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ineffable-endearments · 1 month

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The Crow Road by Iain Banks

I finished The Crow Road and had a little time to think about it. I'll put my thoughts under a Keep Reading in case anyone is trying to avoid spoilers.

As I speculated before, I think it's likely that The Crow Road is more related to Good Omens in philosophy than in plot. I mean, it's not that the plots necessarily have nothing in common, and we could be very surprised in the end of course, but now that I've read the whole book, its philosophical commonalities with GO are both apparent and kind of inspiring. Also, if I were a writer, I'd be more interested in dropping hints about what themes are important than telegraphing my whole plot ahead of time.

So here, I will describe the book and point out themes that I believe may reappear in Good Omens 3.

This is a long post. If you read it, make a cup of [beverage of choice].

Update on 4/20/2024: I made a second post: The Crow Road and Good Omens: Further-Out Thoughts

Below are mentions of suicide, death/murder, and sexual acts.

The Crow Road centers around a character named Prentice McHoan, a university student in Scotland who starts to sort out his complicated relationship with his complicated family as he explores the mystery of his uncle Rory's disappearance. Although the book is mostly from Prentice's perspective, the narration jumps around in time with the McHoan family. There are quite a lot of important characters to keep track of; the bare-bones summary I put below doesn't even include some of the important ones. I wanted to make the summary even shorter and simpler than this, but the truth is that this book is not short or simple, and if I made the summary any simpler, it might be downright misleading.

There are at least three major cultural aspects of The Crow Road that I am inexperienced with: the overall culture in the 1950s-1980s (I was born in 1988, so of course wasn't here for the relevant decades), the international experience of the Gulf War (again, born in 1988), and the history and culture of Scotland itself (I'm USAmerican with only reading as a source). As a result, I'm sure there are important dimensions to the book that I've missed. If someone has a different perspective taking some of these things into account, I'd love to know about it.

Also, keep in mind, there is a great deal of descriptive writing in this book. There are a lot of pages about the geography of Scotland, and about Prentice as a kid, and about Prentice's father and uncles hanging out together in their youth, and about various family incidents, and about Prentice spending time with his brothers and friends. At first, these passages seem to just make things more confusing, and in my head, I accused them of being "filler." But they definitely serve a purpose. They're a way of showing and not telling the characters' attitudes and relationships to each other. More importantly, because we get to actually live these experiences with the characters, they are what give all the plot points below their deeper emotional impacts. In other words, the everyday experiences give the plot its deeper meaning. They resonate with one of the core themes in the novel: that our experiences in life, rather than any supposed existence after death, are what matters.

The Crow Road's story is like this:

Prentice is rather directionless in life, and he seems to have trouble investing any energy in his own future as he moons over his unrequited feelings for an idealized young woman named Verity. Soon, Verity ends up in a romance with Prentice's brother, Lewis, and Prentice feels that Lewis "stole" her from him. Prentice has also become estranged from his father, Kenneth, over spirituality. Prentice believes there has to be something more after death because he feels it would be incredibly unfair if people didn't get anything other than this one life; Kenneth is not only a passionate atheist, but is offended by the notion of an afterlife.

Prentice's uncle Hamish, Kenneth's brother, has always been religious, although his religion involves a number of bizarre and offbeat ideas of his own, with inspiration from more traditional Christian notions. Prentice is not really sure about this ideology, but he's willing to talk to Hamish about it and even participates during Hamish's prayers, whereas Kenneth is openly scornful of Hamish's beliefs. Hamish interprets this as Prentice being on "his side."

Prentice has a few opportunities to go back and talk to his father, and is begged to do so by his mom, Mary, with whom his relationship is still good. Mary doesn't want either of the men to give up their inner ideas about the universe; she just wants them to agree to disagree and move on as a family. Prentice says he will visit, but he just keeps putting it off and off and off.

Prentice acquires a folder containing some of his missing uncle Rory's notes in the process of hooking up with Rory's former girlfriend, Janice Rae, who seems to have taken a shine to Prentice because he reminds her of Rory. Using the contents of the folder, Prentice wants to piece together the great literary work that Rory left unfinished, which Rory titled Crow Road; however, it becomes apparent that Rory didn't turn his concepts into anything substantial and only had a bunch of disconnected notes and ideas. He hadn't even decided whether Crow Road would be a novel, a play, or something else. The few bits of Rory's poetry for Crow Road read are bleak and depressing.

Prentice also spends a lot of time with a young woman named Ash. They've been good friends since childhood and seem to have a somewhat flirtatious dynamic now, but they aren't in a romantic relationship; mostly, they drink and hang out together. Ash tells Prentice bluntly to get his life back on track when she finds out he's failing at school, avoiding his family, and engaging in shoplifting. She is a voice of reason, and when Prentice insists to her that he's just a failure, she reminds him that actually, he's just a kid.

Prentice's efforts to figure out Rory's story or location stagnate, and he continues to fail at school and avoid his father. He then receives word that Kenneth was killed while debating faith with Hamish. In fact, Kenneth dies after a fall from a church lightning rod, which he was climbing in an act of defiance against Hamish's philosophy when it was struck by lightning; Hamish is convinced that Kenneth had incurred God's wrath. Ash is there for support when Prentice finds out about the death.

With Ash's help, Prentice returns to his hometown again to help manage Kenneth's affairs. Prentice speaks with a very shaken Hamish, who is handling Kenneth's death with extreme drama and making it all about his own feelings. Hamish tells Prentice that Kenneth was jealous that Prentice shared more in common with Hamish's faith than with Kenneth's lack of faith. However, this isn't really true, and as he contemplates his father's death, Prentice begins to internalize one of the last things Hamish reported that Kenneth had argued: "All the gods are false. Faith itself is idolatry."

As the chapters go on, Prentice is compelled by some of the meaningful items related to Rory that he discovers in his father's belongings. He gains a renewed sense of purpose trying to solve the mystery of where Rory went and what happened to him. Among the interesting items are an ancient computer disk of Rory's that Prentice can't access with any equipment he can find; Ash uses her connections in the US and Canada to find a computer expert who can finally open the files on it. This takes quite a while, since the disk has to be mailed and Ash's connection is investigating the disk only in his free time.

Prentice also discovers that his feelings for Verity have changed. He no longer feels angry with Lewis for "stealing her." At first, Prentice's narration describes this as his feelings "cooling" as a result of the trauma of losing his father, but interestingly, this soon means Prentice gets to know Verity as a sister-in-law without getting caught up in jealous romantic feelings. Verity gets along well with the family, and Prentice is actually happy to discover that she and Lewis have a baby on the way. Prentice's relationship with Lewis improves greatly as well, partly because he is no longer jealous and partly because he realizes he does not want to lose Lewis, too.

Ash's connection who was looking at Rory's computer disk comes through and sends the printed contents of the files to Prentice. The files reveal to him that Rory likely knew Prentice's uncle, Fergus, murdered his wife by unbuckling her seat belt and crashing their car. Rory had written out a fictional version of events and considered using it in Crow Road. I'm not clear on exactly how certain Rory was about Fergus's crime, or whether Rory would have intentionally reported Ferg, or whether Rory even had enough proof to publicly accuse Ferg of murder, but people would likely have connected the dots in Rory's work and become suspicious of Ferg. For this reason, Prentice believes Ferg murdered Rory as well.

Prentice confronts Ferg. He doesn't get a confession and leaves Ferg's home with no concrete proof of anything; Ferg denies it all. But Prentice is soon physically assaulted in the night, and it seems Ferg was almost certainly the culprit, because he hadn't been home that same night, and he had injuries (probably from being fought off) the next day. A day or two later, Ferg's body is found unconscious in the cockpit of a plane, which crashes into the ocean. It's uncertain whether this was a suicide, but Prentice suspects it was. Rory's body is then soon recovered from the bottom of a waterway near Prentice's home, where Ferg had sunk it years ago.

As the mysteries are solved, Prentice realizes his feelings for Ash are romantic love. However, it's too late, he thinks, because Ash is about to take a job in Canada, where she may or may not stay. Prentice also hesitates to approach her because he's embarrassed about his previous behavior, venting all his angst about Verity and his father. He isn't sure she would even want to be in a relationship with him after that. But the very night before Ash leaves, she kisses Prentice on the cheek, which leads to a deeper kiss. They finally connect, have sex, and confess their mutual feelings. Ash still goes to her job in Canada, but says she'll come back when Prentice is done with his studies that summer.

The relationship's future is somewhat uncertain because something could come up while Ash is in Canada, but Prentice is hopeful. The book ends with Prentice getting ready to graduate with his grades on track as a history scholar, fully renouncing his belief in an afterlife while he acknowledges the inherent importance of our experiences in our lives now, and enjoying his time with Lewis and Verity and his other family members.

What's the point of all these hundreds of pages?

Well, look at all of the above; there's definitely more than one point. But the main point I took away is that we get this one life, with our loved ones in this world here and now, and this is where we make our meanings. There is no other meaning, but that doesn't mean there's no meaning at all. It means the meaning is here.

It's not death that gives life its meaning. It's the things we do while alive that give life its deeper meaning.

The Crow Road is described (on Wikipedia) as a Bildungsroman, a story focusing on the moral and philosophical growth and change of its main character as they transition from childhood to adulthood ("coming-of-age novel" is a similar term that is interchangeable, but more vague and not necessarily focused on morality/philosophy). And, indeed, all of the plots ultimately tie into Prentice's changed philosophy.

After his argument with Kenneth, Prentice feels childish and humiliated, and as a result, he refuses to go back home, which leads to a spiral of shame and depression. Kenneth dies and Prentice realizes it's too late to repair the relationship, which also leads him to realize it's what we do in life that matters, and that therefore, his father's argument was correct after all.

At the end of the novel, Prentice outright describes his new philosophy. However, I can't recall one specific passage where Prentice describes the process of how he changed his mind (if anyone else can remember something I missed, do let me know). There is, however, a moment when his narration indicates that Hamish seems less disturbed by his own part in the incident that led to Kenneth's death and more disturbed by the notion that his beliefs might actually be true: there might actually be an angry, vengeful God. In other words, Hamish's philosophy is selfish at its core.

My interpretation is that when his father died, Prentice realized three things: how utterly self-serving Hamish's devout faith is, how Kenneth's untimely death proves the importance of working things out now rather than in an imaginary afterlife, and how much profound meaning Kenneth had left behind despite having no faith at all. After these realizations, a determined belief in an afterlife no longer makes our lives here more profound like Prentice once thought it did.

Also, it's worth noting that this incident changes Prentice's idea of partnership, too. He loses interest in this distant, idealized woman he's been after. In love as in the rest of life, Prentice lets go of his ideals, and in doing so, he makes room for true meaning, both in a sincere familial, platonic connection with Verity and a sincere intimate, romantic connection with Ash.

But what about the sex scene?!

Yes, indeed, at the tail end of the story, Prentice and Ash have sex and admit they want to be in a relationship together. Prentice's narration describes them sleeping together and having intercourse not just once, but many times, including some slow and relaxed couplings during which they flex the muscles in their private parts to spell out "I.L.Y." and "I.L.Y.T." to each other in Morse code. This is relevant because earlier, they had been surprised and delighted to discover that they both knew Morse code; it isn't a detail that came from nowhere.

I didn't get the impression that this scene was trying to be especially titillating to the reader. It was mostly just a list of stuff the characters did together. I felt the point was that they were still anxious about being emotionally honest, a little desperate to convey their feelings without having to speak them out loud, and awkward in a way that made it obvious that their primary concern was the feelings, not the sexual performance. They cared about each other, but they weren't trying to be impressive or put on a show; contrast this with previous scenes where Prentice would act like a clown in front of Ash to diffuse his own anxiety. I've always thought that being able to have awkward sex and still enjoy it is a good sign.

Okay, so what does this all have to do with Good Omens?

Here's where I have to get especially interpretive. I'm doing my best, but of course, not everyone reading this will have the same perspective on Good Omens, the Final Fifteen especially. I believe similar themes are going to resonate between The Crow Road and Good Omens regardless of our particular interpretations of the characters' behavior and motivations, but I suppose it could hit differently for some people.

The TL;DR: I see similar themes between The Crow Road and Good Omens in:

The importance of mortal life on Earth

Meaning (or purpose) as something that we create as we live, not something that is handed to us by a supreme being

Sincere connection and love/passion (for people, causes, arts, life's work, etc) as a type of meaning/purpose

Relationships as reflections of philosophy

The dual nature of humanity

Life on Earth as the important part of existence is a core theme in Good Omens, and has been since the very beginning. We all already know Adam chose to preserve the world as it already is because he figured this out, and we all already know Aziraphale and Crowley have been shaped for the better by their experiences on Earth. But Good Omens isn't done with this theme by a long shot. I think this is the most important thematic commonality Good Omens will have with The Crow Road. Closely related is the notion that we create our meanings as we live, rather than having them handed to us. Isn't this, in a way, what Aziraphale struggles with in A Companion to Owls? He's been given this meaning, this identity, that doesn't fit him. But does he have anything else to be? Not yet.

Partnerships as a parallel to the characters' philosophical development also resonates as a commonality that The Crow Road may have with Good Omens. Prentice's obsession with Verity goes away when he starts to embrace the importance of life on Earth and makes room for his sincere relationship with Ash. Note their names: "Verity" is truth, an ideal Prentice's father instills in him; "Ashley" means "dweller in the ash tree meadow" in Anglo-Saxon, according to Wikipedia, and "ash" is one of the things people return to after death. Prentice literally trades his high ideals for life on Earth. We see in Aziraphale a similar tug-o'-war between Heaven's distant ideals and Crowley's Earthly pleasures, so I can see a similar process potentially playing out for him.

I don't particularly recall a ton of thematic exploration of free will in The Crow Road. However, there is a glimmer of something there: Prentice feels excessively controlled by Kenneth's desire to pass down his beliefs, and part of the reason Prentice is so resistant to change is simply his frustration with feeling censored and not being taken seriously. As the reader, I do get the feeling that while Prentice is immature, Kenneth made major mistakes in handling their conflict, too. And Kenneth's mistakes come from trying to dictate Prentice's thoughts. There is likely some crossover with Good Omens in the sense that I'm pretty sure both stories are going to take the position that people need to be allowed to make mistakes, and to do things that one perceives as mistakes, without getting written off as "stupid" or "bad" or otherwise "unworthy."

Suffice it to say that the human characters in Good Omens will also certainly play into these themes, but it's hard to write about them when we don't know much about them except that one of them is almost certainly the reincarnation of Jesus. This also makes me suspect perhaps the human cast will be 100% entirely all-new, or mostly new, symbolic of how Aziraphale and Crowley have immersed themselves in the ever-evolving, ever-changing world of life on Earth. Alternatively, if we encounter human characters again from Season 1 or 2, perhaps the ways they've grown and changed will be highlighted. For example, even in real-world time, Adam and Warlock have already, as of the time I'm writing this, gone through at least one entire life stage (from 11 in 2019 to 16 in 2024). They'll be legal adults in a couple of years, and if there's a significant time skip, they could be much older. If characters from Season 1 do reappear and themes from The Crow Road are prominent, I would expect either some key scenes highlighting contrasts and changes from their younger selves or for stagnation and growth to be a central part of their plot.

The more I write, the more I just interpret everything in circles. Hopefully this post has at least given you a decent idea of what The Crow Road is like and how it may relate to Good Omens.

I'll end this post with a quotation that feels relevant:

Telling us straight or through his stories, my father taught us that there was, generally, a fire at the core of things, and that change was the only constant, and that we – like everybody else – were both the most important people in the universe, and utterly without significance, depending, and that individuals mattered before their institutions, and that people were people, much the same everywhere, and when they appeared to do things that were stupid or evil, often you hadn’t been told the whole story, but that sometimes people did behave badly, usually because some idea had taken hold of them and given them an excuse to regard other people as expendable (or bad), and that was part of who we were too, as a species, and it wasn’t always possible to know that you were right and they were wrong, but the important thing was to keep trying to find out, and always to face the truth. Because truth mattered. Iain Banks, The Crow Road

#good omens #the crow road #good omens book club #go3 speculation #s3 speculation #good omens 2 spoilers #go s2 spoilers

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rainbowchaox · 24 days

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Yashiki and Mashita: Why the Ship Works (Yashiki POV)

We are introduced to Yashiki at the start of Death Mark as we play as him. It’s soon so apparent that his heart bleeds out like ink. He holds empathy for everyone. Spirit or alive. Much to his detriment and it’s a character flaw that follows him through the games. Yashiki is amnesiac and doesn’t know who he is and he is terrified. Rightfully so because he might die by sunrise. He cares so much about others but it’s clear from the start he doesn’t feel the same amount of care for himself. Always sacrificing himself for others.

He trusts everyone, even those he shouldn’t. And at his core he is kind. And a bit of push over at times. He is scared of so many things, but he is most scared for others. He feels he needs to be the one to watch over his companions. Yashiki is gentle, but naive, and a bit oblivious of social cues.

We play him as a blank state of sorts but he is nowhere near a self insert protagonist. He has his own personality and his own opinions. And like Mashita he is a complicated man. And has tons of facets and layers. This is especially true when we find out who he actually is.

And you might be wondering why I am going deep into his character. The fact is this ship needs people to understand their inner thoughts and psyche. I am starting with Yashiki pov as well it’s more understandable as we can hear his thoughts as he is our main character we follow. Mashita is complicated and will get his own chapter. I’m just going through both of the two points of views throughout the two canon games and why the ship works. And why it’s practically canon in all but name.

When Yashiki meets Mashita for the first time. It’s definitely not a meet cute. It’s a meet threat. Mashita literally crawled out under a blood soaked bed in a secret basement of horror. He just was there. Of course he was suspicious. Mashita is amazing but how he was introduced didn’t look good. Especially for a man that is going through horror not really knowing who he really is. Also doesn’t help that yes Mashita face looks kinda evil. Hot yes but evil. He got the nickname Detective Bedroom eyes for a reason.

The fact is even without his memories. Yashiki, despite his social awkwardness he knows how people tick. It’s probably a good skill to have in spiritual work. Whether he realizes or not he dissects everyone's psyche and mannerisms in front of him. And this is especially true for when he meets Mashita for the first time.

Mashita is only a threat for a second before Yashiki starts to understand him. We can read his thoughts. We know that despite Mashita's rough attitude. Yashiki and him literally become friendly in one single car ride. We watch Yashiki slowly gaining understanding of Mashita as a person. I believe that car ride made Yashiki realize that Mashita is a good person. And someone he can be trusted. And eventually someone he can love. A possible life partner. Though it takes a while for him to realize this. But it’s a seed that will grow with time and attention.

And Yashiki is soon shown why he was right to trust Mashita. Mashita worked with him to deal with Hanahiko. The best partner and companion he could ask. Loyal to a fault. Sure Mashita had reason to help as he also was cursed with the Death Mark. But Yashiki even then could see it wasn’t really about getting rid of the Mark but more about helping others. Though Yashiki won’t say any of this out loud.

Yashiki, after Hanahiko was dealt with, did expect Mashita to be like Moe and Tsukasa. And leave him and go back to his normal life. And stay out of the spiritual world. Leaving him to hunt for another spirit in order to not die. The fact is though. Mashita stayed. And there’s no way you can convince me that Yashiki didn’t grow attached when he realized that fact. Especially after dealing with one spirit already. Mashita didn’t leave. Mashita. Didn’t. Leave. Mashita stayed.

Mashita for better or for worse got himself marked again in order to save Yashiki. Mashita is literally the only reason why Yashiki and the others survived Shimi-O at the entrance of the forest. Mashita came to the forest because he wanted to. Sure, we find out later he has his own reasons connected to his dead senpai but that doesn’t explain why he stayed completely.

Yashiki isn’t dumb. As much he does act dumb at times. Yashiki knows Mashita could have stayed safe back in the mansion. Yashiki knows how much of a hassle the Mark is. But Mashita willingly let himself be Marked again. In order to save Yashiki and the others. I’m sorry but how can Yashiki not be wooed by such a man? Mashita cares so much. And will do anything to protect those he cares about.

Eventually Shimi-O is dealt with and Yashiki survives for another day. But sadly Mashita decided it was time for him to leave. In my opinion the reason he left was not that he dealt with too many spirits but that he realized he would drag Yashiki down. He isn’t of use anymore. He leaves because he cares. Mashita lies though. Acts like he had enough experience with spirits.

And Yashiki knows this on some level. You can even choose to say I will miss you to Mashita. Which Mashita canonically gets a bit flustered at. Mashita promises Yashiki to give him a drink when he gets out of the Mark business eventually. Mashita literally asked him on a date when he gets the Mark on his wrist dealt with.

And so Mashita takes his leave for the rest of the main game. Even so, as much as the other characters are amazing in their own right. Mashita left his mark. There’s a reason why he is a fan favorite. Mashita and Yashiki have the best chemistry. It’s no wonder why so many who play the game leave thinking they are interested in each other. Their relationship is like no other.

Eventually Yashiki finds out the truth and deals with Mary. Curing himself of the Mark. Finally free from the ordeal. And we find out that Mashita wants Yashiki to join him for investigations now that he is working as a private eye. This shows how much Mashita respects Yashiki. Despite his rough mouth. And how Mashita wants Yashiki to be by his side.

Then the Red Riding Hood case came to be. The only reason Yashiki became involved was because Mashita strong armed him into getting involved. Yashiki at that point wanted to return to normalcy and find a way to seal Mary forever. But Mashita barged his way into the mansion. And demanded to take the case and take responsibility for telling the old hag about his private eye work.

This shows me that in the time off screen that Yashiki and Mashita grew close. Mashita feels comfortable enough to waltz right in. Yashiki be damned. For most of the case, Mashita isn’t present as he is busy with other cases. A recurring theme that will also happen in Death Mark 2.

Mashita and Yashiki are such a good team. Spirits be damned. But both have clear weaknesses when they are apart. They are Yin and Yang. Each other half. Mashita is logical while Yashiki is emotional. They are just a fantastic team. So literally they have to be apart for most of the cases because they are too overpowered.

Mashita returns after most of the companions Yashiki was investigating with. Are hospitalized. And they immediately are such a good team. Mashita always slaps Yashiki back to reality and gets him to focus on the task at hand. Which is needed after him practically having a panic attack knowing how many of his friends are in the hospital.

Mashita eventually leaves Yashiki outside. And tries to start the car because clearly Yashiki was dealing with a migraine given to him by a spirit. A female spirit that wants a piece of him. A common theme but he never reacts. And Yashiki's gentle heart is swayed to enter the hotel by Red Riding Hood.

And he almost dies. The spirit almost drags him out the window. But he is saved yet again by Mashita. And Mashita almost breaks. He grabs him and brings Yashiki up. And that’s when I personally believe Yashiki realized he loves Mashita. And this shows why they work so well together. And their different views and why both decided to fully stay in the spiritual world. Yashiki wants to be empathetic to spirits while Mashita believes humans and spirits should stay in their different worlds.

Then Death Mark 2 happens. Not only do we see that their closeness is even more apparent. They talk often on the phone. Yashiki is especially gay about Mashita in this game. Despite the whole premise being that yet another female ghost wants to marry him. Again Mashita isn’t present until the last two chapters as he would slap Yashiki back into reality and solve the whole The Departed business in a chapter. But those two chapters give us so much.

When we finally see Mashita. The best way I can explain how their dynamic has changed. It is that they are more playful with each other. They are used to each other by now. They definitely give the impression that they interact with each other alot out of work. They care alot about each other.

They are way more playful with each other. They even meowed and hissed at a rock of all things. Which Mashita only made Yashiki do to make Yashiki look dumb. Mashita literally lives to make fun of Yashiki. Another aspect is how they are practically canon besides saying it outright. Yashiki, despite having so many ghosts into him and seeing so much fan-service, never reacts. The Departed usually made characters vanish for a bit. The Departed hates Mashita though. So much.

The Departed fully thought of Mashita as serious competition. The Departed acted like a wife seeing her husband have an affair. And chased after Mashita. The Departed said “His wife should be the one by his side”. The spirit was so jealous of Mashita because even if it’s not said outright. There’s something more there.

Yashiki meanwhile felt actual grief thinking Mashita is dead. And only bringing himself the strength to continue because it would be what Mashita would have wanted. He could only bring himself to continue because of Mashita. Mashita also told it to him straight and brought himself back to reality. And never faltered believing him despite Yashiki being convinced he is a murderer.

Eventually The Departed is solved. And we are shown that Mashita canonically leaves his jacket which is very much implied to be his dead Senpai trench coat at the Kujou mansion. Like a cat showing his territory. And from the crumbs in NG we know that Mashita and Yashiki continue acting as a team. And sorta get famous for it.

All in all, Yashiki doesn’t fall first. He is akin to a frog in a pot of boiling water. And actions always mean more to him than what a person says. Him and Mashita have such good chemistry. The ship is canon in all but name. They are practically boyfriends already canonically. And each other's favorite person.

#death mark #death mark 2 #satoru mashita #kazuo yashiki #yashiki x mashita #spirit hunter

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wardenparker · 1 year

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Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 7

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: Explicit for violence Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence. WARNINGS CONTAIN SPOILERS! Kidnapping, torture, burning victim with cigarettes, broken bones, a whole lot of gun pointing and talk about murder, medicine by injection. Summary: When the divide between you and Jack becomes big enough that a well-intended question causes an explosion of anger, you decide to get out of dodge for a while. Unfortunately, this decision has consequences that neither of you could ever have anticipated. Notes: I cried writing it, I cried editing it, I cried putting this post together. Consider yourselves warned.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

It's been a month and Jack Daniel's is a miserable fucking bastard. You've been told about the marks being detrimental to his job and refuse to get rid of the tattoo or the scars. Claiming that it wasn't your problem, and he considers that to be true, even if it pisses him off because he can't escape you. Stuck here at Statesman and being a firsthand witness to you dating. He swears he's seen half a dozen different men picking you up from your cabin and every goddamn time his stomach churns with jealousy until there's nothing left to do except get blindingly drunk.

There have been good days and bad ones, of course. You and Jack don’t ignore each other but you don’t ever do anything more intimate than having an occasional drink or taking a break from your day to have lunch together if he stops by the restaurant. Your staff has been hired and menu set, interior painted and linens picked out. Now that opening is just a few weeks away, it’s about finalizing and finesse, and your staff has been amazing.

The dating has been…touch and go. You had gone out with Ginger’s brother Lewis on almost every night of his visit, enjoying each other’s company much more than you had expected. Apparently he was just getting out of a relationship and had accepted Diana’s attempt to fix the two of you up gratefully. Without any kind of stress as to whether or not the relationship would be perfect – or even lasting – you and Lewis were able to have fun and relax on the nights you went out together.

With Jack not wanting to have anything romantic to do with anyone else especially and including you, you had no reason to say no to most of the invitations you got after that. A concert or a dinner or a movie or a special event - they were all nice things and the men were equally nice about half the time. Sometimes they stayed over and sometimes they didn’t, but none of them ever saw you more than twice. The guilt and the regret would creep in, reminding you that you have a soulmate and that he’s a good man, even if the two of you are at odds. The fact of the matter is, even with the casual and extremely platonic time that you spend with Jack, you do find yourself falling for him a little more every day. Whether that’s because you’re bound to him or because you just do love him, you really can’t be sure. And it wouldn’t do you any good to say anything anyway. So you do what Statesman employees do best and drink away the guilt.

******

Jack sighs, rolling his shoulders back before he opens the door to his house and steps outside to face the day. This time of year seems to weigh heavily on him and it doesn't help that he had watched you disappear into your cabin with some man last night while he sat on his porch. Not seeing either one of you emerge when he had finally gone to bed well after midnight.

Catching sight of Jack as you leave your house in the morning isn’t uncommon, but today when you do, guilt pools deep in your gut. Waking up with someone other than your soulmate is a special kind of self-torture, and the green-eyed, blonde-haired man curled around you this morning definitely was not Jack. This morning when you glance toward his house, you accidentally catch his eye and end up awkwardly waving as you leave your house alone. The blonde had been politely kicked out before breakfast.

Jack sends back that half-hearted wave and tries to keep the scowl off his face for your sake. Knowing that you will think that it's directed towards you instead of towards the man who had snuck out of your house this morning with a jaunt in his step that Jack certainly recognized.

A thought has been gnawing on you for a while now, and you hustle to catch up to Jack on the sidewalk that leads away from Statesman housing and heads toward the main area of the company’s campus. Trying to maintain a friendship with Jack has been agonizing for you, as you realize the actual depths of your feelings for him, but you’re also trying to respect his wishes. If he doesn’t want to be anything but a platonic pair, you aren’t going to forcibly change his mind. Either he wants to be with you or he doesn’t. End of story.

He hears your quick footsteps behind him, the effort for you to catch up to him and Jack sighs to himself. Not in any kind of mood to play nice, not when he's going to see that 'freshly fucked' glow that you seem to get when you bring someone home. Acid churns in his gut and he wonders if he's developing heartburn for how often he's eating antacids to keep it moderately tolerable.

He slows down only slightly, but you catch up to him by just the last few steps that land much harder like a schoolgirl trying to casually match the stride of her upperclassman crush. It’s a fairly apt comparison for how you feel about him sometimes, but that’s not a thought you want to have to nurse today. “In a hurry today?” You ask, knowing he isn’t late for his usual day. His 9-5 is the same as yours.

"Just wanting to get my heart pumping." Jack doesn't look over at you. "Not getting much exercise being stuck behind a desk." He tells you. "Champ still won't clear me for field work."

That’s your fault. You know it is. You’ve had full conversations about it. But as long as Jack insists on acting like you mean nothing to him, you’re going to maintain the same behavior. If he doesn’t want a soulmate, then he doesn’t get any of the benefits of you being that person. Including, but not limited to, an understanding heart.

“I had something I wanted to ask you,” you admit, shoving your hands in your pockets as you walk. Something that is very much above and beyond the call of a normal friend, but you’re telling yourself that that doesn’t mean anything. He’s not the only person you’ll be asking about this, so it’s fine.

"What do you need to know?" Jack rolls his eyes, noticing that you are avoiding him mentioning the fucking tattoo, but he didn't expect you to.

“I know it’s not really your thing…” He looks annoyed, and you wonder if he didn’t get enough sleep last night or if he skipped breakfast. The fleeting thought that he might be jealous of your date is flicked away with the reminder that he doesn’t want to be connected to you. He’s probably glad you’re finally leaving him alone. “But I’m asking my friends, which you did say you wanted to be,” the reminder comes with an awkward smile that you drop when he doesn’t respond. “Gabriella’s birthday is coming up, so it jogged my memory. I’m just asking my friends what they want their birthday cakes to be this year so I can plan ahead.”

"I don't celebrate my birthday." Jack manages to say the words without anger or devastation in the inflection in his voice. "Don't worry about it, sugar."

“I know you had said that, but I thought…sometimes it’s worth revisiting an old tradition. Who doesn’t like cake and presents, ya know?” Walking beside him, you feel like you ought to be clutching your textbooks and twirling your hair or something equally ridiculous. But all you want is to show him that you’re not the enemy.

Jaw clenched, Jack stops short and whirls towards you, obviously startling you from the way that you jump but he doesn't give a damn. You just push and you push and you push, not giving a damn what someone else might want. "I don't fucking celebrate the day my goddamn wife and baby boy died." He growls furiously. "Forget the goddamn day exists."

You feel knocked over even though all you've done is freeze on the sidewalk, wide eyes staring at him in shock while you're not sure if your jaw is trembling in shock or dropped fully open. "I—" The way your chest clenches, it feels like you might dissolve inwardly. "I didn't know. I'm so...I'm so sorry..."

"You didn't know because you didn't give a fuck." Jack sneers. "All you care about is yourself, what you want. What you think is best, damned what anyone else might think."

"Where do you get that from?" From bottomless sympathy, you bounce back to shock in a very different way. "I was trying to do something nice for you!"

"I told you I don't celebrate and you couldn't let it go." He shouts. "You won't get rid of the fuckin' tattoo so I can do my goddamn job. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't hafta worry about a fuckin' soulmate because I would be dead like I deserve to be!"

"This is the first and only time I've asked since the day we met." This time you know for certain that your lip is trembling, and that it's from oncoming tears. Being screamed at is never something you've been able to take, and this is...it's Jack. Someone you want to make happy so desperately that you're doing things you actively hate in order to do it. "You didn't want a soulmate. You wanted to be friends. So that's all I've done."

“I do want a soulmate. I want my soulmate.” Jack fumes, eyes flashing angrily. “I want the woman who fucking died on my birthday because she was going to get the fuckin’ candles she had forgot to buy for my cake. For me. She died because of me! That’s the soulmate I want!” His own agony makes him blind to the fact that he is crying, tears rolling down his face and his heart about to fucking bust apart, but not because of Abigail, it’s from hearing you say that all you’re trying to do is be friends.

With both of you crying it's almost an exercise in futility to make sense of anything, or to try to hold a reasonable conversation, and you can feel yourself shutting down faster than lightning. The words are there, ringing in your ears, never ever to leave again. I want my soulmate. Not you. Never you. He wants his wife back and you're just standing in the way and insulting her memory purely by existing. "Right." You barely croak out the one syllable, nodding vaguely and already backing away from him while you try not to shake where you stand. "Th—that's...you..." Whatever sentence you were trying to form isn't happening, to the point where all you can think about clearly is how badly you don't want him to be upset with you anymore. And the only way to do that is to walk away. "I'm sorry." Are the only coherent words you manage to murmur, fleeing in the opposite direction as soon as you get them out.

Jack stands there for a few minutes, only moving to wipe away the tears when his breathing is relaxed. Dread curling in his stomach as he replays the cruel things he had said to you in his anger and sorrow. “Shit.” He hisses quietly, wondering if you would talk to him now, but he doubts it.

You have to get yourself under control before you make it to the restaurant, you know that. But the tears rolling down your cheeks are thick and angry and making it hard for you to think, and when you pull out your phone to send a text you can barely read the screen. Hopefully, even if it doesn't make sense, your brother will understand enough to call you later. It's Friday and you need to be anywhere but here this weekend. Hopefully his guest room is free.

******

Jack pauses outside the restaurant, knowing that he needs to talk to you again, but he can’t make himself go inside. He’s fucked this all up. He’s hurt you and his heart aches from that. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number that oftentimes he avoids like the plague. “Hey doc.” He greets the Statesman therapist when the call is picked up. “Do you have some free time? I need to talk.”

A two-hour flight to New York is nothing, but by the time you land it’s late and the sight of your brother standing at the gate waiting for you nearly brings you to relieved tears.

******

It’s not unusual that he doesn’t see you at night. His therapy session opening his eyes and making him see that he’s been very wrong, very cruel to you. Sighing, Jack pushes off the swing with his foot, the tall glass of Statesman in his hand as he watches your dark cabin. He knows you’re in there, the pinging on his phone showing that you are.

There’s no sign of you all the next day, or even the one after that. No movements from your house, no lights turning on or off, no television flickering or even anyone else’s car in the driveway. It’s like you’ve shut yourself inside and locked out the rest of the world.

Jack tries to go about his weekend, but his eyes still wander over to your place. Hoping to see you, not having enough courage to go over and knock. He knows you won’t answer the door and it’s not like he’s given you any reason to. So he waits for an opportunity to bump into you.

But when Monday morning comes, you aren’t there. The bracelet he gave you - the one that was presented as an apology for an argument but actually contained a tracker so he can keep an eye on you - hasn’t moved. According to that tracker you’re still in your house, but it’s 8:40 on Monday morning and you are never late. You should be closing your front door behind you right now to walk to work, but there isn’t any trace of you in sight.

“Fuck this.” Jack slaps his thigh and stalks across the small courtyard to march up your step and - it’s probably a little more forceful than necessary - he starts beating on your door. “Come on, sugar! Open the door!”

There’s no answer. No movement from within at all. A peak through the garage door shows your car sitting there as usual so it’s not like you’ve decided to break your walking tradition and drive to work.

“Damnit.” Jack shakes his head and presses the button on his watch. “Ginger, unlock cabin 6.” He orders, worry starting to curl in his gut though your marks are still on his skin.

“Roger.” Ginger’s voice comes through his com loud and clear and the locks on your front door click open obediently to allow him entry.

His search is quick, getting more and more hurried as he rushes through the space until he’s convinced you’re not here. “Shit.” Jack hisses, sweeping his hat off his head in a panic. “Shit!”

“Agent Whiskey. Report.” Ginger had left the com open when she unlocked your house, knowing Jack would never want her to do something like that for anything less than an emergency.

“Where the fuck is she, Ginger?” There’s an undercurrent of panic in his voice and the bracelet firmly in his fist. “‘Cause she ain’t here.”

"Come into the office," she urges him, knowing that tone in his voice after years of working together. "I'll see if I can track her down in the couple of minutes it takes you to get here."

“Find her now, Ginger.” Jack flies out of the cabin and his boots thump on the walkway as he makes for Statesman at a dead sprint.

The door to the lab slams open with a violent rattle five minutes later but Ginger barely moves in her seat. The control panel in front of her gives her domain across the myriad of screens mounted on the wall, most of which are showing traffic cam footage, sidewalk security footage, or even in-building security footage of you over the last two days. A flight itinerary is pulled up in one corner and the far-left monitor shows a string of text messages. "She went to New York City," Ginger tells Jack, her hands flying across her keyboard. "It looks like she went to see her brother after your last fight."

“How did— you know about that?” Jack huffs, slightly deflated as he catches sight of the texts that you had sent your brother and winces at the stark harshness of his words written out. “Shit. Can you track her phone? Where is she now?”

"I tracked her phone to a hotel in Times Square." That fact makes Ginger cringe, but she glances up at Jack cautiously. "She didn't get on her flight last night and she didn't change her ticket, either. When I called the kitchen with the pretense of wanting to invite her to lunch today, her sous-chef said she hadn't heard from her either."

“Fuck.” Jack shakes his head, pointing at her as he starts rushing for the door. “Get Pony Express fueled up and on the tarmac when I get there!” He orders as he dashes out of the room. In his gut he knows something is very wrong.

Jack dashes out of Ginger’s office right before she gets another ping on your information - something more than cell phone records between your family members like she’s seen this morning. This is a missing person’s report, filed by your brother with NYPD just a minute or two ago. “Shit.” Ginger mutters, furiously clicking at her control panel to notify the hangar to have the Pony Express ready so she can call Champ immediately.

Jack has never run so fast in his life. Breathlessly changing into his flight suit and bolting for the fighter jet. He knows something’s wrong. You would never let your kitchen be kept in the dark, no matter how upset you were with him. No, this is dangerous and it’s all his fault.

******

There are some things television is very informative about: interior decorating, cooking, fashion, even nature or manufacturing. But in no way, shape, or form does it prepare the unsuspecting person for what kidnapping might really be like.

The men who approached you after you left your self-indulgent solo dinner had been overbearing and pushy, asking for your number and where you were going, trying to get you to go with them willingly to their next destination - a bar you had never heard of. When you had politely refused so many times that you had to go from polite to insistent, the one standing directly in back of you had pushed the muzzle of a gun into your back while the leader ordered you to do as you were told so you wouldn’t have your spinal cord severed. In terror, you had obeyed.

The duct tape, zip ties, and blindfold were not enough, apparently. You had been gagged and starved, left tied to a chair in a room you could only describe as drafty and damp, and generally ignored excepted to be threatened periodically or violently interrogated whenever one of them got frustrated. You’re fairly certain that you now know what waterboarding actually is, but you’re grateful they haven’t done worse. The thing is — what they want? Is Jack. And there is no way you’re going to give them that. Even as angry as you can be with each other, if you didn’t realize that you loved him before now, this would have proved it. Literally willing to die for his safety, you haven’t said one coherent word to these mongrels since they shoved you into the back of an SUV in Times Square.

“Come on sweetheart…” The slow, condescending roll of the words come from your left where a man of middle-aged years is watching you, leaning back in his chair as your head swivels towards him. “All you gotta do is make a phone call. One thirty second call. You can be as damsel in distress as you’d like.”

With a gag in your mouth, you shake your head once to signal ‘no’ and raise your head again, determined not to cry this time. You have no idea how long you’ve been with these degenerates, but it feels like days - and you’ve definitely cried a lot during that time. So much that you’re starting to finally feel numb.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” mutters someone on your other side. The voice sounds younger. Angrier. And familiar. “She’s fuckin’ useless.”

“No, she ain’t.” There is a low, evil chuckle from the other man. “You said she’s his soulmate.” He hums, pleased with himself. “If she doesn’t want to cooperate, we’ll start shippin’ pieces of her back to him.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You blink back the fear, cut between the fear that that kind of stunt either wouldn’t work at all because Jack hates you so much, or that it would bring him straight into danger on Champ’s orders. Whoever that man is, he can’t know what Statesman really is - or is that exactly why they came for you? If you could fucking place his voice, that would be a huge goddamn help.

“Aw, look.” One of the other men snickers nastily. “Bitch is gonna cry again.”

There’s a round of chuckling, generally enjoying your fear and upset, “I bet it’s gonna eat him alive.” The older man snorts. “Buryin’ a second soulmate. Another one he couldn’t save.” There’s another round of amusement, harsh and cold. All of them in on a secret you don’t know.

“Go get some dinner.” The first man tells another. “I’m hungry. I’ll watch her, see if she’ll give in.”

There is a general sound of chairs scraping and boots on concrete, the sound of heels clicking so similar to the now-familiar sound of cowboy boots on the sidewalk. They keep you from responding with the gag, and the blindfold keeps their faces hidden, but they always want you to hear. It keeps you afraid, and fear is what they’re banking on. That fear will make you cave. What they don’t know is that your fear has more to do with not knowing whether or not Jack will even care that you’re gone.

“Has he fallen for you yet?” The question comes with a hint of irony in his voice. The need for information that would twist the knife deeper. “Or is he runnin’ from it to keep from gettin’ hurt?”

You can’t help that that brings a fresh set of tears. It seems to be the part of your body you have the least control over. Fucking tear ducts. But this guy’s seemingly endless need to talk and talk and make you as miserable as humanly possible has made you pay more attention to his voice over however long you’ve been here. Some of the others have slightly different accents - but this one is a cowboy.

“Mhm, running.” The deeply satisfied tone settles back slightly as he sits back in his chair and watches you, “just so you know it’s not personal.” He tells you conversationally. “I just want to see the poor bastard’s face as he holds another dead soulmate.”

Without this fucking gag in your mouth, you might have said something that would give you away. That would hurt Jack somehow or prove that you actually are useless to them. They don’t know that you’ve fallen for him despite your very best efforts, and they don’t know that he despises you simply for existing. He’s not running from anything – but you’re not Abigail, so you’re an insult to her memory.

“Oh hell, I’ll tell you since you aren’t leavin’ this room.” Alive is left off the end of the sentence, but the threat is clearly there. “I was the one who arranged for good ol’ Jack Daniels to lose his first soulmate. Her and the kid she was carryin’. Cherry on top of you ask me.”

Your eyes open wide against the blindfold, head snapping in the direction of the voice as he chuckles. The evil bastard is so goddamn pleased with himself. You could scream if you had breath, but the best you can do is fight against bindings that will never break.

“Bastard never even knew it, either. Dumb son of a bitch.” He huffs. “Bought the story of it being meth heads, robbing the store. Can you believe that? But it allowed me to attend the funeral. Watch his grief firsthand.”

Why? Is all you can wonder, as your mind races to try to figure out what the hell Jack could have done to warrant such a vast conspiracy before he was ever even a spy. Diana said Jack hadn’t joined Statesman until after his wife and son had died, so why the hell would anyone want to ruin his life when he was just a normal man?

“Jack Daniels is gonna fuckin’ pay,” the chair scrapes back and the sound of boots slowly comes towards you, ominous in how measured the steps are. “Maybe I’ll stage it for him. Write a note sayin’ how you couldn’t take being his soulmate.” He chuckles and his hand caresses the side of your face. “Pretty neck of yours will look good stretched out on a rope for him to find.”

You grunt, jerking your face away from his touch and wishing you could just scream at him. The muffled noises of frustration that do make it past your lips seem only to amuse him and you twist in your chair in a vain desire to lash out.

“Oh don’t be that way…” he tuts and bends down, smirking directly in your face even though you can’t see it. “You’d even be my type if you weren’t tied to that bastard. Maybe we could have some fun before your usefulness is done.”

That’s a line too far, and you instinctively start screaming, not like you’re trying to call for help but like you would call him every horrible name in the book if you could speak. There’s no way you can move but you take a chance, even knowing it’s a long shot. Reeling back as quickly as possible, you hit your head forward and manage to connect – head butting the bastard and making him stumble and fall backward into some nearby furniture, from the sound of it. Bastard.

“Bitch!” he growls, rushing forward and raising his hand. Bringing it down against the side of your face and slapping you hard enough to nearly knock your chair over. “Fuck with me and I start chopping you into pieces now!” He bellows.

Muffled and muted, the "Fuck you!" you scream as loud as you can is just clear enough to understand. You've gone from terrified to pissed, and it feels like a light switch has turned on inside you. These fuckers aren't getting shit from you. Not even another tear.

******

Honestly, Jack doesn’t remember a time when he’s pushed the Pony Express so hard. Finally setting down on the runway, he ignores the curious and awed looks of the grounds crews of the airport and starts looking around. “Where are my wheels, Ginger?”

"Rye is in the black SUV on the edge of the runway." Ginger fires back immediately. Champ had authorized the rescue mission immediately and sent one of the senior agents from the New York office to be at Jack's disposal.

“Goddamnit this is all my fault,” Jack spots the car and starts running, not bothering to change out of his flight suit. “She should be in her kitchen!”

"I've combed the security footage from Times Square." In his ear, Ginger is clicking through countless screens with images of you from all angles - a large number of them featuring a group of seven men and a large SUV that you appear to get into willingly. "She got into a slate gray SUV with a group of seven men on West 51st between 8th and Broadway."

“Who the fuck are they?” Jack demands, ripping the door open and jumping inside the car. He spares Rye a nod as he waits for his answer. “And did you track the SUV?”

“I’m working on the car. It drops off the traffic cameras after the Williamsburg Bridge.” A few clicks can be heard in the background and Ginger hums. “I have records on four of the seven men. Domestic, drug charges, firearms, breaking and entering, the usual gamut of ‘goon’ crimes. But…” she muffles a groaning sound. “Jack. Some of these guys are from your hometown…”

“What?” Jack slams his fist on the dashboard, sick that his suspicions are right. This is all his fault. “Give me their names.”

"Hank Rollins, Ben Jeffrey, Andrew Kelly, and Sean Perring. All from Lloyd, Montana." Ginger bites her lip, sighing at her screen. "On the sidewalk footage she appears to be going with them willingly, but from your reaction I'm guessing that isn't the case."

“Rollins.” Jack growls out, pissed off to hear the name after so long, thinking that he’d escaped the fucking family feud unscathed. “Haven’t heard that name in a long time. Hoped to never hear it again.”

“They’ve had her for nineteen hours now.” Ginger swallows, not liking how high that number is. “And we haven’t had a ransom note or a phone call of any kind.”

“Shit.” Jack shakes his head. “Take me to where she was taken. Now.”

Rye doesn’t hesitate, throwing the car into gear and heading for the road at a full tilt. Getting close to Broadway at any time of day is a task, but if they have to, he can pull any number of public safety tricks to be able to block off part of the area. Being a Statesman agent in New York City means having a few tricks up his sleeve. “What can we be expecting?” He asks Jack, wondering if the other agent might have an idea now that he knows some of what is going on.

“Anything.” Jack’s teeth grind together. “This is personal. A family feud over land disputes dating back to the fuckin’ 1800s.” Jack hisses, shaking his head. “I left the goddamn valley for a reason.”

“They grabbed her over a two-hundred-year-old land dispute?” Nothing should surprise him at this point, with what he’s seen as a Statesman agent, but Rye still huffs. “What the hell do they want you to do? Time travel?” It’s the absence of a ransom demand that makes him nervous. They took an agent’s soulmate and it’s not money they’re after.

“When my daddy died, I put the land in the hands of the ranch board.” Jack tells him. “I didn’t wanna fucking ranch, not after Abigail died. Rollins wants me to sell to him, but I can’t. It has to be passed down to blood.”

"So what's the idea?" Speeding through the streets as fast as possible without causing an accident, Rye keeps his eyes on the road but frowns. "Make sure she's out of the picture so there's no blood to pass it down to?"

“Did I mention that the entire Rollins family is as crazy as a fuckin’ loon?” Jack huffs, shaking his head and even more worried about you now that he knows that bastard is behind your disappearance. “Who the hell knows? Tried to claim I’d stolen his soulmate at one point.”

“Jesus.” The other agent huffs, continuing to weave their way through the thick New York traffic. “It’s up to you how you want to approach this,” he tells Jack honestly. “She’s your soulmate.”

“She doesn’t get hurt.” His answer is immediate, almost growled out. “Not a fuckin’ hair on her head.”

“Copy that.” His tone says everything, and Rye doesn’t ask any more questions. “We’ll get her back.”

Finally, the SUV comes to a screeching stop at the spot where you were forced into a vehicle. Jack throws open the doors and bolts out, eyes scanning the ground for something – anything. It's a long shot, but there's got to be something here that would show that you were here. Some marker. Anything.

Any street in New York City has trash and debris to a certain extent, and there are traces of people having been through the area just because of how much car and foot traffic moves through Broadway every single day. Broken bottles, cigarette butts, tissues, all the normal bits of peoples' lives that go by the wayside are littered about on steps and in sidewalk cracks. Candy wrappers or coffee cups by the curb. Rye combs the area for specialized clues – a name on a cup or a wrapper from a list of the favourite snacks listed in your file, but frustratingly finds nothing.

“Come on, there’s gotta be something here!” Jack huffs, kicking a trash can and there is the tiny clink of something metal being launched against it. “Fuck, what’s this?”

Rye bends over, swiping up the item as it glints in the sun. "Looks like a bracelet." He inspects it carefully, not finding a serial number or any indication of a designer, except for a small engraving in the tip that looks like a maker's mark. "Maybe Ginger can track down the manufacturer? It's a long shot that it will help, but it's something."

“It’s hers.” Jack stares at the inscription on the inside of the bracelet. “Beautiful girl, you can do hard things.” He reads aloud. “She—she showed me this. It’s a quote her grandmother would tell her.” His mouth is dry and he takes it from Rye to put in his pocket, determined to put it back on your wrist himself. “Let’s hope she can hang on. Just hold on, sugar. I’m comin’.”

"Whiskey. Rye." Ginger's voice in their ears makes both men's heads perk up, listening for a report from their eyes and ears. "The car registration belongs to a shell corporation owned by the Rollins family. They also own a shipping company with containers in the Brooklyn Navy Yard." She clears her throat pointedly. "Right off of the Williamsburg Bridge where we lost the car."

“Get us there now.” Jack points at Rye and starts running back to the Statesman SUV like his heels are being nipped by the hounds of hell. “Ginger, I need you to get me the specs of that building.”

"Sending them now." Her voice is accompanied by the sound of keyboard clacking as Rye and Whiskey jump back into the car, peeling back out onto Broadway to head toward Williamsburg. The heavy traffic doesn't part for them easily but Rye was chosen for this assignment specifically for his abilities as a driver.

“Ginger, is there any indication on how they know that I have another soulmate?” Jack demands, tensing the closer that he gets with every mile to the shipyard. He knows he will kill them; he’ll kill every last one of them to protect you. “They don’t seem to know I’m a fuckin’ spy.”

"I'm working on it." It isn't something that has been advertised, obviously, and Jack has kept his marks from you hidden since they first appeared on his skin. There are few people who know, most of whom have priority clearance. She's gone through all the background checks on the new Statesman employees and the places you frequent, all the men you've dated, even all the way back through the staff at The Whitney months ago who might have seen your marks on your first soulmate before the accident. Not a single red flag had risen, but Ginger hesitates for just a split second as she tries to think through more connections. There was one - just one – the newest line cook for The Rabbit Hole that makes her hesitate. "Have you ever heard her mention a man named Tripp Tanner?" Ginger asks, pulling up the file on the man once more. It's too pristine. Too squeaky clean. Too pitch-perfect. Like it's been manufactured.

Jack is ashamed to say that you’ve not been doin’ a whole lot of talkin’ around him. It’s not like he’s really encouraged close conversations. Keeping things as surface level as he could to not make it more difficult. Even though every day he aches and he hates that he aches. “No.” Though he recognizes the name, he can’t place it. “She hasn’t mentioned him. Why? Is he one of the ones she’s been…uh, seein’?” His ears burn slightly, noticing the way Rye’s eyes cut from the road to look over at him but he tries to ignore it.

"No, he—" Ginger hates that it makes her stammer, feeling like your dating is partially her fault because it started with her brother. "He's on her staff. The background check is clean and his resume is spotless. But it's too clean, so it's the best lead I have. I'm running him through Statesman facial recognition now." The Statesman database is far more complex and complete than any government or criminal database. If her gut feeling is right, it might kick up a result.

“Send me a picture of the boy.” Jack grunts, having already looked at the blueprints of the building where you might be. It’s better than you being in a random shipping container. They might never find you if that’s the case.

"His employee ID photo is coming through now." More taps come from Ginger's end of the conversation before a muffled shriek of dismay. "Shit. Jack— Tanner is from Lloyd, too. He changed his name from Rollins two years ago. Stephen Stuart Rollins the third - nickname Tripp - has a rap sheet a mile long."

“Son of a bitch.” Jack hisses, his grip on the dashboard nearly about to put an indentation in it. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t been avoidin’ her, I woulda recognized the bastard.”

"We'll fix it on this end, Jack." She promises him. "Just go bring her home."

“She hates me.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I was— I wasn’t very nice to her.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll forgive you after you save her life.” Ginger sighs, watching the dot on her on-screen map that represents her two agents speed toward the warehouse where she’s figured out you’re being held. “Stop these assholes first, apologize second. She— she thinks you hate her. That’s what she told Gabriella, anyway.”

“I don’t hate her.” Jack grumbles, feeling guilty as hell because he knows that’s what it looked like.

“I would suggest telling her that.” Even though Ginger’s voice goes soft, she’s following their movements and watching the Navy Yard security cameras. “There’s movement at the building. I don’t see her, but I’m counting…six men outside the building.”

“Good.” Jack’s voice is grim and his brows are knitted together. “Every single one of them is going in the ground, Ging. This feud ends today.”

******

There is a group of men milling about around a large brick building with the number 31 painted above the bay doors. Cars parked haphazardly nearby with doors flung open present as frustratingly casual, but the large, dark gray van from the sidewalk cam footage is nowhere in sight.

“So what are we doin’ here, Whiskey?” Rye demands, slowing the vehicle down so it doesn’t look like they are barreling into the place. “Are we run in guns blazing or using some stealth?”

Every instinct inside him is screaming to run in guns blazing, but he can’t risk another man inside hurting you. “Shit.” He hisses. “Turn down the service road and park the fucking car.” He grunts. “We’re sneakin’ up on the bastards.”

The service road runs behind the old abattoir buildings and Rye tucks the car out of sight so he and Whiskey can arm themselves out of the trunk before coming up on the group of abductors. “Three doors on the blueprint.” Rye murmurs, tucking a Bowie knife into the sheath on his belt. “Those buildings are big, we gotta be methodical.”

Jack finally shucks the flight suit, changing into his standard jeans and a button up with a sports coat. His double six shooters tucked into their holsters and his electric whip and lasso tucked into his belt. “They are going to keep her somewhere small, like an office. Probably have her tied to a chair, the bastards.”

“I’m followin’ your lead.” Tucking a few throwing knives into the hidden pockets of his jacket for good measure, Rye nods for Jack to step out first. This is his operation and Rye will do what he needs to keep him covered.

He moves silently, deciding that he will pull his weapons later to get as close as possible without seeming suspicious. Crouching low enough that his knees protest, Jack skirts the edge of the loading docks and edges towards the northeast door. The one farthest away from the group out front.

There is no guard at the northeast door. The bastards obviously are either overconfident or underprepared, and Rye picks the padlock in record time to let Jack get inside with minimal noise. No alarm sounds, no person is alerted. It looks to be a storage room, and the two men pass through it easily to find a claustrophobic hallway waiting for them beyond the interior door.

There’s a muffled sound, Jack tensing and hisses under his breath when he recognizes the sound of screaming through a gag. “Fuck.” He murmurs, imagining all sorts of horrible things. “That way.”

The room where the noises are coming from is non-descript now, empty except for some card tables and chairs, and the remains of a meal spread out with some discarded firearms and a bag of who-knows-what open on the ground. Two large men are hunched in the center of the room. Deep, rumbling laughter rolls from them and cigarette smoke is pungent in the air as the muffled shrieks get slightly more panicked. Still blindfolded and gagged, the front legs of the chair that you've been zip-tied to almost constantly your arrival in this place have been broken, leaving you kneeling on the cement floor between the two of them. One who has decided to turn your shoulder into his ashtray, and the other who is deciding which fingernail to pull off with the pliers in his hand. Presumably to send to Jack.

“Shit, shit.” Jack hisses under his breath, the urge to rush in there nearly overwhelming but he doesn’t want to give them a chance to anticipate. Stealth is needed and he slowly starts to pull his pistols out but decides against it. He wants this to be more personal, so he reaches for the whip and lasso.

“I know, I know.” Rollins drawls, holding onto your left hand to inspect your fingernails. “Jack likes his girls done up, so not being able to have all your nails painted is gonna disappoint him.” He tuts, finally deciding that your pointer finger mail is long enough to get a good grip on with the pliers. You’re screaming and crying again after a few hours of putting on a brave face and he’s enjoying it. “If ya like I could just cut off the whole finger? That might be more fun for everybody.”

“More fun if you get the fuck away from her and face me like a man, Rollins.” Jack bursts through the door and squares up, his eyes not even looking at you as he focuses on the man responsible. “Always knew you were a chickenshit, but this is low even for you.”

Jack? You would know his voice anywhere, even as often as you’re at odds you’ve still memorized the tone and tenor. He came. He actually came. As fast as your heart was beating before, the pace doubles now and the tears soaking your blindfold are relief. He came for you. It might not say ‘love’, but it doesn’t say ‘hate’.

The deep, rolling, evil laugh that bubbles out of the man beside you is so pleased that it makes you physically ill just to hear. Rollins, as Jack calls him, drops your hand but stomps on the back leg of the chair you’re tied to for good measure - breaking it and sending you crashing to the ground with another scream. There is no way you can see what’s going to happen with the blindfold, but at least the two men have lost interest in torturing you for the moment.

“Daniels.” The game is up and if Rollins is surprised that Jack has found out that it’s him, he doesn’t show it. Too deep into his madness and he sneers at the man in front of him. “You came with a whip?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Always knew you were a fucking idiot.”

The man who had been standing in the other side of you drops his cigarette beside you - probably hoping to burn your clothes in the process - and squares his shoulders like he’s planning to make a run at Jack but isn’t sure he’ll win.

“I’m begging you too.” Jack growls out, wanting nothing more than to have them strike first. Give him a reason to cut them into pieces with his tech. Rye moves past the door behind him, intent on taking out the others while he saves you. “Do it.”

“Begging.” Rollins laughs again, taking a step forward. “Tripp, don’t fuckin’ move. Keep a gun on the bitch until I say otherwise.” The sound of the safety of a gun clicking is now intimately familiar to you and you squirm on the ground, trying to push your chair away from it even a little, but a pressure on your ribcage stops you. It’s unmistakably a foot. And you’ve only heard the name Tripp once in your entire life - meaning the jackass you hired to your kitchen to bolster numbers now has his goddamn boot in your side. You knew you recognized that fucking voice.

“It’ll be the last fucking thing you do, Tripp.” Jack hisses, keeping his eyes on the older, more unhinged brother. “Finally gone off the deep end, huh? What’s this all about?” He doesn’t know why the Rollins boys are after you to get to him. Doesn’t understand it. He’s not run the ranch since he was in high school.

"You're a hard man to get through to, Daniels." Hank tells him, smug smirk still painted across his crooked face. "Last time I had to talk real loud to make you listen. Figured I'd have to do it again."

His head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to figure out what he means by that. “Well, I’m here now. Whadya gotta say?”

"Y'all got something I want." And even after fifteen years, he hasn't figured out a way other than this to get it. Something that isn't criminal. "Now, the last time I made myself heard, you went off and skipped town with your tail between your legs like a spurned schoolgirl on prom night." Hank Rollins takes out his own gun, the pistol pointed directly at your head when he stretches out his arm. "But I'm sick and tired of a whole world that thinks the sun shines outta Jack Daniels' ass crack."

Jack’s entire world narrows and focuses on his words, taking them and twisting them in his mind. “The last time…” He growls. “My wife died in a fuckin’ robbery.” He hisses, fingers twitching on the whip and hovering over the button that would turn it deadly.

The way Hank Rollins laughs - the wicked, pleased, loathsome way he chortles at Jack's pain - almost makes you physically sick. "I love that you bought that," he gloats, taking another step toward the senior Statesman agent, ignoring his backup altogether if he's even taken a long enough look to see Rye in the room. "Hook. Line. And sinker. Goddamn beautiful."

“What did you do, you bastard?” His knuckles are practically white and he curls his lips back in disgust. “A pregnant woman? Why? What evil did I do to you?”

"You took what was mine." His free hand moves to his sleeve even as Jack watches him more carefully than a hawk. When Rollins rolls up his shirt sleeve, there is a scar there that is burned into Jack's memory as clear as day - Abigail was bitten by the neighbor's dog as a little girl and wore the scar for her entire life. "You brainwashed her against me. And you paraded my soulmate around town like your fucking prize, Daniels. That boy should've been mine, too."

“I wore her marks.” Jack hisses. “Every goddamn one of them and you know it! They would be gone if she was your soulmate.” He always thought Hank was insane, and this just proves it. The marks would have disappeared. They wouldn’t be there, just like they disappeared from Jack when she died. “But you mean to tell me that you murdered her because I had her and you wanted her?”

"I saved her!" Rollins snaps back, waving his gun in your direction as the rage builds in him. "The wife of some city-slicker pretty boy without the sense to keep a single fuckin' eye on the most important woman in the world. She would have been miserable bearing your heathen children and picking up the pieces of everything you ever broke."

Jack scoffs, knowing it won’t make any use to point out that he grew up in the same small damn valley Hank did. That they both worked and lived on ranches. The Daniels spread was more lucrative thanks to his Grandaddy being a smart man and the Rollins have always been a little unhinged. Hank and his younger brother being the worst of them all. “Point the gun at me, not her.” As devastating as it is to hear him talk about Abigail that way, you are the one in danger right now. His heart bursting with the need to see you safe.

"Now, c'mon." Rollins drawls, throwing his brother a smirk from a few feet away. "Don't start pretendin' you like her now. She already knows why you can't look her in the eye. Lyin' piece of shit."

Jack wishes he could see your eyes, but they are covered. All he can hear is the panicked breathing and sobs from your poor body. “Your issue is with me. She ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

"Cryin' over a man who can't ever love her." Tutting as he shakes his head, Rollins moves his gun temporarily from pointing at your head to Jack, but goes back again. He's having too much fun watching the man he despises twist. "You been treatin' this one even worse than my Abigail."

It’s in his chest to scream out that Abigail was his, but she’s dead and you’re here, alive and depending on him. His heart clenches and he rocks his jaw. “If you know how I’ve been treatin’ her, why take her? Why not let her go? I’m here now. You’ve got my attention.”

“You want me to let her go?” Hank Rollins scoffs to his brother and seems to weigh his options. As far as he’s concerned there’s no reason this can’t be as much fun as he likes. “I could see my way to lettin’ that happen,” he concedes with another contemptuous chuckle. “You got two options, Daniels. One is I shoot her in the head right now and you walk free knowin’ you’re the reason two innocent women are dead. But two? Two is you take her place. Right here and now. I’ll let her walk right out on outta here. Yer friend there can even get her home safe. Either way, yer signing over that ranch land and the whole business operatin’ on it over to me first.”

“Done.” The word is out of his mouth so fast he’s not even sure if he actually said them out loud. Maybe he just thought it. But then Rollins’ face cracks into a wide grin and he looks like he’s struck gold. “Let her go, and I’ll take her place.”

It may not be discernable words, but the hoarse screams coming from you now are crystal clear - pleading with him not to take your place. As much as this is the very last circumstance you would ever want to be in, as much as you cannot fathom how this absolute basket case Rollins thinks his 'plan' could ever succeed, Jack is worth far more to the world at large – and to you. So if either one of you is walking out of here, it should be him. Thrashing as much as your binding will allow, trying to toss off the foot of the man standing on you or else wiggle away from the pressure, probably a move that will end in broken bones, but you couldn't care less. Just as long as Jack stays far away from this chair.

“Let her go.” That’s all that matters to Jack right now. Getting you far away, keeping you safe. “Now.” Hank huffs and rolls his eyes, pointing the weapon at your head once more for the sheer pleasure of watching Jack’s face drain of all life. “Fine.” He grumbles, motioning to Tripp. “Get her up and hand her over to whatever city boy he has with him.” He doesn’t get to watch you die, which is disappointing, but he gets Jack Daniels and the land his family stole. It might even be better this way.

Tripp grumbles, on the verge of protesting, but he does as he's told...mostly. All he really does is kick you - still attached to the chair - over to the man a few feet away. Rye immediately drops to his knees, murmuring to you quietly who he is and that he's going to untie you, Bowie knife out of its sheath and slicing away at the ties and tape that bind you to the chair that has been your prison for the last God only knows how many hours. As soon as your ankles are free you kick your legs, trusting that this other Statesman agent is here to help but wanting desperately to get to Jack to stop him from giving your literal kidnapper what he wants. As soon as your wrists are free you shove the blindfold off your eyes and drag the gag out of your mouth, shrinking away from the light in the same breath that you scream for Jack not to give in with everything you have left in you. Which, after countless hours screaming, crying, and very nearly choking on a ball of knotted cloth, is hoarse at best.

Finally looking over at you, Jack is furious by how swollen your eyes are, how raw your voice is. He doesn’t say anything about it though. Knowing it would give Hank a thrill to know how much he pissed Jack off. “Get out of here, sugar.” There’s a lot that Jack wants to say, but there’s no time. He needs you away from this room. “You’ve got a restaurant to open, remember? Go with Rye.”

Like the nail in the top of the coffin, you reel back at being ordered away. Not a moment of gentleness or sensitivity after being fucking kidnapped by the man who is still as obsessed with his wife as Jack is. After being convinced he wouldn't come for you only to feel such soaring hope at hearing his voice, the desolation of realizing that he only came because you're a complication and that he never felt any kind of tenderness or care for you at all. It's almost reassuring, in a way. To know that you at least had the right level of expectation in the beginning is something, at least.

It isn't hard to bundle you up into his arms when you deflate, but Rye doesn't say anything about it. Only tucks you against him and helps you shuffle toward the door on weak legs. "Come on, darlin'," he murmurs, glancing back at Jack. "We'll get you fixed up right. Let Jack handle it from here."

"Sure." Even one word makes you cough, but you don't put up a fight or try to get back to him. To your fucking soulmate. After all - you have a restaurant to open. God forbid you get behind on your commitment to Statesman for any reason.

He wants to call you back, to talk to you. His heart aching with every step you take away from him, but it’s safer. He sees the glint in Hank’s eyes, he knows he’s looking for another reason to strike out. Possibly waiting until Jack talks to you to shoot you. He can’t risk that. He can’t risk you. No matter what, his soulmate – you – needs to survive.

After about four steps, Rye stops your shuffling and scoops you up, not wanting you to walk on any injuries or aggravate anything. He nods to Jack and carries you out the back door, planning on bundling you into the backseat of the SUV and then taking out the stragglers out in front of the abattoir. But you need to be safe, first.

It feels like you’ve cried every tear in your body, and this bitter disappointment is met with stony silence and efficiency of movement. It doesn’t take long to get you out of there but Rye does it carefully, promising you in low tones that everything is going to be okay from here. That you’re safe. That Jack’s going to take care of you. The last part just makes you feel hollow as you nod.

“Now you stay right here,” Rye croons, buckling you into the backseat and tapping a few times on his watch. “Ginger, I need your eyes in the car. Our girl is safe but I gotta take care of somethin’ before we clear out of here.”

“Copy.” Ginger acknowledges the request and as soon as Rye closes the doors, the entire vehicle locks and a red light above the rear-view mirror flashes on. The built-in screens in the headrests come on and you can barely see Ginger’s concerned face. “Honey, I need you to listen to me.” She urges. “It’s Astrid. The Statesman cars come equip with medical facilities for injuries. I’m going to scan you now.”

Talking hurts, with how hoarse you are, but you nod at Astrid’s face on screen and only shrink away from the bright lights - What are those? Lasers? - for a second before you remember she has never done anything to hurt you. “Everything hurts.” It’s just a whisper, but it’s there.

“I know, I’m going to make sure that you feel better, okay?” Sorrow and rage fill the Statesman tech as the images comes back to her. Multiple contusions, burns - obviously from cigarettes - two broken ribs and a fractured ankle. All of them evidence of the horrific torture you endured at the hands of those madmen. “I can have a shot administered.” She tells you through the screen, trying not to show her emotions. “Just a tiny prick and then you will feel so much better. Can I do that?” It’s important right now for you to feel like you have control. That nothing is being done to you anymore and she wants you to be comfortable.

“Sure.” You murmur, hoping it’s something like morphine or stronger so you don’t have to think or feel anything. “A-Astrid?” Right before whatever happens happens, you look up to find her eyes watching you on screen. “How…how long have I been gone? Does my family know?”

Pausing for a moment, Ginger nods. “Your brother filed a police report, this morning. After Jack went to your house when you didn’t leave for work this morning—”

“Jack came to my house?” You practically whisper it, but Ginger hears you loud and clear. “He did. You’d been missing for seventeen hours when Jack jumped into the jet to come to New York.” She confirms softly.

“Will you just…let them know I’m okay?” Whatever lie Statesman tells people, you’ll go with it. It’s just that right now you can’t wrap your head around the idea of Jack giving two shits about you enough to check on you at home - let alone rescue you. It’s too much.

“As soon as I get you feeling better, I will have the local police contact them to tell them that you are safe.” She promises, knowing that you wouldn’t want them to worry. “We’re going to bring you back to Statesman to put you in our hyperbaric healing station. Six hours in it and you will be completely healed.”

“Okay.” As long as they tell your family you’re okay, you could care less what else happens. Everything hurts, there are no more tears to cry, and it’s possible that you feel even more hopeless about Jack ever sparing you a second glance ever again. Soulmates. Fucking laughable. Whoever Abigail was, she was clearly more important and more wonderful to multiple people than you’ll ever be. “Astrid?” When you look up again she’s still watching you intentely. “Can…can you get rid of my tattoo while I’m in there?”

“Are you sure you want that?” She asks quietly, her eyes searching your face through the screen to try to get an inkling of what you are thinking. “You don’t have to make any big decisions now.”

“The scars, too. You said you could erase scars.” Let him be free. Is all you can think. Obviously nobody was exaggerating about the danger you were in, but it’s more than that. It’s how, when Jack barely spared you a single glance, it hurt more than anything the Rollins brothers ever could have dreamt up.

The silence lingers in the air, suspended between the two of you for a long moment. Ginger sighs softly. “Of course.” She murmurs, hating how broken you appear. “We will get rid of them all.”

Gunshots, unmistakable now that you’ve heard them up close and personal, ring out from multiple directions and you sink down in the back of the car you know for a fact is bulletproof - all Statesman vehicles are - out of instinct. “And Astrid?” You watch the automated needle release from the door handle of the SUV and make sure your arm is in line for the injection. “Remind me to fire Tripp.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.” Ginger promises you softly. On another screen in her lab, she can see the feeds from both Rye and Jack, and the justice that is being delivered is swift and brutal. They messed with a Statesman’s soulmate, and Jack grunts in pleasure as he retracts the whip on the left screen, pieces of Hank and Tripp Rollins scattered around the room.

A clean up team will be deployed from the New York Statesman building to scrub the site. Body removal is a necessary evil of the job and Statesman has some of the best. By the time footsteps can be heard running back toward you in the car, Ginger’s injection is starting to take hold and you’re finally feeling drowsy. Adrenaline and fear have had you on high alert since you were taken, but having Astrid’s face and voice to reassure you is soothing.

Shouting your name, Jack rushes towards the SUV. The only thing in his mind has been to get to you. To make sure you are okay. He knows Rye will be alright and he needs to see you. He manages to get to the rear door before Ginger deactivates the locks and security, yanking on the handle. “Let me in! Let me in!” He yells frantically.

“She’s out, Jack.” Ginger’s voice in his earpiece comes with a sigh as she deactivates the locks and lets him into the car. “She’s hurt pretty badly so I gave her a sedative. When you get back to Statesman, get her in a medical chopper and bring her to my lab asap.”

“Oh my god.” Jack rips open the door and climbs into the back seat, finding you slumped against the other door. “What— what did they do to her?” He demands, panicked because he’s never seen you like this. Angry at himself that he let this happen. Gathering you against him, he runs his hands over your body as he pulls you into his lap.

“Nothing I can’t fix,” she promises him, not wanting to give him the full rundown of your injuries when he’s still visibly upset enough to lash out. “She’ll be okay, Jack. But I don’t want her to go into shock or accidentally aggravate an injury, and she said she was in pain. That’s why I needed to medicate her.”

“Tell me what they did to her, Ginger Ale.” Jack demands again, turning towards the screen even as he is cradling you and stroking your face.

Ginger sighs, softly again, and looks down at her diagnostic pad. Avoiding Jack’s eyes while she reads this off will probably be better. “Two broken ribs, fractured ankle, superficial burns clearly from cigarettes. Bruising, contusions, and internal injuries consistent with being beaten, waterboarded, and kicked multiple times.”

“Motherfuckers.” Jack hisses, tightening his grip on you to where you whimper in your unconscious state. Immediately relaxing his hold on you and petting your face to soothe both of you. “I should have made it take more time. I should have beat him to death with my fists.” He growls. “I’m gonna burn their fucking legacy to the ground and piss on the ashes.”

“Jack.” This time Ginger’s tone is a warning. It’s not frequently that she hears this kind of rage from him – usually only in relation to his late wife. “She’ll be okay,” she repeats. “But she’s going to need support. Mentally. Emotionally.”

“It’s my fault, Ginger!” He hisses, his own emotions beyond rage finally surfacing from the compact box he had shoved them in to be the agent he needed to be in order for both of you to get out of that building alive. “She would have been at home— it’s my fault. She asked…she asked me about my birthday and I lashed out at her.” He chokes back a sob and looks down at your face. “I didn’t protect her.”

“Then you’ll apologize. And you’ll make sure it never happens again.” Jack isn’t a man who breaks down unless the stress is truly unbearable, and as his friend Ginger has seen only a bare handful of these moments. “She wants me to remove her marks when she gets here,” she tells him carefully. “Just so you know.”

Jack closes his eyes, absorbing the meaning behind it. “She wants to be rid of me.” He whispers, knowing it’s his fault when he had pushed you away and kept you at arm’s length. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry sugar. I should have been keepin’ you close. Keepin’ you safe.”

“You can talk to her when she’s awake,” Ginger murmurs, watching Rye finish with the last of the goons on the video feed from his glasses. “I’m deploying Delta Team to sweep up. You and Rye get back to the New York building and you get her in a chopper first thing. If she wakes up before you get back, you can talk then. If not?” Ginger watches Rye running back to the SUV, so much more composed than Jack for having no personal stake in this mission. “If not, then it might be tomorrow morning. After she’s done at the lab.”

He’s not happy, but he nods. Holding you and refusing to let you out of his arms as Rye comes climbing back into the SUV. “Where’s the chopper, Ginger?” Jack demands, knowing he needs to get you home and mended.

“There’s a helipad on the other side of the Navy Yard. Five minutes from where you are. I can have them meet you there.”

“Copy that, Ginger.” Rye takes the suggestion as absolute, seeing the condition you’re in, and the car comes roaring to life a second later.

“Goddamnit, sugar.” Jack huffs, his hand smoothing over your hair as he tries to look past the damage inflicted on you to see the woman who had intrigued him from the start. “You gotta hang on. You gotta get better.” He murmurs. “I gotta lotta grovelin’ to do when you’re up for it.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @lunarcatbun 118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088 @sunnygrey99 @lexinicolenix @lazyemisfandomtrash @curiouskeyboard @qualityearthquakes @spider-284748 @unnecesarysstuff @sgt-morgan @love-affair-with-fandoms @lunarcatbun @kstar770 @kykymarty @supergingerlocks @hell0kittybimb0222 @a-birds-fin @loidforgerishotashell @mythical-writer @ghostshalo @avengersimaginesfan @sccialcasualty @lordecult @petalo-dropsart @i-quite-like-eating-carrots @svudetective @hasta-la-pasta-bb @manicpixiedreamgirly @destinydog @skeppycarnation @anaisweird @critters-beware @fruityforcocoapuffs @linnnniie @spideyromantic @paupeach2024 @faithxyu @fxramir @legomyeggo @jjggdfvvy @hi-my-name-is-riley @kasaikawa @lost-ghost-thats-sleepy @callmegkiddo @2dead2function @generallysleepdeprived @failingclassesinmygucciglasses @thebeesknees42 @moonmoon007 @wi0na @cilliansangel @lostinsideourminds @angstismydrug @elvenmother @bilibiche @kettlekatie @preschoolispunk @djarinsstuff @generallysleepdeprived @love-affair-with-fandoms @jay-ghostly @wowieitbeme @fanofverymanythings @josephquinnswhore @this-harl0t-shant-be-unalive @djarinsstuff @justherebecausesafarisucks @cedricbitch @rebel-soldat

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Whiskey Danels #Agent Whiskey #Agent Whiskey x reader #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au #canon typical violence #graphic depictions of violence

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mxlfoydraco · 1 year

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Hello, do you have Drarry Fic Recs centered around Christmas or the Holiday Season? :) Love your blog, best regards

Apparently, I know more Christmas fics than I thought I would? Considering that I'm not a Christmas person at all lmao. Another caveat that I took a 2 year hiatus, several friends have written advent/holidays fics but I'm not very up to date!

Humbug (A Christmas Tale) by Snegurochka (80k)

Draco has been taking his casual relationship with Harry for granted. Visits from four key ghosts the night before Christmas just might shake up his priorities in life.

All Roads Lead Home by dracogotgame (14k)

Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.

The Safe House by emmagrant01 (10k)

Aurors Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are forced to spend Christmas together in a safe house. Bet you can guess what happens. ;-)

A Lick and a Promise by @tackytigerfic (55k)

Something sinister stirs in Hogwarts! When magical creatures and students at the school are hit with a debilitating blood curse, Minerva McGonagall approaches the Ministry for help. Star Auror Harry Potter seems to be the obvious choice to go undercover—as DADA Professor, naturally. He’s going to need the help of the Ministry’s foremost expert in blood magic to get to the bottom of the mystery, though, and he’s not entirely convinced that going back to Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy is a good idea. Things are complicated between them—what’s new?—but they know they have to learn to work together (and keep their hands off each other in the corridors) in order to solve this case. Luckily for them, Hogwarts itself wants to lend a hand. A tale of love, lessons, and learning to really live.

Un Noël très parisien by @femmequixotic and @noeeon (14k)

When Draco crossed paths with Auror Potter at a political function in Paris, he was not expecting their former animosity to change into something rather more intriguing. But he could be certain their casual flirtation would not last more than the night, couldn't he?

The Light More Beautiful by @firethesound (81k)

Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter's help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn't been enough to dim Draco's obsession with him.

And a Malfoy in a Pear Tree by lauren3210 (7k)

Draco works in a coffee shop. Harry drops by every day to get his fix. Of coffee, Ron.

Settle in in my slow-burning heart - orphaned (10k)

"So maybe it really actually starts like this: Draco is gifted a truly horribly ugly Christmas jumper by his mother, and is guilt-tripped into wearing it at work. Apparently Harry takes the hideousness of the jumper to mean that Draco is okay with receiving terribly ugly things for presents, because the next time he’s abroad – in bloody Chicago – he brings back an eagle with the American flag on its back that is capable of singing the first three lines of the American anthem if you press it on the stomach back for Draco." __ Five years after the war Draco is working a tech developer job in the Auror Office, and it's all great except this one thing: Harry Potter works there, too. Things only become stranger when Harry starts bringing Draco ugly souvenirs back from his work travels. When Harry then shows up injured in Draco's flat, Draco considers the possibility that he's going insane.

Anatomy of a Wolf Heart by @clytemenestras (40k)

MALFOY HEIR FOUND ALIVE IN WEREWOLF FIGHTING RING Three years ago at the tragic Battle that freed our great Wizarding World from the grip of a megalomaniac Dark Wizard, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, our world lost many Witches and Wizards. Among the dead and missing was Draco Malfoy, the only son of notorious Death Eaters Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, both of whom volunteered their home for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to use as a headquarters. Sources have confirmed that the young Malfoy took a vow to follow in his parents footsteps by taking the Dark Mark. Inside sources have uncovered that the Malfoy heir has been found alive. Aurors recently went undercover to expose a fighting ring involving illegal potions and unregistered werewolves. Among those rescued was Draco Malfoy.

It’s No Great Mystery by @agentmoppet (57k)

Who on earth decided that bringing back the Yule Ball for their eighth year would be a good idea? It feels like the worst day of Harry’s life, watching everyone get glammed up like the war never happened, like the last Triwizard Tournament wasn’t such a colossal failure. And then it happens again. And again. And again.

come with me into the light by @tryslora (21k)

Everything has changed by the time Harry returns to Hogwarts for his second attempt at his final year. He no longer wears glasses, he mourns dead friends from the war, and Draco Malfoy walks the halls as if he is a ghost as well. When Pansy asks Harry to help snap Malfoy out of his silence, what else is he supposed to say? Malfoy needs to be saved, and that's just what Harry does.

The One Where Everybody Finds Out by @slytherco (8k)

Prompt: "That’s mistletoe we’re standing under.”

---

Remember those few legendary F.R.I.E.N.D.S. episodes where Chandler and Monica thought they were SUPER sneaky with their relationship but all their friends found out one after another? Well, here's just that - in Drarry flavour.

Come Back to Me by Sophie_French (28k)

Lily Malfoy-Potter could ask Father Christmas many things: a beautiful doll with glittering pink and purple robes, a stuffed kneazle just like her cousin Rose’s or even a colour-changing diadem like the princesses in the bedtime stories her Papa tells her. But she won’t. No, this year, she will only ask for one thing: for her Papa and Daddy to get back together and be happy again. She just can’t wait.

A Room Up There (And You In It) by @the-starryknight (59k)

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit. Featuring a grumpy antiques lover who most certainly did not sign up for this, encounters with a vengeful apparition, and a healthy application of Christmas spirit.

A Melody of You & Me by @academicdisasterfic (64k)

Draco Malfoy has a Christmas choir competition to win, and Harry Potter has an orphanage that needs funding. When Luna Lovegood intervenes, they agree to help each other out: Harry will join the choir if Draco chooses to sponsor his charity. But agreeing to work together also means getting to know each other again - in new and unexpected ways. Ft. a chaotic festive choir, scheming friends, a healthy dose of mental health issues, one very irritating ex, and boys learning how to love and be loved.

All I Want For Christmas (Is For You To Stop Talking) by @femmequixotic and @noeeon (162k)

The Niffler's Garden is the most prestigious wizarding nursery school in England and has been for the last century or more. Harry Potter's boys are both enrolled as pupils at the Garden. When he volunteers to assist with the Yule pageant, he has no idea that he'll be working closely with another parent, Draco Malfoy. Although they haven't seen each other much since their own school days, Harry faults Malfoy for not being a hands-on dad to little Scorpius. Will the intense weeks of preparation fan the fires of enmity or something else entirely? Warnings: Background discussion of divorce, coming out, parenting, very brief mention of difficult pregnancy.

All Must Draw Near by Saras_Girl (61k)

Harry doesn't have time for rumours; he has a shop to run. Which is just as well, really.

The Light That is Blinding Me by @acciotomriddle (22k)

After Flourish and Blotts stop stocking the books of Harry’s favourite author, he is directed to a queer bookshop and discovers it’s owned by none other than Draco Malfoy, who has more in common with Harry than either of them realise.

#drarry #drarry fics #drarry fic recs #drarry fic rec #fic recs #my recs #christmas drarry #drarry fic #draco malfoy #harry potter

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centuryberry · 2 months

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Since jealousy is apparently the key to getting wukong to realize his feelings, and you said he didn't even realize at all in rin rin route; imagine that in saving Yue macaque kills her father, becomes the new heir cause he's Helen of Troy there, and (since I don't think Mac or Shanzha would go back to be heartbroken, but also macaque doesnt hate wukong so no reason to completely cut contact) ffm get informed by letter Yue is saved and about prince macaque. Wukong of course will visit cause he misses his "bestie" and see just how popular Mac is.

then he realize his feelings and that he missed his chance and also feel horribly guilty for feeling like this in front of his wife

To answer your question directly concerning the scenario you wrote out: yes. Wukong would be filled with a horrible mixture of jealousy/yearning/guilt. But hey, he’s not alone. RinRin would be feeling the exact same thing. What a pair they make.

But things wouldn’t exactly play out that way post RinRin Route.

(More below)

So, while the death of Yue’s Father is a certain thing after Macaque and Shanzha return to the Land of Eternal Snow, it’s a bit more complicated than that. Their intention was only to grab Yue and lead a quiet together in some corner where no one would bother them. Things happened which I won’t expand on since it’s a major spoiler to Queen of the Mountain. A lot of people died (including Yue’s Father).

After the dust settled, there were only a few members of the clan left and an empty clan head seat. And no, Macaque didn’t take it. Shanzha did. It’s her bloodline right as the oldest surviving member of the main line. Technically, it should be Yue who is next in line as the daughter of the Clan Heir, but she was too young.

Shanzha took the seat of power so she can clean things up for Yue to inherit. When other demon clans started to attack the very vulnerable Zodiac Monkey Clan, Shanzha and Macaque took arms and they led them to victory, accidentally expanding their territory. Shanzha was very, very good at fighting and winning, so she became known as a warlord - even though it was other demons attacking her and not the other way around????

Macaque took a role of an advisor since he knows what ruling is like and can see from a mile away that Shanzha was accidentally making an empire. He just wanted the best for their niece, who he’s terribly fond of and wants to give the world to her.

Since they were already co-parenting and have no interest in starting a romance with, well, anyone after their respective heartbreaks, the two get platonically married. It boosts Shanzha’s image anyways to have such a gorgeous mate who’s “devoted” to her and her alone. They make it work.

Now, Wukong - despite some changes - still somehow manages to get himself into trouble with Heaven (eats their peaches, drinks their wine, and steals all the pills) and gets thrown under the mountain. Maybe it’s a self-sabotaging thing. Or maybe it’s an effort to give RinRin immortality so she wouldn’t have to depend solely on his feelings since he realized that his love for her wasn’t as strong as he thought (lol it’s your guilt that’s keeping her there, silly).

Macaque and Shanzha respond when they hear of FFM’s burning. They give help, supplies, and troops to help defend the island as it recovers. Shanzha went directly there herself, reunited with RinRin for a time, before returning to her territory. Of course, there’s lots of unearthed feelings and pining but they leave it open ended since they have responsibilities.

Wukong, on the other hand, has his reunion with Macaque during his journey to the west. He and his pilgrim brothers come across the Land of Eternal Snow and are treated as important guests. No demon shenanigans. Just Wukong blatantly pining over his best friend. Who’s married to the warlord. And has an adorable child.

Zhu Baije: Brother, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but stop flirting. You’re going to get us kicked out.

Wukong: What do you mean? I’m not flirting. I’m just happy to see my best friend after all this time!

Everyone: …

Tripitaka and the other pilgrims are worried about Wukong offending the Warlord but nope, she’s too busy pouring her heart out on her most recent message to the Queen of FFM - updating her about her husband’s whereabouts, of course.

Macaque is doing well. He’s respected, loved, and lusted after by many. What do you mean he’s still not over Wukong? He’s the warlord’s husband. He’s the heiress’ doting guardian. What more does he want?

(Wukong, apparently.)

By the time Wukong has to move on, nothing is resolved aside from Yue getting the most powerful uncle in the world to support her claim to the clan head seat.

For the rest of the journey, Wukong is insufferable. He’s either waxing poetic about his “best friend in the world” or fuming over how Macaque still has demons throwing themselves at him despite his married status.

Whether these celestial monkey idiots resolve their complicated relationship or not is left open-ended. But there’s certainly a lot of pining. And doting over Yue because she deserves the world.

#queen of the mountain #shadowpeach #peachflower #Iceflower #iceshadow #answered asks #rinrin's route #remembrance route #slight spoilers #post game #what if #Warlord Shanzha #Advisor Macaque #Heiress Yue

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circledotdestroy · 3 months

Text

Retrospective - Chapter 2: The Insult of Injury

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x F! Pro-Hero! Reader (slow burn)

Main Summary: After 12 years, you, Pro-Hero Strife, has to return to Japan. Your objective: discreetly track down and capture Akari Kaneko, a.k.a. Pro-Hero Aegis— your old classmate who attacked you during her visit in America. In the aftermath of All Might losing his power, however, using UA resources has its complications. The most unexpected complication being Aizawa, someone you never expected to see again. Why does your past have to come back to haunt you now? Masterlist First chapter Next Chapter Word Count: 5585

A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to post. While I was gone I got my first big girl job and my beta reader has been having trouble with her computer, so I had to obsess over the prose by myself. In the end, i had to split my planned second chapter in two because it was almost 10k, so that's fun. Also, I uploaded this fic to Ao3 and I added the tag "Autistic Shouta Aizawa" and I'm the first one to tag that in an X Reader Fic??? I thought it was a popular headcanon lol Anyway, you've waited long enough. I hope you enjoy!

Head hung over porcelain, gloved hands gripped onto the sink. A giant hammer banged against your skull from the inside leaving sparks in its wake. Neurons like shooting stars lived behind your eyes. “Sparks…” You gulped back nausea.

Murky puddles of colors blurred together. Light blue stalls behind you, slightly opened, but empty. A massive void leered through the mirror with slivers of red. Hunched, panting over the counter. Burning wounds spreading out, conquering the rest of your cold skin. Not so different from the last time you needed a healing quirk. Cold, clammy, and disgustingly pitiful in one of the dark backrooms of your agency–because doing paperwork was better than being by your lonesome with nothing. The main difference this time around was the mortification that came with breaking down in a high school bathroom.

You were going to smack Akari for what she put you through.

The thought stabilized your shaky breath. You straightened your body, your hands still grasping the counter. The pressure released from the stab wound. It steadied you and you were grateful.

The last thing you needed to add on this little business trip was a reunion with Recovery Girl. She had first-hand encounters of your nonsense. Dealing with the aftermath of you being a menace to society— or “younger” if someone wanted to be polite—more times then you can count. You went to her office a lot–sometimes for yourself. Sometimes. It didn’t matter if you started more “advanced” in your class, you weren’t immune to scraps, bruises, or the occasional slip up during training. Other times, it was for other classmates. Some you sent her way after battle trials, but other times you popped in to take supplies then ran out.

One time you asked when she was going to retire, she said whatever the Japanese equivalent was for “until I croak”. That was after she threatened you with her cane, but you laughed it off like the cocky child you were. You thought even if she could land a hit, it wouldn’t hurt that bad. After all this time, it’d be disappointing to tell her you got in a fight and lost at your big age. Maybe she’ll try hitting you with her cane again, you thought. She’d have an easier time now.

But no. Dealing with the effects of one healing quirk was enough. The risks of getting her involved drowsiness at best, or possible death before the investigation gets shot down at worst. Investigation aside, it’s becoming apparent your healing process isn’t where it’s supposed to be. The itches, the burning… no one is in this bathroom with you, but you’re burning beneath cold skin. Someone who sees you on the street can say: “It’s only been two days! Walking around, catching a flight, that’s a MIRACLE for only two days!”

However, that’s the problem. It’s already been two days. With the healing quirk, you’re supposed to be at least 75%, but you’re not pushing fifty.

Removing your hands from the sink, you brought them to your sides. It was hard to know where one pain starts and where the other ends. Everything burns and your body is compelling you to turn around and throw up nothing. You flexed shaking fingers into fists. Your stomach was turning inward. It’s been a while since you ate. Perhaps you should’ve brought something on your way here. Even if it was stopping at a konbini and picking up one of those stupid-ass nutrition cookies Aizawa used to eat for lunch every day of the week. You swallowed, shaking your head. Food can wait. You can wait three hours. If you eat, you’re going to stay nauseous and dizzy anyway… unless you do something about it.

With a shaking breath, you glanced over your shoulder then at the door. There was no charge down your spine, so no people were close by either. You flexed your hands again, eyes closed, counting your fingers rhythmically. The sparks died down. The pain became more discernible. Abdomen still fresh and oven-hot. Knuckles chaffed, raw, and bruised. Your legs: thighs sore from jumping during the mission, your left knee ached, and the top side of your right foot was especially tender. Your shoulders, your back, behind your head.

You kept the rhythm until your lungs demanded release. When you exhaled, the pain dwindled. Not completely. Warmth still lied below your skin, at a near simmer. When you opened your eyes though, the blacks and reds weren’t blurred together. They were a clear, albeit crooked mess. You fixed the red arm guards first. When that was done, you had enough energy to fix the rest of your uniform.

Daring to move around, you inspected your fixed outfit further. When it passed inspection, you grabbed your briefcase below the paper towel dispenser to your right. Hitching your breath, you reached for the black handle. Your right leg carried all the weight to avoid setting off a potential mine-field of injury. At first contact, you swung the case on top of the sink then opened it. There were many compartments at the top, one housed a phone the boss gave you, since your old one was collateral damage. There were few numbers inside the cell. Only the ones you thought were most important to include. One of them was for the agency medic, which you cleverly titled as “Medic” to make sure you don’t call more than necessary.

This development with his quirk, unfortunately, was necessary. Rocks filled your stomach. Your mouth feels like you ate gravel. You can hear his reaction to telling him his ‘all powerful quirk’ wasn’t helping like a future sense. He’d make the concussion he diagnosed you with worse if you called.

Wanting to grip the phone harder, you clenched your teeth. This whole thing was stupid. You could’ve kept your guard up. You could’ve stood up, knife be damned, and run after Akari. Stopped her. Asked her what the hell she was talking about— All these choices you could’ve made–all those years of training, and you still got a concussion. Seven minutes passed when you finished typing your little update. It was better to give him a heads up now. It helps against accusations of Akari annihilating your brain cells at the fight.

The next person you contacted was Athena, your Support Expert. It hasn’t been long, but you needed an update on something. Even if it was just your uniform and equipment.

The message itself was quick. Though, you couldn’t help following up by asking if she knew anything about one of the crime scenes. You then thanked her, again. Heaven knows you keep her busy when you need new equipment. During the past two years alone, you’ve asked a lot from her. Whether you needed a new arm guard, gauntlet, or a whole new uniform, she came through every time. It’s hard to get an SE who specializes specifically in power-based quirks. From what you’ve experienced, and heard from other heroes, most SEs don’t appreciate their designs getting decimated. Their creations are children in their eyes. Athena’s creations aren’t as precious in her eyes, by comparison. She has a spreadsheet dedicated to how long until the creations get busted. Keeping up with these records is her research. It changed constantly, telling her what works and when she needs to switch things up.

You should bring her something when all this is over, you thought. She deserved something nice. Something that says “I’m sorry for wrecking all the support items you made me during my missions, you’re the best SE ever!”

The phone went back inside of its compartment, next to the pouch where five hologram disks were held. A surge of panic came through you. Thinking of the horrific scenario of traveling all this way and forgetting essential items for your visit today. You tore open the pouch. Heart in your ears and heat crawling out your back. Two disks were labeled, three were not. “CS1” and “CS2” were in the pouch. Good. You glanced at the other objects in the case, double checking everything was there before you met up with the principal. Folders, notebooks, paperwork, until relief washed over you in a cool wave. Closing the briefcase, running your hand across the leather. Slowing down to trace the broken heart emblem, similar to the one on your breastplate.

Your power won’t get rid of the hammers in your skull, or the itch around stitch wire, but the thick material will prevent you from scratching. Plus, no one else would know about the other bumps and bruises beneath.

You got this.

Leaving the bathroom, you pulled out Hizashi’s instructions one more time. They were less blurry and a bit easier to understand. You may actually have a chance to get out of the maze disguised as your alma mater. Ironically enough, before you could turn the corner, a white rat-bear-dog shorter than a yard-stick— wearing a black vest, blocky, yellow shoes, and had a gangster scar across his eye—came around. “There you are! It really has been a long time,” he greeted, like you’ve seen him before. He didn’t give you time to respond to him, he just explained how he waited at the meeting spot until it occurred to him how long it’s been since you were a student. The principal also made many changes since the time you graduated, which he insisted on showing you. This welcoming gesture forced you to tail him around the floor, instead of simply going to the meeting spot. You didn’t like the idea of walking around, not with that flare up earlier. You were still abnormally sore. But he can’t know that. You squared your shoulders, nodded your head, and quietly marched on.

There weren’t many rooms to make note of. Most of them were regular classrooms. You already saw where the current classroom for 1-A was before you ran into Aizawa. Apparently your old classroom is being used for one of the first year general education courses. The principal asked if you’d like to look inside. You declined the offer politely. At the end of the day, it was just a room. Another room with desks, windows, and a chalkboard in the front. What more did you need to see? You didn’t explain that last part, obviously, and the principal went on talking about other changes around the school.

At one point, he interrupted himself, stopping in front of one of the other doors. This time he didn’t ask you before opening it. “And here is my office.” The principal revealed a room with a giant window behind a desk. The orange light from the rising sun shone through the window casting deep shadows on the office furniture. If you stepped closer, you’d see everything outside the window. The brightness made you queasy. You opted to focus on the gray couch instead. “It looks a little different compared to the last conversation we had here,” he commented.

‘Last conversation,’ you wondered. Then it hit you.

This principal wasn’t new.

Your principal never left UA. How you forgot your principal having a gangster-scar, you weren’t sure. There was no one like him. Absolutely no one that you’ve met.

Muffled words and a shadow in front of a stark blue window came to mind. Paws holding stacks of paper, hitting them against the desk to straighten them out. Were you supposed to add on to what he said? Were you supposed to apologize? He didn’t look unhappy.

But you could be wrong. Would it be a surprise if this was an act? Taking you on this walk so you’d waste your time telling him everything? You looked to the right and left side of the hallway. If the resources weren’t valuable then you’d walk yourself out first.

The principal didn’t follow up his statement with anything about the past or the future. He closed the door to his voice and rambled his way to nothing. He probably wanted to get a reaction out of you, but you were too confused to give him one.

After a while, the stitches got tighter. And tighter. And your legs were becoming sore. Of course, you clenched your jaw to keep quiet. If he caught on, he’ll send you to Recovery Girl then bye-bye. She hits you with her cane and Nezu could press a button to eject you from the building.

Honestly, where was Hizashi? You knew he was supposed to be busy with work last night, but he said he’d be here for the meeting. It was supposed to start soon and you don’t want to be in a room alone with a passive-aggressive rat-bear-principal. Maybe he was telling Nemuri you were in town.

Or maybe he would try to find Shouta and they could all be talking right now! Aizawa would tell him about you leaving him in the hallway, saying you were rude, demanding to know what’s going on. Aizawa was pushy enough. Hizashi would tell him about how you called him, hurt and asking for help. Despite Hizashi’s best intentions, Aizawa could use this information to raise doubt against you in the meeting. Get rid of you before you become a problem, his problem.

You needed to find Hizashi before that could happen.

As luck would have it, the tour was coming to an end. The last stop led to a blond man leaning against a door down the hall with his arms crossed. A blond man with a punk rock style and a speaker around his neck. A blond that bounced his knee impatiently because he couldn’t bear standing still.

Hizashi!

His head snapped in your direction. He, like a ray of sunshine, grinned ear to ear. “And look here, folks!” Hizashi rushed toward you, “coming out of the cage, ready for her GRAND COMEBACK–” you gripped your briefcase tighter, your eyes wide and almost bouncing, expecting impact. Hizashi pivoted around you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s the Queen of Terror, Pro-Hero STRIFE!”

It’s been over five years since you’ve seen him in person, longer since he’s called you by your hero name. You beamed, he was here. In the same room, not across the world. You thought of hugging him, but stopped when you remembered your old principal was still here.

Hizashi moved closer, leaning into your face without such reservations. The amber reflection of your uniform was in his sunglasses. His hand dragged across your shoulder where the raised mending peaked. He looked toward the principal with his hand on the side of his mouth, like he was trying to tell you a secret. “I was waiting forever,” he fake-scolded, loud enough for the third party to hear.

Glancing at the principal, you saw he was watching the two of you. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes were blank. You stepped out of Hizashi’s grasp, standing properly. “I had trouble with the directions.”

“What? Getting rusty after being away for so long?” Heat rose to your ears. Of course you were going to be rusty. Did he really have to tease you about it now? “She really knows how to keep her fans at the edge of their seat,” he said to the principal casually, like he wasn’t Hizashi’s boss.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the principal responded, making you aware of the side eye you were giving to your old friend. “I was giving Strife a tour of this floor. After all, I’m proud of the changes I made to UA since your graduating class. I couldn’t resist showing off to one of my former students. Strife has certainly grown from that child I remember.”

Hizashi agreed with your old principle with a joke. “I hope that’s a good thing.” But you know there’s no good way to interpret the statement. Not with what he said when he showed you his office. Who brings up a time where they had to talk with you in a GOOD way? It’s like when your parents brought up how one of your dad’s coworkers caught you sneaking a cookie from the agency's break room when you were supposed to stick to a meal plan. Like, “oh, we sure hope you have better impulse control compared to when you were eight, even if you do, we’re going to reference this story over and over again so you never forget your moral failure!” He’s wearing yellow sneakers with formal wear, why is he passive-aggressive!

The conversation didn’t go further, thankfully. “There is time before the meeting, I’m going to set up. Feel free to catch up here in the meantime,” said the principal. You both thanked him as he went into the room. The nausea came back at the sight of the wooden swirls closing, your heart was starting to pound. After all, maybe he was planning to air it out with an audience, you couldn’t know for sure with his emotionless eyes.

“Did you really not have nicer clothes,” Hizashi asked, breaking you out of your trance. He was loud enough for the whole building to hear.

Your nose scrunched. “The damage wasn’t THAT bad…”

Hizashi shook his head. “I’m not talking about the damage. Last time I saw you, there was more…” Hizashi held his hand out, waving it toward your body. He went through a jumble of words before he decided on one. “Color.”

The last time he saw you in person, you were twenty-four and in-between agencies again. He was celebrating the first anniversary of his show being picked up for a radio channel. After celebrating the anniversary, he took a short vacation out of the country. It was the first time he was allowed since his career started. When Hizashi finally arrived in the States, you wore a uniform. It had less hard armor and was more red. Red breast plate with your black broken-heart emblem, which resembled that old Pac-Man arcade game. Gauntlets with red finger and knuckle pieces and armguards to contrast the black base of the gloves. Some other details like the center of your knee and elbow pads, the tips of your boots, your utility belt, and other lines and trims followed,

Vibrant color bounced off the void background. In comparison, your current outfit was–

“You look like a common mall goth.” You tilt your head at him. Before you can say anything about calling you “common”, he continued. “Actually it’s worse!” Hizashi stepped closer to put his hands on your shoulders, pressing into the raised mark on the left. He leaned closer to your ear–was he always this touchy? He whispered, “you look emo.”

You punished him back, somewhat gently. “Hizashi, what the hell,” you said in English. Why was he making you worried over nothing! And calling you emo…

He laughed, wagging his finger at you like you were some brat. “Nuh uh uh. It’s Mic. We’re professionals and we’re working.”

“What do you mean ‘professionals’? What was professional about that!”

“I’m a radio host too, I have to play it to the crowd!”

You scanned the halls. “Where!” No one was here! A thud echoed across the empty hallway. In your confusion, you accidentally threw your briefcase across the hall. You stupidly remember the rule ‘no yelling in the hall!’ rule as black leather slid across the purple floor. Oops… You sigh as the briefcase spins to a stop.

Mic continued laughing. You grumbled, giving him your back as you approached the briefcase. To think, you considered hugging him earlier. The man walked behind you. “Don’t be so stiff!” You stared at the briefcase, almost rolling your eyes, he had no idea. You pondered how you were going to pick it up. If you did it the same way as you did in the bathroom, it would look suspicious. And dorky.

His eyes were on you, you could feel it. If you waited too long then Mic would volunteer to get it for you. That would make him ask questions though. “Right,” you broke the silence before he could. You squatted with bated breath to pick up the briefcase. Your knee almost popped and you wanted to tear into the wound, but you weren’t going to tell Mic that. Not now, at least.

Somewhere more private. AFTER you were sure he wouldn’t talk to Aizawa about anything. But first, you’d need to say you met him earlier and it didn’t go well. You can save Mic the drama, not going into specifics. Other than that, what’s one more thing to the pile? He’s in the dark about Akari, for now. He didn’t need to know Akari was the reason why you called him from your medic’s phone the other day, right this minute. You’ll have to go over everything in the meeting anyway, so why waste time?

“I would’ve gotten that,” said Mic.

“But you didn’t.” You shot back, harsher than you meant to. “It’s fine. I forgive you,” you stated with a pouty lip. You hoped the joke would mitigate the unintended force of your words. Mic probably didn’t notice, or he thought it was simply the set up to the punchline. “What have you been up to?”

Mic gave you an elaborate update on the past few weeks. His summer was busy since the Sports Festival. As usual, he was booked out when it came to the radio host and DJ gigs during the beginning of summer break. He told you all positive things. Dancing around All Might’s retirement as Number 1 Hero. You imagined he’d describe it as a certified downer if you asked. “...and our first years are about to go for their license!” Mic posed his hands in the rock and roll gesture.

“Wow, already? We had to wait until second year.”

“Because of all the villain attacks. It was decided it’d be better for the students to protect themselves without waiting for a hero’s permission.” There were no bells or whistles attached to the explanation. His hand gestures were minimal as well. While the idea of first years becoming skilled enough to get their license at a young age was impressive, there was no argument the circumstances weren’t ideal. First years shouldn’t have to deal with villains yet, but they have multiple times. Even in America, the youngest an applicant had to be was 17 to get their license. One of the perks of going to UA was being able to expedite the process and get your license when you were 16. You couldn’t imagine letting 15 year olds take the test in America. ”If you’ve watched the Sports Festival, then you know they’ll CRUSH it!” He punctuated the statement with his signature “YEAH!”, putting his hands in the air for extra dazzle.

A beat passed and he broke his pose, asking if you watched the Sports Festival. The question wasn’t as pumped compared to his previous statement. Guilt struck you. Another month’s gone by and you still haven’t watched your friends on International Television. “It’s okay if you didn’t!” He responded, obviously concerned.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I should’ve watched it by now. Work’s been crazy for months. I had to cancel TV because it was wasting money.”

Mic shrugged, with a relaxed expression on his face. “Don’t worry about it! I’m sure I can give you the highlight reel while you're in town. But seriously, you had to cancel TV? You need to give it a rest!”

“No, you have four jobs. I have no excuse–”

“Details!” Mic brushed off your response with his hand. “Y’know…” Mic’s hand went to his face to rub his chin. “You could help out with the first years with the exam. If you have time for it, it could be another paycheck and you can hang out with me,” he finished like you were a kid motivated by cookies.

You raised your eyebrow and shifted your weight to your back leg. “First you say “give it a rest” and now you want to give me more work?” He posed glamorously then switched to another with that somewhat implied you giving him a high-five, but it didn’t look quite right. “Not everyone can multitask like you, Mic.”

“I’m just saying you have the experience. You judged the licensing exams a crazy amount of times—and you mentored young heroes before.”

“I didn’t do any judging this year, and there’s a difference between the American licensing exam and the one here. Also, those heroes already graduated from their program, and I only helped them because I had to. I’m not a good mentor, and, from what you said, I’m sure whoever’s teaching the first years are doing fine on their own.”

Mic paused with his mouth slightly open. His teeth clenched. “About that–”

A colorful blur caught the corner of your eye, but it was too late. A massive weight slammed into your body. The briefcase flew from your hand. What the hell! Your throat squeezed, choking down any sound you could’ve made. First there was shock. Then fire. Then pain. Every. Single. Type.

Everything burned and your bones rattled you from the inside. You had to get this off! You wrapped your arms around, ready to pick up and throw it down the next floor.

Your shoulder shrieked back at the embrace, your legs weren’t fairing with the shift either. In this split-second processing of your senses, it was apparent the weight was particularly squishy in certain places. It had purple hair as well, and she was absolutely thrilled to see you.

Your eyes widened. You lifted Nemuri, having stopped midway from slamming her to the ground. Her stomach was at your eye-level as she laughed with joy. That was good, you set her down., her heels clicking on the floor. You could’ve really hurt her. “--didn’t tell me you were coming to town–got you at the airport! Look at YOU!” The squishiness against your body left, replaced by an ecstatic Nemuri squeezing your face. Fingers pressed your cheeks enough to make your lips puff out. You tried to respond to Nemuri, but you might as well have your mouth full of cookies. The questions kept coming. After a bunch of non-answers, Nemuri took her hands off. Of course it was sore, but it was nothing like the rest of you. Unlike with Mic, you KNEW Nemuri was this touchy. This happened so many times a single memory became a cluster of events.

She turned out of your hold, pointing at Mic aggressively. “Did you know our friend was coming here and NOT tell ME!”

The scene was soon drowned out by your beating heart. Mic’s sunglasses slipped down his nose revealing a panicked expression toward Nemuri. He held out your briefcase to shield himself from the heat of the backlash. He was talking fast, explaining himself. You pressed your lips tightly in contrast. If they weren’t then you’d pant like you did earlier.

Nausea arrived once again like a recurring nightmare. Placing your hand over the stitches to push through the thick material did nothing. As predicted, the pain couldn’t be snuffed out. Keeping your face neutral was an uphill battle between scalding heat and pure annoyance.

Screeching thoughts scolded you to ‘stop scratching!’

Then the surge came.

Mic and Midnight were focused on each other. One was mad, one was somewhat scared. It gave you something to work with. Your breath deepened as you flexed your palm against your uniform. Once again the pain separated and simmered down. The only agony on the surface was the itchiness of your wound. It wasn’t perfect. You just had to bear with it—the healing process.

And watch out for any other attacks from your friends.

The hand on your abdomen balled into a fist. An invisible knife stabbed back inside the wound. Hopefully, the pressure could substitute the need to claw at your skin until your insides spilled into a puddle on the floor.

Before you got comfortable, something to your left burned through you. Not from a wound, or your quirk. Someone watched you down the corridor. Turning your head, you lowered the invisible knife.

“Aizawa,” Mic called out to him, but didn’t get a response. Aizawa’s attention was on you. Did he see what you did? There was no way he saw the whole situation, you thought. Just when you shanked yourself with the imaginary shiv. Even if he brought it up, so what? It was weird, not illegal. “Look who’s here, isn’t this exciting!” Mic continued. The way Aizawa kept staring you down made it clear he was expecting you to flinch. Maybe you weren’t doing something illegal just now, but he can say you stormed off from him. Which is worse in this context. A lot worse.

Aizawa tucked a blue file folder he was looking over into his arm with the others. “We saw each other earlier,” he responded coldly. He wasn’t excited to see you. Not today. Not ever. You stood your ground, waiting for him to tell them you walked out on him again, but it never came. He moved past, preferring not to be in the same room with you more than he had to.

“That’s it! C’mon don’t be like that! How often do you get to see an old buddy?”

“Just stay for a minute!”

He continued on his path, not responding to any of their pleas until he reached the door handle. “The meeting is starting soon. Don’t block the door.” He went inside, the door clicking shut behind him with an echo.

“Harsh…” Mic said.

Midnight turned to you. “I thought he’d be happier,” she said wistfully. You don’t blame her for hoping.

You shrugged, lifting your hands. ‘It is what it is,’ you thought, not quite remembering a good translation.

Midnight hummed. Mic moved on from the initial shock, opting to check out the detailing on your briefcase. No follow up questions from either of them. Throughout the years, there was never a time either of them mentioned Aizawa being their coworker. Not that you should care. They didn’t have to tell you anything about what he was up to. If he wanted you to know he could’ve told you himself. Whatever he did was none of your business, so why would they tell you?

Maybe they should’ve. It certainly would’ve avoided this mess. Although, the thought didn’t cross Mic’s mind. He probably heard the muffled yells of the medic for you to give his phone back and dived in with no questions. No hesitation.

Nonetheless, he could’ve warned you about Aizawa in the email he sent you after. Did he think you wouldn't come back if you knew ahead of time—if you knew Aizawa would be here? Probably not, but damn, dude, give a warning.

Midnight broke through your thoughts, asking how long you were planning to stay. She comments on the tension without any out of pocket comparisons to the devil’s tango. You reassured her you should be gone in two weeks. If you were going to do your research here, no doubt it would be uncomfortable for her and Mic if that’s how you’re going to interact with their friend. “I hope we can do something while you’re here. It’ll be fun,” Midnight offered half-heartedly. Even if you sucked at keeping contact for the past year, she was still nice to you. Although, it’s doubtful you two would have time for each other while you were investigating and she does her jobs.

“Count me in!” Mic puts his free arm around your shoulders, he doesn’t add any pressure, but your arms squeezed into your ribs at the unintentional threat. Like one wrong move and your skin would seer through kevlar and leather. “We have to grab a bite!”

Your ears perk up, stomach coming to the forefront of your thoughts. You were drooling at the thought of finally being able to eat some bomb-ass food.

The passage of time went faster with the distracting fantasy. Not long after agreeing to Mic’s invitation of food, and having to hear a long list of places you couldn’t go to this very moment, the meeting was close to a start–made apparent by the next pro hero arriving to the meeting room. Your friends introduced you to another one of their coworkers, Snipe, who was dressed as a cowboy and actually packed heat.

The lovely thoughts and curiosity came to a halt upon entering the room. Aizawa glared at you for disrupting him from reading what he had in those folders. Without breaking eye contact you reached toward Mic so he could give you back your briefcase, so you could put it down somewhere.

Aizawa went back to his folders, rubbing his temple like your presence alone vexes him. You chose to place it in the corner of the room by a potted plant. You were careful not to grunt as you squatted. Ignoring the pain, you swiped the pattern on the briefcase, for good luck even if you hardly believe in such a thing.

Call it habit or instinct, but you glanced over your shoulder after. Of course, there was Aizawa. He eyeballed you, waiting for you to make a mistake. You clenched your jaw as you stood up again, adjusting your uniform before walking back toward Mic toward the center of the room. If Aizawa saw an opportunity, an opening to get rid of you, he’d pounce.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #mha x female reader #retrospective by dot #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #whump #tw pain #yamada hizashi #nemuri kayama

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greatwyrmgold · 3 months

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So, apparently there's been a standoff between the Texas National Guard and US Border Patrol for the past couple of weeks, a physical manifestation of political conflicts between President Biden and Governor Abbot that has disrupted local life and caused multiple deaths.

Shelby Park is a park in Eagle Pass, the town in question. It's a pretty significant component of civic life, hosting events that the town's residents enjoy (and the town's government uses to fund its activities).

Unfortunately, it's next to the Rio Grande, so Texas had the park surrounded with concertina wire (razor wire coils that can be expanded to quickly set up a "fence"). Needless to say, that's going to disrupt local activities. The Eagle Pass residents are not exactly happy about this state of affairs.

Things got worse when migrants started drowning in the river. Border Patrol wanted to access a boat ramp in Shelby Park so they could rescue migrants before they drowned, but the Texas National Guard wouldn't let Border Patrol in under any circumstances. Four people were alive in the river when the Border Patrol showed up; two were rescued by Mexican authorities, but the others drowned. They didn't have to.

I'm not going to argue that someone who fails to save a kid from getting hit by a bus should be held responsible for that kid's death. But if they instead stop a third party from saving the kid? Yeah, that's their fault. Saying that Texas caused the (preventable) deaths of those migrants seems pretty straightforward to me.

(Complicating matters are three other people who drowned about an hour before US Border Patrol was informed that people were drowning in the river. These three deaths are often reported as being connected to this dispute, possibly because talking about a mom and two kids who drowned is more evocative than talking about...I don't know anything about the other two dead guys, because hardly anyone reported anything except their deaths.)

Anyways, the Biden administration sent a cease-and-desist letter demanding that federal agents should be given free access to the park. Texas claims it's still open to the public, even though they're only allowing access for media personnel, golfers at the golf course within, and "a memorial".

Texas plans to ignore that sternly-worded letter. The attorney general defends the state's decision by saying that the feds weren't properly enforcing US immigration law, which apparently gives them the authority to...further impede Border Patrol activities...? He also invoked the state's right to self-defense, which is already absurd when we're talking about the general "threat" of people crossing borders, but becomes even sillier in the specific case of blocking Border Patrol from saving four people from drowning.

Biden told Abbot to remove the razor wire. Abbot ordered more razor wire. The Supreme Court agrees with Biden (despite being primarily composed of Republicans). Twenty-five Republican state governors side with Abbot.

Several sources describe the physical standoff between the Texas and Federal forces unprecedented. I'm not sure that's true, or at least not true in the way that's implied; remember the Little Rock Nine? But it's definitely unusual, and if Republican figureheads keep rallying their bases by insisting that “The feds are staging a civil war," it could grow into something worse.

But hopefully it doesn't. It's an ongoing story, and Abbot has two more days to decide whether he wants to pick a fight with the federal government.

Sources below the cut.

#news #us politics #texas politics #border security #immigration

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calliedion-dungeon · 11 months

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𖤐Hot Cherry Bomb

Third part of Dark Lipstick

Cardinal Copia/ Reader Fem/V

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Once you, and everyone at the ministry, realized what you have become, some proposals and concerns come to light, but your secret relationship with Copia is being threatened by your condition, because it means not being with him or death.

Warnings: +18 MDNI, Smut, with a demon, Design inspired in Callie Maggotbone (Ugly Americans, S1 E5 "Treegasm")

Picture @DjevelensWolfe

Weeks after Copia’s accidental summoning, you both have been more open about your desires for each other, at least in his case, he started to make you small gifts, being blatantly attentive to you, his eyes always fixated in your figure when you’re near, excited like a puppy, he follows you everywhere, never asking for anything in return for his attentions, only waiting for your eyes to meet his and if you smile at him, specially at something he said, that’s enough for the enamored Cardinal to feel light-headed, he’s addicted to the sound of your laugh which rings in his mind and keeps looking for opportunities to keep you interested on him.

You both have talked many times that there will be nothing that you won’t allow, he’s happy to have you around and let it be known that he adores you. But in these weeks, with the changes that have occurred to your body, things have complicated for you, you don't know how this new phase works, you fear that if you let your desires out as you would like, he could get hurt, in which way? You had heard horrible stories about how demons, or half demon in your case, can be too much for a human, even killing them in the heat of passion, added to the heat that burns you from time to time, especially if you think about him too much, sometimes you even feel sick, you need him in front of you, you want to be in his mind, make him squirm under you, the heat crashes you again making your skin look deep pink wishing that his freckled skin rubs against you…

“Y/N? Are you listening to me?” Sister Imperator questions you, standing arm-crossed and raising an eyebrow. She knows you haven’t heard her in a while now. You look to the people around you at the table, these meetings have been arranged to discuss how are your advances in your new state, to gather information about how to deal with it in the safest way possible.

“I’m sorry, ma’am” you can only fidget with the hem of your dress, looking down “Could you repeat that, please?”

“Ironically, you just answered what I asked you, I was asking you if you had trouble concentrating because of your change” she’s way more patient than you give her credit for when you first met her.

When the change occurred in your body, you were not sure who to turn to exactly, you did know that in the ministry they would know what to do, but who? The ghouls were the ones who ratted you out before you could seek help on your own, the Cardinal didn't think your change meant much so he didn’t tell anyone, but apparently it did, and that's what's been scaring you about yourself, Sister Imperator was worried that you were having sex with everyone, since creatures like you are famous for being insatiable and many times when they do not get what they want they become violent, since then they have had interviews with you and some ghouls present, more than anything to know if what you say is true, because although they are at ease with you being unproblematic, they’re not reassured that you repress yourself is the way to go either.

The curious eyes of the Ghouls from different eras are on you, you know they are talking about you, one or the other raises their nose to smell something in you, you squeeze your thighs thinking the worst, they say things in each other's ears and smile showing their fangs, when It was discovered that you were the descendant of a high-ranking demon, they hovered around you like bears and you were covered in honey, you even hear them grunt in their chests, they’re curious what could be like to be with someone like you, it just baffles them a little more that you haven't been with any of them yet, for satiate your appetite even if it is. But you don’t have appetite for them, you’re not sure if anyone there knows that the one you crave for it’s only one man, you may be horny 25/8, but you don’t have the desire to fuck everyone, that’s different and you don’t dare to say that, because it’s none of their business.

“Why do you hold yourself back, sister?” you can't tell which girly-voiced ghoul is talking to you, so you answer without looking up at first, swallowing hard.

“I’m not a sister, and… I” you look around you “I’m not holding back; I try to satisfy myself…” but it’s not enough, you know that, you can masturbate more than 10-15 times a day, which you have done, and the only thing you achieve is that you can only think things a little better for a short time, because the desire returns and rises like the tide, especially at night, when you expect Copia to summon you again.

“You’re repressing yourself; we can see it because your transformation it’s not done” one of the ghouls remarks in a very calm tone, the corpulent ghoul that sits beside you, he was one of the few who looked less interested in flirting with you than the newer ones.

“It’s not?” your defeated words resonate in the room; you ask yourself what else need to be done?

“I just want to point out that, there’s steam coming out of you, are you hot?” a young-looking ghoul points above your head, you notice the steam coming from your head and pulse points.

“No, well, yes but I can’t feel it” as if it was a concern that you could burn it all, you know you can, but hasn’t happened yet “I just need to cool down or I’ll burn my clothes again” you grab a folder nearby to fan your face.

“Well, hello fellow fire element” the ghoul to the right of the first ghoul who speaks to you tells you in a flirtatious and unashamed tone. A couple share the laugh, you can’t find what’s funny about it.

“I believe that’s another thing, we… fear that suppressing who you are might lead to dire consequences” Sister finally breaks her silence, you’ve never seen her so quiet about a thing, it’s obvious the ghouls would know more about your kind, you fear maybe she even might think about binding you or worse… vanishment.

“Like?” fearful of asking, your voice gets lower, remembering the time you almost rip Copia’s tongue out with your teeth because you get too excited while kissing or the several times you burnt your clothes or his because you want to hold him so much, at least you didn’t seriously hurt him and you won’t wait for it to happen.

“We don’t know, but hell fire is not something to play with” like you needed more reasons to be scared of being near your dear Copia, your eyes can’t even water properly as your tears evaporate as soon as they touch your skin and your pitch black eyes don’t let be seen that you want to cry.

“Please, I need to be excused, can we talk another day?” Seeing you all so down, they leave you for the moment, you stay outside the office for a few seconds until all the ghouls come out after you, some say goodbye to you, but you don't listen to them.

Hell fire. Nobody ever told you that was a possibility, only the sex drive part, of course everybody remembers that, yes, your libido has been the first sign of your change, but it doesn’t make you mad, it’s only when you think of Copia when it sky rockets your desire, it’s not anybody, and your priority it’s his safety, maybe you can do stuff from a distance, unable to touch, that’s the saddest thought.

“You know” someone says behind you near your ear “You might be able to control it if you let go just one time” a short ghoul appears in front of you, his grin shows off his fangs, you recognize he’s the one that said he’s a fire ghoul, maybe he’s interested in burning all with you.

“And if you want to… you know ‘let go’ you can’t hurt us, so it’ll be okay” a very slanky ghoul says as he makes air quotes, their offer comes from their natural curiosity, not many high rank demons can be in men realm because of how dangerous and vicious they can get, so compared to them you’re practically harmless.

“Unlike if you try with a human, just a thought, take it into consideration, gorgeous, if you don’t want to burn anybody alive, of course” your face must have given your disdain away, they can sense that not even for morbidity does it attract your attention, you only politely smile and walk away annoyed.

You rather be chained up with crucifixes than even think to be with somebody else, you have to look for all the options, walking along a stone path to get away from everyone, thousands of possibilities go through your overwhelmed mind, you just want a little silence, you have in mind to enter the gardens and beyond, before you can disappear from everyone's sight, a beautiful voice calls you, the one you can't resist.

“Y/N! I’ve been looking for you…” you hug him tightly, cutting his words, nuzzling on his neck taking his scent in, not his cologne, your nose can surpass that in his skin, his nerves, his sweet blood running through his veins, you open you pitch black eyes noting what are you doing to stop yourself once more.

“I’ve missed you” you say in a tone sexier than you expected, his face completely flustered and out of words, you’re not sure what you did, and yet, you have him whimper close to you “These meetings are such a drag” you change the subject, Copia blinks awaken from your spell.

“That I know about” he smiles sweetly to you “You haven’t told them?” He extends his hand indicating that you walk together, you lead the way through the bushes and trees that surround you, already making you feel more relaxed.

“About what exactly?” you ask feeling his gaze upon you, you try not to look at him so you don't get distracted by your desires again, even avoiding taking his hand just in case the glove it’s not enough to protect him.

“The summoning and that I did it, and what we are” both of you have avoided adding those details to whoever knows about your condition, just because you fear they will take him away from you or have more people from the clergy watching over both of you constantly.

“I don’t know why should I” you try to discard the thought and by your mannerisms he does too.

“Have you discovered something new?” his sheepish smile raises your spirit for a second, just before you remember the outcome of the meeting, he awaits your answer patiently as you hesitate.

“A few things…” when you say it you speed up the step towards an abandoned chapel.

“Bad things?” the Cardinal asks you following you around the stone brick building reclaimed by the forest decades ago.

“Definitely not good” accepting out loud feels worse than you imagined "Apparently the reason I'm always steaming and burning things is because my element is fire and I can only control it if... I let myself go. But if that happens, I can hurt whoever is near me" you swallow hard, battling the knot in your throat.

“Oh… that’s is indeed not good” He takes you by the arm when he sees you so distraught, turns you so that you can see him face to face and looks for your gaze, lifting your chin with a gloved hand.

“Unless” your voice comes out with more grace and charm than you would like.

“Yes?” he doesn’t let go of your chin holding you softly.

“Unless it’s a creature who can endure, like… a ghoul or any other type of demon, so…” you divert your eyes down, his face changes, you look to him to find just the thing you feared the most, hurting him and not in the physical way.

“So…? Do you want to be with…?” he mumbles, his voice barely audible.

“No!” You meet his lost stare, at least in that you’re sure as the sun is round “Our options are reduced to do things from a distance, I think… Or…”

“Thanks Lucifer…” he smiles relieved, expecting a favorable answer from you.

“We should accept this is too risky for you and just end this as it is” you drop your thought unsure and unwittingly.

“No, cara, I’ve waited for you my whole life, I can’t…. please don’t ask me this” it’s unbearable to see him like that, you’re even almost completely turned off for once. He takes your hands into his, kissing them as he whimpers miserably.

“I can’t either…” with your eyes constantly evaporating your tears he can only gaze at your swollen nose and the sound of your sobs to notice that you’re also sad “but this, I know this isn’t how we expected things to be, but I would not forgive myself is I accidentally summon hell fire and…”

“Hell fire? Like the fire the ghouls make?” he jolts when he hears what you said, somehow that captured his attention, his sadness receding.

“Maybe, maybe something stronger, I don’t know much about these things” you try to understand his reaction because he holds you in his arms and he seems happier, brushing his fingers on your cheeks tenderly.

“I do know…” he chuckles before closing the gap between you two, even when his lips are not a strange sensation over yours, you’re surprised by him kissing you eagerly. Against your wishes, you try to push him away slowly.

“My love, please we shouldn’t… remember last time? I burnt your cassock” you remind him what happened the first time you both tried to be together, when you burned his black cassock by swirling too much on his chest for pulling it to take it off and your blouse ended up totally scorched.

“It’s the black one anyway, it’s not noticeable” he grazes his lips over yours when he couldn’t reach you, he held you tightly by the waist, it was difficult, the heat was raising up again.

“Copia, please…” you whine not letting him go.

“Am I bothering you?” his tone shows concern, for a second he fears he’s been too persistent.

“No, that’s the problem, I can’t refuse you, so please, don’t ask me anything” Your words partly do reflect what you say, because you have him very well gripped by the neck and you had not noticed how close you are to each other, feeling your hearts gallop next to each other, your agitated breaths mixing, his is so sweet that it drives you crazy to eat him whole.

“Let go… Y/N” you widen your eyes, suddenly scared, but you know you don’t want anything else.

“I can’t…” you whisper to his face as you lower your hands down to keep them flat on his chest.

“You’re scorching hot” He brushes his nose against yours smiling, bringing your foreheads together.

“Did I hurt you?” you exclaim pushing him back you he doesn’t let you.

“No, but look…” in his red cassock you can see your hands marked on the cloth, as if he had left the iron on for too long, the shiny hands on his chest make you jump slightly.

“Shit! I’m so sorry…” your apologies fall into deaf ears, he laughs charmingly, he kisses you on both cheeks.

“Don’t be, please” he says happier than you expect him to be, he lets go of you and begins to unbutton his cassock quickly, just then you notice he’s not wearing the biretta.

“Don’t take it off, Copia it’s your only protection” shocked by what he is doing, you put your hands to try to stop him, but you do not exert much force because in a short time he is left only in pants and a shirt that he wears underneath, your concern increases, or rather the tide of heat that is approaching when you see he begins to unbutton his shirt.

“Look at me” says the sweet cardinal patiently “Y/N, look at me” You look carefully at his open shirt, his exposed chest lightly covered with hair, a mark stands out, something that at first seemed like a group of moles under his collar bone, they form a series of spiral numbers, it's not a tattoo, it's the mark, the real one, when you look at it you run your fingers over it unable to believe it, you knew that he was special, the only one for you, but this goes beyond what you could ever have guessed.

“Is this?” you’re so pleasantly surprised, your worries melt down, at least most of them.

“Yes. You can’t hurt me, amore” he excitedly says “I was made for this, just like you”

Without waiting for a single second, you pounce on him without fear of hurting him with your sharp fangs on his neck, you greedily lick the vein in his neck up to his lobe, he gasps in your ear, while you feel his fingers digging into your thighs, teasing the thin fabric of your underwear making an effort to pull them down, he then smiles at you tenderly, lost looking at your face, brushing his finger on your lower lip, thrilled that he doesn’t have to imagine how it feels like to be with you anymore, while you palm his chest looking once or twice at the mark, you slowly try to lick his finger but you feel something different, a little scared, you touch your own tongue, which feels forked in two, you look up at the Cardinal who looks at you fascinated, it means it's working already.

He closes the space between the two of you to give you a rough kiss, his teeth collide with yours and your tongue finds the most hidden corners of his mouth, you sigh through your nose and hot steam comes out along with a moan that rumbles in your throat.

He parts from you to finish taking off his clothes, you only half lower the top of your dress and half raise your skirt and kick your panties away, then he takes you by the waist to place you against a stone brick wall behind you, takes your thighs and he lifts you up without saying a word, you just feel his sweet breath on you, he growls when he feels you open and wet for him. You grab him by the neck tightly and force your heels into his butt cheeks to make him slide inside you, as he does you both roll your eyes in anticipation.

“Sei più delizioso di quanto potessi immaginare” he moans with his eyes closed pinning you against the wall with his desperate thrusts.

“Copia… you feel so good, please…”

Something interrupts you again, you feel that something has fallen to the ground, he follows your gaze and feels something dangling between his legs, he tries to capture it with one hand, but it escapes him, he doesn’t let go of you to look for it, you feel a pressure in your lower back and make a little effort, that is then when a pink hairless tail lifts up to your shoulder, feeling your own skin brushing against itself, you smile mischievously wrapping the tail around his neck, naturally having control over it.

“Don’t stop” you command him, needy as he is, he thrusts into you mercilessly.

You knew that the months of waiting would help you not need a foreplay to start strong, along with your condition, nuzzling on your neck he gives all his energy to make everything that he had been saving for you come true, as your moans get louder so does your heat that begins to burn around both of your bodies, as he said, he’s unharmed, he sees you so wild growling thanks to the perfect rolling of his hips hitting the right spot, you were also starving for his body which makes your moans become a screech.

The tension inside you builds up, losing yourself each second you can’t help but scratch his shoulders cutting his skin and lapping up the blood that your claws have drawn, he doesn’t stop thrusting, on the contrary he does so faster.

“Mia bella serpente, mia bella tentazione” his voice broken by his effort makes you tremble within the little that you can still move “Ti voglio così tanto”

“Copia, no puedo más, no me sueltes! Me quemo!” your desperate screams echo for miles around, lost in your own pleasure, you don't quite know how you can speak, while the pressure in your head finally escapes in the form of screams and fire that consumes everything around you, and as Copia said, he is intact.

Violent bluish flames envelop you both, while he also has an orgasm and screams along with you like a possessed man, you bite his shoulder a little hard, marking your teeth on his tender skin now full of bruises, blood and freckles, a delicious spectacle in your opinion, you didn't know you had that in you.

The tree that was erected above you, catches fire like your blood and your skin that are boiling, you don't know how many minutes pass until your flames calm down and the screams were silenced by kisses, he joins your foreheads together, but something hits him, the pressure on your head and the infernal fire have ended up exposing the horns that you should always have, your crescent-shaped horns ignited the fire that consumed the tree and marked your body shape into the wall, burning the leaves and the ivy that once was behind you could see it when he helped you down and you both saw how the dark marks on the wall had the shape of your torso and your buttocks, you both laughed a little at that, but not so much at the tree, you quickly put on your clothes to go to ask for help to put out the fire, while you run together he takes you by the hand and smiles at you.

“I hope at least it was worth of your liking, cara” he stops for a second to kiss your hand, you let him do, but immediately you resume your running.

“Did I liked it you ask?” you laugh “My dearest Copia, this is just the beginning…” you smile at him showing your forked tongue.

#the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader smut #copia x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #my fanfic #ghostband fanfic #spicy content

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happywifehappy1ife · 6 months

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ben and the magus

on my rewatch of season two, i noticed many new things: travis holding javis toy fox before he eats his heart, natalie's jealousy towards jackie, just how special laura lee was to lottie and how important she was in the making of the wilderness cult, van's treatment of taissa..... but one thing that really stuck out to me was ben reading in the cabin. the book he reads half of and then puts down out of frustration is john fowles' “the magus”. i've never read it, nor had i even heard of it before seeing that episode but it peaked my interest because there are so many little things in yellowjackets that mean so much more than you would think at first glance, and i think that this is one of them. after a quick google search, i found out the basic plot of the book

*spoilers ahead*

it's about a man in his mid twenties that moves to a remote greek island to teach english. he gets caught up in a sort of cult and finds himself questioning his sanity and beliefs. there's obviously way more to the book and i do plan on reading it in the future because it sounds so interesting, but that's the basic outline.

some quotes that stood out to me and how they relate to yellowjackets and ben specifically

“any intelligent person is an atheist or an agnostic”

ben's relationship with faith is complicated. he seems to have had some sort of strict religious upbringing that caused him a lot of issues because of his sexuality and his apparently homophobic family. he can't come out because he knows that he will be shunned for it. during season one he accepts laura lee's catholicism but is ultimately disturbed that it leads to her death and the fact that she lets it cloud her judgement. he, alongside jackie, refuses to pray to the wilderness in episode ten before eating the bear and only quietly holds hands with lottie and frowns. he also doesn't involve himself in the cult in season two partly because he clearly doesn't believe in it and also because he's starving and has little to no energy. i think that ben's strict religious upbringing definitely played a part in how he felt about the cult which which may or may not lead to his murder in season two.

“It’s not about swimming. It’s about knowing in which direction to swim”

surving the crash does not mean surviving the wilderness, as we've seen many times. the three deaths that have happened so far were all, in some way, caused by the victim. laura lee knowingly flies in a potentially unsafe plane, jackie sleeps outside with winter looming and javi's pureness leaves him vulnerable to the extremities he and the rest face. you can live in the wilderness but you have to do it right, you have to abide by the rules. you could be in perfect health, have a steady amount of food and water and you'd still die if you didn't join the cult and fully submit. you have to do what it wants and you have to let it become a part of yourself. yes, ben eating jackie and javi would have made him stronger, but unless he started praying every morning and worshipping lottie or natalie he'd have no chance at survival because you need to be changed. and i don't mean the depression and suicidal ideation sone of tbe girls have, i mean the animalistic behaviour and fully leaving behind who you are and who you were. the yellowjackets haven't gotten to that point yet. they are still very much themselves and we're going to see them lose it more and more throughout the show.

“not only animal species disappear, but also species of feelings”

i still can't figure out what this one means in relation to yellowjackets but i still find it fascinating. if i do figure something out, i'll definitely make sure to edit with my thoughts.

#ben scott #yellowjackets meta #yellowjackets

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scorpionatori · 2 years

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Natori Shuuichi Character Analysis

Natori Shuuichi is one of the main supporting characters in Natsume Yuujinchou and probably the character who’s been the most polarizing in the fandom . As tends to happen with more polarizing characters, there’s been a lot of misconceptions and simplifications of his character. He’s the supporting character we have the most background info on and, like all the characters, is very complicated and fleshed out. His character arc and his dynamic with Natsume have gone through a lot of developments, from his cautionary tale type introduction to becoming one of Natsume’s most trusted friends. This essay will discuss his background and go into detail on many aspects of his character, as well as his dynamic with the protagonist.

General Background

“Since I was little, I’ve been able to see things other people can’t. My grandfather and father became furious when I told them, and my mother looked sad. Our family apparently used to be exorcists, but the ability to ‘see’ died out. The family business folded. Ever since then, they’ve been afraid that one day the youkai will come for revenge. Then I was born, a new link to the youkai world. They started to think that I was the cause of the misfortunes that beset the family. Like my mother getting ill and dying and my grandfather becoming an invalid…”

Unlike Natsume, whose relatives didn’t know about the existence of youkai, Natori was born to a family of former exorcists. But instead of being grateful there was finally a new person in the family who could see, his family pinned the blame on him any time something bad happened to them, including the death of his own mother. He was seen as the source of tragedy in his family, and even told Hiiragi as a young child that if that were true, someone should have gotten rid of him before anything bad had happened. Because of what his relatives said, he believed as a young child that he was better off dead than alive.

In addition to this, a mysterious lizard-shaped youkai appeared on his skin one day when he was a child. This is what led him to begin studying all the exorcism resources in his family’s storehouse, but even into his early twenties has never found out what it is, other than realizing it never travels to his left leg. It’s revealed in special chapter 15/s5e8 that he feared it was some kind of curse and that it could hurt other people if they touched it.

Even aside from being hated for his youkai-seeing abilities, he was deemed worthless by his father who said he couldn’t do anything except scare the family to get attention. When he started prioritizing studying over eating, his father said if he had to skip dinner in order to get results, he was never good enough for anything in the first place.

It’s revealed late in the manga that his relatives stopped having children after he was born because they were scared of having another child who was like him. He desperately wanted a partner in his family to walk side by side with, but he saw through the disguise of his “younger cousin” and never got to have this. His aunt and uncle, his only relatives who didn’t resent him, abandoned their estate and left for good.

Overall, his upbringing mainly involved being seen as a misfortune to others and too insufficient to amount to anything. By his teens, he had become avoidant of others, irritable and sensitive, very hard on himself, and developed an unstable sense of personal identity, with nothing in his life to tether himself to the world.

Joining the Exorcist Community

“I heard the rumors among youkai and exorcists. People still judged us harshly as a family, and this creepy, roving mark wasn’t helping. But at least when I was among people who could see them, I didn’t have to lie”.

Joining the exorcist community brought a mix of both positive and negative things into Natori’s life.

On the positive end, it provided him with a source of stability he hadn’t had before, something he could anchor himself to. He found a purpose for himself, and a way to use his abilities to help others when before they had only been seen as something that brought harm. He could finally be around people who saw the same things he did.

On the negative end, he entered a community full of power hungry people who just wanted to use their abilities to gain power and status. The community held mindsets that youkai, and even humans, were tools to be acquired and used. Additionally, he quickly discovered that he was from a clan that was looked down upon and ridiculed by the rest of the community, and because of this, he isn’t treated well in the community.

At the beginning of his backstory chapter, we see he was very disconnected from others and the world around him. He was even disconnected from himself. His family avoided him at home and he avoided his peers at school. The thing he busied himself with most was spending time alone in the family storehouse, studying the exorcist resources left behind by his clan before they left the business.

The exorcist community was the first source of stability and community he had in his life. It was a place where he could be away from his relatives who loathed him and where he could be surrounded by people with his sight. However, he immediately discovered upon going to his first exorcist meeting that even among people who could see, he was hated and scoffed at simply because of his family name. At home he was hated by his family because of his abilities, and at exorcist meetings he was hated by people who shared his abilities because of his family. They gossiped about him the same way his classmates gossiped about him at school. Despite this, he still felt content that he finally had found a purpose in his life, something to reach for and goals to achieve.

There were several main reasons driving him to pursue a career as an exorcist.

“If I keep going, I might find out how to get rid of this thing. Without it, I won’t have to feel so irritated. I might be able to be a nicer person. Even to my family…”

Finding a way to get rid of the lizard mark was a driving motivation that goes back all the way to his childhood. It’s what sparked his curiosity and determination to learn about youkai years before he even became an exorcist.

The lizard is an unknown entity that lives and crawls around on his body -> this causes him to be constantly anxious because he doesn’t know what it is or if it’s hurting him and/or others and probably feels violated by it as well -> because he’s scared and anxious and uncomfortable all the time he’s always irritated -> because he’s always irritated he finds it difficult to be nice to people -> because he finds it difficult to be nice he avoids others and in general feels like he’s a bad person who hurts others.

Therefore, when he goes back to the beginning of that sequence, he thinks the solution is to remove the lizard mark in order to become kind. His anxiety around the lizard mark is tied into his opinion of himself as someone who isn’t kind, and learning to become an exorcist becomes the apparent pathway to eventually be rid of his dilemma.

“But maybe if I was able to exorcise this youkai, Mr. Takuma will accept me as one of them? Will I be able to prove myself to the other exorcists?”

Another is his longing for acceptance and belonging. He needs to be loved and needed by others, as this is something he never received in his childhood. He unfortunately doesn’t receive a lot of this upon entering the exorcist community. Even so, this doesn’t discourage him. He accepts that he needs to be patient and bide his time. If he can become strong enough, then he can become useful. He can “become somebody that somebody needs”. If he can defeat the youkai attacking exorcists, maybe Takuma will accept him as one. He thinks in order to be accepted by others, he needs to be of use to them, he needs to prove himself to others. He’s never been accepted just as he is, so he needs to make himself as strong and productive as possible so he can provide something for others, because he doesn’t think he’s worth anything by himself.

“Dad… You’re worried about revenge because you used to be an exorcist. But what if… you helped people?”

The other big thing that drove him to become an exorcist is his general desire to help and protect others. Considering he grew up being told his presence was dangerous to others, it makes sense that he feels responsibility for keeping people safe. His abilities were always seen as a curse, but what if he could turn his abilities into a blessing?

Sadly, the exorcism community doesn’t always contain the noble intentions and selfless desire to protect others and the accepting and understanding community that Natori had probably hoped for. It’s full of competition and sabotage between people who want to become famous and powerful and exorcise youkai at random just to test their powers and will even curse their colleagues out of envy. This clashed with Natori’s ideals and goals, as he was more concerned with getting stronger in order to help people and become useful than he was with acquiring power and status for his own gain and reputation. He wanted to find a way to become kind, but entered a community full of unkind and petty people who try to undermine others. He wanted to be amongst people he wouldn’t have to lie to, but he ended up having to become an even better liar. Despite the positives it brought to his life it was also detrimental to enter a society like that at a time he was most vulnerable and unsure of himself and his identity.

Meeting Matoba and Takuma

“I’m not as good as the others, but I can see youkai better through glass. You know, It may be conceit, but I like to do what I can to protect people”. -Takuma

“You can’t protect anything if you’re not powerful, Shuuichi” -Matoba

Matoba and Takuma were the first two exorcists Natori met personally, and they appeared as two very different potential roles in his life, and represented different sets of ideals.

Takuma appears to Natori as a potential mentor or father figure. He is warm and kind to him and tells him he’s a nice kid, as opposed to how he’s been treated and seen by adults up until now. Takuma isn’t as strong as other exorcists, but he wants to do all he can to protect people and rid them of the fear and uncertainty they feel from youkai. This is what Natori also wants to achieve as an exorcist. He immediately latches onto Takuma’s kindness and desire to help people.

However, even if Takuma is kind and cares for him, he keeps him at a distance and it doesn’t seem he ever became a true reliable mentor to him. This comes from a reasonable desire for Natori to stay out of trouble. He continuously tells him he needs to not come to exorcist meetings or take jobs, as it isn’t something for children to be involved in. While this may be true, Natori wasn’t going to back out of the exorcist community no matter how many times Takuma told him to. What he needed wasn’t for someone to tell him to stay away from danger when he wasn’t going to do hat, he needed someone to look after him and guide him and teach him and to provide support in general.

Additionally, Natori didn’t have anything else. His family was abusive and neglectful and he was uncomfortable and alone during school. He needed a community where he felt he could be himself and where he could have some kind of connection and be productive. Natori also doesn’t interpret Takuma’s pushing away as simply attempts to convince him to stay out of danger, but as a rejection because he isn’t strong enough. Throughout his first backstory, he thinks he needs to make himself stronger and more powerful. If he can do that, he’ll prove to Takuma that he belongs in the community, that he’s worthy of being an exorcist.

Matoba is the first (and possibly only) peer close to his age Natori met who could see youkai. This would hopefully be a good thing, but the first thing he tells Natori is that he’s looking for allies he can “use”. This is the opposite of what Natori wants. He wants to be useful to others, but not used. Matoba is his first introduction to the kind of mindsets the exorcist community holds. The Matoba clan has maintained power since they started the community. When other weaker clans had fallen, they simply resigned to being absorbed into the head clan for protection. Natori’s clan is the one that refused to join and ended up leaving. Matoba wants to team up, but Natori immediately reads him as condescending and judgmental.

From what we’ve learned about him and his clan, Matoba was raised to become the head of a powerful clan since he was young. It’s clearly seen in the way he talks and acts that he was taught his clan is at the top and the other clans are weak and foolish and stubborn. He’s been taught that you should use anyone and anything at your disposal who is useful. This worries Natori, who grew up being labeled as lazy and worthless. He has a very low view of himself and is desperate to prove that he is useful. But he doesn’t want to be useful as someone’s ally, he wants to be useful as an individual.

This reflects the history of his clan’s history. The Natori clan wouldn’t work with the others and refused help to the very end, eventually giving up and leaving. We don’t know all of the details, but it’s likely this was out of pride as a very powerful clan. Like his ancestors, Natori also is resistant to Matoba’s help. However, this isn’t out of pride or thinking he’s too good for help, it’s because he thinks very poorly of himself and believes if he has to team up with someone stronger than him, than he isn’t good enough. He helps Matoba defeat the youkai they were hunting, but denies credit, giving it all to Matoba. Despite making a decent effort for his lack of experience, he thinks he failed completely. He wasn’t good enough to defeat it by himself, which means he failed.

While it’s understandable that Natori felt uncomfortable around Matoba and avoided him, it isn’t fair to say Matoba was completely responsible for them not getting along, or that his only intentions were to make use of him and use him as an ally, or that he looked down on Natori. Matoba likes Natori, and he wants Natori to like him. He has a curious and enthusiastic nature, and takes genuine interest in others.

Even if Natori is weaker than him, Matoba has respect for him and tries to provide helpful tips and compliments. He tells him things that could be helpful and compliments him when he succeeds at something (or at least makes an honest effort to). But unfortunately, despite his compliments being genuine, Matoba easily comes off as judgmental and superior and Natori is very sensitive to this. When someone your age or younger is obviously more experienced and stronger and talented than you are, when they try to be of help or compliment things that are much easier to them than they are to you, they are obviously reminding you of your weakness and inferiority and that you are to far behind to ever catch up. This is how Natori thinks, and it makes him very uncomfortable around Matoba. If he accepts his help, he accepts he isn’t strong enough to figure things out for himself. He can’t become his own person and follow his desired path if he gets stuck under someone with a clear and paved path.