fresh bullet-wound and narrowed his eyes, trying to examine it through the darkness.

“Yep... bullet nicked the edge of your ear pretty good,” he noted. “It’s gonna look like Swiss cheese from here on out, I’m afraid. Luckily, though... I don’t think it hit anything too important. Your hearing should be fine, if a tad unbalanced. Just make sure it don’t get infected.”

That seemed to relieve the boy. “...I will. Thanks.”

Taking a seat next to Isaac, Arthur leaned back against the wall and let out a deep breath, admittedly drained from everything that had occurred so far. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that he and Dutch were officially enemies now, and on top of all that, he couldn’t quite process that Isaac was really alive either.

Arthur had spent so long having nightmares about seeing those two graves and wondering if he could’ve done anything to save them, but now, after all these years, he was finally sitting side-by-side with his very own son, spending time together like the family they were meant to be.

The outlaw chuckled quietly at the thought, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. 

“...You still look the same. Y’know that?”

Isaac returned the sentiment, cracking a small smile. “So do you.”

Arthur grinned and removed his hat, wiping some sweat off his brow. “Good thing, too. Otherwise, I’m not sure we’d have recognized each other back there.”

He put his hat back on, giving Isaac an uneasy look.

“You, um... feelin’ okay after all that? After killing Mackintosh, I mean. I know you ain’t no stranger to this sorta thing, but... still. I worry.”

Isaac sighed in an unsatisfied manner, clearly conflicted about the situation.

“I... don’t know how to feel.” He answered simply. “I mean, I’m glad Shay and his men are finally dead, but... I just feel like there’s somethin’ missing.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. “You thought killing Shay would provide a sense of peace. Or justice. You believed that everything would go back to normal once he died, but instead, you just feel empty. That sound about right?”

Isaac fell silent, unsure of how to express his thoughts. “I guess. I just... I didn’t expect him to go so willingly. Eli and the others, they all tried to convince me to spare ‘em. But Shay... he didn’t even fight back in the end. Didn’t argue. Just sat there, and let me...” his eyes fell to the floor, “...let me slit his throat.”

Arthur attempted to offer some perspective. “You ain’t the only one who’s had time to think about Eliza’s death, Isaac. I dunno how Shay was before, but despite how angry I was back there, I can’t deny the man sounded sincere when he said he regretted it. Seems like we all make choices that chain us to our past.”

That piqued the boy’s interest. “What about you, Dad? You ever do somethin’ you didn’t like? Something that... really affected you?”

The other man lowered his head in shame, unable to deny the truth. “Oh... I’ve done many bad things, Isaac. Sometimes they were for the good of the gang, sometimes I was just downright rotten. I don’t wanna fill your head with all that, but... just remember, I’ve seen some pretty terrible stuff during my time as an outlaw. Met some terrible people. And a lot of them started out as decent folk who lost themselves to revenge.”

Isaac quirked a brow. “...Like who?”

Arthur paused at that, still somewhat reluctant to accept his “father’s” true nature. “...Like Dutch.”

The boy’s curiosity grew. “Who is Dutch to you, anyways? Everyone I’ve talked to so far has said that he’s out of his mind, but... you’re tellin’ me you stuck with him for thirty years. There’s gotta be more to him than that.”

“Oh, believe me. There is. In fact, Dutch is probably the most complicated man I’ve ever met. In the beginning, he was like a father to me. Took me in when I was just a boy and taught me to read. Taught me how to fight, too. Hell, pretty much everything I know these days came from him. He was like a mentor and a guardian, all in one.”

Isaac listened intently. “So, what happened? How’d he turn into... what he is now?”

Arthur thought back to his time in Saint Denis, recalling all the moments where Dutch slowly started to lose his mind.

“Well, it didn’t happen all at once.” He explained. “It was a gradual process. Dutch was a man with a lot of responsibilities. A lot of pressure. He had to take care of the gang, think of what we’d do next, and where we’d go. It weren’t easy. Eventually though, the time came when civilization started to spread rapidly throughout the States, and the Pinkertons became more ruthless than ever. They started killin’ our men. Infiltrating our camps. Gettin’ our own people to betray us. It was a goddamned mess.”

“It certainly didn’t help matters when people outside the law started steppin’ on Dutch’s toes, too.” He continued. “There was an oilman -- Leviticus Cornwall. He was a pompous, brazen piece of work. He funded the Pinkertons. Helped them track us down. He was like a thorn in our side that would just never go away. And then, there was another feller. Angelo Bronte. Slimy, Italian bastard livin’ it up with the high society of Saint Denis. He set us up multiple times, and nearly got us killed.”

Isaac shrugged. “So... what’d you do to them?”

“I didn’t do anything. Dutch, on the other hand... shot Cornwall in broad daylight. Right in the middle of Annesburg, no less. As for Bronte, he drowned him in a swamp before throwin’ his corpse to the gators. And this was before our gang fell apart.”

The boy couldn’t deny that even he was shocked by that.

“Jesus...” he muttered. “Can’t imagine how you dealt with him for thirty years.”

Arthur scoffed in an amused tone, coughing a few times. “Neither can I.”

Deciding to change the subject, the older man pushed aside his memories for the moment and flipped the conversation over to Isaac, inquiring about his past.

“What about you, son? What was Shay like when you knew him?”

Isaac chuckled, unsure of where to even begin. “...Shay was always hard to read, back in the day. He definitely wasn’t the worst in the gang, but he weren’t no saint either. I think Eli was the only one who could really bring out his good side. The two of them were like brothers, after all, so Shay listened to him. Though, to tell you the truth, he didn’t stick around for that long. Shay left the gang when I was only... what, ten? Eleven? I don’t remember him that well, to be honest.”

“And what about the rest of his gang?” Arthur asked. “You mentioned there were other men involved?”

“Charles and Thaddeus.” Isaac confirmed. “They were there when Eliza died too. Thaddeus was... distant. A cold-hearted bastard who didn’t give a damn about anything ‘cept for money, but... he taught me everything I know. How to shoot, how to hunt, how to track. He had about as much emotion as a rock, but he had a sense of honor. Believe it or not.”

“What about Charles? What was he like?”

Isaac immediately glowered at the man’s name, crinkling his nose. “He was absolute scum. The worst of the worst. He was a creep, too. There were times when I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see him ogling me. Like a piece of meat.”

A sense of dread sparked inside Arthur. “He never... did anything to you, did he?”

The boy shook his head. “No. Thaddeus wouldn’t let him.”

Arthur sighed in relief. “Well... I suppose there’s that, at least. I’m just sorry I couldn’t find you sooner.”

“Don’t be,” Isaac reassured. “There was no way you coulda known I was still alive. Besides, you’re here now. You chose to follow me despite being affiliated with Dutch, and I won’t forget it.”

Picking up his gun, the boy stood up from the floor and took a minute to glance at the cabin around them, observing the empty space.

“Hey, Dad... d’you think we could stay here? Just for tonight? I don’t think I have the energy to set up a camp elsewhere.”

Arthur rose to his feet, patting dust off his legs. “I guess one night wouldn’t hurt. Dutch and his men are headed for Strawberry, so I doubt they’ll come sniffin’ around here. We shouldn’t stay for long, though. Never know when the law will turn up.”

A sudden thought crossed his mind, leading him to stop Isaac in his tracks.

“Hey, that reminds me. Dutch is convinced there’s a traitor in gang. He thinks that somebody helped you poison the food and also told you about the robbery. Is that true?”

Isaac nodded, slinging his rifle around his shoulder. “Yeah. One of your men approached me while I was stayin’ at the Blackwater Saloon. Offered a lot of information for some cash.”

“Who was it?”

“Micah.”

Arthur let out a disappointed breath, placing his hands on his hips. “Goddammit. That snake. So Joe was tellin’ the truth all along. I shoulda known...”

Isaac caught onto his father’s shift in mood, following suit.

“You want us to go after Micah?”

The older man rejected the suggestion. “No. He ain’t worth the trouble. Right now, I just need you to focus on stayin’ alive, and stayin’ the hell away from Dutch. If we happen to cross paths with Micah, then we’ll go from there, but I don’t want you hunting him down like you hunted Shay. Understand, Isaac?”

The young man’s expression flattened in disappointment, but he complied nonetheless.

“...I understand.”

“Good. We got each other now, so let’s not risk our lives for somethin’ we’ve already lost.” Arthur patted his shoulder in an encouraging manner, walking towards one of the bedrooms. “Anyways, that’s enough of that. Let’s make this cabin a bit more homey for the night. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

“Okay.” Isaac replied, his tone quieter now. Before the two of them could get to work, he said one last thing to Arthur, feeling somewhat apologetic about his actions in Tall Trees.

“...Dad?” The young man called out.

Arthur turned around, stopping just in front of the door to one of the other rooms. “Yeah?”

Isaac gazed at the floor, admittedly a tad embarrassed. “...I missed you.”

The older man smiled warmly at the comment, wanting to pull the boy into a hug right there.

“I missed you too, kiddo.” He said, wishing Eliza could’ve seen them now. “It’s good to have you back.”

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #isaac morgan #dutch van der linde #Micah Bell #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 oc

[ihatetaxes99]

THE YAKUZA AND THE PHOENIX - A BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA FANFICTION

"See, the problem with people like you," Commented the cool, sanitised yet utterly terrifying voice of Kai Chisaki as he kneeled down just in the very corner of the hero's peripheral vision. "Is that you relied far too much on that disgusting disease that plagues every last vein in your Godforsaken body. Maybe if you had just thought ahead a little… Has this illness robbed you of your senses, too? Left you as useless as a newborn? Not that it matters. It's far too late by now for any part of you to begin thinking about what could have been. I mean, just take a look around." He raised one hand to adjust his mask, while using the other to gesture to the scene around the two, one filled with flame and destruction. "If you had thought to bring police, tried to corner me with rifles, well you might have had some sort of success. I'm not stupid enough to resist against live bullets. But no. Your sickening Quirk has left you with such delusions that you thought you could stand to take me on alone."

The young woman's eyes filled with nothing but pure steel as she looked up at him. There was no fear to be found in the glare she delivered the man known as Overhaul, in spite of the terror bubbling in the pits of her stomach, constantly threatening to rise to the top. But she would not let it. Not in front of this Chisaki bastard, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he had won.

"No words?" The man sighed, poking her lightly in the head as if to provoke a reaction. "Like a kid who doesn't get their way. Stubborn to the end. What a pain you are. The worst kinds of people are the ones who don't realize they're infected. They have no true redemption in their future. It's kind of weird when you think about it. What a shame… Not that it's any of my concern. I'm more interested in just why you and your ridiculous headgear have been following me around all day. Do you have an answer for that?" He grabbed her by the back of the hair, and pulled her face up to look at his. "I'd prefer an answer as soon as possible, so I can minimise the amount of contact made with your disgusting body."

There was only one way the woman knew she could respond to this and that way landed directly on the suspected Yakuza's forehead. "Why would I tell you anything, asshole? You won't get anything out of the Phoenix."

The man actually audibly growled, like a feral wolf, as he slammed her head into the asphalt. She felt her nose break as blood streamed from it onto the road. It was probably one of the lesser injuries she had incurred that day. Chisaki got to his feet and produced a spotless handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face of the hero's saliva. "How childish." His voice was full of pure, deep contempt. "How filthy. Were you never taught manners? Are you mentally deficient? Hmph. Not that I should expect any more from a hero who calls themselves the Phoenix. How cliché." With that, he returned to his kneeling position over her limp body, she practically felt his shadow drop over her as the smell of burning embers filled her nose. Were those sirens she heard? They were faint, but what else could they be? Were they coming in her direction? One ear was completely busted up, so she couldn't tell. Looking up to the man who supposedly went by Overhaul, her peripheral vision severely limited by her complete and total lack of a right eye, she found her mind drifting away to the beginning of the day. When things had seemed oh so simple. When she still had all her limbs and when life had generally been more preferable when contrasted against her current predicament.

When had it all gone so wrong?

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

"So, all I have to do is follow the bugger?" Twenty-three year old Misa Kawajiri enquired into her phone as she took small, meticulous sips from her large Coke, sitting atop a rooftop in the very heart of the city, occasionally reaching into the bag next to her to dig out a fry or two and jam them into her mouth. This was the life, no doubt about it. The young woman, who went by the heroic moniker of the Phoenix, was elated whenever she was sent on surveillance patrols by her agency. Most other pro heroes would consider such work to be beneath them, it mostly consisted of hounding tax evaders, low-rent rank-and-file grunts and conmen, there was almost certainly never a tang of excitement to be found. This was the reason most heroes preferred more interesting work and it was the reason why Kawajiri adored such jobs. For her, it was a chance to slow down, chill out and enjoy life at a bit of a slower pace than usual. She definitely was not above having time to unwind and take things at a more reasonable pace. Of course, today's surveillance was already beginning to sound more interesting. It had started out with monitoring some basement-dwelling Otaku who shared anti-hero sentiments on internet forums, so not exactly a thrill ride there, as evidenced by the fact that Misa had left halfway through to get herself a McDonald's. But her new target, as assigned to her by her employers at the agency…

"His name's Kai Chisaki." Rang the cool, clerical voice of Phoenix's supervisor. "Mid to late twenties, germaphobe. He isn't often seen out and about, instead residing largely in the Shie Hassaikai's compound."

"Hassaiaki?" The hero of the sky's ears perked up at that. "He's Yakuza?"

"As far as we know, yes. We can't trace back any records of a family, except for Kazama Chisaki, his uncle, who was also associated with the organization before his death, although not as a full member."

"Interesting…" The girl pondered. "So, why are we following him, then? The Hassaikai have a good reputation, right?" Her words were slightly muffled as she jammed more fries in her mouth at that moment than was probably reasonable.

"That they do, Phoenix. They're underground. There have been search warrants on the premises before, but nothing suspicious was turned up. They're a Yakuza group in name only right now, nothing worth worrying about. But Chisaki? He's different. You're going to be following him for reasons unrelated to his activity within the clan."

"Oh?" Misa cupped her free ear with her hand so that she could better hear the man on the other end of the phone.

"In short, we have reasons to believe he's been peddling Trigger behind the backs of his bosses. Obviously, I don't need to tell you about that."

She nodded, although that was a tad redundant, considering the voice on the other end could not see her. The experimental drug known for its Quirk-bolstering properties was nothing to trifle with, and it had only grown more popular in recent time. "Why do you think he's doing so?"

"Money, probably. Who knows with these criminal types? The point remains that we have reason to believe he's out and about today. I've sent you an image of him on your phone. Follow him, see what he's up to. When a hermit like him comes out of the woodwork, it can never be good. Not for anybody." And with that, her superior hung up, leaving Misa to her own thoughts. In being left this way, she dug her knees up tucked under her chin and sulked for a bit, confident that nobody could see her act in such a childish manner, taking the odd glance at the image. He was a shockingly handsome young fellow, with sharp yellow eyes, ruffled brown hair and a suit, he looked the part of any well-meaning businessman. The only weird aspect was the steampunk-esque plague doctor mask clamped around his mouth. She shrugged it off as probably having something to do with his Quirk, whatever that was.

"This sucks." She groaned as she reached for her helmet, which mostly served as a fancy shell to hold the visor that shielded her eyes from the wind. "I don't wanna have to pursue Yakuza drug dealers, it's just no good. Give me a fat, tinfoil hat loser ranting about conspiracies any day. Surveillance is supposed to be a break from the hard stuff. But nooo, it just has to be more of it, doesn't it?" She sighed, the air whistling over her lips, as she tossed aside her empty bag. Stretching upwards, allowing her skintight suit to hug her body, she felt her wings extend from her body. It was always a glorious sensation to be felt, the pure rush of it all. She adored it beyond belief, the best part of the job. With a cheeky grin, the young hero spread her arms…

… And let herself fall from the building's roof.

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

Filthy. The very lot of them, surrounded by filth and dirt and all manner of unpleasantries. It was enough to break young Kai Chisaki out in hives, it truly was. Absolutely repulsive. How horrendous to have to walk amongst the common people, all of them no doubt inflicted with that despicable illness. As he made his way down the crowded high street, bumping into the occasional commuter, he felt the irresistible urge to lift up the sleeve of his green coat and scratch at the lumps on his arm. Urgh. The very lot of them, disgusting. He was rapidly remembering why he vastly preferred to remain indoors. And yet, he had to do this. He couldn't entrust mere goons with carrying out the mission, not even the Eight Precepts of Death. This had to be done by him and him alone. He felt the cold metal rub against his stomach from the inside pocket of his coat. What depraved things that guns were. Alas, they were a necessary evil, and still far better than Quirks. As he walked, he had no clue of the eyes following him as he did so. Misa Kawajiri worked fast and had found him in mere minutes. Was he aware of this, he would almost have applauded her.

Key word: Almost.

"He's carrying some sort of briefcase..." The girl noted to herself as she watched him. Luckily, his mask made him very distinctive for anyone who may be looking for him, so she had not had much trouble. "Is that relevant to whatever he's up to?" The questions were racing through her head in spite of her better judgement. She couldn't help but wonder about the good-looking, well-dressed young fellow with Yakuza ties. It was all so odd to her, and new. She didn't often run into anything so… exciting, was probably the word. And normally, Phoenix abhorred exciting. But something about it just seemed alluring. Maybe it was more the man than the danger, who really knew? Certainly not her.

…

DAMN.

Wrapped up in her own little thoughts, Kawajiri had lost Chisaki. He had seeped into the crowd. That wasn't good, not good at all. Not even wasting a second, Misa once again extended her wings and took off into the air, in search of the fellow she was shadowing. Stupid Misa, she cursed herself. How had she been so stupid? She really needed to focus more. Her eyes scanned the surroundings as she flew over an alleyway that served as a gap between two buildings.

And in that very alleyway, Kai Chisaki now stood, facing a triage. They were common street thugs, Overhaul had done his research. Nothing big, they were unheard of, just worthless druggies with not a thing to their names and a whole heap of desperation for power, power that they had no clue what to do with. In other words, the perfect suckers to lure in.

"Gentlemen." The distinguished Yakuza bowed. The goons showed no such respect in return. Was it really so hard to show the baseline politeness required of a person? These kinds of people pissed him off the most. Fortunately, the mask obstructed his grimace as he set the silver case on the ground and entered in a combination. A few seconds passed and then it clicked open. "Here's your bloody Trigger. Ten vials, enough to give the three of you a bolster in your path- In your Quirks for up to forty-eight hours. If you have any questions, I would advise you ask now."

The thugs all shared looks with one another. They appeared satisfied at the very least, yet the one in the middle, a big guy with muscles to rival All Might- Well, the former All Might- seemed incredulous to some degree. 

"So, what yer tellin' us, Chisaki-"

"I would prefer if you called me Overhaul."

"-Right. Sorry." His accent was just thick enough to get under the Yakuza's skin. "Yer sayin' that we don' hafta pay for any of this?"

To this, Kai shrugged. "Consider it a first-time buyer's guarantee. If you want more later down the line, that's when you'll have to start paying me. Otherwise, take it." He kicked the briefcase, sending it sliding towards the men. "It's all yours." For a moment, it seemed like the huge guy was about to protest, but at looking at the vials, his greed got the better of him, and he allowed a wide grin to overcome his face, no doubt imagining what his improved Quirk would be like. Disgusting animal.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya, Mr. Overhaul." He gloated as he picked up the case, his cronies hovering around him as they sneaked looks at the drug. Now was probably the best time to strike, while they were blinded by their own pathetic delusions of grandeur.

"Likewise." Chisaki responded, reaching into his coat, as if trying to find a cigarette. "Say, you three, have you ever wondered what society would be like without Quirks? How far we could have advanced by now if we hadn't had to restart everything to accommodate the idea of superpowers?" The men stared at him like he was mad, which was to be expected. "It's just something I've been thinking about." He admitted as he pulled the gun from his coat and aimed it squarely at the large man's head. "Let's test it out. You'll survive, of course."

"What the fuck?" The scumbag growled as he dropped the case in shock. "You pullin' a gun on us? Guess what, you skinny prick? It's three on one. Shoulda thought about that before pullin' a betrayal!"

"Probably." Kai noted nonchalantly as he took aim and fired.

The bullet ricocheted up against a wall in the alley as the metallic weapon was knocked from his hand by a kick. And not a kick from one of the steroided-up goons. No, one aimed from above.

"Looks like I caught you boys in the act." Phoenix grinned as she stood, legs firmly apart, eying up Kai. "Trying to betray the dudes you're selling drugs to really isn't a great idea, I must add." 

…

Filthy…

Sickening….

"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE??!!" Kai Chisaki screamed, his voice carrying high up into the sky as he stared down the hero, his pupils small and mad in their sockets. "HOW DARE YOU TOUCH ME??!! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU??!!" He was completely enraged, sweat pouring from his forehead as he grasped at his hair. "DISGUSTING, DISGUSTING, DISGUSTING!!" He appeared to be on the receiving end of a full-on breakdown. All this over being kicked in the hand? No, it couldn't just be that. Already, the receivers of the Trigger had fled, stolen briefcase in hand. It really had been their lucky day.

"Woah, calm down, Chisaki-"

"Who gave you the right to call me that?!" He demanded, his voice slightly softer now. "And do you have any idea how difficult those bullets were to manufacture? I simply cannot afford to waste them!" Turning his back on Kawajiri, he picked up the gun, examining it for damages, and then wiped it clean with his white surgical gloves.

"Hey, creep! Stay right where you are!" Misa was petrified. She truly was. Something about this guy just was not right at all. She had been told he was a major germaphobe, but was it this bad? Enough to push him into insanity at a moment's touch? "You're under arrest for possession distribution of illegal narcotics." She was basically reading off the rulebook, saying what she was supposed to say in such situations. But nothing about this felt normal. Why was he so focused on the gun? "Stand down and await for police transport."

"You think I would heed such commands from a filthy piece of scum like yourself?" Suddenly, Kai was cool, clinical, yet again as he calmly pointed the gun in her direction. Phoenix nearly felt her heart stop. "Maybe you'll make a better test subject." His finger tightened on the trigger of the handgun. Misa had no time to think, no time to plan.

She simply ran forwards, charging the villain as he steadied his aim. Another loud bang echoed from the gun. She felt it tear her suit as it whizzed past her, but she managed to just barely evade it. Now, she was too full of adrenaline to stop, as she ploughed towards Chisaki. As she drew closer, she reached out, grabbing for his arm… She had to restrain him and fast.

"DON'T LAY YOUR FILTH-ENCRUSTED FINGERS ON ME FOR EVEN A SECOND!!" Overhaul yelled, back to unconcealed rage, as he slammed his hand down onto the ground. From nowhere, burst large columns of rock from beneath the concrete, sending the heroine flying back a few inches and separating the two. 

"Woah..." Was this his Quirk? She hadn't seen anything like it before. The rock wall stretched all the way up, totally shielding the Yakuza from her. It twisted up into the blue sky, as far as the eye could see. And then, she heard his voice, once again calm, from the other side.

"You made me use my Quirk." The man stated. "I hate this thing, but you left me with no other option. For that, I truly do feel some sort of hatred for you. So, I suppose I really feel no guilt in using you as my little guinea pig." Then, he fell silent again, as Phoenix paced around, trying to look for some sort of opening in the wall. Suddenly, she heard a rush of wind behind her and snapped around her head just fast enough to see Overhaul rushing at her. Now, Kawajiri had no clue just what his Quirk did yet, but she figured letting him touch her was a bad idea, so she took off into the air, hovering out of his reach.

"So, a flight Quirk, eh?" Chisaki sighed. His hair was ruffled, the purple fur on his coat torn in places and his bleach white tie flicking wildly with the motion from his rapid movements. "I must admit, I've never been great with moving targets." Once again, the pistol was out, pointed at her. No, she shouldn't panic. Judging from earlier, whatever bullets he loaded the thing with were very precious and so, he wouldn't waste them unless he knew there was a guaranteed chance of hitting her. She was safe for now.

She realized she had been foolish to think that even as the spiked column of rock dug itself up from the ground and impaled her right through the stomach, sending her back, right out of the alley and into the streets outside. She heard a scream as she slammed into a car, feeling the metal crunch behind her. Her vision was hazy, like that of a drunk, but she could still make out the suited villain walking slowly towards her as civilians fled the area. Well, all except for one man, who clearly realized that Kai was up to no good and tried to charge him. Without even looking in his direction, his gaze fixed on Misa, Overhaul's arm made contact with the brave man's chest and he exploded into nothingness.

"What the hell?!" Phoenix yelled. She felt like throwing up at the man's remains splattered the asphalt So this Quirk… It could erect pillars of rock, reduce humans to nothing, what was it exactly? She couldn't even think straight in her current state to try to decipher the answer.

"Isn't it kind of weird how people always try to act the hero? I've noticed that. I swear, this world has been poisoned beyond belief. Can I even cure it? Is that possible?" She felt cold metal as the bastard jammed the gun into her gaping mouth. "All I know is that I can try my very best. Starting here. You'll be my first patient, my girl. The first to be cured."

"Bite me." She hissed as she aimed a kick at his side, which somehow connected, winding the Yakuza just long enough for Misa to stagger to her feet. It felt like she had multiple broken ribs. Those could wait. "I think I get your shtick now. You think Quirks are disgusting or something, right? Yeah, just like any of those Creature Rejection Clan nutjobs. But you think you can bring an end to them, right?" She coughed up some blood onto her fist as she held Chisaki's gaze. "Well, think again, dickwad. You really think that you're some great saviour. I dunno what you have planned, but it sure as hell won't be anything that won't see you crushed like the pathetic little man you are!" And with that, she took flight again, aiming a kick at his head.

Before she even knew it, another column had travelled right through her left eye with a fleshy squealtch, blood coating the rock as she hurtled backwards, her fall stopped by a large vehicle that the rock pinned her to.

"Jesus… That it?" She spat, as Kai approached her yet again, his eyebrows raised in amusement. Then, he stepped backwards. Then again. Then, he spun around and started walking away. Misa was completely taken aback. "What?! You just leaving, you limp-dicked bastard? That ain't how a saviour acts, is it? Running away from a fight?" Her attempts at provocation did nothing to stop him and when the young woman tilted her head just a little, she saw why.

"Ah-" She started, before the oil tanker she had been pinned to exploded. The shockwave could be felt for blocks to come, glass shattered from the skyscrapers above as the world was thrown upside down. Everything went white for Misa Kawajiri, then black.

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

Damn. That really had escalated quickly. And now, the pro hero lay, amongst the rubble, with one eye, a busted ear, no legs and a stump of an arm. The Yakuza stood above her. 

"I'll be willing to overlook your blatant lack of manners." Overhaul growled as he resumed his kneeling position. "In fact, I'll let you be saved. I'll be the one to save you. Isn't that something? A sickening power-infected freak like you, given a second chance by a humble Yakuza. And after everything you've done to me. You have been one hell of an annoyance. But, I guess you'll have started to make it up to me if Eri's little bullets end up working." The girl felt metal press into her side. Why was he so eager to shoot her? It must have something to do with whatever he was planning. The last thing Misa Kawajiri heard was the crack of a gunshot, the last thing she felt was the pain of the bullet entering her body, and then, she fell still. A second or two passed before Kai hovered his hand over her head.

"All going well, you have been deprived of your filthy Quirk." He noted, more to himself as the hero was now deeply unconscious. "Now, just to fix you up." He pushed his hand down on her and the woman's body blew apart in a spectacular show of blood and gore. Just a few seconds later, it reassembled, all limbs, eyes and anything else re-attached. With a satisfied nod, the man got to his feet.

"You'll live peacefully for the rest of your days." He told her, turning his back on her and walking away from the destruction that lay sprawled out like the play area of a particularly deranged and angry child, as if it had just been another day at the office, adjusting his tie. "No Quirk, no heroics, no excitement. I hope you're cut out for a desk job, Phoenix. It's all you have in your future. You're welcome."

#bnha manga #bnha #bnha oc #kai chisaki #Overhaul #drama #fanfiction #anime #shie hassaikai #non romantic

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 14 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉@theshove  ​👈

👉@kamyru👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 12 is right here! Happy reading :)

And I just want to thank everyone that’s been consistently reading this fic, I know it’s a slow burn but I think it’ll be worth it :D

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature, Abuse, Kidnapping, Torture.

~~~~~~

Another end to another day and again I found myself in the Instructor's Staff Room, diving into any work Kaga could give me. I thrived off productivity and never wanted to put the mundane tasks down, that was until one of the other Instructor's told me I needed to go to bed.

But that night was different. I wasn’t struggling to read a word or trying to figure out if I got Soma's tea and Goto's coffee switched around. It was the end of the week, which meant my test-intensive few days were just around the corner.

Although, I wasn’t as worried about that as I was worried about asking the instructor's to attend Juna's baby shower. She called me every day, demanding an updated report on who was coming and who I hadn't even asked yet. At this point I had Goto, Shinonome and Ishigami down, as well as the first guest of Soma. So now I'm standing in front of Kaga's office door, contemplating if I even wanted to risk asking him out during his private time. From what I had seen, he's got very little of it and when he did, he always found one excuse or another to pile on my workload or follow him to a stakeout. Although, there had been less of that since I returned to the academy.

I had asked Naruko and Chiba to come, just so I could have emotional support through the awkward gathering, but they were just as hesitant as I was about spending my free time with the instructors.

"You didn't gain telepathic powers. You can't open the door with your eyes." Shinonome laughed at me and I threw a scowl his way. It had been surprisingly easy to talk with him now that he wasn't always trying to make a pass at me. He just made fun of me in other ways. Like a more vocal Kaga.

"I know that." I pouted before forcing myself to knock. Luckily, the shutters were down again, so the captain didn't see me standing around like an idiot for the several minutes I did. And with that, I was beaconed in.

"What is it?" He asks, looking over a file. I assumed it was a lesson plan, although he never usually did stuff like that. He always threw us into the deep end, whether he thought we were ready or not. Taking a deep sigh, I asked.

"My sister wants you to come to her baby shower. It's at the end of the week." I explained, referring to the end of next week. His gaze shot up, firing his 'concerned-I-hit-my-head-again' gaze. "You don't have to force yourself. It's a thank you gesture if anything." I explained, sounding nonchalant if he accepted or not when truly I didn't want to see him outside of the academy. I'd be too awkward and shy to even talk. I froze when I saw the moment of silence he took to think about it.

"If you pass the exams next week I'll think about it." He grumbled and quickly turned back to his work. My brows furrowed in confusion and when Kaga noticed I hadn't moved to leave yet, he glared again. "Anything else?" His mouth flipped into a satisfied smirk at my slow reactions.

"N-No, thank you. I'll go now." A blush flushed on my cheeks when I didn't know what to say in return. Did he think I wanted him to go? Why would he bribe me with it? Confusing questions encircled my brain as I finished up the week-long task Kaga had thrown on my desk several days ago.

~~~~~~

After spending all weekend locked away in my room, pouring myself over the textbooks and notes I had made in class and the ones Naruko had made during my absence, I arrived in the Monitor Room with excitement and sky-high nerves. Never had I been happier with my insomnia, it helped me spend more time studying instead of falling asleep at my desk. I did get some sleep, of course, otherwise I wouldn't be able to perform to my full potential. Although, my excitement might have been due to how overtired I was.

"Morning, Instructor!" I waved at Kaga who strolled in lazily, hands shoved in his pockets. He frowned at my volume, asking me how I always had so much energy. Once I apologised, the other instructors trailed in for my first exam. Because no one was willing to retake with me, the PSD teams had to partake. We would be going to a casino to gather information about the dark underbelly of the hotel it resided in.

"This is Eisuke Inchinomiya. He owns the hotel and is usually found on the casino floor. Goto will go into his private room and plant a wire. You two will be out on surveillance." Ishigami announced, pointing at me and Kaga. I tried to hide the blush growing of my face remembering the last time we went undercover again.

"No surprises this time?" Kaga smirked at me and I pout at him.

"There was no possible way I could have helped that." I scowled but surprisingly he just chuckled. Then, we left to change and went for the hotel-casino.

~~~~~~

Once we arrived, with me dressed in a lavish, floor-length, flashy and not to mention curve-hugging, dress, Kaga held onto my waist to guide us around the room. Ayumu was in a room upstairs with the equipment to check if the wire was working and we all had earpieces so we could communicate with each other. Soma was dressed in a server's uniform, undercover so he could get closer to Ichinomiya if we weren’t able to distract him.

"Keep an eye out," Kaga whispered in my ear as he sat at a dice table, still holding my body close to him. Even though I was more... experienced with men than last time, my heart still raced and I hoped that he couldn't hear it with my chest so close to his. Trying to be as discreet as possible, I found the target gambling a few tables away, women either side of him.

"10 o'clock," I mumbled, letting my gaze fall back to the table as he threw the die. Ishigami gave us a few chips to play with in order to help us fit in more. Kaga looked up to see the owner winning. 

‘Couldn't he just fix the games?’ I thought, my brows frowning slightly in confusion.

Suddenly, a man approached Eisuke and started leading him away. 

"They're going to the room," Kaga announced and I could tell there was a certain panic in his voice that no one would have noticed.

"I'll distract him." Soma spoke up through the earpiece and I watched him approach the two, both very handsome, men and offer them drinks. Eisuke rejected him and kept walking without much regard to the offer or the server’s presence.

"I'm not done yet," Goto explained, having already broken into the room. My shoulders tensed up, but I removed Kaga's arm from my side and grabbed one of the chips in his hand. Discreetly sliding my earpiece into his pocket so that Ichinomiya wouldn't discover it when I approached him, Kaga gave me a look, asking what I was doing, and I steeled my nerves before discreetly rushing over to them.

"You seem pretty lucky today. Would be a shame to put that blessing to waste so early." Sliding in front of the men, I tilted my head and put on a teasing smile, letting my lip brush between my teeth. A light sparked in Eisuke's eye when he looked down at my body, the slit from the top of my thigh forcing my leg out of the confines of the dress. Luckily, I was able to cover up most of my scars.

"Come on, play a game with me?" Crossing my arms, I tap the chip between my fingers against my cheek. He smirked at the way I was trying not to blush as I spoke so suggestively. Because I didn't have my earpiece, I couldn't hear Ayumu's teasing tone at how much I had grown since the beginning of the year.

"I'm pretty lucky as well." The young blond man beside him stepped forward with a gleeful smile. Looking away, I pretended to ponder for a moment.

"Hmm, no. I want him." Stepping towards the hotel owner and grabbing the opening of his suit, I guided him over to a poker table with a lot my assertiveness than I was used to implementing.

"You should be careful what you ask for." He whispered in my ear as I took a seat next to him and a grossed out shiver ran down my spine. 

‘I asked for it but, geez, is he creepy.’

"I think I know what I'm looking for." I smiled, looking at the dealer to exchange my singular expensive chip with more, less expensive ones. Luckily, Juna and I played poker a lot as kids with candy we were able to get on our few outings from the house. It was one of the only pass times my father would allow because we wouldn't make much noise.

The game was short, Eisuke won the table, but it was enough time for Goto to get out safely with the listening device planted. 

"So, what's my prize?" Eisuke leant over me and I leaned back, using my bare leg to keep my balance behind me. His smirk was flirtatious and it was easy to see what he wanted.

"I think the money is enough." I smiled, stood up and walked back to Kaga, who was still sitting where I left him. Breathing a heavy sigh next to him to ease my racing heart, I didn't feel the arm that snaked around me again.

"You did well," Kaga whispered in my ear again, his warm breath brushing against it. I blushed, gulping at the more satisfying reaction I had to him than to Eisuke.

"Give me a second." I put my hand over my mouth, trying to stop myself from gagging at the memory of Eisuke's hand easing closer to my leg when we played. Kaga sighed at that and returned to watching the owner leave the casino, the young man following him. At some point, he had replaced the earpiece in my ear and I could hear Ayumu's silent chuckling.

~~~~~~

Once we knew the wire was working, we returned to the academy. 

"So, how did I do?" I bounced over to Ishigami, who stayed behind, still dressed in my undercover outfit. He looks at me, and then to the other instructors.

"You will know by the end of the week." He explained, neither sounding tired of how pushy I was being or teasing me and returned to his work. My shoulders slumped knowing that I would have my nerves racing for at least five straight days.

"Katsumi, you did well today. Go back to the dorm and relax." Soma came up from behind me, placing a comforting hand on my back. I tensed up from the shocked of someone touching me so suddenly but quickly tried to calm myself down from the surprise the shock it gave me. Quickly nodding and bowing to the instructors, I left the room to return to studying.

~~~~~~

When we returned to the academy, Katsumi was still making a racket. Although, when Ishigami shut her down, she finally silenced herself. It was when Soma touched her that I really realised how on edge she must have been all the time. Once she left, he sighed, as if disappointed she reacted that way.

"She surprised me," Ayumu announced as we put away our equipment into their cases. I looked at him with a confused expression to find him smirking at me. "She jumps up to save Seiji without even thinking and then is a complete wreck when she comes back to you." He laughed, likely remembering how she stuttered when I got close to her. I frowned, not liking how observant he was becoming with her.

"Don't worry, boss, I'm not allowed to make a move. She's all yours." He laughed, putting his hands up defensively and I scowled.

"What are you talking about?"

"She's your aide. Wouldn't want to distract her from her work. Even if she can't read." He laughed again and my brows furrow. 

‘Since when couldn't she read?’

"Her concussion was that bad?" Soma interjected through the glaring match I was having with the lieutenant.

"It went untreated for a long time. She's lucky she just got poor eyesight." Goto commented as he walked into his personal office. I was left in the room, contemplating why I was the only one that didn't know how much she was struggling with returning to society.

~~~~~~~~~~

After I got out of the bathroom, having had a quick shower to wash the makeup and perfume off me, I hear a knock at my door. 

"Hold on!" I called out, pulling my pyjama trousers on with a hop and running to the door with the towel still over my wet hair. There, I found Kaga leaning on my door frame. "I-Instructor? How can I help you?" I instantly started to panic, wondering what I could have done so incredibly wrong for him to come to the dorms.

"I'm coming to pick up the files from the weekend." He grunted and tried my hardest to think of any tasks he could have given me, but I couldn't remember anything. My gaze darted back to the coffee table, where all my notes were sprawled out, but I didn't see any with the colourful tags I used to organise specified crimes.

Suddenly, Kaga pushed into my room, heading for the table. 

"In-Instructor! I... I'm not sure what you're talking about." I panicked, following after him as he picked up one of the clearly outlined pieces of paper. Because I've been basically teaching myself how to read again, there are tiny post-its next to the word I struggled with.

"So you can read." He grumbled to himself and I felt my face combust into a heated blush.

"Ayumu told you about that?" I cried out, not noticing that his face didn't scowl at my volume. "I-It's not really a problem. I just needed to be reminded sometimes. I can read." I argued, staring at the blur of ink on the page because I didn't have my glasses on. They were on the table beside my studying material. I was only able to make sense of the playing cards today because I could count the coloured dots. Not that I could differentiate which were hearts and which were diamonds, the same goes for the black cards.

Then, as I'm pouting to myself, Kaga's gaze falls around the room, settling on the bottle of pills on my nightstand. His long legs brought him over quickly and he picked them up. Inspecting them, I grew more aware of how curious he seemed.

"Um, sir, what're you doing?" I stammered out in a low voice, panicking about angering him for interrupting his investigation into my personal life.

"Tomorrow's test will be held in the Staff Room. Sleep early." He commanded, putting the bottle down with a soft rattle of the pills and walking out the room.

"What about the-?" Before I could ask about his reasoning for being here, the door slammed shut behind him.

~~~~~~

The next day I was sitting in the Instructor's Staff Room, reading over my theory test. I was given a series of scenarios and had to write down how I would react. I had pretty much memorised the textbook better than the names of my classmates. But what really put me on edge was the person holding the exam.

Instructor Kaga.

He was sitting at the head of the table, staring at me like I was a suspect. I couldn't help but be intimidated. My pen wagged over the sheet of paper as I think about what I would do if a child was taken hostage.

"I want to be here as much as you do. Hurry up." Kaga spat and my heart raced at the venom in his voice. 

‘He's annoyed.’ I'd been struggling so far, but I was so close to the end that I was starting to get sleepy. Which was strange. I rarely felt tired, it was the pills that sent me into oblivion. So, why was I so relaxed now? In an exam that determined my future.

Sighing, I just decide to write down the answer that had been on the tip of my tongue for about ten minutes now. I wasn’t sure if it was right, or detailed enough, but it was what I remembered from the textbook.

When finished, I slammed the pen down and threw my head back. "I'm exhausted," I complained to no one but myself as I yawned, stretching my arms above me and behind. Kaga jumped up, taking the paper and scanning the text. So far he seemed to understand my handwriting.

Then, he made an agreeing grumble and took it into Ishigami's office. I didn't know if that was a good thing or bad, but the wave of relief for him leaving the room was enough for my eyelids to clamp shut. Waiting for him to come back out and dismiss me, I rested my head on my arms and decide it's a good idea to just rest for a bit.

~~~~~~

"You're the one that volunteered," Ishigami growled at me after I complained about all the work I had been missing out on because of Motomori's test. I frowned, going to argue but reframed because he had a point. I said I would watch her because I was curious to see how she would cope with some of the scenarios. And, she looked exhausted. I wanted to make sure she wouldn't fall asleep halfway through.

Exiting Ishigami's office, I find Katsumi resting her head on the desk. 

"You can go," I grumbled but she didn't make a move to leave. I repeated, wondering if she was stuck in her absent mind, but I heard a whimper in response. Frowning my brows, I stepped closer to her and peered at her expression.

Her face was screwed up and the arm she was resting on was flexed as she clenched her fist. I could see her chest rising and lowering quickly as her breathing raced. There was a shine on her forehead from sweat. It wasn’t even that hot in the room, the heating was hardly on.

"Stop." Her voice was breathy, almost silent. I could only hear her because I was so close. "Don't know... She's dead..," she continued. She was having a nightmare.

‘It's probably a memory.’ But, who could she be talking about? My face contorted into further confusion as she repeated herself. 

‘She's gonna have a heart attack at this rate.’ Staring down at her person, I saw the wires of the MP3 player hanging out of her back pocket. Pulling them out and trying to get the device without touching her ass, I slipped an earbud into her ear, making sure the volume was on low before I played the music. After a song, her face eased a little.

"Hm." I chuckled at how easy it was to ease her and placed the player on the table, making sure the playlist I made for her was on a loop and returned to the work I was already behind on.

~~~~~~

As I faded into consciousness again, I heard the familiar tune of my sister's cello, accompanied by the rest of an orchestra. I felt my face scrunch up in confusion, wondering why I was hearing this. I had never been to any of her shows. I wouldn't have fallen asleep during one, I would be too proud of her, and there was no way I would be watching tv when I could be studying or doing Kaga's work. That's when I remembered I was in the Instructor's Staff Room.

With a sudden breath, I lifted my head with a start to find I was still in the office. I blushed, wondering how long I had been here when I felt something fall out of my ear. Looking down, I saw my headphones. 

"When did I..?" I led off, my mouth too dry to finish my sentence.

"Finally awake?" A voice spoke up from one of the doors behind me and I spun around to see Ayumu. I frowned and blush for him to be teasing me, but then I realised it wasn’t a nightmare that woke me up like every time I had fallen asleep since my rescue.

"What time is it?" I looked back at the table for my glasses, feeling around until I found them. To be honest, I hated wearing them. They were a hassle and an annoyance that I really wished I didn't need. And Juna somehow talked me into getting these silver, Harry Potter-esc glasses which make me look 'cute'.

"You're lucky Ishigami didn't catch you." He hummed, not answering my question. Slightly disgruntled, I pick up my MP3 player and shoved it into my back pocket, grabbed my pen and walked out the room to call my doctor.

~~~~~~

"You're worried that you fell asleep without your medication?" The surgeon's questioning tone sounded amused and I pouted, explaining how sudden it was. "This is progress, Katsumi, don't freak out. Although, you should try to do it on your own time." He let go of his professionalism and laughed out loud.

"Okay." I frowned my brows, still uneased by the fact. 

‘It’s like, whenever Kaga is in the room, I can fall asleep without any guards up. I almost feel safe.’ Hanging up with a sigh, I blew my hair out of my face. 

"I need a haircut." With my mood deflated, I made plans to get a haircut at the end of the week, after Juna's shower, which is the only time I'd have free for ages.

~~~~~~

By the end of the week, I. Was. Exhausted. With the stress of exams finally relieved, I was sitting in one of the many common rooms in the dorms with Naruko and Chiba, eating snacks they smuggled in. With the nightmares I had been having about my mother, I found my temptation getting the better of me, and I looked her name up in the policing database, just to see if something would come up on her, the screen of my computer facing away from anyone else in the room. I had never looed her up before, mainly because I was scared to know if she was alive or not. 

Scrolling through all the files the government has on her, I found she was once noted down as a testifying witness. Frowning my brows, I was about to click on the link when my name was called out. My gaze flew up as I closed the tab I had open.

"What can I do for you, Instructor Ayumu?" I flashed a smile at the man who had called out to me.

"Just checking where the party is." He smiled his usual, untrustworthy smile. I told him the address of my sister's apartment.

"I have to help set up, so I'll see you there." Forcing my 'let's-just-get-along' smile, I watched the instructor leave.

"I can't believe you get to see all the instructors in their casuals, Katsumi!" Naruko cheered once the lieutenant had left the room completely, not wanting to overhear her talk about him behind his back.

"You could too." I threw her a teasing eyebrow when I noticed her joking hesitance.

"I wouldn't want to get in your way." 

With the others distracted by another classmate coming over, I returned to the file I had clicked away from. The case was from ten years ago, around the same time my mother went missing. I read that it was a homicide case and my mother was in court to accuse the murderer. I didn't recognise the man, but his history recorded that he was suspected to be a part of my father's mafia.

"What?" I whispered under my breath when I saw the evidence used. The ring left on my pillow that night was on my screen with notes from an interrogation my mother was in.

"Lana gave it to me before she died. She said it would lead me to the answers. I don't have a clue what she's on about." There was no record of the ring being returned to any relatives or her, so she must have stolen it from the police department.

‘There was a message in the ring?’ My brows frowned further as I thought about how I had given the ring away months ago. Kanto hadn't proposed to Juna yet, I didn't know if he was planning to, but I needed that ring before Juna got her hands on it.

"Everything alright, Katsumi?" Chiba peered over as I turned off the computer and stood up, startling everyone with my suddeness.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna get an early night. You guys have fun." Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I looked through my contacts to find my sister's boyfriend's name. The others waved me away as I put the phone to my ear. I’m sure they understood, seeing as I had just had a weeks worth of whistle-stop exams and my sister’s baby shower was the next day.

"Katsumi? What's up?" Kanto's voice echoed from the other end. He didn't sound rushed, so I guessed I hadn't interrupted their evening.

"Is Juna with you?" I kept my voice low as I headed up to my dorm room. Kanto told me he was, in fact, alone. "I need that ring back. Do you still have it?"

"Well, it's under our bed bu-." I interrupted him, asking if he could give back it to me tomorrow.

"Please Kanto. It's urgent." My mind raced with thoughts, wondering why my mother would steal evidence from a murder she testified in. 

‘How did she testify when my father would hardly ever let us leave the house?’

"Fine." He sighed, saying he had to go because Juna was calling him. With that, I unlocked the door to my room and got ready for bed.

#voltage fanfic #voltage games #her love in the force #hlitf #hlitf ayumu #hlitf goto #hlitf ishigami #hlitf kaga #crime #hlitf fanfic #hlitf soma #mob #detectives #hlitf shinonome

[erikthedead]

entry #2

If there is one thing that deeply unsettles me about myself it is my attraction towards destruction. From the 9/11 twin tower attacks to bodily mutilation. It both disturbs and delights me how such seemingly powerful and intricate things that take so much effort to create can be swiftly smashed to pieces by one mindless solid strike of force, revealing their true fragility. It’s undeniably beautiful to me, and terrifying. While I have no desire or even the capacity for such terrible acts of violence, you can guarantee I will be paying top price for front row seats to the action. I first noticed this when I was little, watching nature documentaries with my family. Everyone else would grimace and turn away at the carnivores biting and clawing at their prey, blood and guts being swallowed and spewed everywhere, while my eyes remained wide and fixated on the screen. This coupled with a baseline morbid curiosity has taken me down some dark rabbit holes. I suppose that’s why it unsettles me about myself, because I know I’m not psychopathic, but I have enough darkness within me to watch a psychopath do what they do without intervening, at least if they are not targeting me or my loved ones. I might even silently encourage it if they are targeting someone bad. I have a lot of empathy, but it’s much more cognitive than affective. I suspect myself to have Asperger’s Syndrome, although I’m yet to be diagnosed. I have all the typical traits except the need for routine, perhaps because I never had one instilled into me. I actually resent routine, though. It makes things a bit boring and too predictable, which is not representative of life at all in my opinion. At the same time, I’m not particularly fond of spontaneity or surprises either. I am scared and unprepared, but part of that is exciting, no? Or at the very least true to life.

I think a lot of people have their arousal wires crossed. For example, the masochist who gets off on being threatened or hurt. How do you explain that one, Evolutionary Psychology? Where is the advantage in ‘my life is in danger, better get an erection!’? Is it pathological? If so, then why is it so prevalent? Even the most vanilla people tend to enjoy a bit of light spanking. Why should fear and pain turn anyone on at all? I don’t have the answers beyond my ‘crossed wires’ theory. Wires being the synaptic activity within our brains. It might also apply to people whose proclivities lean towards children or animals. The correct response to seeing either of them should be that of adoration and/or activation of protective instincts, not sex and predation. But somehow somewhere up there some stuff got all muddled up, and now they are inclined to hurt others for their own sexual gratification, either directly or indirectly. Paedophiles and animal abusers are the only groups of people I see fit for genocide, and I don’t think I am alone on that. But it’s the slippery slope, right? We kill a few thousand people for these offences, we then become desensitised and start killing other groups of people for different reasons. I mean, we’ve done it before. We need to do something different to the scum of the earth though, because right now we don’t have enough rooms to lock all these people away and our current system isn’t really working for preventing or halting their harmful behaviour. Some cling onto wishful thinking, believing we can rehabilitate and redeem even the worst of people. I think this is true when it comes to such things as uncontrolled aggression and kleptomania, resulting in murder and thievery, but when it concerns sexuality, oh boy. They tried to rehabilitate homosexuals (still do in some places) for years and years, and it obviously doesn’t work. Sure, you can train the sheepdog not to attack the sheep, but it still wants to. These carnal desires within us can’t be taken away or changed much, that’s my belief from interpreting the evidence. Let’s not waste our time and money trying; it’s not in the public’s interest to do so. If we can’t genocide them or lock them away, perhaps a special type of punishment should be reserved for them. Public shaming seems like a good idea. The scene from Game of Thrones where Cersei (also the name of my pet royal python) was walked naked through the city streets past all of her people shouting and spitting at her while a bell was ringing to the word ‘shame’ was really provocative to me. So often are we encouraged to keep private matters concealed and to mind our own business, but I don’t think that should apply to such serious transgressions as the crimes I am on about. We certainly now have an abundance of media coverage, which is our modern walk of shame, having your face plastered on everyone’s news feeds with the headline of what you’ve done. But I don’t think that’s enough. The next headline soon pops up, rendering the previous one almost meaningless. It has no real impact on us, while the perpetrator is hushed away into a quiet and protected safe place out of public sight. As useful as para-social interactions can be, they can never fully replace that visceral ‘in real life’ experience of lobbing a piece of mouldy fruit at the nonce in the stocks. It would bring the community together, I think. I imagine that people travelled quite a distance to gather and watch the local witches getting burned back in old England, giving them a show while having the chance to catch up with the other respectful, or at least harmless members of their society. Sharing a common evil has always brought people together, you can’t deny that. We just never seemed to get the people we put on display right. Religion and racism have clouded our minds and judgements for centuries, but that’s a whole other topic for me to write about.

#entry 2 #destruction #ramblings

[the-courage-to-heal]

                                         Flying Monkeys 

         (The Narcissist’s Tool for the Smear Campaign)

The topic today is about the role of flying monkeys, who can become flying monkeys, how the narcissist recruits flying monkeys against the target, why does the narcissist use these flying monkeys, and then I’m going to give you a mini survival guide for dealing with flying monkeys.

First of all flying monkeys are also known as the:

entourage

accomplices

enablers

extension of the narcissist

campaign managers

They’re out there recruiting other people, kind of in a way like religious people might knock on your door and try to recruit you into their religion. They’re trying to convert you into the religion of the narcissist, which is reality by the narcissist.

So the role of these flying monkeys is first of all abuse by proxy.

Abuse by proxy is when the narcissist gets other people to abuse you. That way the narcissist gets to abuse you but through these people. They’ll reject you, they’ll make you feel not good enough, they’ll shame you, maybe they’ll put you in a bad situation, they’ll tell you that you’re crazy, things like that. This way the narcissist looks like the one that’s clean. They’re not involved.

The flying monkeys are also used to spread rumors and gossip.

This is one of their most prevalent roles. They are addicted to gossip. Usually these people go around and spread rumors and gossip that they heard.

Flying monkeys do the narcissist’s bidding. That’s what the smear campaignis, is they’ll do whatever the narcissist wants. The narcissist wants them to go out and talk badly about you and spread lies about you or the narcissist wants them to outright abuse you or to make you feel like you don’t belong. Or maybe they invite you to a place where they know something horrible is gonna happen for you and you’re not going to be comfortable there, those sorts of things.

Flying monkeys make the narcissist feel like they’re important and special. They help the narcissist feel like they’re grandiose, like they have high status, like they’re famous or a celebrity, which is what the narcissist wants to feel. Narcissists often have a whole entourage around them just like a celebrity needs an entourage in order to feel secure about themselves.

So who can become flying monkeys?

There are two different categories of people.

The first category is the naive.

The naive are people who are just clueless. They can’t see it, they can’t fathom it, they’ve never been through anything like that, so they can’t even imagine that somebody would do such a thing to just make up all these lies about you and spread them across town. They just can’t even fathom that a human would do that or maybe the naive is also the fawning type.

This is the type of people who when faced with a fight or flight dilemma, they choose fawning instead where they just melt into into a strong, dominant personality to feel safe and they don’t realize what’s happening. You might have noticed that even you became one of these flying monkeys when you were in your naive state before you woke up, before you figured out what was going on.

The second category of people who can become flying monkeys are the toxic.

These are the people with no boundaries. They love gossip and drama, they’re addicted to that stuff. They have an integrity problem and usually they want something from the narcissist. They want status, they want flattery, they want favours. They’re getting something out of the narcissist, which is why they’re willing to do their bidding.

How does the narcissist recruit flying monkeys against the target?

Typically what they’ll do is they’ll go out around town or your community or however you knew this person, maybe even your office. Maybe it’s a romance in an office or maybe it’s a boss or a co-worker. They go around and tell everyone that you’re the abusive one or that you’re crazy. They’re usually going to play one of those two things.

Essentially they’re going to project and say that you’re the abusive one meaning you are doing all the things that they were doing to abuse you. Maybe they even call your family members and they try to convert your family members into their reality or maybe this is even happening within your family.

Abusers love to call you crazy when you figure out what’s going on because they have to discredit you. If they don’t go around telling people that you’re crazy, they might believe you.

When the narcissist tells you that you’re crazy that should set off an alarm bell for you to recognize it’s a smear campaign. That that’s a clue, that the narcissist is going to do the smear campaign.

They’re also going to play the role that they’re just “concerned” about you. Women narcissists do this more often than men. They’re “concerned” about your health and reveal information that was none of anybody’s business, something that you didn’t want out there.

This happened to one of my clients. His wife started telling her family and their friends, their mutual friends, that he was drinking a lot and he wasn’t. She started telling them that he had some kind of alcohol problem and he overheard this conversation.

They’ll spread these kinds of rumors about you.

Or maybe they find out that you went on an antidepressant and so then they run their mouth and tell people how they’re just so “concerned” about you because you’re so depressed.

It’s an incredible betrayal when they reveal something that really happened to you or it’s a total lie and they’re making something up just to pretend that they’re concerned about you and your health.

Essentially the narcissist spins this web of a false reality and casts it out among this group of people. Then people subscribe to that reality. It’s like they become engulfed into that web of a false reality that they think is very real because the narcissist appears so convincing with an enormous amount of energy and emotion about the topic.

It really seems like it could be true to a certain point, especially to people who just don’t know. But the people who are subscribing and fully knowing, the toxic, who are partaking in this because they’re getting something out of it, they will gladly subscribe to that reality even if they know that it’s a false reality.

Why does the narcissist use flying monkeys?

First of all they like to discredit the witness. They like to discredit you so that you don’t reveal your truth or so that maybe you’ll just be so ashamed and terrified that you won’t say anything, instead you’ll just swallow it all.

Maybe they know that you have the balls to tell the truth and tell people in your community, your family, your circle of friends, your office and they don’t want you to reveal that truth. So they have to discredit you so that people aren’t really sure who’s telling the truth.

Maybe it looks that you are totally the one who’s lying in this situation when that’s the exact opposite of reality.

Sometimes the narcissists will come up with flying monkeys even if you didn’t even have a relationship with this person. Maybe you just innocently walked into a new job and this person just started targeting you. Maybe they instantly had a jealous competition over your talents, your abilities, your position, your alliances or something like that. Or maybe it’s because somebody likes you who doesn’t like them and they want the favor that person. Any kind of jealous competition can stoke up this kind of situation where narcissists will grab some flying monkeys or create flying monkeys in order to go against you.

Part of that jealous competition is that sometimes narcissists just don’t like that others like you. Maybe a person who like syou doesn’t like the narcissist or maybe they do like the narcissist and now the narcissist wants to triangulate to make sure that the person likes the narcissist better than they like you. For whatever reason, they can’t let you have that kind of friendship or alliance with the person.

The narcissist doesn’t have to get their hands dirty abusing you because they can recruit all these other people to do that work for themselves.

And finally, they’re going to use mobbing against you so that you feel alone and unsure of your reality.

When it’s one person against one person that gaslighting can be really challenging. When it’s a whole group of people who are subscribing to that reality, and then you, you’re going to feel really alone. You’re going to really be tempted to doubt yourself and your perception of reality. The flying monkeys can be a very powerful ally for the narcissist.

Here’s my Quick Survival Guide for dealing with flying monkeys:

First of all stay in integrity.

Commit to 100% integrity so they have nothing to use against you and part of that is responding instead of reacting. Check out the 3 videos I did on this topic.

Stay in integrity because if you freak out, if you do something wrong, if you abuse the narcissist back or just scream and look like you’re crazy then they have something to use against you, especially if you do this in front of a group of people. Narcissists love to do that, they love to provoke you in front of a whole group of people, at a work meeting, at a family dinner, you and your partner going out with mutual friends or something like that.

That’s the worst part is they’ll get you to react and look like you’re the crazy one and they’ll use that against you. Staying in integrity avoids that scenario.

The second is to opt out.

Opt out of this game. So what does that mean? That means going No Contact when possible.

Most definitely go No Contact with the narcissist and also go No Contact with their flying monkeys. You want to block them most definitely on social media. Why? Because that will be a source of torture for you. The narcissist will leverage social media and all these people against you and if you’re in that phase where you’re stalking and you’re going online and you’re obsessed with finding out what’s going. You’re going to see their posts and it’s just going to drive you insane. You’ve got to opt out of that by going No Contact with all those flying monkeys.

I wouldn’t just delete them off your friends list. I would block them so you set yourself up for success, so that you don’t even tempt yourself to go look and then go down that downward spiral and get derailed for days from your projects, from your energy, from feeling good.

Another suggestion is don’t try to convince them of the truth.

People are going to see what they want to see. If they’re believing in the narcissist, the naive just don’t get it. They just don’t see it and you trying to convince them of the truth is not going to help. That never works, not one time that I tried it, it never worked.

Your true friends are going to recognize it, they’re going to stand by you, they’re not going to question you, they’re going to have your back right away.

The other group of people, the toxic people, you definitely don’t want to try to convince them of the truth because they don’t want to hear the truth. They’re getting something out of that relationship with the narcissist.

So don’t try to convince them, it’s going to be a huge waste of your energy and probably what’s going to happen at the end of that conversation or that attempt to convince somebody is you’re going to feel even more doubtful about yourself.

You’re going to doubt your reality. It’s going to be hard to be assertive and own your reality.

Sometimes there are situations where you can’t entirely go No Contact with the flying monkeys, say say it’s a roommate, it’s someone that you live with, say it’s someone in a closed community, they’re part of your church, they’re part of your school, they’re part of some group of people you can’t cut out. Maybe you’re still at the job and you can’t leave the job yet because you don’t have a new job lined up. Be careful not to share personal information with the flying monkeys.

You want the absolute minimum contact with the flying monkeys in these cases. Share nothing personal, just talk about the weather, talk about sports, talk about something absolutely meaningless. Whatever you talk about be sure it doesn’t have any kind of emotional connection to you or reveal anything personal about your life. They would use all that against you and all of that will get back to the narcissist, which will then have a double impact on you.

And finally when possible move away.

If this is your next-door neighbor, if this is someone in a small community, move away from there, get away from there. If it’s in your immediate environment like that, for example if you’re in a work situation, you can manage this for a period of time. You can learn how to grow better boundaries, how to set and enforce boundaries, how to respond versus react but that’s a temporary solution. You don’t want to stay in there too long. You don’t want to keep that job long term. Start looking for another job, quietly of course. Definitely don’t tell anyone in that office, not even someone you think is your ally who might accidentally reveal that information to the wrong person. Get a new job as soon as possible so you get out of that environment as soon as possible because managing all those boundaries and being on guard on a daily basis is going to drain a lot of energy that you could be investing in other areas of your life.

And finally I just want to give you guys the benefit.

The smear campaign is devastating. Dealing with flying monkeys is horrible. I’m sure there are a lot of people who have committed suicide because there was a whole group of people against them and they just felt so invalidated, so alone, so deeply doubting of themselves that they couldn’t find a reason to go on. They didn’t find a way out, they didn’t even know what was happening. It can be that serious.

The benefit of the horror of this whole experience is that you learn who your true friends and allies are.

Maybe you didn’t know who they really are. Life has this way of revealing people over time and it may not be today but at some point people will reveal themselves to you. At the very least, be grateful that these people revealed themselves to you. They showed you that they are not your friends. Now that you know this you know to no longer trust them. You’re no longer sharing with them and giving energy to them, now that you now know not to go there for friendship, for loyalty, and for trust.

So if you’ve been through this experience of dealing with flying monkeys or if you’re going through this experience right now, if something in this article helped you, let me know in the comments.

source

#flying monkeys #abuse #emotional abuse #narcissistic abuse #narcissism #npd #narcissistic personality disorder #psychology

[robotnik-mun]

The Sonic/TF Crossover: Comic Cannon Changes List

Sonic The Hedgehog/Transformers Crossover Continuity Changes:

Here’s a list of minor things that will have changed from what happened in the canon of the Archie Comics or outright omitted.

01: Sally does NOT let Max Steamroll her: At first Sally does cow a bit when Max starts to assert his authority, but quickly his dismissal of her achievements, disbanding the FF and inability to flex his views and traditionalist mindset drive a wedge between them. This comes to a climax when Elias is revealed and unlike the comics where Sally was presented as mostly confused, there is LIVID anger and she lets Max know it. To Sally, it was one thing to have her opinions dismissed as she could rationalize Max’s traditionalist mindset; but the revelation of her Mother still being alive and NEVER being told she had a Brother spoke volumes of how little Max seemed to care about her beyond his traditionalist views on how she should behave and act. She also refuses Max’s separating her from her FF friends, and spends as much time with them as she can, since she feels more love and acceptance from them than her Father. Plus her friends help her ‘vent’ and get things off her chest so she’s less likely to bottle it and explode on the wrong person, but plenty of her anger remains deep down, but she has outlets to focus at least and people who care.

  At this point, Sally becomes very cold to Max but remains cordial if just to not give him ammo to start an argument and she’d rather focus on getting to know her older sibling and her Mother’s recovery. However; with Max almost putting Elias to his ‘Princely duties’ soon as he gets home and shuts her out even more. Despite not trying to put this on Elias the resentment starts and so Sally focuses on FF stuff, but does not shut out Elias own attempts to get to know the other. Her resentment lessens as Elias confides he feels as used as she was since he feels his Father wants a ‘yes man’ Prince more than a son. This mutual resentment towards Max helps them bond and for Sally to get over any ill will she felt towards Elias. While Elias keeps his resentment close to the chest, Sally already the pariah becomes less tight-lipped on her disagreements with her Father but maintains some civility for Elias’ sake. When their Mother is revived and Max is injured to the point of being unable to walk, both dial back their issues with Max and try to focus on their family.

  Alicia once fully recovered and brought up to speed, sees the discord in the family and tries to help mend things. She manages some mending but Sally while openly warm and happy with her Mother is distant and less cordial but ‘tolerating’ of Max. Through the story motions, there are ups and downs with the Acorn Family, especially once Elias runs away and Sally fully unloads at Max, letting off pent up issues she kept lowkey for her Mother and Brother’s sake, and before leaving the castle tells Max she fully blames him and St. John for Elias running out of their lives barely after returning to it.

  Alicia now aware of certain things pulls off a mixture of chastising her Husband for the secrets and treating Sally and Elias; but also consoling him some as she can see that this incident was eating Max to the core as the guilt, Elias’ letter and Sally’s words finally started to undermine the surefire validity Max felt towards his actions.

  Things (mostly thanks to Alicia and Sonic himself of all people who had every beef with Max as Sally did) settle some with Max making an attempt at mending fences with Sally. Sally very much still angry agrees to ‘have talks and discussions, for Mother’s sake’. Over time, especially once Elias location and living status is affirmed things ease up and Sally while in no mind to forgive Max yet, is willing to ‘try again’ and things become pleasant for the Acorns, even to the point Max lets go of his bias against Sonic when Sally tells her parents her desire to openly date Sonic and gives his blessing.

  Then the Xorda invasion happens and with Sonic seemingly dead, Sally shuts down partially and focuses on her FF duties since she doubts Robotnik will uphold his truce for long. During this period, Elias concerned for his Sister takes to visiting her semi-frequently, taking walks through the forest or Elias accompanying her on scouting missions, letting the two siblings vent and deepen their bond (as well as give Elias a taste of action).

  Then that fateful day in the wastes near the Great Forest, they find that buried alien ship…

02: One Robotnik, one Eggman, ONE Doctor:

  Unlike in the comic canon, when the original Dr. Robotnik returns briefly, instead of that silly plot where at the end he vanishes anyway; the original is a bit testy when he returns that ANOTHER HIM is running the show! However, after initial hostility, both Doctor’s realize they should focus their hate on a proper target. Now working side by side properly, Dr. Eggman discovers his counterparts instability and so measures to prevent this long enough for the two to get revenge together is made. However surprisingly Eggman and Robotnik find themselves getting along despite their mutual treacherous natures. The cat and mouse game between ‘equals’ gives them a sense of dark joy and a benchmark to improve themselves. This leads to Eggman proposing a radical procedure that would ‘ensure they’d never be apart’. Between his own twisted enjoyment of Eggman’s company and not wanting to fade away to nothing again, Robotnik agrees and soon, the two enter an experimental device that fuses the two together. The same man but from two dimensions; rotund but also ‘beef-lanky’ in the right places. With coat and stylish cape, the new Robotnik fusion takes his place to run his Empire and DESTROY THAT ACCURSED HEDGEHOG!!

03: No Locke, you don’t get to microwave the baby and eat your cake too.

Much like Sally Knuckles isn’t, as accepting of the things Locke tells him. When he confronts Locke and gets the 411, he’s torn. He’s still elated his Father isn’t dead but now he’s livid at the lies and, well now he’s wondering if he had ANY control in his life, and also develops a worry about his own genetics. On the sly Knuckles has doctors check him to be sure nothing’s wrong. It doesn’t become a supremely obsessive paranoia, but once or twice Julie or one of the Chaotix consoles him if ‘anything wrong does happen, we got your back’. Furthermore while Knuckles tries to be open-minded about the Brotherhood and their methods, he slowly develops a disdain for a chunk of it, especially when certain things come to light, and when Motari Rex is revealed to have been impersonating Tobor for years, he criticizes the Brotherhood for not noticing such a crucial thing and who knows how much pain Rex/Tobor caused under their own noses.

  Locke for his end stubbornly feels his actions and those of the Brotherhood are mostly justified but between Knuckles words, the Rex/Tobor revelation, the raid on Haven, and other things give him pause for rumination. The other Brotherhood members also give pause but still fall back to their ‘tried and true’ methods, which furthers Knuckles distance from them and his admonishment of their actions.

  They come to a head when the Brotherhood refuses to get involved with Robotnik wars on the surface when Sally comes calling. Livid more than usual, Knuckles calls out the Brotherhood and tells Sally aside before she goes home if she needs help HE and the Chaotix will come if they can. Likewise, Sally offers her own help to Angel Island and the two old friends find another avenue to bond over, Father issues.

  This causes a minor schism within the Brotherhood, some now questioning if they’ve gone too far, and if they should revise some of their methods given how many things were implemented by ‘Tobor’ of all of them. How many were purposely flawed? Spectre as Pro-Brotherhood as he is; feels they should reevaluate their methods. Especially given his one-time imprisonment by the Dark Legion was not such a coincidence and that his ‘harsh training’ worked by a lucky fluke it would seem.

  Locke and some others maintain they should stay the course, but they all have some form of doubts and agree to discuss the matters as they come. Of course, ongoing events keep the Brotherhood from truly ironing out these issues. With the Legion’s attacks Knuckles turning briefly into a Chaos Being only to die, cause many setbacks to reorganize, culminating in the majority of the Brotherhood being taken by Robotnik’s Egg-Grapes and Locke a prisoner of the Dark Legion when they take over the island due to Knuckles and the Chaotix’s absence following the Xorda invasion.

04: The Troubles of Geoffery St. John:

  With recent Penders-BS events, I have to do something about the skunk.

  First up, he and Sally NEVER have any romantic relationship. Geoff does flirt with her a lot, and Sally is flattered by the attention, torn between liking it and also being off-put by their age gap.

  Geoff keeps his hands to himself but he does seem to push for things to happen between him and Sally, and he still takes joy in flirting with her when Sonic is around to get a rise out of him. While Sally feels a little torn at times, it’s Rosie Woodchuck who becomes the voice of reason when Sally asks for advice.

  “He’s how old? Hmm, well I’d be wary of a man who makes gestures like that to a teenager when he’s over 18.”

  “So I should shut him down entirely Rosie?”

  “My Princess, that is up to you, but for my two bits? Yes, he should be making flirtations with someone his own age, not you. A shame really, his Father Ian was a gentleman, flirty and suave yes, but only at the right time and NEVER to someone underage. Makes me wonder who raised that boy during all this time…?”

So yeah, Geoff and Sally never liplock and whether Geoff made moves due to his plans to undermine the kingdom, or he’s a creep or both… I’ll let the story’s chemistry decide at that point. He’ll back off when Sally lays it out her interest is non-existent and so Geoff just… remains a jackass, one with skills and does help the heroes but he’ll still be wracking that karma to get knocked down a peg when he and his Team get Nano’machined into uselessness, and Elias holding him in contempt for using him as a cudgel to undermine Sonic by stripping him of his knighthood.

05: Transformers, everywhere:

  As mentioned in many posts, the ties to old Earth, Cybertron, and modern Mobius will be discovered and felt throughout the story. The Source of All was an experiment of Shockwave’s, Humanity survived by hiding inside a Cybertronian Titan that was stasis locked in city/ship mode, the Echidna’s became so advanced ahead of everyone because they found a Mind-Linking Data Cube from one of the ship crashes, etc etc.

That’s it for now. Of course, this just covers what I can recall and when I expand this list I’ll re-submit it unless said ‘changes’ to the canon is due to a story secret that; well you’ll have to read it to find it out. ^_~

--

As per usual, veeery sensible changes to be made here. I rather like the touch about the old Robotnik and the current Eggman merging into a new, gestalt of the two. It’s something I’ve toyed with myself from time to time. Either way though, definitely approving of all of this, in particular the elimination of certain details regarding Geoffrey that we wish we could ALL forget. 

Keep it up!

#Sonic the Hedgehog #Transformers #CrossOver #submission

[almostafantasia]

Lancelot (13/14)

Lexa Woods, an impeccably dressed British secret agent for the covert Kingsman organisation, whose latest mission sees her sneaking through the corridors of the White House in the middle of the night, finds herself having to seduce the daughter of the newly elected President of the United States in a bid to save the world. It’s a surprise to Lexa when she ends up falling for her target as fast as she does, meanwhile Clarke doesn’t expect her gorgeous date for an international political gala dinner to drag her into a world of thrill and danger where one wrong move could cause a global disaster.

a clexa kingsman au | chapter 13/14 read on ao3

Lexa doesn’t know where her jacket is.

It’s clearly not the most pressing issue at the moment, not when there are doctors checking up on each guest, not when there are armed members of the secret service with body armour and riot shields swarming around.

It was a very nice jacket though. The fit was just right and the red velour a striking colour that filled Lexa with confidence. Lexa will be disappointed if she can’t find it and ends up leaving it behind. She doesn’t think she’ll ever have another one like it, not unless she asks the tailors at Kingsman to make another one identical to it, but that would mean having to admit that she’s been careless enough to misplace the first.

Clarke would look good in Lexa’s jacket. It would suit her much better than the oversized men’s jacket she still wears over her dress. Lexa shudders even at the thought of Clarke wearing something that belongs to Roan Azgeda, when there is a perfectly good jacket belonging to Lexa that would keep her just as warm and make her look twice as good.

If only Lexa could locate it…

“Lexa! There you are!”

Lexa’s head snaps up as she hears her own name, to find Anya striding towards her with purpose in each step.

“Have you seen my jacket?” asks Lexa. “It must be around here somewhere.”

“That’s your biggest concern right now?”

Of course it isn’t Lexa’s biggest concern. Lexa is worried that one of the guests will have slipped away without being treated for the poison, she’s worried that she’s going to get arrested and tried for murder even though she only shot Ontari to save everybody else, she’s worried that Clarke won’t forgive her and that she’ll have to live the rest of her life with the knowledge that she’s betrayed the one person she’s allowed herself to truly care about. But it’s easier to suppress all of that and pretend that it’s all about a jacket.

“It’s a nice jacket,” shrugs Lexa. “It would be a shame if I didn’t get to wear it again.”

Anya reaches out and rests her hand on Lexa’s arm.

“You’re allowed to feel things, Lex,” Anya tells her, voice full of concern. “It’s not a weakness.”

Lexa can’t help the way that her gaze flicks across to where Clarke sits next to her father across the room, still huddled up under Roan’s jacket.

“Look where feeling things got me,” Lexa mutters bitterly.

Anya must sense Lexa’s resentment because she swiftly changes the topic.

“Anyway, they’ve arrested Nia Azgeda on her way to JFK to flee the country. She and her son are both going to face charges of treason, attempted murder, and attempted assassination of a President, to name a few.”

“So that’s it?” asks Lexa. “Job done?”

“I think so,” nods Anya.

Lexa pauses, looking around the room at all of the lives she’s saved tonight and wondering why she doesn’t feel better than this about such an accomplishment.

She voices this to Anya.

“Somehow I don’t feel as good as I should about that.”

“Me neither,” admits Anya.

“I think it’s pretty close call as to which of us is Kingsman’s worst agent,” jokes Lexa, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Bullshit,” snorts Anya, shaking her head in disagreement. “It’s very obviously me, by a long way.”

Lexa tries to protest, knowing that this mission has had its fair share of hiccups that have been a direct result of mistakes that she has made.

“But I…”

“Saved the lives of hundreds of people while I was too busy shagging Raven to care,” interrupts Anya, completing Lexa’s sentence before Lexa has the chance to say something self-deprecating about her own involvement in the mission.

Lexa considers Anya’s words and, realising that she doesn’t have the energy to protest, concedes half-heartedly.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“You needed me and I wasn’t there,” says Anya. “And I can only apologise for that and promise you that it won’t happen again.”

“It’s all fine now,” says Lexa. “We did it. We saved all these lives.”

Lexa gestures around the room, to the masses of guests that could have ended tonight as corpses, had it not been for a Kingsman intervention and the quick-thinking and hard work of Lexa and Anya. Lexa shudders even at the thought of it. All it would have taken is for one thing to have gone differently over the last couple of weeks, and there could have been a death toll of more than one here tonight. Lexa doesn’t want to imagine what would have happened if things hadn’t played out like they did, if she hadn’t agreed to go to that bar with Anya and bumped into Clarke again after Merlin specifically forbade them from leaving the hotel.

It’s a dark thought, and Lexa tries to swim away from it by lightening the mood.

“Jesus, I can’t believe I saved the life of a Tory Prime Minister,” she says, rolling her eyes dramatically as she watches the British Prime Minister across the room, talking rapidly over a phone.

Anya doesn’t laugh, and Lexa glances up at her oldest friend to find anxiety written all over her face.

Lexa tries to put herself in Anya’s situation and imagines how she would be feeling if it was Clarke who ended up in the back of an ambulance with a bullet in her leg. She knows that she would be beside herself with worry, unable to do anything at all until she had the physical proof that Clarke would make a full recovery. Hell, Lexa is already worried about Clarke’s wellbeing, and the girl only sitting across the room, unharmed by bullets or any other weapons.

“Is Raven going to be okay?” asks Lexa, unsure how Anya is staying so unaffected by it all.

“I think so,” nods Anya. “I wanted to follow her to the hospital but she told me to stay here and make sure that everybody else was okay too. But I phoned the hospital pretending to be her mum and they told me that her condition is stable.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Lexa says truthfully. “You could probably go, you know. I think there’s enough people here to have everything under control. I’m sure Raven would appreciate a familiar face at her side.”

“I don’t know,” shrugs Anya. “I don’t want to abandon you here again. I would die if something happened while I was gone.”

Lexa shakes her head and rests a reassuring hand on Anya’s shoulder.

“Now who’s the one hiding from their feelings?” asks Lexa, shooting Anya a teasing grin.

“Oh, piss off!”

Lexa wakes up to a knock on her hotel room door. A quick glance at the screen of her phone tells her that it’s just gone four thirty in the afternoon - she’s slept for nearly ten hours, but Lexa’s eyes are still heavy with tiredness.

Lexa is far too exhausted to give a shit about her appearance. She still wears the clothes from last night, or at least the shirt and trousers, both crumpled and a little blood-spattered and not at all appropriate for answering the door in. But the list of people who could be at her door is only three: Anya or Merlin here to update her on the arrangement for leaving America now that their job here is done; or one of the hotel’s maids who, Lexa reasons, has probably seen some much weirder stuff than a little blood on a guest’s shirt.

The person outside knocks again, and Lexa reluctantly hauls herself up onto her feet and trudges over to the door, where she unlocks it with a click and turns the handle to open it.

“Um, hi.”

It’s Clarke. Not Anya, not Merlin, definitely not a maid, but Clarke. Lexa wishes now more than ever that she had taken the time to shower and change her clothes before she fell asleep. In comparison, Clarke looks as clean and as fresh-faced as she would if she hadn’t had the night that she did at the gala dinner.

“Clarke,” says Lexa, trying not to show how surprised she is to find Clarke outside her hotel room. “I … uh, I fell asleep as soon I got back here. I was completely wiped out.”

Clarke glances down at Lexa’s attire and nods once.

“I can see that. Can I come in?”

Lexa steps aside immediately and Clarke takes hesitant steps past her and into the hotel room. Clarke hovers near the door, not quite making herself at home, and Lexa is left feeling only even more awkward about the way they left things last. It seems strange to be this careful around each other, especially given the memories they made in this very room just days ago after their date, but Lexa has to remind herself that Clarke has every right to still be angry at her.

“Clarke, I just want to start by saying that I’m so…”

“No,” Clarke interrupts her. “You don’t get to apologise yet. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this - thinking about you - and I’ve practiced ten different versions of what I want to say to you, so you don’t get to say anything until I’ve got this out.”

Lexa closes her mouth and nods obediently, waiting for Clarke to say her piece.

“I’ve been trying to get my head around why you lied,” admits Clarke. She lets out a sigh, then continues animatedly, “Like, it frustrated the fuck out of me at first. I thought we had something special and how dare you think you could play me like that? But also, how could I be stupid enough to fall for that?”

Lexa wants nothing more than to interject, to tell Clarke that they do have something special, that she hasn’t been able to think about anything but Clarke since they first stumbled into each other in the halls of the White House. But she knows that Clarke still has so much more to say, and Lexa forcibly keeps her mouth closed and saves her apologies and explanations until Clarke gives her permission to speak.

“If you said to me that you needed to be at the dinner because of your mission, I would have invited you in an instant,” continues Clarke. “You must have known that!”

Though she stays silent, Lexa gives a little nod in response.

“And that’s when it hit me,” says Clarke. “You wanted that date. You wanted an ‘us’ that was more than me just being a girl you met on a mission.”

Lexa’s eyes start to prickle with tears, and an uncomfortable lump forms in her throat, making it difficult for her to swallow.

Clarke continues, her voice softer and more thoughtful than before, and her blue eyes boring into Lexa.

“Our date and that night we spent together felt incredibly real and I don’t think it would have happened like that if you’d just asked me to take you to the gala dinner. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. Because the only other option that makes sense is that you saw an opportunity to play me and get laid, and I really hope it wasn’t that.”

Lexa shakes her head and wipes at the tears in her eyes before they have a chance to spill down her cheeks. This conversation is important and it’s going to be difficult enough without having to force the words out past wave after wave of tears.

“I told you that I don’t do this often,” confesses Lexa. “I don’t do feelings.”

Lexa’s knee twinges in pain and she grits her teeth as she mentally wills her old injury to go back to sleep, before she continues talking.

“There have been girls on missions before, but that’s always been easy,” Lexa tells Clarke. “There’s things that you can say to make a girl swoon, things you can do to push the right buttons and get what you want, and that’s easy because it’s a routine that I’ve practiced before. It’s easy because I have no personal investment in those girls.”

“But you do in me?” asks Clarke, her eyebrows raised.

There’s something that looks like hope in her eyes - a glimmer that reignites something within Lexa’s chest, a feeling that maybe there is still a chance to make things right with Clarke.

But of course there is still a chance. Clarke wouldn’t have come here if there wasn’t at least a small part of her still holding out for Lexa. It would have been way too easy to ignore Lexa, to let her fly back to England and forget about her entirely. The fact that she’s here says as much as any words could do.

It’s especially important for Lexa to get this right. Clarke has been kind enough to give her a chance to explain herself, and Lexa will berate herself for a long time if she takes that opportunity and fucks it up beyond repair.

“From the very second I first saw you, I knew I was in trouble,” admits Lexa, recalling their first meeting and the fluttering in her chest she felt when she first laid eyes on Clarke. “I don’t want to call it love at first sight, but I could feel some kind of connection straight away.”

Clarke is quiet for a few seconds, and she takes a seat on the end of Lexa’s bed, before she finally concedes, “I felt it too.”

Lexa’s heart flips just like it did that very first time, in inexplicable rush of excitement in her chest at Clarke’s admission that their first meeting had the same effect on her too.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this yet, but I was wearing an earpiece that night,” says Lexa, smiling to herself at the memory. “I had Anya howling with laughter in my ear the entire time I was trying to make an impression on you, because even she knew that you were going to ruin me. And then ever since, I’ve had the real Anya reminding me that this is a mission, that you weren’t allowed to be anything more than another mark.”

“So really, Anya is the one I should be mad at right now?” asks Clarke.

“No,” says Lexa, shaking her head. “Because if it weren’t for Anya, I never would have been in the bar that night, and I wouldn’t have asked you to get me into the White House again, and I definitely wouldn’t have asked you out on that date. Without Anya, I would have run away from my feelings and never spoken to you again.”

Clarke’s eyebrows furrow together in thought.

“So should I be throwing a drink in Anya’s face, or buying her a thank you card?”

Lexa blushes a little bit at the reference to last night, remembering the feeling of the cool drink hitting her face and the betrayed look on Clarke’s face right before she stormed away. It doesn’t quite seem like that was only less than twenty four hours ago. So much has happened since then that Lexa feels as though an entire lifetime has passed since.

“I guess it depends what happens next,” answers Lexa, shrugging her shoulders.

Lexa knows what she wants to happen next. And if she gets her own way - if Clarke agrees that she wants to put things behind them and try to move forward together - Lexa thinks that maybe she will be the one who owes Anya and thank you card.

“When do you fly out?” asks Clarke.

“In the next couple of days, I think,” replies Lexa.

She hasn’t yet spoken to Anya or Merlin since she returned to the hotel very early this morning, but Lexa doesn’t think that they’ll be staying in America long. The events of last night will likely be plastered all over the media and it’s unlikely that Merlin will let them stick around for long enough to get their faces associated with it all. Besides, now that their mission is over, there’s no longer a reason to stay over here.

(It’s a lie. There is a reason, and her name is Clarke Griffin.)

“And I’m supposed to return to college tomorrow afternoon,” Clarke adds. She lets out a disheartened sigh, and then says, “It feels a lot like the universe is working against us.”

Lexa’s heart catches in her throat. She almost doesn’t want to believe what Clarke has said, wants to think that it’s just a product of her own hopeful imagination. Because it sounds a lot like Clarke has just admitted she wants to make things work with Lexa.

“Am I forgiven?” Lexa dares to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clarke pushes herself up into a standing position and her hands reach out to seek Lexa’s hips, fingers gripping tightly as soon as she makes contact like she never wants to let Lexa go.

“You idiot,” exhales Clarke. “Of course you’re forgiven.”

The way their lips crash together is inescapable, like the opposite poles of two magnets unable to stop themselves from flying together. Lexa nearly starts crying right there - she thought she had lost Clarke, thought that her own actions might have pushed Clarke away for good - and the noise that slips from her lips as she suppresses those tears ends up sounding like a choked whimper.

The noise seems to encourage Clarke. She takes two steps backwards and sits on the end of the bed again, and the hand on Lexa’s hips cling impossibly tighter. Lexa finds herself leaning forward as Clarke sits down, lips still unwilling to leave Clarke’s even for a second. There’s a moment where Lexa thinks that she’s free-falling, a split-second in which gravity seems to take over and the only thing tethering Lexa to reality is Clarke’s touch on her hips and on her mouth, but it’s over in a flash. Lexa finds herself sitting in Clarke’s lap as Clarke pulls her forward even further, until Lexa’s full body is pretty much covering Clarke’s on the bed.

It would be so easy to get lost in each other, to keep kissing until long after hands wander and clothes come flying off, but Lexa knows herself well enough to know that there’s a high chance that she’ll either burst into tears or pass out within moments of orgasming, and she isn’t ready for that just yet.

They still have a lot left to discuss.

“Wait, wait, stop,” Lexa mumbles against Clarke’s lips, forcibly lifting her head and rolling off Clarke’s body to the side. “We should figure this out first.”

“Buzzkill,” says Clarke, rolling her eyes and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she sits up. “No, I’m kidding. You’re right.”

Lexa moves to sit on the edge of the bed, putting a little bit of distance between them so that Clarke and her distractingly kiss-hazed eyes aren’t right there in Lexa’s immediate vicinity. She needs a clear head for this next part of the conversation, and that won’t happen if she and Clarke are practically on top of each other.

“I have something else to tell you,” confesses Lexa. “I don’t work for MI6.”

Clarke’s mouth falls open and she frowns at Lexa in confusion, before she asks, “You don’t-? But if you’re not a secret agent then-”

“I work for an organisation called Kingsman,” explains Lexa. She laughs to herself, then adds, “I don’t know if I’m even allowed to tell you this but I’m fed up of lying to you. Actually, I think Kingsman is probably so secret that it wouldn’t even count as treason to tell you about it.”

“What’s Kingsman?” asks Clarke.

“A secret intelligence organisation based in London,” clarifies Lexa. “Most of what I told you is completely true. I really did join the army straight out of school but had to drop out because of injury. Then Anya, who I had known since school and was already working for Kingsman, put my name forward for the recruitment tests. I passed and they offered me this job. I became Agent Lancelot.”

“So you’re a secret secret agent?” asks Clarke, a trace of awe in her voice.

Lexa nods, her lips twitching up into a little smile.

“I guess so. And I’m sorry for lying to you. About this and about the dinner.”

“Lucky for you, I really like you,” smiles Clarke, reaching out to take one of Lexa’s hands.

“Are we going to make this work?” Lexa asks hopefully. “It’s a five hour time difference when I’m back in London.”

Clarke shrugs, and then says, “Could be worse.”

Lexa laughs softly under her breath, because it most definitely will get worse than that.

She tries to explain this to Clarke.

“Of course, there’s no guarantee how long I’ll be in London for, or even where I end up going next,” says Lexa. “Or if I would be able to contact you at all. When I’m really deep undercover it sometimes isn’t safe.”

Clarke’s face falls a little bit, apparently having been so caught up in the excitement of making up after their disagreement that she had forgotten the nature of Lexa’s work and the fact that she might be constantly travelling all over the globe.

“That sucks,” admits Clarke dejectedly. She glances up at Lexa, a glimmer of positivity in her eyes as she adds, “But I’m not the kind of person who needs to be texting somebody I’m into all the time.”

“No, me neither.”

Clarke grins and holds one of her hands up in the air, palm facing Lexa.

“High five to maintaining healthy relationship boundaries.”

Lexa can’t help the bubble of laughter that leaves her throat, and she awkwardly lifts her own hand to press a soft palm against Clarke’s.

Clarke blushes, realising what she’s just done, and mumbles, “Sorry, that was weird. Carry on.”

“Right,” says Lexa, trying what they were talking about before the high five. “We wouldn’t be able to talk all the time, and we definitely wouldn’t get to see much of each other.”

“I could come and visit you,” suggests Clarke. “I get three months off for summer. I could spend some of that with you.”

“And I’ve been working a lot this year,” adds Lexa. “I’m due some time off this summer.”

Clarke reaches for one of Lexa’s hands, much less awkwardly than the last time their palms met, and laces her fingers through Lexa’s.

“We’re actually doing this,” says Clarke, with the air of a giddy child about her voice as she speaks. “We’re going to make this work.”

“I have no idea what’s going to happen in the long term,” confesses Lexa, “but we’ve got the short term figured out. The rest we can work out as we go.”

Clarke pulls on their connected hands, encouraging Lexa to come closer again, and Lexa is too weak around Clarke to do anything but comply. She settles on top of Clarke again, this time with Clarke’s legs wrapped around her waist and locked at the ankle behind Lexa’s hips, effectively trapping her in place. Not that Lexa minds. It’s a very nice place to be trapped.

“As for the super short term…” says Clarke, tipping backwards until her back hits the mattress and bringing Lexa with her.

“Oh, you have some ideas about that too?” teases Lexa, her face just inches from Clarke’s as she uses one of her arms to prop up her body weight.

“First of all, we’re going to take a shower,” says Clarke, rocking her hips up so that her pelvis grinds against Lexa’s lower stomach.

“We are?”

“Yeah,” says Clarke, curling a hand around the back of Lexa’s head and drawing her closer so that she can whisper into Lexa’s ear, as if she’s imparting some big secret that needs to be kept from the rest of the world, “and then I’m going to take you to bed and fuck you stupid. Then you’re going to let me take you out to dinner, and after that we’re going to come back here and have sex again. And probably again after that.”

Lexa’s brain short-circuits at the phrase “fuck you stupid” and she barely registers the content of the rest, only Clarke’s husky voice and the obvious implications of her words from the way that her hips slowly move and seek out contact from Lexa’s body.

“I really like this plan,” says Lexa, her voice breathy with arousal.

Clarke grins at the admission.

“Why don’t we move this to the shower and you can show me just how much you like it?”

“Is Raven okay?”

The question comes to Lexa’s mind when she’s naked in bed, tangled around Clarke and the bedsheets, some time after round three has reached its conclusion. Somewhere along the way, the idea of Clarke taking Lexa out to dinner became forgotten, and a cart once laden with room service stands at the foot of the bed, now carrying plates of half-eaten food and an empty bottle of champagne that Clarke insisted on ordering to celebrate saving the world.

“That’s the first thing you have to say after I make you cum?” asks Clarke, propping herself up on one elbow while the fingers of the other hand brush stray curls out of Lexa’s face.

“I mean,” admits Lexa, “I’m feeling guilty that I’m here enjoying this - enjoying you - and she’s stuck in a hospital bed with a bullet in her leg.”

“They took the bullet out in surgery,” Clarke tells Lexa, her hand still absently playing with Lexa’s hair, curling loose strands around her fingertips. “Last I heard, she was high on pain meds and trying to persuade Anya to dress up as a sexy nurse.”

Lexa snorts to herself.

“I bet Anya loved that.”

“I think if Raven hadn’t just come out of theatre, Anya might have been less sympathetic,” grins Clarke.

“I’ll try and visit her before I leave for England,” says Lexa, voicing her thoughts aloud. “It’s mostly my fault that she got shot.”

“When do you fly back?” asks Clarke, a trace of sadness in her voice.

“I don’t know,” confesses Lexa, nestling her head against Clarke’s shoulder and draping her arm across Clarke’s bare stomach beneath the cotton sheet that shields their sweaty bodies from the chill of the hotel room. “Within the next day or two, I would guess. And you go back to college in the afternoon?”

“Mmm.”

Lexa lifts herself from Clarke so that she can reach for the phone on the nightstand, unlocking the screen to check the time. It’s just gone midnight, and time is passing much faster than Lexa would like.

“But,” says Clarke, rolling Lexa onto her back and covering Lexa’s body with her own as she nuzzles her face into Lexa’s neck and sends a hand lower, “I don’t plan on sleeping tonight until I’ve had you at least twice more…”

“Clarke, I’m not sure I can go again,” protests Lexa, even as her legs fall open to let Clarke’s exploratory fingers dip into her folds, still wet and sensitive from the last round.

“Sure you can,” sniggers Clarke, sucking the skin of Lexa’s neck between her teeth as her fingers tease and probe.

Clarke, Lexa quickly decides in that moment, is going to be the death of her.

Lexa can’t wait.

#clexa #clexa fic #clexa fanfic #kingsman au #clarke griffin #commander lexa #can you believe this fic is almost over? #the last chapter is just an epilogue #the plot is basically done now #i'm so unbelievably nervous about posting this #i think my anxiety increases with each chapter #i hope you like it

[crimethinc]

The ICE Age Is Over: Reflections from the ICE Blockades

Starting in mid-June, occupations sprang up around the United States in protest against ICE (US Immigration and Customs Enforcement) on account of how US border policy breaks up families, incarcerates and forcibly drugs children, and deports millions—in some cases, to war zones in which they have no homes or resources. In the following accounts from the ICE occupations in Portland, Tacoma, and Atlanta, participants reflect on some of the internal challenges facing movements against the border regime.

We urge everyone to support the arrestees in the struggle against ICE in Portland and elsewhere around the United States. For more on how and why borders tear apart families, ruin lives, and create the conditions for exploitative capitalism, read our book, No Wall They Can Build.

Portland: Cracking the ICE

After itching to do something, anything, about the violence being enacted by ICE, I was pleased to hear that some folks participating in the march held on June 17 and ending at the ICE facility at 4310 SW Macadam Avenue in Portland had decided that they weren’t leaving. My first visit to the space that would become the commune was on June 19 in the early afternoon. If my memory serves, there were only a handful of tents, one or two canopies with kitchen and first aid supplies, and perhaps one portajohn. After observing for an hour or two, I approached folks to ask if there was anything I could bring and was asked to supply the encampment with ice and another cooler if possible.

In the hour it took me to run that errand, the small scattering of three or four tents became nine or ten, and the 40 or so people became, by my approximation, over 100.

Click the image above for downloadable PDF.

While ICE agents were still trapped in the building, a pizza delivery person showed up (from Bellagios, I think) to deliver food to the ICE agents. After walking around the building multiple times and not finding a way in, he gave up and left the huge stack of pizzas with the protestors.

When I showed up after work the next day, the camp was bigger still. That day, there was some alarm when DHS (Department of Homeland Security) showed up. People rallied and ran to the front entrance on the Macadam side of the building and were quickly forced aside by DHS. While I chose to stay behind in the driveway, in the event that that was the next target, by all accounts DHS escorted ICE agents who had been trapped inside the building into their vehicles, with many of the ICE agents covering their faces.

Over the next few days, the camp expanded to include between 80 and 100 tents on either side of the bike path, in front of the main driveway, and spilling over into a field adjacent to the facility—as well as a large kitchen, a childcare area, a communications team, an engineering team, a medical tent, a front entrance check in, and other amenities. The engineering team, with the help of fellow occupiers and community members who delivered loads of pallets and furniture, fortified the encampment with barricades. We also worked on creating a boardwalk of sorts down the trolley tracks to provide a wheelchair-accessible way to reach all the tents providing services and in hopes of potentially creating more space for tents.

On Thursday, June 28, at 5:30 am, DHS tore down the barricade from the door on the Macadam side of the building to the far side of the driveway in order to enable officers and transport vehicles to come and go again. After many days of being shuttered, the building was open again.

I wasn’t able to make it until that afternoon, but the difference was striking. There was still an air of lightheartedness, but the seriousness of the situation was unmistakeable. We had known it was coming and here it was. I opted to park far away and walk into the camp. DHS vehicles were absolutely infesting the surrounding area. I walked into the camp and immediately spotted snipers on the roof. Small children were yelling at them: “Quit your job!” and “You should feel bad!” There was a line of DHS officers in full riot gear lining the edge of the driveway, facing off with protestors. The engineering team was furiously assembling more barricades. Press was assembled outside the near entrance; I nearly walked face-first into a camera as I was trying to access the sidewalk. Security was tighter. I overheard multiple people who were standing around asked what they were doing.

Overall, for me personally, it was a tremendously heartening experience. I worked with teams of people who were organized and dedicated. The atmosphere was refreshingly lively and upbeat, with children running around and people of all stripes showing up to support the occupation with their labor, their bodies, and their time, or just to get a hot meal. I saw anarchists working alongside DSA, and lots of awesome solidarity. I witnessed vital, important work being done toward the goal of dismantling ICE.

That said, the occupation was not without its problems. I heard that comrades were thrown out for tagging the Tesla building and I wanted to find out what had gone down. When I first approached someone from the security team, they seemed as outraged as I was; they took me to folks who might know more.

I found myself speaking to two people. One seemed concerned if not exhausted; the other seemed annoyed if not hostile and eventually walked away from me. I didn’t have a lot of information at that moment, so I accepted that the person I was talking to didn’t either and left it at that. The day of the crackdown (June 28), I approached the person who had walked away from me, introduced myself, and stated that I hadn’t been there to cause problems, that I was genuinely concerned, and that I had more information if they wanted to talk about it. From my end, this was an earnest attempt to make peace with this person. They proceeded to berate me for defending the people who had done the tagging, telling me that it was inappropriate and put marginalized people at risk, that the account I heard from one of the people who were expelled was false. The person I was speaking with kept referring to some sort of nebulous “leadership,” and insinuated that the only reason I was there was to get the expelled person’s stuff back. When I tried to express that actually I was making an attempt to offer an olive branch, despite our difference of opinions, they told me they were done with me and walked away.

This inability to have a conversation is a big problem. And that conversation is not just about property destruction—we have that one all the damn time. But I had legitimate questions: Was “no property destruction” decided to be a ground rule at a General Assembly? How were new people invited into the space? Were they made aware of the ground rules? (Who has the right to determine the proper form of resistance to an institution that is incarcerating people, drugging children, and separating families?) Was there a protocol established for how to handle violations? Was there any accountability for people on the security team or in any other position abusing power? I think these are major recurring problems in spaces like this that need to be addressed before we can start organizing across tendencies in any meaningful way.

Portland and Tacoma: You Can’t Build a Movement Based on Shame

I spent time at both the blockade in Portland, Oregon and the Northwest Detention Center Occupation in Tacoma, Washington. I think it is so inspiring and exciting that these occupations and blockades are happening all over the country. I wish they were happening in every city, at every ICE facility.

At both of these occupations, there were many anarchists with whom I felt affinity; but there were also aspects of these occupations that reminded me of the worst parts of the 2011 Occupy movement—including an intense form of privilege politics that I had hoped we had learned from and moved on from in the past seven years.

One of the most exciting aspects of resistance during times of intense repression and authoritarianism such as those we are experiencing now is the number of people who are radicalized and join anarchist struggles. It is a huge turning point for us—a time to spread anarchist ideas. Newly radicalized people are looking for direction. Often, however, they will follow the loudest voices—and the loudest voices are often the liberals or self-appointed “leadership” of a movement. I have seen both new people and seasoned revolutionaries being controlled by authoritarian privilege politics, accepting them out of fear of being seen as racist—even though most privilege politics are themselves racist, involving self-appointed white leaders claiming to speak for all people of color and claiming that people of color are always peaceful.

This is not to say that racism is not a huge problem in anarchist scenes. But adhering to reactionary privilege politics is often as bad as not addressing it at all.

At the occupation at the Northwest Detention Center, there were moments when the General Assembly was filled with anarchists; at these times, the assembly made consensus decisions to never talk to the police and to not have a police liaison or any sort of security force, and agreed that snitching and sexual assault were the only acceptable reasons to kick someone out of camp without discussion. There were other times when the General Assembly was full of liberals, self-appointed all-white leadership, and even a person who threatened to snitch if someone did anything illegal. These were the moments the camp felt the most stifling. We were told by that all-white “leadership” that the only acceptable action was to build the camp, for example, by cooking and organizing supplies. They maintained that any other actions would harm the people inside the detention center—all of whom, apparently, did not want tactics to escalate beyond cooking and taking out the trash.

To be clear: the NWDC is one of the biggest immigration prisons in the country. How they asked all 1500 people trapped inside it what tactics they do and don’t support was never explained to us. In fact, they could not and did not.

At the Portland occupation, I saw some people aggressively shamed for tagging the Tesla showroom. They were screamed at and kicked out of the entire occupation at 3 am. I also saw those same people later being described as white, although half of them were people of color, because it didn’t fit into their privilege politics narrative to admit that many people of color are invested in confrontational politics and escalation. As they were verbally assaulted and kicked out of camp, they were told that because they had tagged the Tesla showroom, it would be their fault if the police came to the blockade and took children away from their parents.

At the Tacoma blockade, one afternoon, a nonviolent direct action training took place. It began with two white people and one person of color aggressively shaming everyone in the space for the actions of the police. According to them, it was our fault that the ICE agents were torturing and raping people inside because demonstrators had been standing in the street the night before. It was our fault the ICE agents were torturing and raping people inside because a couple demonstrators had been drinking beer.

We must remember that the violence of the police is never our fault. The violence inflicted upon the migrants detained within the Northwest Detention Center, despite being escalated during the protest outside, is still entirely the fault of the police inflicting it.

Many of the people in the nonviolent direct action training were white folks who had never been to a protest before and were heavily influenced by being shamed and told how racist they were. This type of privilege politics, built on shaming people into inaction, is not how you build a movement. It doesn’t build momentum, it shuts it down. It doesn’t inspire people, it shuts them down. Shame is a feeling that does nothing but disempower people, which is the exact opposite of our goal—building power, together.

As I watched the people being kicked out of the Portland blockade that night, the “security team” evicting them repeatedly expressed the belief that if there was graffiti, the police would immediately come and shut down the camp. As if the police wouldn’t come to an illegal blockade if the building hadn’t been tagged! As if the police were allowing the camp to exist because of some morality that the police and the protestors shared, and the only reason the police would come would be if that morality were no longer shared. It was as if they believed that the protestors and the police had come to an agreement, in which as long as the police could trust the protestors to police each other, then the protestors could trust the police not to evict the camp.

But the police can never be trusted, and they will never share our ethics. We know, both from the logic of the state’s position as well as from our experience in past actions, that the police will always come—just as soon as they have the force to do so. However, the amount of force they need to evict a camp or shut down a demonstration often depends on how confrontational the demonstration is. The more confrontational the occupation, the more force the police will need to evict it and the longer it will take for them to amass that force.

One recent example of this is the Olympia blockade, which barricaded an active railroad for 12 days. The entire neighborhood was covered in anti-police graffiti. Cement was poured on the tracks. Security cameras were taken down. Parking meters in the area were broken. At any given time, the most people you might find at the blockade were 50-100 people. At night, it was down to 5-20 people. By contrast, if we count from the first day of the overnight occupation in Portland to the day the ICE building was reopened, the Portland blockade lasted 10 days—and the number of people at that blockade was often up to 1000 or more.

As we can see, the graffiti—and the smashed parking meters, broken security cameras, and so forth—at the Olympia blockade did not cause the police to come sooner. It actually took them longer to come, despite the blockade being only a fraction of the size of the Portland blockade. At the Portland blockade, people were busy policing each other. The actual cops didn’t even need to come. The protestors themselves were protecting the property of the government and the showrooms of capitalism. (Never mind that both the Tesla showroom and the ICE facility are owned by a man who openly admitted to running his Mercedes into demonstrators.)

We are in a time of crisis, in which the overt white nationalist terror of the state is clearer than ever. In this moment, we should build autonomous spaces in which people can take action outside of the control of political politicians and peace police. We believe this because of our political ethics of autonomy, but it is strategic as well. Confrontational tactics are a threat to the state, whereas any protest tactics that do not actually threaten the power of white supremacy can only reinforce it. The stronger we make the barricades, the longer we can hold off the police. The less we police each other, the less power we give to them.

As anarchists, how do we counter the politics of leadership, inaction and shame? How do we build our power even as the liberals and peace police are actively trying to strip it from us?

Atlanta: The ICE Age Is Over

In Atlanta thousands of people gathered early Saturday morning for a “Keep Families Together” march organized by NGO’s and members of the Democratic Party. Currently, several dozen participants in this march are still occupying a plaza outside the City Jail, which doubles as an ICE detention facility. While the group seems set to stay the night, the occupation still has a long way to go to connect with the thousands who took the street earlier in the day.

Strangely, the coalition that called for this march chose to start at the ICE facility, before marching away to go listen to speeches outside of the closed federal building. Surrounding the physical building where hundreds of immigrants are detained seemed like a good start, but the politicians in charge of the rally moved away from the site of real power to a symbolic site. Some participants who had their families in tow were overheard lamenting that the march was a little too tame for them, even with their kids in tow.

Autonomous groups and leftist groups that utilize non-electoral strategies had organized before the large demonstration to continue the march and return to the jail. After the rally was dismissed, a large banner reading “ICE BREAKERS: Chinga La Migra” was stretched across the street along with chanting and drums. Several hundred joined, despite liberal protest marshals attempting to discourage them from doing so. Together, they marched back to the jail, holding the streets the whole way.

Peachtree Street was blocked outside the jail as hundreds chanted and waved to those locked up inside. Cops drove motorcycles through the crowd, but the crowd did not back down; soon, a couch appeared in the streets and people began to set up tents. The atmosphere was festive, with many dancing to music or playing soccer. As the day wore on, the cops slowly began to encroach on the occupation, forcing people to clear the street, confiscating the couch and tents, and violently arresting one person. Numbers fluctuated throughout the day but remained over 50.

As of this writing, the occupation is ongoing, having resisted the initial attempts to push it out. There still remains a lot to do. The terrain of the occupation is favorable to autonomous groups and anarchists because we were the ones to push for it and to make it logistically possible, but unfortunately these circles comprise the bulk of the camp. Democrats were the first to call for an action and they sucked up the spontaneous energy of thousands with their march in the morning, though it is likely that whoever had been the first to call for a march would have drawn a large number of demonstrators.

We were enraged by the concentration camps and sought to catalyze a real movement against them. This energy was enough to enable us to push for an occupation no matter what the circumstance. Now we need to figure out how to bridge the distance between those who carry signs declaring #abolishice and those who want to shut down the ICE facilities themselves. How can the occupations grow, spread, and mutate?

[radramblog]

Who should I vote for in the WA state election?

Full disclosure, this is directly inspired by this article, by someone from my high school as part of a youth newspaper he was working on. Considering said newspaper hasn’t updated since, oh, 2017, I think it’s fine to step on a few toes.

According to the ABC there are 19 parties vying for votes in the 2021 Western Australia State Election, which is coming up on Saturday. Some of them are good, some of them are very very not. Let’s go through each!

Animal Justice Party

The Animal Justice Party is a single-platform party masquerading as a multi-platform party, and while they have bland but reasonable positions on common issues everything, and I mean everything, on their page circles back to animals. Mental Health? Animal therapy and volunteering are good for that! Foreign Policy? We only care about trophies and wildlife trade! Domestic Violence? Abusers kick puppies, not just spouses! You get the idea. They mean well, but I don’t think they’re even close to a top pick, especially considering some of their odder platforms (banning processed meat sales to minors like they’re cigarettes, sure ok).

Vote for them if you’re the epitome of the obnoxious vegan.

 Australian Christians

I mean, obviously I’m not religious, but I’m pretty sure these folks don’t speak for all Christians. They’re first on the list of whackjobs, anti-abortion and same-sex marriage, pro “sexual morality” (read: puritanism) and have out-of-context bible quotes on their statement of intents. Oh, sorry, statement of beliefs. Clicking on this webpage made my skin crawl- protip, if a person or party claims to support “family values” or “Christian ideals” 99 times out of 100 they’re just using it to justify bigotry.

Vote for them if you’d feel right at home in Cromwellian England.

 Daylight Savings Party

This one’s website was broken for me, so I couldn’t really get a hold of anything beyond the name and what was on their facebook page, which is pretty much just what their mission statement is- Western Australia but we have daylight savings time. Despite being ridiculously sunny all the time. But….but why though….

Vote for them if you enjoy changing your clocks twice a year, like a weirdo.

 The Great Australian Party

There are two really obvious jokes here screaming at me to be made. The GAP wants to make Australia great again, and despite the name it doesn’t involve jeans. These guys think taxes are bad but it would be good if they were instead handled by corporations, which is the most laughably stupid idea that itd be enough to bottom-vote them just on that- fortunately, their stance on firearms (we’ll get to it later) and immigration (withdrawing from UN treaties, seriously?) make it pretty clear they’re just a bunch of cunts. Their policy pages complain about political correctness and want to make fucking with a flag a crime like it is in the US, so the comparisons to a certain US party keep going.

Vote for them if you’re the proud owner of a red hat that your children will burn out of shame.

 Health Australia Party

The fact that these people have an entire page dedicated to going “no, we aren’t anti-vax, we just have a lot of concerns” answers any questions you could possibly have. They also advocate for “natural medicine” to be placed on equal footing with, you know, medicine, which is obviously not a great idea.

Also, that they spell it “anti-vacc” and that their policy list is in fucking Calibri bugs me to no end.

Vote for them if you’re on a lemon detox.

 Legalise Cannabis Western Australia

Take a guess. Take a wild fucking guess what single issue these guys are about. I don’t even have anything against this idea, their policies aren’t awful or anything, but it’s a heck of a hill to spend so much of your time on.

Vote for them if you’re high off your tits, I guess.

 Liberal Democrats

What is this, libertarians? I’ll be frank, most of their policies are rooted in economics stuff I don’t really understand, but they’re against COVID lockdowns. You know, despite how effective they’re shown to be around here since we don’t fuck them up (mostly).

These guys seem to be one of the bigger of the small parties but their website is super unhelpful so ???

Vote for them if… I dunno?

 Liberal Party

The first of the two major parties. They lost power in the last state election, and I couldn’t be more thankful- they’d been doing nothing but cock up for years at that point, and the premier was a fucking joke. Considering that their leader has apparently already conceded defeat, I suspect they aren’t looking to repeat the process.

The Liberals seem to be the default for a lot of people, thanks to their incalculable media bias and being one of the big two. I suppose if you’re reading this, you aren’t voting for them anyway.

Vote for them if your mum voted for them and you’re proud of that for some reason.

 Liberals for Climate

If you voted in the last election, you might remember a party called the Flux network, which was a party where their policy was just online voting for everything. This is, uh them again? But they seem more concerned about climate than last time.

Vote for them if you haven’t watched this video.

 No Mandatory Vaccination Party

…no. just no.

Antivaccination is an opinion that makes my skin crawl. The fucker that effectively started the movement, Andrew Wakefield, effectively did so for the money, and as such is indirectly responsible for thousands of deaths. The people who believe this shit know nothing of chemistry or medicine but hear a few buzzwords and do a google or two and think they’re the greatest geniuses of our time. They think they’re soooo fucking smart. Confident incorrectness can be funny at times, but not when such a huge issue is at stake.

Vote for them if you want me to call you out on twitter dot com.

 Pauline Hanson’s One Nation

Oh christ she’s still trying this shit? For reference, in the last election these xenophobic cunts were rightfully punted out of our state, despite massive campaigning, proving that we aren’t the bogan capital of the country quite as much. Their policy pages make me want to vomit, but who the fuck voting for One Nation reads the fucking policy page?

Pauline Hanson was a fish and chip shop owner who made a political party to get her xenophobic bullshit out on the national stage, and was arrested for election fraud, yet still is allowed to run a party for some reason. She’s switched the target of her ire from China to the Middle East to reflect modern bigotry better, but it’s the same old shit. The only good thing ever to come about her was the Pauline Pantsdown song, and she obviously wasn’t involved in that.

Vote for them if you’re interested in joining the Proud Boys.

 Shooters Fishers and Farmers

Oh and the hits just keep coming. Funnily enough I don’t have an issue with their fishery policy, but that’s not the main one, obviously. Australia has harsh gun control laws on account of a mass shooting back in 1997, and we’ve stayed that way for 23 years with, shockingly, no further mass shootings (that I’m aware of). You can disguise your policy by saying its for the sport all you want, but I’ve got no interest in bringing guns back to WA.

Vote for them if you think the NRA having massive political sway in the USA is a good thing.

 Socialist Alliance

Full disclosure, I consider myself a socialist, so I’m probably a little biased here. But yeah, these look like good policies. They want to remove the USA military presence in Australia which I am personally very for, they support royal commission into the big banks which should have been done a decade ago, and they want to lower the voting age to 16 which considering that the youth are generally more politically minded these days seems fair enough to me. I’m for it.

Vote for them if you would have voted for the Greens, and don’t know which to put higher.

 Sustainable Australia

Despite the name, the policy of this party is more concerned about population than climate, an issue I’m not sure is especially pronounced in this neck of the woods. I’d put them fairly middle of the road, seeing as they have some policies I’m for (no new coal mines or fracking) and some I’m very against (increased police funding, lowered immigration).

Vote for them if you too don’t know the common usage of the word Sustainable in modern times.

 The Greens

Why everything is alphabetical until this and the next one are beyond me. Regardless, I suspect you already know if you’re voting Greens, but bluntly: They’re basically the only ones with a real, functional plan about Climate Change. And considering that’s the biggest problem facing humanity at large right now (yes, including COVID), that’s a pretty solid claim.

Vote for them if THERE IS NO PLANET BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

 The Nationals

The nationals end up in coalition with the Liberals basically all the fucking time so if you’d vote for the Libs you’ll vote for the Nats. They’re basically the liberals, but they pay lip service to caring about poor rural areas while continuing to suck big buisness’s cock like a kid with an icy-pole.

Vote for them if you’re a genuine country bumpkin.

 WA Labor

I’ll be frank, I don’t think there’s a single way Labor doesn’t win this election. Mark McGowan has developed a minor cult of personality, and they’ve handled the old COVID situation remarkably well. I don’t agree with everything they’ve done in the past 4 years, but their track record is certainly better than the Liberals. Still, they’re not going to be the top of my preference sheet.

Vote for them if you don’t know what small parties to preference first.

 WAxit party

I’ve admittedly entertained the idea of a Western Australian Secession, and provided it is handled well am not entirely against it. It does make me feel vaguely Texan, though, and that’s not a position I enjoy being in. This party wants to massively invest in defense so WA can protect itself from an invasion- one that will never, ever come, and I really don’t expect to eat those words. We don’t matter enough to target.

Vote for them if you think Brexit 2 sounds like a good idea.

 Western Australia Party

Look at this point I’m fucking sick of all these parties. They have Family Values on their policy list so I’m just taking that as a red enough flag not to vote for them.

Vote for them if you actually read their shit and were a fan of it.

 And that’s…everyone. Wait no not everyone hang on.

Independents

I must confess, I basically always forget to read about the independents prior to an election. This is going to be different in every district, so do your research- or just do what I do and stick them all smack bang in the middle between the parties I like and the parties I don’t like.

 Ok now that’s everyone. This took a long time and a lot out of me, so I hope you appreciate this shit. Hopefully you are now prepared for what may come on Saturday the 13th, and won’t be too disappointed when your minor party of choice doesn’t win the seat because everyone in your area votes Liberal for some fucking reason.

#ramble #perth #political