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[halfway-happyyy]

Achilles' Heel - part I {Frank Castle}

"you are my achilles' heel, the weakness only i can feel" - leith ross

summary: in which of all the lost souls in new york city, an enterprising young woman has the misfortune of patching up The Punisher.

warnings include: mentions of violence, blood, etc. two people who could fill a cargo container five times over with their emotional baggage.

pairing: Frank Castle x female reader (she/her pronouns)

AN: i’m not entirely sure how this idea came to me, but here we are. i don’t claim to know much about sex workers (except that they deserve as much respect and love as anyone else), and like our main girl here, i certainly don’t claim to know much about medical intricacies, so go easy on me. happy reading friends 💖

As the opening notes to Billie Holliday’s P.S. I Love You rose above the muted static of her record player, her eyes fell shut in unconcealed ecstasy. A flash of lightning lit the otherwise caliginous night sky outside her living room window, and it occurred to her then, in the comfort of her own presence, that this was the first Saturday night she’d had off in months. There was a 2009 vintage red on the rack next to her player that she knew would pair excellently with her record, and just as she’d been about to reach for it, her phone rang, shattering her shallow illusion of peace. It briefly crossed her mind to let it ring, but when she saw that it was her friend, she quickly changed her mind. 

“Elena, this had better be good.” 

White noise reverberated on the other end before her friend elicited a hacking, wet cough. “Callie, I need a favour.” 

On account of her friend’s rare use of her real name, she knew immediately that whatever she was about to be asked, was serious. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I was supposed to do a job tonight- some boutique hotel up in hell’s kitchen, and I can barely get out of bed, let alone anything else.” A clap of thunder sounded closely outside, startling her, and the thought of going back out into the torrential downpour of the evening made her stomach churn with dread, but she let Elena continue. “It would mean the world to me if you took the call, Cal. The money’s good- 5 k upfront and he only needs about an hour of your time.” Elena sniffled and added, “It goes without saying but I will happily take the next call you don’t want to do.” 

It was apparent that whatever bug had brought her friend down had to have been a nasty one in order for her to turn down five thousand dollars for an evening.

“You sound like shit, E. Of course I’ll do it.”

She could still hear her friend chanting thankyouthankyouthankyou into the phone when she hung up. She cast a last, longing glance at the bottle in her rack and then begrudgingly went to her bedroom to change. 

Standing poised and slightly drenched in front of the hotel room door an hour later, she reluctantly knocked the way Elena’s text message had instructed and waited. Though the feeling was a rare one - she’d been playing the long game for a while now - apprehension swelled in the pit of her belly, and out of habit, she bent slightly to run a hand over the jagged outline of the knife in her boot; just feeling it was enough to put her nerves at ease for the time being. When her client still hadn’t answered the door, she became concerned that she’d had the wrong room, and just as she was about to double-check her messages, the door swung open. She hesitated a moment before entering, and when her eyes eventually adjusted to the dimly lit room, she noticed a man perched on the edge of the neatly made bed, staring off into the distance as if in a daze, and holding a hand to his side. An undetectable bite of something hung so heavily in the air that she could almost taste the slightly salty brine of it on her tongue. 

The man cleared his throat and rasped, “You Elena?” 

She took a tense breath and shook her head. “Elena was indisposed this evening. I’m Jane.”

She watched the man hang his head and elicit a string of rough curse words.

As the rain dried on her skin, annoyance swirled in her belly. “Excuse me, is there a problem?” 

A bark of laughter erupted from him, humorless and cold. “Yeah, there’s a fuckin’ problem. There was a reason I asked for her specifically.” 

Elena had briefly mentioned something about her client requesting a girl with a medical background, but they had both chalked that up to a kink he probably had. They decided that this was just going to be one of those times where she would have to fake it to make it. 

“Listen, pal, if it’s a nurse thing you’re after, I’m your gal. I’ve got a little paper hat and a stethoscope-

He cleared his throat and glanced up at her, and it was then that she noticed the complete state of disrepair the man was in, and the rest of the words fizzled in her throat. Her stomach plummeted when she realized the source of the metallic tang in the room was blood. His face seemed to have taken the worst of the damage; multiple shallow cuts oozed crimson, and a violet bruise bloomed under an umber eye that would surely take the form of a full-blown shiner in the morning. Her gaze traveled lower, to where his hand held his side, and bile rose in her throat as she noticed blood seeping out from between his fingers.

His voice was hoarse when he murmured, “Yeah kid. It’s a nurse thing I’m after alright.” 

Kid? Who on earth did this man think he was?

Her mouth had become void of moisture at some point, so when she tried to say that perhaps they had better call an ambulance, his face turned up in a scowl. “Beg your pardon?” 

She gestured toward the phone on the desk beside the television. “I don’t see why we can’t call for help…” 

He shook his head adamantly. “Nah. No hospitals, no cops, none'a that shit. You’re here now, and if you’re able, I could really use the help.” 

She could feel the ice-cold blooms of panic taking root in her, and as she glanced back towards the door, the urge to cut and run became all-encompassing. She wrung her hands together, at a complete loss for what to do.

“Look man, if you die on me- if you die here tonight, I’m screwed. Beyond screwed. And this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not exactly qualified to assist you with whatever this,” she gestured vaguely towards him. “Is.” 

His laughter was genuine this time, but it vanished quickly and was replaced with a grimace of sheer pain. “I ain’t dying, kid. Not tonight anyway. And even if I did, I know a couple of okay lawyers that could get you out of a bind no problem,” His gaze found hers again, and the unexpected earnestness in it nearly floored her. “Please.” 

She found herself nodding before she could fully talk herself out of it. “Oh christ, okay. What do you need?” 

He inhaled deeply and gestured with the jut of his chin to a medical kit that lay open on the desk beside the phone. “There’s a needle and some thread in there-

“No,” She shook her head. “No no no. I can’t.” 

He screwed his eyes shut and hissed out another expletive. “No pressure here, but there’s a high chance I’ll bleed out if you don’t and I’d do it myself, but I can’t quite reach it.” 

Despite the chaotic haze of the moment, it all began to make sense. Three years ago, and after a particularly bad year, Elena had quit her job as a charge nurse at Mount Sinai. His earlier statement about asking for her friend specifically chimed like a bell through her muddled mind.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you it was as easy as sewing drapes?” 

Disbelief clouded her features as she shook her head. “No, it would not.” 

She wandered over to the kit and peered in, noticing two spools of black and navy thread. She pulled them both out and asked if he’d had a preference over one, which made him snicker. 

“Black suits me just fine, kid.” 

She got to work threading the needle, and when that was finished, she approached him reluctantly.

“You always carry a medical kit with you?” 

The man tried to manage a shrug. “I’ve found it comes in handy from time to time.” 

She took a steadying breath. “Alright, I’m ready if you are.” 

He reached down to retrieve a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a hearty swig. When he set the bottle back down, he dropped his hand with a wince and proceeded to gingerly pull the t-shirt from his battered body. If she’d thought his face was bad, it was nothing compared to the carnage that littered his chest and abdomen. “Jesus,” She gasped. 

“Yeah well, you should see the other guy.” He managed between gritted teeth. 

He bore the faintly heady scent of gunsmoke and blood, and as she leaned closer to inspect the wound she murmured, “Judging by how this looks, I think the other guy may be dead.” 

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “I think you may be right.”

She quickly passed a square of gauze over the wound, ignoring the pained grunt that fell from the man’s mouth and sighed. “Do I get to know your name for this?” 

“You wanna know my real name? Or should I take a page outta your book and give you a fake one?” 

It was her turn to choke out a breathless laugh. “You sure talk a lot of shit for someone at the mercy of a complete stranger.” 

He hissed as the needle pierced his skin and managed a grunted, “Yeah well, this ain’t my first rodeo.” 

She was entirely unsurprised.

“It’s uh… It’s Frank.” he eventually croaked.

She was quiet as she tried her best to focus on the gruesome task at hand, but the insufficient lighting combined with the calamitous thunder outside made it all a bit harder than it needed to be. “Yeah well Frank, first aid 101 says that you don’t pull the protrusion from the wound until you seek proper medical help.” 

“Fuck,” He seethed when she pricked a particularly sensitive spot. “We got a smartass on our hands, I see. You gonna tell me your real name now?” 

She ignored that completely. “Hey, answer me this: there was no one else in your life that you could have called besides an escort agency to come fix you up?” She found the mere notion of it all inexplicably sad. 

Despite the pain he was in, a smirk ghosted his features. “I only got two people that I would trust my life with, and both of ‘em are uh… what’s the word you used earlier? Indisposed?”

He flinched and swore again.

“They’re indisposed at the moment. Plus, you offer much more of a view to look at than they do.” 

Jesus, the nerve on this guy. 

She gave her head a shake and huffed out an exasperated breath. “Well, I’m sure you’ll regret getting a hold of Elena when this thing heals. I’ve likely maimed you for the rest of your days.” 

“Pfft, have you seen the rest of me, kid? Add it to the pile.”

While she took stock of the rest of him, her gaze drifted to the gold wedding band on a chain around his neck. “Your wife know where you are?” 

Frank stiffened against her, eyes drifting to the ceiling above her head. “Nope.” 

“Lucky lady,” She murmured, as she finished the last stitch and tied off the end of the thread.

She watched Frank’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he uttered, “My wife’s dead.” 

Her eyes fell shut. “I’m so sorry.” 

He offered her a shrug, his face a blank page. “You didn’t know.” 

The room became quiet while she busied herself packing gauze over the wound and placing tape over it to keep it there. She hastily surveyed the rest of the damage that she could see and asked if there were any other problem areas she should know about.

Frank shook his head. “None that require any more of your fancy suture work.” He pulled the blood-stained t-shirt back over his head, shielding the carnage of his toned chest from her, and she ignored the surprising prick of disappointment as a result.

“Can’t imagine you get too many calls like this.” 

She let out a low whistle. “This one was definitely a first.” 

Frank tilted his head to the side, studying her. “I bet you see a lot of shit though, doing what you do.” 

Doing what you do. 

Selling your company, your time, your body for money. 

She stood from the bed then, and turned towards the direction of the washroom, desperately wanting to rid her hands of the sickeningly sticky feeling of his blood on them.

“Not as much shit as you see, doing what you do.” 

She took her time at the sink, methodically scrubbing away the gore under scalding water until it ran clear, and when she entered the room again, Frank had propped himself up against the headboard of the bed and was watching her.

“I meant no disrespect, kid. You gotta do what you gotta do.” 

She rolled her eyes and murmured an acerbic, “How progressive of you.” 

It was hard to miss the mischievous glitter in his eyes when he cocked his head to the side and asked, “Tell me something. You ever have to use that knife in your boot?” 

She couldn’t imagine how he’d known, and she tried in vain to keep her voice neutral when she shrugged and said, “Not yet, but you never know.” 

A smirk lifted his lips skyward as he echoed her words. “You never know.” 

She cleared her throat, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “The guy who did this to you… Is he really dead?” 

A shadow passed over Frank’s face; if she hadn’t been watching him already, she would have missed it entirely.

“Would you believe me if I told you he was better off that way?” 

For some inexplicable reason, she could believe it, but she didn’t need to confirm it because the knowing look on his face told her as much. 

She clocked the watch on the underside of her wrist. Twenty past midnight. Shit.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave, Frank?”

He winced, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Yeah kid, you can tell me your name. And none of that Jane Doe horseshit.” 

She scoffed. “Why? What’s the point?” 

Frank’s gravelly just humor me, was so quiet she almost missed it.

She kicked at a stray pebble on the carpet and sighed in defeat. “It’s Calliope. But I go by Callie.” 

A smile grew on his face that caused a wave of butterflies to take flight in her belly, despite everything.

“Your folks Greek mythology buffs or Springsteen fans?” 

Her eyes widened in genuine shock. “Both, actually.” 

He nodded in satisfaction. “I got one more question for ya.” 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Seems you’re full of those tonight.”

“Why didn’t you just pass yourself off as Elena from the get-go?” 

She cast around for a suitable answer and eventually landed on, “You seem like the kind of guy who values honesty above most things.” 

The tension in the room seemed to reach a fever pitch as Frank’s gaze bore into hers, his expression unreadable. When the silence became too heavy, she broke it by inquiring about her payout.

Frank gestured to the desk beside the television. “It’s in the first drawer there.” 

She followed his instructions and pulled the sizable bundle of cash from it, turning back to him with her head cocked. “Well, I’d say it’s been a pleasure Frank, but I’d be lying.” 

He smiled wryly at her. “Stay safe out there, kid.” 

She hesitated a moment before turning towards the door. Her hand was on the handle when he called her name, and she slowly turned back to him. 

“What happens if I need your help again?” 

She let her mind wander a moment before shrugging. “Just shine your bat signal toward the sky, and I’ll get the hint. See ya around, Frank.”

Once outside in the hallway, she stumbled back against the wall and allowed herself a couple of heaving lungfuls of fresh air. She was moments away from stepping into the elevator when Frank’s wrecked voice caught her attention, and she turned to see him limping toward her, a small piece of paper in his grasp. 

“There’s just no keeping you down, is there?” she couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

He shoved the paper toward her, his face serious. “This is my number. You ever get into trouble, you ever find yourself in a situation, you give me a call.” 

Her eyes widened in mild amusement. “Right, I’ll call you so that you can get yourself into the same situation as tonight. Seems smart.” 

He shook his head. “Look kid, I don’t care if you slam dunk it into the nearest trash can on your way out, just take it.” 

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. She grabbed the piece of paper and backed into it, giving him a small wave. “Bye, Frank.” 

He mirrored her wave. “Take care of yourself, Callie.” 

~

did i originally post this earlier and then come up with a title i liked more? we'll never know. stay tuned for part 2💙

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Brother makes a demon-haunted printer

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in RICHMOND TOMORROW (Mar 5) and in AUSTIN> on Mar 10. More tour dates here. Mail-order signed copies from LA's Diesel Books.

You guys, I don't want to bum you out or anything, but I think there's a good chance than some self-described capitalists aren't really into capitalism.

Sorry.

Take incentives: Charlie Munger, capitalism's quippiest pitchman, famously said, "Show me the incentive and I’ll show you the outcome." And here's some mindblowing horseshoe theory for ya: Munger agrees with the noted Communist agitator Adam Smith, whose anti-rentier, pro-government-regulation jeremiad "The Wealth of Nations" contains this notorious passage:

It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own self-interest. We address ourselves not to their humanity but to their self-love, and never talk to them of our own necessities, but of their advantages.

Incentives matter – if you design a system that permits abuse, you should expect abuse. Now, I'm not 100% on board with this: every one of us has ways to undetectably cheat the system and enrich ourselves, but most of the time, most of us play by the rules.

But it's different for corporations: the myth of "shareholder supremacy" has reached pandemic levels among the artificial lifeforms we call corporate persons, and it's impossible to rise through the corporate ranks without repeating and believing the catechism that there is a law that requires executives to lie, cheat and steal if it results in an extra dollar for the investors, in the name of "fiduciary duty":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/18/falsifiability/#figleaves-not-rubrics

And this attitude has leaked out into politics and everyday life, so that many of our neighbors have been brainwashed into thinking that a successful cheat is a success in life, that pulling a fast one "makes you smart":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/04/its-not-a-lie/#its-a-premature-truth

In a world dominated by a belief in the moral virtue and legal necessity of ripping off anyone you can get away with cheating, then, sure, any system that permits cheating is a system in which cheating will occur.

This shouldn't be controversial, but if so, how are we to explain the whole concept of the Internet of Things? Installing networked computers into our appliances, office equipment, vehicles and homes is an invitation of mischief: the software in those computers can be remotely altered after you purchase them, taking away the features you paid for and then selling them back to you.

Now, an advocate for market-based solutions has a ready-made response to this: if a company downgrades a device you own, this merely invites another company to step in with a disenshittifying plug-in that makes things better. If the company that made your garage-door opener pushes an over-the-air update that blocks you from using an ad-free, well-designed app and forces you to use an enshittified app that forces you to look at ads before you can open the garage, well, that's an opportunity for a rival company to sell you a better software update for your garage-door opener, one that restores the lost functionality:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

I'm no hayekpilled market truefan, but I'm pretty sure that would work.

However.

The problem is that since 1998, that kind of reverse-engineering has been a felony under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, which bans bypassing "an effective access control"

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

There's a pretty obvious incentive at play when companies have the ability to unilaterally alter how their products work after you buy them and you are legally prohibited to change how the product works after you buy them. This is the first lesson of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

I've been banging this drum for decades now – like when I got into a public (friendly) spat with the editor of Wired magazine over their reviews of DRM-based media devices. I argued that it was irresponsible to review a device that could be unilaterally downgraded by the manufacturer at any time, without – at a minimum – noting that the feature you're buying the gadget for might disappear without warning after you've shelled out your hard-earned money:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/03/painful-burning-dribble/#law-of-intended-consequences

Of course, companies that get a reputation for these kinds of shenanigans might lose market share to better competitors. Sure, if the company that made your phone or your thermostat or your insulin pump reached into it across the internet and made it worse, you're shit out of luck when it comes to that device. But you can buy your next device from a better company, right?

Well, sure – in a competitive market, that's a plausible theory of "market discipline." Companies that fear losing business to rivals might behave themselves better.

In theory.

But in practice, the world's "advanced economies" have spent the past 40 years running an uncontrolled experiment in what happens if you don't enforce competition law, and instead allow companies to buy all their competitors. The result is across-the-board industrial oligopolies, cartels, duopolies and monopolies in nearly every category of good and service:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

Now, even a duopoly has some competition. If you don't like Coke, there's always Pepsi. But again, in practice, companies in concentrated industries find it easy to "tacitly collude" to adopt one another's worst habits – the differences between the outrageous payment processing charged by Apple's App Store and the junk fees charged by Google Play are about as meaningful as the differences between Coke and Pepsi.

Which brings me to printers.

I know.

Ugh.

Printers are the worst and HP is the worst of the worst. For years, HP has been abusing its market dominance – and its customers' wallets – by inflating the price of ink and rolling out countermeasures to prevent you from refilling your old cartridges or buying third-party ink. Worse, HP have mastered the Darth Vader MBA, bushing updates to its printers that sneakily downgrade them after you've bought them and taken them home.

Here's a sneaky trick HP came up with: they send a "security update" to your printer. After you click "OK," a little progress bar zips across the screen and the printer reboots itself, and then…nothing. The printer declares itself to be "up to date" and works exactly like it did before you installed the update. But inside the printer, a countdown timer has kicked off, and then, months later, the "security update" activates itself, like a software Manchurian Candidate.

Because that "security update" protects the security of HP, against HP customers. It is designed to detect and reject the very latest third-party ink cartridges, which means that if you've just bought a year's worth of ink at Costco, you might wake up the next day and discover that your printer will no longer accept them – because of an update you ran six months before.

Why does HP put such a long fuse on its logic bomb? For the same reason that viruses like covid evolve to be contagious before you show symptoms. If the update immediately broke compatibility with third party ink, word would spread, and some HP customers would turn off their printers' wifi before the "security update" could be applied to them.

By asymptomatically incubating the infection over a long, patient timescale, HP maximizes the spread of the contagion, guaranteeing a global pandemic of enshittiification:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

HP has done this – and worse – over and over, and every time I write about it, people pop up to recommend their Brother printers as the enshittification-free alternative. I own a Brother, an HL3170-CDW laser printer that's basically indestructible, cheerfully accepts third-party toner, and costs almost nothing to run.

But I still don't connect it to my wifi. The idea that Brother is a better company than HP – that is possesses some intrinsic antienshittificatory virtue – has always struck me as a foolish belief. Brother has means, motive and opportunity to push over-the-air downgrades to block third-party ink as HP.

Which is exactly what they've done.

Yesterday, Louis Rossman, hero of the Right to Repair movement, revealed that Brother had just pushed a mandatory over-the-air update that locks out third-party ink:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpHX_9fHNqE

Rossman has a thorough technical breakdown of the heist, but it boils down to this. Brother is just as shit as HP. Look from the men to the pigs and the pigs to the men all you want – you will never spot the difference. Take the Pepsi Challenge – bet you won't be able to guess which is which:

https://wiki.rossmanngroup.com/wiki/Brother_ink_lockout_%26_quality_sabotage

This was the absolutely predictable outcome of the regulatory incentives our corporate overlords created, the enormous, far-reaching power we handed to these corporations. With that great power came no responsibility:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#franklinite

Filling our devices with computers that run programs that can be changed in secret, that we're not allowed to inspect or alter? It's a recipe for a demon-haunted world, where the devices we entrust with our livelihood, our privacy and our wellbeing are possessed by hellions who escape from the digital Tartarus and are unleashed upon humanity.

Demons have possessed the Internet of Things. It's in Teslas:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

and in every other car, too:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

Our devices – phones, pacemakers, appliances and home security systems – are designed to prevent us to find out what they're doing. That means that when malicious software infects them, then – by design – these devices prevent us from knowing about it or doing anything about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/18/descartes-delenda-est/#self-destruct-sequence-initiated

This should not come as a surprise to anyone. Show me the incentive and I'll show you the outcome.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/05/printers-devil/#show-me-the-incentives-i-will-show-you-the-outcome

[skyler10fic]

Lightning Strikes Twice: Ch. 13

Summary: Time to gear up and put the new plan in motion as Saber launches its first mission, but Skye running into Pierce and Yon-Rogg wasn't what they anticipated!

Notes: Next to last chapter, so it's a longer one!

Read on Ao3

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

Using Carol’s recovered escape pod, the Shield scientists had secretly been working on the final missing pieces to develop Saber, the space division of Shield. Technically, Saber was more akin to NASA, focused on research, rather than military aims. Its older sister, Sword, had been requisitioned by the Special Forces of the U.S. military and joint operations with other Shield-affiliated nations. While Sword sent armed satellites up to monitor and protect the earth from extraterrestrial and foreign aerospace threats, funded by Pentagon dollars and international equivalent budgets, Saber stayed a dream within Shield until now.

“Ironic,” Carol quipped, hearing this explanation. “It’s supposed to be for research instead of action, and its first mission is tactical?”

“Convenient,” Natasha corrected. “We need space tech we have complete control over. Pierce is heavily involved with Sword.”

“Of course he is.” Melinda rolled her eyes at how predictable the man could be. “Skye—”

“Already on it.” Skye opened her laptop and set it on her crisscrossed legs. As she worked on preparing distractions to divert the attention of the Sword satellites, the Marias took turns explaining the spaceship to Carol, Melinda, Natasha, and Phil.

Jemma and Fitz arrived again, with first aid and survival kits in case anything went wrong and they couldn’t get home for a few days. Skye looked up at the couple’s earnest, cheery faces as they held the bags out like they were delivering the day’s lunch order.

“Wait, sorry, is that typical with space travel?” Skye eyed the bags skeptically. “We might just be stuck out there?”

Jemma sighed and set her bag down at Skye’s side. “The ship is untested. Maiden voyage, remember? But historically in the industry, yes, it’s something to be aware of and prepared for. Like so.” Jemma gestured to the bag again, expecting a little more gratitude than the anxiety she was met with.

“Thank you,” Melinda said genuinely. “Preparation is what we’re here for. We don’t know what we’ll be dealing with out there.”

They ended the hour with a revised plan: Carol and Natasha would play along with Yon-Rogg and Pierce. Maria Rambeau, Melinda, and Skye would follow, flying the Saber spaceship to the Kree base to take out as many guards as they could to clear the way for Carol and Natasha to sneak away and rejoin them on the Saber ship before anyone noticed.

“In a perfect world, at least.” Maria Hill shrugged. “In reality, we know you’re going to need Kree-level icers, and Fitz has helped us add cloaking to the ship that will work in space.”

Fitz let out an “ah!” as if that was his cue. He opened a case on the conference room table and distributed the upgraded handguns to Maria Rambeau, Melinda, Natasha, and Skye.

“Given what we know about Kree skin, normal bullets are useless, as are our current icers. These work the same as standard issue but the toxins are powerful enough to be absorbed into Kree bodies. That said, if you accidentally hit a human, they will be out for days, not hours. So be careful with these.”

Skye opened her mouth, but before she could protest that she didn’t need one, Melinda chimed in. “Yes. Because from what Carol’s said about the inhumans there, it’s safer if the Kree think you’re just a normal human. No powers unless you have to.”

“Good point.” Skye accepted the gun and returned to her laptop. She already had a job besides enhanced agent. She was the only one who could make this plan work so they could even get out of the Earth’s atmosphere undetected.

Carol knew Skye and Melinda could grate on each other’s nerves, but it made her heart twinge to see a mother-daughter pair so close that they knew exactly what the other would say. They were so similar, from little mannerisms to their stubbornness and courage. Inherent in their banter was the unspoken understanding that Melinda was Skye’s idol, and Skye was Melinda’s pride and joy.

“Carol.” Maria Hill brought her back from her thoughts about the family she loved already and the family bonds she’d never had. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“More than, ma’am.” Carol raised her chin in confidence. “I’ve escaped from that base before. And this time, it’s even planned in advance.”

She winked at Skye’s nervous expression to reassure her.

“I’ll be there the whole time,” Natasha promised, seeing through Carol’s bravado as few could. “I’ll have to play my part until I get the signal from Rambeau though, so sorry in advance.”

Maria Rambeau chuckled, “We’ll make it as quick as possible, I promise.”

Melinda nodded. “In and out, just to damage as much of their systems as we can and keep them from coming back.”

All eyes turned to Skye who smiled devilishly from behind her laptop. “I’ve got a virus made especially for their nav systems, built using the code from the pod. They won’t even know how to get back here if they wanted to.”

Fitz tossed her a USB drive with a dongle adapter made especially for the ports on the pod, which Carol said were their universal connectors and would work anywhere in the Kree systems. Hardware wasn’t the problem; access to the system once it was plugged in was a complication only a coding magician like Skye could handle.

Natasha noticed the hour was up and stood. “We need to get back to the training center, and then Carol and I will take the elevator up to Pierce’s office. Phil, comms?”

Everyone gathered by the door for Phil to hand out the clear micro communicators that would fit so invisibly and deeply in their ears that no one would notice. “I’ll be with Hill, quarterbacking from our hidden command center. I want regular updates when you can, and I’ll be monitoring the ship the entire time.”

He paused at Skye and Melinda. “You’ve got this.”

Skye put in her comms and hugged him tight while Melinda put hers in. Melinda and Phil kissed, and Carol considered whether she could sneak in a goodbye kiss to Skye. It was too late though; her opportunity was lost as Natasha rushed her out the door. Carol looked back at Skye one final time, and Skye sent her a tentative go-get-em smile meant to reassure her.

Hurrying along the hallways of Shield with Natasha, Carol reminded herself to trust their team. With any luck, they’d be reunited in no time.

—-------------------

Skye held it together until she got to the roof, metal stairs trembling under her. She let the door slam shut behind her and shouted into the cloudy sky. She balled up her fear in tense fists and yelled again as she released the pressure with arms outstretched. To anyone watching, it might have looked like her voice had the power to split the clouds, but it was the power channeled through her hands. Just like Dr. Garner had taught her when the storm inside her grew too strong. She came up here where she couldn’t hurt anyone or anything. She could even jump from and land on the helipad without destroying the roof. But it had the obvious advantage of being out of sight as well. Here, she could let it out without scaring anyone, literally parting the grey hanging over her to see the light again. She panted in exertion and gathered herself. A plastic bag floated over the roof and Skye used the remainder of her fear and anger at the situation to blast it into oblivion.

A slow clap startled her, and she turned to see a ship being decloaked.

She outstretched a hand in warning and demanded, “Who are you?”

But she knew as soon as she asked.

The man smirked. “You can call me master or sir. After all, you’re the inhuman girl lost all those years ago, aren’t you? Well, Daisy Johnson, all grown up. I’m here to take you home.”

“I’m not who you think,” she lied. Before she could even fire a warning quake in his direction, he raised his fist in her direction and a painful jolt shot through her. Inhibitor wires surrounded her with a power so strong, she struggled to remain alert.

As she slumped to the ground, Pierce emerged on the rooftop with Natasha and Carol.

“No!” Carol shouted. “You’ve got me. Don’t hurt her.”

Pierce ran to Skye with a concern that surprised Natasha and Carol, though they could only exchange worried glances. He ensured she was alive and pulled her to her feet, but Skye could still barely think or keep her eyes open through the pain.

“You FOOL!” Pierce scolded and grabbed Yon-Rogg by the neck, shoving him against the Kree ship. “That’s the daughter of some very powerful people around here, and the prodigy of the director himself!”

Yon-Rogg remained unbothered despite being trapped in Pierce’s grasp. He patted Pierce’s arm patronizingly. “There, there, brother. I was only recovering our stolen property. Are you to tell me that you knew the inhuman girl was here and you weren’t planning on bringing her along? Or did she escape your notice right under your nose this whole time? The Supreme Intelligence will want to know.”

Pierce grunted but relented and let Yon-Rogg go. He adjusted his tie and commanded, “In.”

“C’mon!” Natasha said harshly, playing her role. She pushed Carol forward and then grabbed Skye by the shoulders to shove her up the ramp to the ship.

Yon-Rogg took over Skye-steering duties and threw her into a cage in the cargo section at the back. He commanded to Natasha as he passed back toward the cockpit, “Stay here and watch her.”

Carol tried to stay too, but Yon-Rogg grabbed her by the bicep and pulled her to the front. When he turned to face her, she wanted to spit with anger. Right on his smug, cocky, fucking—

“You know, I never understood why you asked so many questions,” he said, a tone of empathy now coating his sneer. “Poor girl, needed to get a taste of the Terran base desires, is that it? Sample a little of the hometown fare, hm?”

Carol stole a glance toward the back of the ship to check on Skye, but he grabbed Carol’s chin and held her attention on him. “You could have been so much more. And you will be. I haven’t given up on you, Captain. And I’m sorry.”

He dropped his hold on her as they took off, hovering off the roof of the Shield building. They sat down on opposing jump seats and strapped in, trapped in this together now.

“Sorry? For what? Stealing me from my home, my family? Kidnapping me again now!? Raising me to think I was doing noble heroic things, but all the time you were filling my head with LIES!” Carol lashed out as the ship launched, jerking them against the multipoint seatbelts.

Yon-Rogg laughed, “Carol, be serious, this Shield has been the one lying to you. Your true home is with us. Who taught you to use your powers, to reach your potential far beyond these humble origins? Who was there for you every day and night, teaching you to fight with honor?”

Carol shook her head and gritted her teeth. “You know nothing about honor.”

Their silent stares, waiting for the other to break, ended in a stalemate as Pierce summoned Yon-Rogg to the cockpit. He patted her on the head as he passed, and she tried to trip him with her boot. He then turned on a dime and shot her with the same inhibitor wires he’d wrapped Skye in. He sighed. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve made it necessary.”

He opened a pouch at his side to retrieve handcuffs. He clicked them on Carol’s now-immobile wrists and flicked a switch. “There. You could have come back and pled your case by my side. You were young, naive, bewitched by that which you did not know. You could have repented and begged for mercy. But I see you’ve made your choice.”

He retracted the wires with the press of a button on his gauntlets. She didn’t need them anymore. The handcuffs were enough to rob her of her powers and even some of her natural strength. Satisfied, Yon-Rogg joined Pierce in the cockpit, leaving the women alone in the back. Carol scrambled to check on Skye, who was still slipping in and our of consciousness on the floor of the cage.

They reached the hyperspace jump point, and the high-pitched noise from the ship was enough to mask their voices.

“Romanov!” Maria Hill called through the comms. “What the hell happened up there?”

“We have Skye,” Natasha said. “She’s in some sort of net that is keeping her sedated. That’s the best way I have to describe it.”

“Inhibitor,” Carol mumbled, settling into a jumpseat across from Natasha. “Turns off our powers, but it drains our energy too.”

Skye stirred but whimpered when she moved.

“It’s hurting her,” Natasha said. “But I don’t have a way to turn it off and they locked her up where I can’t remove it.”

“It’s like,” Carol slurred, “tiny pricks of pins? Needles, not too bad, but no fun.”

Natasha softened her gaze at Carol. “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll keep watch.”

“Mmmkay.” Carol nodded. Without the wires on her, the only thing she had to fight was the inhibiting power of the handcuffs, so a nap would help her regain her strength. She was going to need it if they were walking into a battle with an entire base of Kree warriors.

—----------

Skye startled awake in a cold, sterile white prison cell. Outside the window, she saw only stars in every direction.

“Good morning, princess,” a smooth voice greeted her in amusement. It belonged to her cellmate, a ruggedly handsome blond with scruffy facial hair and captivating, kind eyes, the type that made Skye want to trust him.

“Where are we?” Skye rasped out. She looked out the window again, but no planets provided a point of orientation.

“Thought that’d be obvious,” the young man chuckled. “Prison. I’m Dr. Lincoln Campbell, by the way. But you can call me Lincoln.”

Skye stuck out a hand, unsure if handshakes were something they did here. He looked at it carefully but didn’t reciprocate. “I’m Skye. I was kidnapped by a guy named Alexander Pierce. Know him?”

Lincoln furrowed his brow and sat on his bed, attached to the plain white wall. “That doesn’t sound like a Kree name. And he’s not inhuman, or any of the other species I’ve seen around here.”

Skye sighed. “Right. Yon-Rogg was the other guy?”

Lincoln was intrigued now. “Yeah, Starforce commander. Wait, how did you know him?”

Skye decided he was trustworthy enough, and besides, she didn’t have anything to lose at this point. “I don’t. He came to my planet and tried to take my girlfriend. When he saw me too, he decided two for the price of one.”

Lincoln put the pieces together. “But you’re in here and she isn’t. You’re in here… in the inhuman holding area for rehabilitation. You’re inhuman.”

Skye hesitated but nodded. “I’d prove it to you, but they seem to have drained my powers on the flight in.”

Lincoln pointed up to the metal plates next to the lights. “These work as broad inhibitors. Without our powers or energy, we can’t make trouble. So, really, what’d you do? Destroy something with your powers in public? Pick a fight with a Starforce guard? Had to be something big for this level of detainment.”

Skye paced the cell, looking for weak points or exposed electronics she could exploit to her advantage. “Not really anything I did so much as who I am.”

“Because of your girlfriend, who is still being questioned?” Lincoln guessed.

“Her name’s Carol, and no. Well, sort of. I got caught because they were looking to bring her back here.”

Lincoln stood and approached, forcing Skye to stop pacing. The hope in his eyes surprised her. “Carol Danvers?”

“Yeah, how? She said she didn’t know many inhumans.”

Lincoln smiled. “She made it home to C-53, then? She’s why I’m in here, you know.”

“Wait, you’re the inhuman doctor that helped her? Dr. Campbell?”

Lincoln winked and laid down on the bed, tossing up a ball of wrapped bandage fabric like a human man might play idly with a baseball. “And now I’m the inhuman prison doctor. No good deed goes unpunished here.”

Skye wanted to say thank you, to express how much his help had changed her life and saved Carol’s, but the words died in her throat. He was in prison—no, “inhuman holding and rehabilitation,” which sounded like a fancy word for torture. And now, at least from his perspective and potentially truly if things didn’t go according to plan, his sacrifice was for nothing. Carol was facing judgment somewhere else on this ship.

A ringing and then static filled Skye’s ear. “Ow!”

“Skye,” Melinda came in over the comm, “can you hear me?”

“Mom? I hear you,” Skye said. Lincoln caught his bandage ball and glanced over at her. She pointed to her ear.

“You’re alive. Are you okay?” Melinda exhaled in relief, possibly the first deep breath she’d taken in hours.

“Yeah, I’m in inhuman prison, which isn’t great, but my cellmate is the doctor who helped Carol escape.”

Lincoln pressed a finger to his lips in the universal sign for shhh.

Melinda asked what floor of the space base, or any identifying markers that would help them find her, but a guard walked by so Skye couldn’t answer.

The guard pressed a button at the end of the hall that beeped. “Reporting floor 47 clear. Requesting access to door 32.”

When the door shut automatically behind the guard, Skye repeated these numbers to the team listening on comms.

“Let’s hope that’s a sign luck’s with us tonight,” Maria Rambeau quipped. “Wait, without Skye to do her coding thing to make the docking bay doors open, how are we going to get in?”

There was some background noise as they consulted with those in the common center back on Earth, and then Melinda, with a smile in her voice, repeated, “Sniper style. I can handle that.”

“Please be careful!” Skye begged. The transmission cut out, and Skye met Lincoln’s waiting gaze.

Skye shrugged. “Okay so the whole thing wasn’t an accident. Me getting caught was defiinitely not in the plan and is going to make this harder. But if you can help me get out of here, I can get you and as many inhumans as we can to safety on Earth, uh, I mean C-53. I’m an agent with an organization called Shield. Keeping people safe from alien threats is our main thing.”

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. “Alien threats? Like you and me? Do they know what you are?”

“Yeah,” Skye defended. “And the people who don’t, it’s more because I’m beyond their clearance level. We have a whole team of people like us, the enhanced division.”

Lincoln laid back on the bed and began tossing his stupid ball again. “And if you weren’t using your powers for your job, but just because you wanted to, would people in public freak out about that?”

Skye approached his bed and caught the ball. “Hey! I’m offering to get you out of this place. From what I’ve heard, it’s not great for people like us here either. Maybe we can’t go around with alien pride flags or something, but you’d be free to make your own choices, not anyone’s weapon or toy or clown or whatever.”

Lincoln sighed and sat up. “You’re right. Sorry. I’ve just heard stories. Inhumans like you from colonies who get sold or traded or win a fight and then end up back here with a reality check for the rest of us. Here, at least no one’s surprised when I use my hands to restart someone’s heart.”

“Electrical powers,” Skye recalled. “You can turn off the lights.”

“Yeah, I was really hoping the saving lives part of that sentence would be the impressive one.”

Skye considered him for a minute. “You haven’t asked what mine are.”

“It’s considered rude, in our culture.”

“Oh.” She tossed back his ball. “Well, I can use the vibrations that objects give off to manipulate them.”

“Huh.” Lincoln turned the ball in his hands. “Every inhuman power fills a void, where there’s a need in our kind. Of course, I’m guessing the inhuman population on C-53 is still pretty small. From what I know, there’s only a hundred or so families who have ever made it there.”

Skye blinked at him. “There are other inhumans on Earth? I’m not the only one?”

He watched Skye carefully. “Yeah… Did your parents tell you much about us when you went through terrigenesis?”

The secure door at the end of the hallway beeped again and the guard appeared. The cell across from them opened, and a muscular young man was pushed in. On Earth, he would have been assumed to play football, but here, Skye guessed his powers had something to do with feats of strength unthinkable for the average human man.

“Joey!” Lincoln called out when the automatic door had shut again, leaving them alone. “You alright, man?”

“Hey, yeah, they just needed me for some metal bending upstairs. On purpose this time, and no one got hurt.” His laugh was self-deprecating and sheepish, and Skye assumed that’s what he was in prison for. “Who’s this?”

“Hi,” Skye stepped up to the cell door. “I’m Skye. New arrival from C-53. Terran, or well, inhuman, but raised just as a normal human. I was just about to tell Lincoln here that I’m adopted. I never learned inhuman culture, and frankly, you two are the first other inhumans I’ve ever met. At least as far back as I can remember. From what I know, I was born here, but when I was really little, I ended up on Earth, sorry, C-53, and got adopted by the people who found me. I actually didn’t know I was inhuman or get my powers—terrigenesis?—until pretty recently. Anyway, how about you guys?”

“You’re…” Joey stared at her and paled like she was a ghost. “You’re her. The kid who got away.”

Lincoln shook his head. “Hey, no, man, she doesn’t need all that. I’m sure Skye’s had a long day…”

Skye remembered, right before she fell, Yon-Rogg had called her something else. “You knew about her? Daisy Johnson, is that right?”

She turned to Lincoln, who was avoiding meeting her eyes. “Carol said my parents were killed. That you would have heard about me, in stories and warnings? Even if you were just kids too, you’d have known about them. Please, all I know is how they died because they tried to save me.”

Joey sighed in sympathy. “I’m so sorry. That’s all we were told too. After you disappeared, things got worse for a while, but now it’s just normal for us. It’s not your fault. My parents were killed too. I try to honor their memory every day. That’s how we survive here.”

“I’m sorry.” Skye pressed a hand to the bars. “Joey, we’re going to get out of here, and I want you to come too.”

Joey’s eyes widened. “You can’t talk like that! If they hear you—”

“You’ll see.” Skye said simply.

Lincoln shook his head at her delusion and went back to tossing his bandage ball. The guard passed by again and called lights out, and they settled into their beds, Skye on her side with her hand over her ear so she wouldn’t miss even a whisper of an incoming transmission.

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[howtofightwrite]

The Mafia Gas Tax Skim

Didn’t the NY Mafia sort-of try this, I may have the details wrong but in the mid-late 70s they began operating “fake” gas stations. Something on the order of close to a billion dollars in unpaid taxes? Correct me please, it’s late and I’m too tired after work to be bothered googling

dumnhpy

You’re very close, and the details are pretty interesting. There have been multiple rounds of this, the one you’re talking about was the late 70s early 80s. It popped back up around the turn of the millennium, with Russian mobsters.

The issue wasn’t fake gas stations, it was fake gas distributors. These are the companies that sell gas to the stations themselves. At the time, they were responsible for collecting any sales taxes on the gasoline. So, a real station would buy gas from the distributor. The distributor would keep the 9 cents a gallon, to hand over to the IRS and any relevant state revenue services.

In the mid-70s, some people in the distribution industry realized that there was a potential loophole. If the distributor that collected the tax money no longer existed or was bankrupt by the time tax collectors came for their payout, there was no money to take.

There were (at least) four geographic areas where this scam started gaining traction, Southern California, Southern Florida, Houston, and New York City. I don’t have firm numbers on how long this continued undetected. By the late 70s, a couple of The Families had learned about this, and muscled their way in. At that point, the Mafia started skimming off the stolen tax money, so for roughly five years, the Mafia was getting one cent for every gallon of gas sold in the Tri-State area. (I’ve seen some conflicting numbers for how much money was taken, though estimates put this at a billion dollars over the life of the skim, though I’m unsure if that was the Mafia’s cut, or if that was the total skim.)

So, it wasn’t a Mafia plan, so much as the Mafia sniffed out corruption (which they are very adept at), and then inserted themselves into the processes. (It’s also worth noting that the operations in SoCal, Florida, and Texas never came under Mafia control. Those remained independent operations.)

It’s a little unclear whether Mafia involvement accelerated the skim’s discovery. There were already criminal investigations going back into the 70s, trying to figure out where the money was going. At the same time, the Mafia brought their signature degree of violence, and lack of subtly.

By the mid-to-late 80s, this was mostly exposed, and shut down. There were changes to make this kind of skimming operation more difficult. As mentioned earlier, it didn’t completely prevent this kind of skim, and there was a brief resurgence twenty years ago, again in the Tri-State area, but it failed to take hold and remain undetected.

It is an interesting footnote and worth digging up. As I mentioned, the Mafia had a real knack for sniffing out corruption or graft and then inserting themselves into the process.

-Starke

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The Mafia Gas Tax Skim was originally published on How to Fight Write.

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Take Hirako’s Betrayal of Goat

Setup

Throughout the last few arcs of Tokyo Ghoul :re, there were subtle hints that someone from inside Goat was a traitor leaking information. For example, during the Clown Siege Arc Kaneki decides to assist the CCG in killing Clowns before heading out to retrieve rc suppressants for Akira Mado. They finish doing so earlier than expected (only 20 minutes), but despite this V agents have somehow already made it to their location.

The CCG monitors only detected Goat’s presence when they arrived to fight the Clowns. So, in only the 20 minutes after being made aware of Goat’s presence they somehow made it all the way over to their location (on foot) from wherever they were previously? The only logical explanation seems to be that somebody tipped them off previously and they had men on standby.

Later, after Furuta unleashes the Oggai they destroy Goat’s 3rd base in :re 122. After this event, the Goat  members do question if there was a leak.

After being made aware of the Oggai, they believe it was solely due to their sensory abilities that they were able to find the base. However, while this event was being aired on television one newscaster noted that Furuta’s performance lasted online 38 minutes.

What she meant by his “roadside performance” is somewhat vague. Did it take the Oggai 38 minutes to destroy the base in 38 minutes? Given what was shown of their strength it’s doubtful it would’ve taken them that long. So, does that mean it took them 38 minutes to both find the base and destroy it? For the Oggai to use their senses to locate the base they would have to do so on foot. So, they located the base and traveled there on foot in less than 38 minutes? It seems to good to be true that they started their search so close to the base. This again hints that someone leaked information.

Later, in an attempt to infiltrate Goat the Oggai Hajime Hazuki pretends to be a ghoul on the run in order be saved by Naki, who then takes him to Goat’s base in the 24th ward (in :re 127).

However, how could Hajime have known that Goat members would be here? He could’ve used his senses to tell that Ghouls were nearby, but he wouldn’t have been able to know that they belonged to Goat. This again suggests someone leaked information, in this case that someone revealed an area where Goat members would be active. 

Later, the CCG attacks the 24th ward base while most of the stronger ghouls are out with a scavenging party. Kaneki considered this possibility, and so he assigned a communication squad led by Kaya Irimi and Enji Koma to the outskirts of the 24th ward. With Irimi’s enormous sensory abilities, she should have been able to detect any incoming attacks, and then the squad could send a transmission to the scavenging party to have them come back to base.

However, this doesn’t happen.

During the original series, after the Anteiku members went to rescue Kaneki Irimi stays outside of the complex they go into. She stays outside and uses her abilities to monitor to movements inside the entire facility.

There’s no way someone whose senses are so vast and refined wouldn’t notice large scale attack coming. The moment she felt the CCG incoming they would’ve sent a transmission. Not only does this not happen, Koma and Irimi’s squad members are shown beheaded.

Koma and Irimi aren’t actually among the bodies here as their icons indicate that they are wearing their Devil Ape and Black Dober uniforms, while the corpses are shown wearing dark red robes. However, notice here that the bodies are facing towards the screen (inwards) rather than outwards. Meaning that whoever killed them came from behind, and so whoever killed them wasn’t the CCG who came from outwards.

This could be explain why Koma and Irimi didn’t send  transmission to Kaneki. Whoever attacked them from behind undetected could only have come from the direction of the 24th ward (a fellow goat member). So, seeing a friendly face wouldn’t have put them on alert until it was too late. The traitor struck once more.

Finally, after Kaneki’s final battle with Furuta, the latter uses some interesting words when speaking to Kaneki.

How would Furuta know Kaneki had a wife or kid? Kaneki only married Touka after they decided to hide in the 24th ward. Also, knowledge of her pregnancy only became apparent when they were in the 24th ward as well. So, how Furuta hear? The answer is likely the same as previously: a traitor inside of Goat leaking information.

So far, all these points suggest a traitor inside of Goat was leaking information and working against them in secret. But who is this traitor? There is both symbolic evidence and textual evidence that suggests the identity of the traitor: Take Hirako.

Symbolic Evidence

There is symbolic evidence that ties Take Hirako to Judas Iscariot (the disciple who betrayed Jesus Christ). Judas left the Last Supper early or did not attend at all (depending on the version of the story), and later sold out Jesus for 30 pieces of silver. Later, he hung himself from a tree (thereby breaking his neck).

Just like Judas didn’t attend the Last Supper, Hirako didn’t attend the Christmas dinner at the Quinx Chateau.

Not only that, but the plant shown in this image (with leaves in circles) looks like it was cut from a Japanese Laurel tree. In Japan, this tree is also known as the Japanese Judas-Tree, which further hints at the Judas connection. In regards to Hirako breaking his neck, there are a number of images in the Tokyo Ghoul calendar (released in 2016) that focus on his neck.

As shown in a post by @akiira-mado​:

1. “Let us fight. Even if the God of Death will point his blade at my throat.“ 2. CCG’s God of Death killing a fly but it’s a strange composition, slashing X across Hirako’s neck. For such a simple omake, it would have been easy for Ishida to rework the awkward composition differently. 3.  Hirako clutching his neck with Arima in the bg observing. “I felt death approaching” is Hirako’s comment about this scene.

Also, in Hirako’s card in the Tokyo Ghoul Trump series, there appears to be a sand dollar in the background.

The five slits in sand dollars are said to represent Christ’s wounds on the cross. So, this is another reference to Judas as he is responsible for Christ’s wounds. Later, Hirako himself is even called Judas when confronted by Hajime Hazuki.

All of this points to Hirako as the Judas of Tokyo Ghoul, but who is the Jesus he betrayed? Throughout the story, Ken Kaneki has depicted with Christian symbolism.

So, this sets up that Hirako is indeed a traitor to Kaneki.

Textual Evidence

Hirako is seen relatively little in the story. However, we know that he generally wears a bland, stoic expression. There are points when this expression breaks, and these point can be telling. 

Hirako is typically a very passive individual who waits for orders. However, when they are getting ready to steal rc suppressants from the CCG lab in the Clown Arc, he not only volunteers himself for the lab mission but even states he has the layout of the lab memorized in order to convince Kaneki to bring him along. If you look closely at his left eye, it appears out of focus. Why did Hirako want to go to the lab so much?

If Hirako was a traitor working for Furuta, then he may have known Rize was at the lab. He specifically mentions he has the layout of the lab memorized, and so if he went he may have tried to steer the group away from the area where Rize was (since she was vital to Furuta’s plan).

Another point made at the beginning of this meta was that somehow Hajime Hazuki knew that Naki was nearby when he pretended to be a ghoul in trouble. Later, when Hirako first confronts Hajime he appears uncharacteristically hostile. 

Later, when Kaneki says they will keep him locked up underground he appears worried.

If Hirako was the one who told Furuta where Hajime could find the white suits, then Hajime may know as well. So, he may be afraid of Hajime exposing him. 

Finally, there’s Irimi and Koma. They are revealed to have died at some unspecified point, but they are revived as quinques by Akihiro Kanou. In the final battle with V, after Hirako hears that the Black Dobers (Irimi) are coming to the battlefield, he looks to the side nervously.

This is likely because he had a hand in their deaths. Also, despite being used as puppets Irimi and Koma do retain some aspects of their original personality.

And who are the first people they move to attack? Hirako and Ui.

Why they attacked Ui is unclear. During the Rushima Island Arc she seemed to want to fight Ui specifically, and so she may have a grudge against him for something.

However, it’s important to note that they attack Hirako as well, probably to avenge their deaths.

Motive

Since we know so little about Hirako, it’s not really possible to know his motivations for betraying Kaneki and Goat unless Ishida-sensei reveals it to us some day. However, if we take the Judas analogy into account, we remember that Jesus was betrayed for thirty pieces of silver. According to a recent study, 30 shekels of silver in today’s money would be around $200. Imagine betraying Jesus for 200 bucks! So, the few pieces of silver were likely to illustrate the Jesus was betrayed for a petty and insignificant price. So, Hirako’s reason for betraying was likely for a petty reason.

[toswallowastar]

The Wind is a Running Man

Pretty much just angst. Kinda an au? This is my first fic so please be nice. Idk why the format is so wack. I don’t know anything about crime stuff so just take it with a grain of salt.

Word count: no idea. Long

Description: A kinda modern look at Zuko’s childhood and the events that lead up to his eventual escape.

Blink and you’ll miss it Maiko

WARNINGS: graphic depictions of child abuse and implied character death.

The thunder was loud. Too loud. It almost covered up the screaming match between his father and mother. Zuko couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but it didn't sound good.

“Zuzu can I sleep with you?” He looked over at his sister who was holding her blanket and stuffed animal at the frame of his doorway. She looked so small and scared. Nothing like her usual demeanor. “Sure, Zula.” She climbed up his enormous bed and hid away in his arms. “Do you think Mom will be okay? Will dad hurt her?” Zuko looked over at her. She had tears trailing down her eyes. “Everything will be okay. Mom is strong and can hold her own.” Her bottom lip wobbled as she looked up at him. “Do you think he will hurt us?” She trailed the line of stitches that traveled down his shoulder. A wound his father had given to him just last week. He held her tight. “I won't let anything happen to you. No matter what happens, I’ll always be right here.”

In the early dawn Zuko woke up to their mother humming and stroking his hair. “Good morning my love.” He looked up at her to see her golden eyes shining with unshed tears. He scanned her over to see any blossoming bruises, but to his relief, he didn't see any.

”I need to show you something.” She led him down the corridors, through the kitchen, into the library, and off to a side door, he didn't even know existed. Inside was a forest of plants from sunflowers to nightshade. He knew his mother loved plants, for she taught him extensively on them, but he had never known about any of this.

”Zuko, I need you to listen to me.” He looked up at her to see a worried frown written over her face. ”Soon I will not be here to protect you. You will need to do it yourself.” She broke off an Aloe Vera leaf, some leaves of lemon balm, and lavender. She put her ingredients in a stone mortar and ground it with a pestle until it was a green puree. ”This is how I make our healing balm. You can apply it to cuts, burns, bruises, or scars.”

She walked over to the other side of the greenhouse. They stopped at a plant that had wrapped itself around the wooden table's legs. At the opening of the leaves were tiny red berries. Zuko knew exactly what this one was: Abrus precatorius. Also known as Rosary Peas. It could kill a human within days if ingested. It mimicked liver failure and was untraceable. His mother had taught him that much.

She reached behind her hair and unclasped her locket. Plucking a rosary pea she placed it inside of the metal heart that held a picture of her mother and father. ”There will come a time when you will need to use this.” She placed the locket in his open palm. ”Cut open the seed, then squeeze it into a cup of tea. Add lemon juice to slow the poison so you can make your escape undetected.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “Most importantly, you will need to cover your tracks. Get rid of any evidence.” Zuko looked up at his mother. He had never seen this side of her. Her gentle nature hid a warrior like strength. It reminded him of something she once said, “That’s what moms are like. If you hurt their babies, they're going to bite you back!”

Their Mom vanished the next night and so did the plants. A day and a half later their grandfather died peacefully in his sleep. Zuko found a note addressed to him and Azula telling them how much she loved them. She said everything she had ever done was for them. As hurt as Zuko was, he couldn't find it in him to be angry at her. She did what she had to do. And now, she was free.

After that, Azula was sent to a boarding school where she would be taught to be ruthless and cunning just like their father. Zuko on the other hand was locked away in the estate. He was not allowed to even go outside without a guard present. Sometimes he was granted visits from his uncle if he had an especially good week with his tutors, but that was before he left the company to work for a tea shop in Ba Sing Se. At first, Zuko did his best to gain his father’s love and acceptance. He tried to become just like him. Even after four broken bones, fifty-two stitches, and countless scars littered over his body, he still wanted to please him. But things changed two months ago. His father had some of his council members over for dinner. When they started talking business Zuko saw this as his chance to earn his father's love. He exclaimed that one of their idea would never work. That it was wrong and immoral and would leave thousands to die. He looked over at his father for some kind of approval, but all he saw was rage.

When the council members left, all wrath that had been stored in Ozai towards his son was released. He grabbed Zuko by the collar and held one side of his face in the roaring fire-place. “Please, father. I only had your best interest at heart!” The boy cried. “You will learn respect and suffering will be your teacher.” No matter how much Zuko screamed and cried Ozai would not relent until the boy fell limp in his grasp. The night ended with a thirteen year old boy bloodied and burned laying on the floor completely motionless.

Three weeks later Zuko woke up with a bandage covering half of his face. At first, he couldn't quite remember what had happened to him. He slipped out of his bed and placed himself in front of the mirror. He peeled back the bandage to reveal a hideous burn stretching from his left eye to his shriveled ear. Flashes of flames licking his face and a firm grasp around his neck came flooding in his memories. He choked a sob. Reaching in his dresser drawer he grabbed the salve his mother taught him to make and carefully applied it to the wound. He winced as the cool ointment touched his face. Covering the burn back up, Zuko looked over at the locket his mother had given him so many years ago. He thought of what she had told him, “There will come a time when you will need to use this.”

His mother had unbound herself and joined the freedom of the wind. Perhaps it was time he let go of his burdens too.

A month later, he had his affairs in order. A plan that would have made even his mother proud. Tonight there would be a party at the estate. Every important person in the city would be attending. Zuko looked out his bedroom window to see the limousines pulling up to the residence. He remembered what his father had told him, “Say nothing and stay out of sight.” He could hear the band and the chattering of people as they walked in. He looked to see Mai getting out of the car. Her hair in the usual half up half down style with a red dress and lip. She looked breathtaking as usual. He waited in his room until he heard the voices die down. After he was positive everyone had left, he made his way down stairs. He had intentionally been avoiding any staff member from the estate for weeks now, he couldn't blow it just as he was reaching the finish line. He needed to make sure there would be no suspicious activity before they draw the conclusion of a death with natural causes.

He made his way to the kitchen and prepared a cup of tea. He chose Jasmine and let it steep into the pot until ready to serve. Picking up a cup for himself and his father, he remembered what his mother had told him, “Cut open the seed, then squeeze it into a cup of tea. Add lemon juice to slow the poison so you can make your escape undetected.” He watched as each drop hit the bottom of the cup, then added a bit of lemon to the brew.

He slipped into the dining room where he knew his father would be seated. “How did the gala go?” Zuko looked over at his father, emotionless and stone faced as usual. “It was fine.” Ozai huffed without even looking up from his documents. Zuko poured him a cup of tea and placed it in front of him. “Tomorrow is the three year anniversary of your mother’s disappearance. Were you aware of that, Zuko?” He simply nodded. “Your mother was always so weak. She never fought back, never even so much as put up a fight. But when it came to protecting you, her true colors came out. She was merciless, fierce, and dangerous. You are so much like her.” He looked over at him, eyes dancing menacingly with fire. “Sometimes I wonder, just what are you capable of, Zuko?” Ozai lifted up the cup and took his first sip.

Zuko thoroughly washed out the tea set and placed it exactly where he had found it. He raced upstairs and set his items in his pack. A water satchel, his dao swords, a couple changes of clothing, a brick of tea, a locket, the special salve, and ten-thousand dollars in cash he had saved for a rainy day. Tonight was quite literally that rainy day. He put on his black clothing, and as stealthily as he had practiced, snuck down the halls, stopping at Azula’s abandoned room. “In a couple of months, when this is all over, I will come back for her.” He mentally told himself. He made sure to miss every security camera and every window. When he was out of sight, he ran through the rain, mud flinging every which way. He practically flew into the pickup stop for the bus. His heart was beating a mile a minute as he realized perhaps the bus would not come tonight. What was he to do then? Walk? Hitchhike? Just as he was about to leave, a big green and yellow bus skidded to a stop. The bus driver opened the doors and looked down at him, “You taking the bus to Ba Sing Se?” Zuko tried to keep his voice from shaking, “Yes, sir.” The man waved him forward. He walked in the almost full bus and took a seat at an open spot in the back. He looked around, wondering what kind of interesting strangers were on this midnight bus ride. He spotted two water-tribe siblings, a boy with blue tattoos all down his arms and legs even stretching to his forehead, a woman whose face had been painted red and white, and a blind girl who looked like she hadn't bathed for weeks.

He watched as they laughed at some joke the watertribe boy had told. He rested his head against the bus window, wondering if their paths would ever cross.

When he woke, they had made it to the city. He grabbed his pack from under the seat and scurried through the aisle. Zuko hopped off the bus hoping to get away from the smelly strangers as fast as possible. He grabbed the railings of the inner wall and scanned all of the buildings wondering how he would ever find Uncle. Even with the treacherous road ahead, he couldn't help but feel giddy.

Zuko looked up at the city skyline. He closed his eyes and let a smile wash over his face. Finally, he was free.

[dragon-writer]

Aaron Hernandez

Just finished the Aaron Hernandez miniseries. I don’t watch American “football,” so I didn’t know him. It was just up on Netflix.

By the first time you hear the slurred speech, I’m like, “Please don’t tell me this obviously brain damaged man is currently doing life in prison somewhere.” That was my first nightmarish thought and it turned into a horror show/suspense right off the bat because I didn’t know anything and I didn’t want to google it...

By episode two, it’s almost a comedy. Joker style. A comedy of very deliberate errors.

Parents who push their children in order for them to “make it” are good in a sense, but also kind of abusive, especially when you’re pushing them to excel at violent things. 

It’s not like God parted the skies and commanded Aaron to make it to the SuperBowl. It’s just an ego weak kid listening to his father. And then the Patriots with their military “football is life” bullshit just stepped in to keep it going... He’s just introjecting these neurotic drives one after the other at higher and higher levels because he’s talented enough to compensate... Nightmare.

I mean, I didn’t have to deal with trauma on that scale, but it’s a cold sobering moment when that disillusionment sets in and you realise that you’re physically and mentally irrevocably damaged because someone sold you on an idea. Because someone said jump when you were six and you just kept jumping till your twenties. 

And this is why I hate movies like Split that make dissociation seem like a magic trick that comes with cool powers. Sometimes, it’s as simple as breaking off a piece of yourself that doesn’t jump. That’s capable of anger and doing simple things like saying no. That doesn’t have to provide for anyone.That doesn’t have to represent a community. That isn’t being graded and statistically analysed. 

You create something that isn’t bound up in the same stranglehold you find yourself in.

We used to have a dog that they kept on a chain, day in day out, never barked, and they used to joke that if it ever got loose it was either going to run off or maul somebody. That’s what happens when you slip a leash and break out of an imposed routine of compliance. Sometimes you play cool and try to blend,  sometimes you go werewolf.

So yeah, I hate when abused, mentally ill or brain damaged people commit suicide. TVs, movies, real life, true crime. And then everyone is like, “The demon is slain!” as the sun starts shining down on Pride Rock once more. Fuck that. It might sound shitty, it might actually be shitty, but my moral stance is that it’s better to plan a homicide than a suicide. There’s that noble way of looking at it as if a suicide is protecting other people, but I mean, your own life and health has to be your number one priority. It’s like they say in MMA, protect yourself at all times.

And he’s in this sport where he’s being repeatedly injured while holding on to a ball, protecting a ball.. and it just occured to me, that the whole point of American football is using your body however violently to protect a ball because “Culture, money, entertainment...” 

And they made so much ado about the 40 million contract! How much of that did he actually get? Meanwhile his owner is worth something like 6 billion and he’s doing fine. Nothing traumatic going on there. He’s what, 80? Are there any stories about how dangerous it is to be an owner?

There were so many red flags. So many...

By episode 2, he’s just like... impulse killing. No planning, the most half-assed cover-up, and it’s sad because it’s just a really slow suicide all in all, but I’m still watching it because it’s really kind of unbelievable that it’s happening in the first place. He’s gone from shooting strangers to shooting friends to shooting people who were basically extended family, like a death spiral. So at this point, I’m worried for him and Shay and the baby...

And then he’s in prison for life, and for the nightmare that the story was so far, this is like a happy ending. I start coming up with possible endings... “Oh, so he got some therapy inside and he’s working in the prison library writing Harry Potter fanfiction or something. Gets at least monthly visits with his child...”

And then he kills himself and they’re doing slide shows on his brain in universities, like “Could you believe how fucked up the brain of this person was - this is so shocking! So he wasn’t just an evil killer? His brain was degenerated after a decade and change of chronic trauma in the name of a billion dollar industry sport that’s only played in one country? Wow?” 

Who gets to 27 with that kind of neurological degeneration undetected? Wouldn’t he have had access to the very best neurologists, psychiatrists, etc? It’s not some asymptomatic condition that springs up on you overnight. They didn’t have to cut his brain open after death to figure this out. 

And that’s off Medscape. You don’t need to be an advanvced pathologist to solve this mystery. And that’s why I think I’m upset at Netflix and whoever else made this for making a sensational drama out of it like there was some giant puzzle to be solved as to why he did it. All the rumours about his sexuality when the man’s already dead to garner more media attention and get people talking.

The man had stage 3 CTE. Giant-ass ventricles at 27. Record breaking. He’s the youngest person on record with such advanced degeneration. So maybe when he started shooting people on impulse it had less to do with his sexual experimentation and more to do with the fact there were holes in his brain. To feel yourself slipping away like that for years. Everyone’s fantasy on the outside, literally hollow on the inside. 

I mean, I’m looking at pictures of the man’s brain on a slab after midnight and reading the suicide notes he left like, “Well, he didn’t lose his spelling...”

What the fuck, Netflix? I needed a trigger warning on that.

I don’t want to hate on the sport, I just think it’s stupid. But then I follow another sport where a man was apparently fighting for years with one eye... Doctors let him fight with one eye even though his “good” eye isn’t all that good either...

It’s the same story of billionaires giving you shit pay for your life and organs. Same story of straw dogs. The only thing that made Aaron special is that he was young and good looking and his brain broke before his body so he wasn’t some irrelevant reitree. They didn’t juice him for everything he was worth so it’s all about wasted potential... 

The players at the end talking about how fine and healthy and normal they are... “Concussions never hurt me. Brain damage is a natural part of life. Thousands of us have CTE and we haven’t killed anyone...” It’s so disturbing. 

It’s like an ongoing international True Crime. 

So to end this note-to self rant, moral of the day - disappoint who you have to disappoint, hurt who you have to hurt. Don’t disappoint yourself, don’t hurt yourself. 

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[ohayohimawari]

Kakashi Asks-Answer

Q: (From @thetoxicstrawberry) What are your thoughts on Sukea? Do you think this disguise existed prior to him messing with Team 7?

A: I know that you and I have congratulated each other on having the same brain before Berry, and this is another of those priceless occasions, haha! I’ve been hoping that someone would ask me about Sukea so that I could have an excuse opportunity to geek all over my favorite ninja dork’s alter ego. Thank you for reading my thoughts (your thoughts? Our thoughts?)!

*Cracks knuckles* My study of the development of Kakashi’s photogenic photographer not-so-secret identity starts below the cut.

It’s a beautiful coincidence that I answer this question so close to my first anniversary as an outed writer in the Naruto fanfiction community. I wrote my headcanon of the origin of Sukea in my very first (and very naughty) fic! Seriously, I can forgive Kishi for almost everything simply because he removed the mask from my favorite character and put a camera in his hands (for those that don’t know, I’m a photographer).

In my story Supplemental Training, I portray Kakashi just as I imagine him when he’s nearing the end of his ANBU career. While he claims to be a man of many hobbies, he is first and foremost a ninja. He goes to sleep and wakes up a shinobi. His ability to form plans and strategies makes him both a powerful ally and a formidable enemy, but beyond the scope of missions, I don’t believe him to be an especially imaginative person. At the very least, I mean to say that he doesn’t put much stock in his own latent creative ability, and that prevents him from attempting such. Further, at that stage in his life and career, Kakashi is wound tighter than a two-dollar watch.

In my fic, he is reluctantly thrust into a situation that he is suspicious of, and is determined to control. He plays along with another character when she asks what he would like to call her, and Kakashi dubs her with a name that is obvious and unimaginative. She, in turn, christens him with a name that is equally obvious and unimaginative: Sukea.

(Side note: sukea is the Japanese pronunciation of the English word scare. Kakashi means scarecrow in Japanese, so, his alter ego’s name is a play on his own.)

In the story, Kakashi accepts the offered moniker, and it’s not long before he realizes that he stands to gain new skills if he manages to successfully navigate his situation. I’d written that my quick-thinking bean likens this experience to being an actor that is assuming a role. In scrambling for a costume, he tugs his mask down; effectively removing the face that most have come to recognize as his. Then, he’s nervous af.

This leads to the pivotal moment of my story, and in the creation of Sukea. Konoha’s prodigy, for all of his brilliance, doesn’t shine in the social interactions arena. Kakashi, bless his heart, wants so badly to be in control of the situation. However, it’s only when he lets himself go in favor of becoming Sukea, that he finally does gain control of it.

Near the end of my story, I write that Kakashi considers, “… what he had gained, who he had escaped, what he had beaten back, and who he became.” It’s from this moment on that I believe Sukea is an important part of this character’s life.

This transition doesn’t have to play out the way I’d written it in that fic, but I think Kakashi would have to be pushed into stepping outside of himself. We don’t see him assuming different identities in his career. He’s not a role-playing kind of dude in his downtime. He lives in a mask and wears an additional one when he clocks in for his shifts. He insulates himself during missions and isolates himself between them. I sometimes wonder if, by this stage in his life, he’d hidden his identity so well that Kakashi had lost sight of himself.

So, the experience of being Sukea-however it comes about and for whatever reason-would be something between refreshing and liberating for the Copy Nin.

Now I’m going to pull a Kishi tactic and employ a time jump with minimal backstory. A couple of years go by in which bad things happen to the Uchiha clan, Konoha adopts yet another orphan, and Kakashi is released from ANBU.

I imagine that this is one of the most difficult stages of Kakashi’s life. Nothing could be more unsettling for this dork than idleness after the familiar, strict, comfortable routine of the decade he spent in ANBU. I honestly think Kakashi wouldn’t know what to do with himself in the years between Black Ops and Team Seven. As a result, he begins to have a greater appreciation of Gai and his challenges. Also, this is when Kakashi would flesh out his secret identity as Sukea.

Because escapism.

Kakashi can’t stand himself in the years between Team Minato and Team Seven, and after he’s out of ANBU, he’s got too much time on his hands to ruminate on it.

There’s no way in hell that he would just wake up one day and decide to skip along the streets of Konoha without his mask on though. Kakashi would approach this consciously and meticulously. It helps to occupy the extra time. It postpones the moment between deciding to go out as Sukea and actually doing it. He would need time to prepare for this, mentally and physically.

There’s more to my headcanon than loathing himself though. The Third Hokage decided that this traumatized soldier was grade A teacher material, and Kakashi takes his orders seriously. While I don’t think he would view his eccentric nature as odd, I think he would be aware that he is socially awkward (at least, he would be aware that he feels awkward in social situations). I think he would strive to improve at this, if only for the sake of being a sensei.

This is why Sukea is a photographer.

Being a photographer is similar to being a fly on the wall. In order to capture candid moments or gather pictorial evidence, a photographer needs to melt into the background. Kakashi, being a ninja, would know how to succeed at that. He’d come to terms with the fact that the mask that hides his face makes him stand out. He’d know to cover his luscious, outrageous silver cowlicks, his famous scar and borrowed eye.

I can almost hear a couple of you piping up in the back asking, “But Hima, he’s a ninja! He can just don a henge!” The answer to that is no, unfortunately. As long as that sharingan is in Kakashi’s eye socket, that shit never shuts off. Even though he’s wearing a contact lens, as long as both of his eyes are open, it’s a constant drain on this poor knucklehead’s chakra reserve. Also? I think he doesn’t want to.

Choosing photography as Sukea’s schtick was brilliant. Photographers are expected to focus on their subjects, affording Kakashi plenty of time and opportunity to study others. He would definitely learn a great deal about people this way. Relationships and their dynamics are captured by his lens. He gains some new social skills by watching and catches up on the lives of the folks of the Hidden Leaf at the same time. One of his many hobbies is born. The best photographers are careful in their observations, quick in their actions, and Kakashi is already carrying those tools around in his fanny pack.

Unrelated, but, only Kakashi could make a fanny pack look asjkfsd hot. Another trivial detail, but you know how I love those: I’m thinking of one of Berry’s delightful headcanons about his mask and drawing from it now in my imagination. I wonder if Sukea carries Kakashi’s mask in his coat pocket the first few times he goes out in public.

Whether he does or not, after a few field trips around Konoha, I think Kakashi would genuinely enjoy stepping out as Sukea. He would have to if he’s still doing it during his sensei days, and again in the next-gen era.

He delights in trolling Team Seven, that’s for sure. Sukea is his own private joke, and who among us tires of laughing at our own jokes? Kakashi’s no different, and that’s why we catch him smirking at his reflection when we finally got to see the goods in that special manga chapter and anime episode. It felt so good to have my anime crush validated, btw.

Every time Kakashi drifts undetected around the Leaf Village, there is one other jōnin that Sukea’s camera avoids. As much as he enjoys his joke, he wouldn’t push his luck when it comes to the possibility of Maito Gai recognizing him. I think it speaks volumes about their friendship when we see Sukea sweating it out as Gai’s eyebrows invade his personal space and he stares the other man down. I’m convinced that this is how Kakashi learns his eternal rival is hopelessly face blind, but that’s a headcanon for another day.

Sukea is still stalking the inhabitants of the Hidden Leaf when Boruto’s generation of ninja are preparing to graduate. However, we see Kakashi tugging his mask back up and pulling the wig off, transitioning in front of Iruka. In so doing, he proves how much he’s grown throughout his life. I imagine that being Sukea had a lot to do with that.

This alter ego of Kakashi’s-like so much about him-is enigmatic. It seems to me that he’s revealing himself rather than hiding himself; giving others a chance to get to know him underneath the underneath. The person aside from the elite ninja that he is.

I said earlier that I wondered if Kakashi had hidden his identity so well, that he had lost sight of himself. I like to think that in being Sukea, Kakashi reconnected with himself.

XOXO

[go-redgirl]

Will Coronavirus End the New World Order, Put America First?

Dr. Brian Monahan, attending physician of Congress, told a closed meeting of Senate staffers this week that 70 million to 150 million Americans — a third of the nation — could contract the coronavirus.

Dr. Anthony Fauci testified that the mortality rate for COVID-19 will likely run near 1%. Translation: Between 750,000 and 1.1 million Americans may die of this disease before it runs its course. The latter figure is equal to all the U.S. dead in World War II and on both sides in the Civil War.

Chancellor Angela Merkel warns that 70% of Germany's population — 58 million people — could contract the coronavirus. If she is right, and Fauci's mortality rate holds for her country, that could mean more than half a million dead Germans.

Czech Prime Minister Andrej Babis called Merkel's remark "unhelpful" and said it could cause panic. But Harvard epidemiologist Marc Lipsitch seemed to support Merkel, saying between 40% and 70% of the world's population could become infected.

Again, if Fauci's 1% mortality rate and Lipsitch's estimate prove on target, between 3 billion and 5 billion people on earth will be infected, and 30 million to 50 million will die, a death toll greater than that of the Spanish Flu of 1918.

There is, however, some contradictory news.

China, with 81,000 cases, has noted a deceleration in new cases and South Korea appears to be gradually containing the spread of the virus.

Yet, Italy, with its large elderly population, may be a harbinger of what is to come in the West.

As of Thursday, Italy had reported 12,000 cases and 827 deaths, a mortality rate of nearly 7%. This suggests that the unreported and undetected infections in shutdown Italy are far more numerous.

In the U.S., the death toll at this writing is 39, a tiny fraction of the annual toll of tens of thousands who die of the flu.

But the problem is this: COVID-19 has not nearly run its course in the USA, while the reaction in society and the economy approaches what we might expect from a boiling national disaster.

The stock market has plunged further and faster than it did in the Great Crash of 1929. Trillions of dollars in wealth have vanished. If Sen. Bernie Sanders does not like "millionaires and billionaires," he should be pleased. There are far fewer of them today than there were when he won the New Hampshire primary.

What does the future hold?

It may one day be said that the coronavirus delivered the deathblow to the New World Order, to a half-century of globalization, and to the era of interdependence of the world's great nations.

Tourism, air travel, vacation cruises, international gatherings and festivals are already shutting down. Travel bans between countries and continents are being imposed.

Conventions, concerts and sporting events are being canceled. Will the Tokyo Olympics go forward? If they do, will all the anticipated visitors from abroad come to Japan to enjoy the games?

Trump has issued a one-month travel ban on Europe.

As for the "open borders" crowd, do Democrats still believe that breaking into our country should no longer be a crime, and immigrants arriving illegally should be given free health care, a proposition to which all the Democratic debaters raised their hands?

The ideological roots of our free trade era can be traced to the mid-19th century when its great evangelist, Richard Cobden, rose at Free Trade Hall in Manchester on Jan. 15, 1846, and rhapsodized: "I see in the Free Trade principle that which shall act on the moral world as the principle of gravitation in the universe — drawing men together, thrusting aside the antagonism of race, and creed, and language, and uniting us in the bonds of eternal peace."

In the pre-Trump era, Republicans held hands with liberal Democrats in embracing NAFTA, GATT, the WTO and most-favored-nation trade privileges for China.

In retrospect, was it wise to have relied on China to produce essential parts for the supply chains of goods vital to our national security? Does it appear wise to have moved the production of pharmaceuticals and lifesaving drugs for heart disease, strokes and diabetes to China? Does it appear wise to have allowed China to develop a virtual monopoly on rare earth minerals crucial to the development of weapons for our defense?

In this coronavirus pandemic, people now seem to be looking for authoritative leaders and nations seem to be looking out for their own peoples first. Would Merkel, today, invite a million Syrian refugees into Germany no matter the conditions under which they were living in Syria and Turkey?

Is not the case now conclusive that we made a historic mistake when we outsourced our economic independence to rely for vital necessities upon nations that have never had America's best interests at heart?

Which rings truer today? We are all part of mankind, all citizens of the world. Or that it's time to put America and Americans first!

Patrick Buchanan has been an adviser to three presidents, a two-time candidate for the Republican presidential nomination, and the nominee for the Reform Party in 2000. He was also a founding member of "The McLaughlin Group," 

[luci-is-a-devil-]

If I’m Not Falling On The Rink, I’m Falling For You

Author Note: Hiya! It’s been a while since my last post, i’m truly excited to show you the part of a possible series! I recommend reading on desktop if you can, a lot easier! I hope you enjoy, its my first time trying a fic based in the past, the 70s to be exact~

Trigger Warning: Cursing / Mentions of blood / Fighting / Homophobia / Underaged Drinking

Word Count: 6,037

When Chanyeol had applied for a job at the local roller skating rink, he hadn't expected to actually get a call back, nor had he thought he'd actually get the job. See, Chanyeol wasn't a bad worker per say, he was really kind to customers and always did things with a smile. It just so happened that Chanyeol was also a student and often studied into the wee hours of the morning and woke up late. Extremely late.

His worst memory was when he was late for his own birthday, it'd be fine if it was ten or fifteen minutes, but this was a whole hour and a half, and he didn't even remember who's birthday it was!

He accepted the job, not that he had much of a choice in the matter, his mother had been on his case to get a job since the day he turned seventeen, something about responsibilities or whatever.

It had been a month and a half since his first day on the job, which hadn't gone as well as he wanted but he got what he expected. Was he late? No. Did he spill cola all over himself and trip over his words to every single customer? Yes, yes he did. But he did it with a smile!

His shifts varied, but he was usually stuck with odd hours and weird days of the week. Monday morning as soon the roller skating rink open, you could expect Chanyeol sitting in his hot dog booth, wearing his dumb uniform that was made to look like ketchup and mustard were on him.

It was July, his second to last summer of being in high school. His friends had already laughed at his uniform but he had laughed at them falling down while 'skating'. You'd think a wannabe dancer like Jongin would be more graceful, but he was not. Chanyeol would compare him to his drunk aunt at Christmas after she found the liquor that his mother had stashed away, hoping that she wouldn't find it. She always did, Chanyeol wasn't sure why his mother tried anymore.

Kyungsoo was alright, he stumbled here and there, but after a while Chanyeol wasn't sure if the small male was doing it on purpose to make Jongin feel better or not. Sehun, was much better than expected, he skated circles around the other two and kept going off by himself to flirt with the other skaters, going so far as to wink at himslef in the mirror multiple times.  

That was a typical shift, what he had come to expect.

So when one day, his friends hadn't stopped by, he thought it'd be a boring day until he stopped by.

He being the one and only Byun Baekhyun. Also a soon to be senior in Chanyeol's school, a class clown yet also the class pet. Everyone knew Baekhyun like everyone knew his best friends, Yixing and Jongdae. The three had gotten close since the first year of high school when Yixing moved to their town. Jongdae and Baekhyun had already been friends since kindergarten, so they were already a duo of clowns, now they were a trio of fools, pretty ones but fools nonetheless.

Chanyeol had been in the same school as the three, but he'd never gotten a chance to talk to any of them besides an occasional 'excuse me' or 'hello'. Chanyeol and his friends compared to Baekhyun's trio were troublemakers. Except for Kyungsoo who was top of his class, the other three were, interested in other things to say the least.

Where Baekhyun would make his classmates laugh, Chanyeol was interested to see how many times he could leave math class undetected. The answer as of last year was twelve and a half, he would've gotten to thirteen if it wasn't for kyungso throwing an eraser at him.

Whilst the four would attempt to have study sessions, they'd always devolve into a gossip group while they got junk food with whatever money they had on them. Baekhyun and his crew were different, they went to the library to actually study, they were called the pretty boys in school. Chanyeol and his friends had matching leather jackets that they found at a thrift shop.

As Chanyeol was daydreaming and wiping the counter with a rag that was dirtier than the counter, he heard the squeak of the wheels on the rug, meaning that someone approached him in his small hot dog shack. Looking up, Chanyeol dropped his rag on the floor, quickly bending down to get it, only to hit his head on the counter.

Groaning, Chanyeol clutched his head, squatting on the tiled floor.

"Are you alright?"

A voice that was trying not to laugh asked, his voice was light and airy, making Chanyeol fumble as he stood up, grasping on to the table to not fall down.

"Fine! Yes, i'm. Wait, what?"

Chanyeol stumbled over his words, grimacing as he questioned what he just said. Baekhyun giggled, holding his wallet in his hands. The black dots that clouded his vision disappeared, slowly allowing him to see the light brunette boy in front of him.

"How can I help you?"

Chanyeol asked, standing up straight instead of his previous hunched self that had to grasp the table to not fall down. Baekhyun skimmed the menu, his eyes lighting up as he saw something the called his name.

"Can I get an order of cheese fries please! With a water."

Baekhyun's eyes practically sparkled, Chanyeol had to stop himself from flushing, punching the order into the register.

"That'll be two dollars and forty cents, please."

Baekhyun nodded and gave him a five, Chanyeol gave him his change and went into the back to make cheese fries. According to Chanyeol's manager, you were supposed to skimp out on everything you could, fries included. Chanyeol wasn't able to without feeling guilty and usually just made a suitable amount, with a reasonable amount of cheese and bacon, so that's what he did.

Walking back to the counter, holding the tray that held the cheese fries and a water bottle. Placing it on the counter, Chanyeol noticed two dollars in the tip jar that had been empty only a few minutes ago.

"Thank you, Chanyeol!"

With that, Baekhyun grabbed the tray and he was gone. Chanyeol froze, startled by the older teen calling his name. Looking down at his uniform, Chanyeol made sure he wasn't wearing his name tag. He knew he took it off, he hated the thought of so many strangers knowing his name. It wasn't hung on his pocket like it was supposed to be, and there was no way Baekhyun had seen it through his pants pocket. So that could only mean one thing.

Byun Baekhyun knew his name.

It had been a few weeks since the first time Baekhyun visited the roller skating rink, but it wasn't the last, in fact he'd been there at least twice a week by Chanyeol's count, maybe more if his visits weren't only during Chanyeol's shifts.

His friends had continued to make fun of him, they had known of his slight infatuation with the light brunette before he'd seen him at the rink, now that he'd seen him plenty, now with shared smiles and quick banter, Chanyeol was falling deeper and deeper.

It was his day off, a Saturday. You'd think that was the day they needed him but nope, apparently Mondays and Wednesdays were the shifts that were empty. So instead of doing his summer packet, studying, or sending in applications to colleges, Chanyeol was at a diner with his friends.

They were wearing their leather jackets, even if Sehun complained that they looked dumb all together. Chanyeol laughed, saying that Sehun looked dumb anyway. A bruised shoulder in the shape of a fist was worth it when he saw the younger teen roll his eyes, and they were at the diner, drinking as many milkshakes as they could.

Another typical Saturday.

Leather jackets weren't the only reason they were getting strange stares, it might have to do with Sehun wearing platform boots or his jeans with chains, maybe it was Jongin and Kyungsoo who were holding hands and laughing at Sehun's stomping, or it was about Chanyeol who was pointing out that Sehun could just take off his jackets if it really bothered him that much.

They had grown used to the stares, it was either they learned to deal with it or fit themselves into the social construct. They went with the first choice, it seemed so much more fun.

They were squeezed into a booth, laughing at Sehun spit balling at Jongin who retorted with a wet willy, mature teen stuff. As they waited for another round of shakes, Kyungsoo nudged Chanyeol, getting the tallest males attention.

"What, Soo?"

Chanyeol questioned, staring at the black haired teen. Kyungsoo pointed at the entrance of the diner, making Chanyeol squint to see what he was pointing at. At the double doors of the diner stood Baekhyun and his crew. The three held bags from stores and were laughing. Chanyeol flushed, immediately turning his sight away from the trio.

Unlike Chanyeol's leather jacket and jeans, Baekhyun wore high waisted pants with a flannel tied around his waist and a white tank top. He looked like he wandered out of a catalog compared to Chanyeol's grunge esque fashion that typically came from goodwill and other thrift shops.

The four got their milkshakes, Sehun's arriving with a slice of cake as well. The youngest had quite the sweet tooth to his brothers chagrin, it was always a fight between the two. Since their parents had disappeared, Junmyeon had become the legal guardian of his step-brother. It had been three years, Sehun had gathered some sort of disdain for his parents after their disappearance. What the public hadn't known was that they left after Sehun had come out.

The day after, Sehun returned home with Chanyeol in tow. He had slept over at the elders house, not excited to return home. From what Chanyeol could gather between the crying was that it hadn't gone well, but he could tell that by the fading red mark on Sehun's left cheek.

At Sehun's apartment they had expected to see the two stood there, perhaps ignoring their don or even beginning the fight from last night all over again. Instead what the teens saw was an empty apartment. The living room had been stripped of all signs of living, the only remaining furniture being the couch and the ugly rug they had gotten from Kyungsoo's mom.

It was a strange week and a half, lots of angry tears and tantrums. Junmyeon had returned after being called by the police, he'd requested a transfer from his office job in New York to California.

Chanyeol knew it was the guilt that Sehun struggled with, that he'd caused his parents to leave and his brother had to give up his dreams for him. Even the littlest argument caused Sehun to spiral, they'd find him days later in an alley passed out.

Maybe that's why the three babied the youngest, even Jongin who was barely older treated the younger like he was a child, gifting him with sweets and letting him sneak through the window into his room to spend the night.

When Chanyeol was shaken out of his thoughts, he was horrified to see Baekhyun in front of him, all six males looking at the tall teen. Chanyeol flushed, quickly looking at Kyungsoo to plead with him to save him from the awkwardness he'd unknowingly created.

"Baekhyun asked if you wanted to sit together."

Kyungsoo stated, smirking at Chanyeol. Chanyeol nodded, and the four moved over to a table that could seat all of them.

The seven of them got to talking, the extroverted males easily taking over the conversation while the introverted ones listened and put forth their words in where they wanted.

Baekhyun was sat across from Chanyeol at the furthest edge of the table. Taking a sip from his milkshake that had deflated quite a bit, Chanyeol's attention was dragged away from the conversation when Baekhyun called his name.

"Yes?'

Chanyeol asked the brunette, staring at him. The older teen smiled, a whipped cream mustache on his cupids bow causing Chanyeol's stomach to fill with butterflies.

"Can I have your cherry?"

Baekhyun asked, making Chanyeol gawk at him. Chanyeol had his heart on his sleeves, or more likely, his blush on his ears. His ears already stuck out, now having them be red garnered much more attention than he would have cared for.

"My what?"

Chanyeol stumbled over his two words, making Baekhyun laugh. It sounded so precious that Chanyeol wanted to record it and keep it forever, bottle it up inside his memories and never let it go.

"Your cherry! I see you going around it.Can I have it?"

Baekhyun pointed out the fruit that remained in Chanyeol's mostly empty milkshake. Chanyeol, flushed harder, realizing that the question had been perfectly acceptable.

Chanyeol fished out the red fruit that had spots of whipped cream on it, offering it to Baekhyun. Instead of plucking the fruit with his own fingers, he got closer to the fruit and used his mouth to grasp it out of Chanyeol's fingers.

Chanyeol stared, his face probably redder than the cherry had been. Baekhyun smiled, his eyes shutting as his tilted his head to the right. Chanyeol smiled back, to the best of his abilities.

Baekhyun didn't need to know that the cherry was Chanyeol's favorite part.

A month had passed, Chanyeol's last year of high school was coming up fast. He had so much to do, he'd begun to wonder what he'd spent his summer doing. Between working at the hot dog booth and spending time with his friends, he'd only done half of his summer packet but honestly that was more than anyone was expecting him to do.

He had to quit the hot dog shack soon though, he kept putting it off hoping to see Baekhyun again. It had been a week since he'd last seen the trio, the last time was at a beach on a Wednesday. Had it been planned by them? Not to Chanyeol's knowledge and he wasn't sure that it was plain coincidences anymore.

It was a Thursday afternoon, his sister had gone out with some friends and his parents had gone to some party. They had said he could invite Sehun over but the newly dyed orange haired teen was grounded, Junmyeon hadn't been too thrilled with the new hair color. Chanyeol's parents hadn't either but they'd gotten used to their son going along with Sehun's antics.

So Chanyeol was sat on his bed, in his pajamas at a reasonable time, four in the afternoon to be exact. His guitar sat in the corner of his room, begging to be played but Chanyeol couldn't be bothered, his mind was to muddled with thoughts of the future.

Soon he'd be off to college, for the first time since second grade he and his friends wouldn't be together. Jongin had gotten into an art school, which they had all been excited for but it was an underlying thought that they were in fact growing up, they had things that had to be done and wouldn't have time for each other anymore.

Sehun wasn't going to college, he wasn't sure what he wanted to do. Chanyeol couldn't blame him, there had always been so much going on in the younger teens life to navigate around that he had never gotten the chance to figure out what he wanted to do.

Kyungsoo wanted to be an author, his parents wanted him to be a doctor. So he was going to med school, in New York. That had put a damper on things, especially between Jongin and Kyungsoo. They had just gotten together and by this time next year, they'd be in different states. It'd been awkward last time they'd all hung out, they'd ended up back at their houses before sun down.

Chanyeol's was knocked out of his worried state of mind by the phone ringing. He had a passing thought to ignore it but the last time he'd done that he got an earful from his mother, so downstairs he went. Speed walking into the kitchen, he picked up their red phone from the base and humming into it.

"Chanyeol?"

Chanyeol all but dropped the phone, surprised at the familiar voice.

"Baekhyun?"

The teen hummed back, giggling over the line. Chanyeol was breathless, the feeling of butterflies back in his stomach.

"How'd you get my number?"

Chanyeol asked the brunette, racking his mind to see if he had blurted it out at some point. As far as he could remember, he had not. That was too smooth for him, the best he had done was compliment Baekhyun's shoes, and even then he had made it sound like he was going to steal them.

So yeah, flirting wasn't going well.

"Sehun gave it to me." Baekhyun paused, giving a moment for Chanyeol to think how unlikely it was that the teen had given his number to his crush with good intentions. "He said to say sorry that he couldn't hang out with you today?"

That was more like Sehun, the teen apologized through others. Before Chanyeol had found it frustrating, he still did but not as bad as before.

"Yeah, that sounds like him."

Chanyeol agreed, nodding even though the elder couldn't see him.

"What's up with him? Why couldn't he hang out with you guys?"

Baekhyun asked, causing Chanyeol to hum again, trying to figure out how he should phrase what he wanted to say.

"His brother grounded him, Junmyeon wasn't thrilled with Sehun's hair. It was only me he would hang out with, he's avoiding Soo and Jongin, too awkward to third wheel, even for Sehun."

Perhaps he could have phrased it better but it was still better than the usual garbage he spewed.

Baekhyun made a sound of acknowledgement, understanding the drama that came along with friends. There was a minute of silence, a race to see who could come up with something interesting to say to keep the conversation going.

"Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?"

Baekhyun won. Chanyeol nodded, then realized that the elder couldn't see him so he voiced his agreement.

"Cool, see you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow."

Another moment of silence, listening to Baekhyun laugh quietly as they stayed on the line. Chanyeol joined in, his cheeks dusted pink.

"Hang up, Park."

Baekhyun said, breathless as he whispered. Chanyeol could imagine the brunette, fingers playing with the cord of the phone as the spoke, his eyes twinkling as he listened to Chanyeol speak.

"Not before you, Byun."

Baekhyun snorted, commenting how gross they sounded before hanging up, leaving Chanyeol to the silence in the line. A dopey smile painted on Chanyeol's face as he hung up the phone, leaning his head against the wall.

Baekhyun wanted to hang out with him.

Friday came slowly and quickly at the same time, Chanyeol couldn't sleep last night. At some point he'd picked out an outfit but after that everything was a blur. Getting dressed into the white t-shirt and high waisted jeans he'd picked out. Deciding on a over shirt instead of his leather jacket, he headed out of his room. Saying goodbye to his parents, he walked out of the house.

Walking the two blocks that it took to get to Baekhyun's house, Chanyeol knocked on the door. Waiting patiently, Chanyeol messed with his hair, anxious to see whoever would come to the door.

Thankfully it was Baekhyun, not his parents.

"Hey Chanyeol! You ready to go?"

Baekhyun asked, shutting the door behind him. The two walked, making conversation as they walked to their destination. Baekhyun hadn't told Chanyeol where he was taking him, nor what they were going to do.

As they approached town, Chanyeol knew where they were headed. He had to laugh as he watched the rink come into view.

"Seriously?"

Chanyeol punched Baekhyun in the shoulder, causing Baekhyun to laugh. The elder shrugged, grasping Chanyeol'd hand and dragging him along. Once they entered the rink, Chanyeol waved to Minseok who was working the counter.

"What's your shoe size?"

Baekhyun asked, removing his shoes and putting them in a cubby nearby.

"Size ten, you?"

Chanyeol asked, doing the same with his shoes, freezing when he looked at his socks. Of course he picked the socks Yoora gave him for Christmas, the ones with breakfast foods on them. Baekhyun stifled a laugh by coughing into his palm, his cheeks pink.

"Size eight."

Chanyeol nodded, walking to the counter to get their skates. Ignoring Baekhyun's calls to get back.

"Hey Yeol! Didn't expect too see you here today."

Minseok said, hopping off of the chair he had been sat on. Minseok was a college student, also one of Chanyeol's favorite co-workers. Minseok was at a communal college, he also didn't rat Chanyeol out for giving too many freebies out.

"I didn't expect it either, Min. Eight and a ten please."

Chanyeol held out a ten dollar bill, only to be waved off by Minseok.

"Keep it, buy your date a milkshake or something, Dumbo." Minseok put the skates on the counter with a thud. "Not from the dog shack though, Namjoon is working and you never know what you get."

Chanyeol nodded, knowing how often the freshman had been chewed out by their manager. Saying a see you later, Chanyeol grabbed the skates and headed back over to Baekhyun who was sulking.

"Lighten up, buttercup." Chanyeol said, placing the shoes on the floor. "We can go for shakes after this, if you want."

Baekhyun smiled, nodding as he slipped his feet into the skates.

"Only if I get to pay."

Chanyeol shrugged, a smile on his face.

"We'll see."

Baekhyun rolled his eyes, standing up after he laced his shoes. Chanyeol attempted to do so, but he wasn't good at walking with normal shoes, even worse with ones that had wheels.

"You're bad at this."

Baekhyun smiled, making Chanyeol stick his tongue out at the brunette. Wobbling over to the railing, Chanyeol managed to make it inside of the rink without falling.

Baekhyun skated next to him, without use of the railing that Chanyeol held onto for dear life. The two laughed at how bad Chanyeol was, laughing especially hard as a child young enough to not be in school zoomed past them.

There was something about spending time with Baekhyun that made Chanyeol giddy inside, he wouldn't be laughing this hard every time he nearly fell. There was no embarrassment, even though Baekhyun could skate circles around Chanyeol if he wanted, in fact he had at some point.

"Come on, let's get milkshakes, Bambi."

Baekhyun teased the pink haired teen, tugging him towards the exit. Chanyeol agreed, flushed by the new nickname he'd acquired. The two skated it to seat they had been at before, removing their skates and putting on their normal shoes.

Chanyeol returned their skates to Minseok, who winked at him. Rolling his eyes at the elder, Chanyeol went back to Baekhyun, the both of them exiting the rink.

They headed to the nearest diner, which was only a block away thankfully. Chanyeol's legs already felt like jelly, he was definitely going to have some bruises tomorrow.

The two went into a booth, ordering their milkshakes. Strawberry for Baekhyun, vanilla for Chanyeol. There was conversation over Chanyeol's wobbly legs, Minseok, and the hot dog shack.

When their milkshakes came, Chanyeol handed over his cherry, laughing as Baekhyun smiled at him. They drank their milkshakes, Baekhyun payed and they headed back to Baekhyun's house.

"Bye Baekhyun."

Chanyeol waved, dropping off the elder. Baekhyun waved, although his mind seemed to be on something else. It was strange but Chanyeol didn't question it. He waited for Baekhyun to enter the house and then walked back to his own house.

The car wasn't in the driveway and he didn't hear his sister so he assumed he was by himself. He was surprised to hear the phone ringing, but he assumed it was Yoora, probably telling him that she wouldn't be home.

"Hello?" He answered the phone, setting his over shirt on the back of a chair.

"Have you seen Sehun?"

Junmyeon's panicked voice carried over the line, instantly causing the hair on the back of Chanyeol's neck to stand. The last time this had happened they had found Sehun in an alley drunk and unconscious.

"No, why?"

Chanyeol needed to know, if it was over a simple fight the younger teen was probably on his way to one of his friends houses. If it wasn't, Chanyeol didn't want to think about it.

"We had a fight a few hours ago, he went into his room and locked the door. He's not there anymore, Yeol. He didn't even take his wallet."

Dread filled Chanyeol's stomach, this wasn't like before. Something was wrong.

"I'll call the others, stay home in case he comes back."

Chanyeol didn't wait for the reply before he hung up. Dialing Kyungsoo, he urged for the black haired male to pick up. As soon as the phone was picked up Chanyeol questioned him, hoping that the youngest teen was with him.

"Is Sehun with you?"

The words came out of Chanyeol's mouth as if they made him sick, the felt like poison, like they were so heavy they could crack the earth.

"No."

A one worded reply, yet he understood the seriousness in Kyungsoo's tone. It was a never spoken fear between the eldest in their group, the fear that they wouldn't be able to find Sehun one day.

"Call Jongin, I'm going to go look for him. If he doesn't know either check by the bars, I'll go the the fort."

Once again Chanyeol hung up without waiting for a reply. Quickly writing out a note in case his parents returned, he rushed out the door, not taking his over shirt.

Thousands of thoughts went through his head, as he ran past dark alleys glancing in them for Sehun's body. Soon he'd gotten to the forest, one of their favorite places to play when they were younger, the place they had the first drink of alcohol.

Sprinting through the foliage, he made through the forest in record time. Getting to the gathering of stumps that they had called their fort.

Relief rushed through his body as he saw a body curled up next to a stump, the orange hair giving away his identity.

"Oh Sehun, what the fuck?"

Chanyeol called, closing the distance between them. Dropping to his knees in front of the younger teen, Chanyeol forced Sehun to look at him. Quietly gasping at the sight of Sehun, Chanyeol froze.

The younger had a split lip, bloody nose, and a black eye, that was only his face, Chanyeol couldn't imagine what his body looked like.

"Did Junmyeon do this?"

Chanyeol whispered, rage filling his every being. This was his friend, who could do something like this to Sehun? The younger teen couldn't hurt anyone, he was all talk.

"God no. He wishes he could, Myeon is too nice."

Sehun replied, blood dripping from his nose. Chanyeol wiped it, rubbing the blood onto his jeans.

"What happened, Sehunnie?"

Chanyeol asked, using the younger teens nickname to calm him down. It worked, Sehun begin to spill what had happened.

"Myeon and I fought, I told him that mom had called. He got angry at me, and I stormed off. I'm so sick of him treating me like a kid, Yeol. I'm seventeen, not three. So I jumped out the window, I forgot to grab my wallet so I couldn't go to the bar."

Sehun paused to spit out some blood, wiping his nose with his hand and then grimacing as his foot moved.

"I went to Yixing's he was having a party so I figured I could get booze there, I did but you know me, always fucking things up. God, I messed things up so bad, Yeol."

Sehun finished, not bothering to say how he ended up here beaten and bloody. Chanyeol knew better then to ask, plus getting Sehun out of here was more important then figuring out who did this. For now.

Helping Sehun up, Chanyeol tried to help the younger walk, telling him to avoid putting pressure on his leg. The two walked in silence, slowly getting out of the forest. They hadn't gotten very far when they ran into a tearful Jongin and a silent Kyungsoo.

"Sehun?"

Jongin cried, fresh tears falling from his eyes as he practically ran into the youngest, squeezing him as he sobbed. Kyungsoo watched, talking to Chanyeol through stares. It was a language that only they spoke, the silent questions and the quiet answers that couldn't be spoken just yet.

"Jongin, we're taking Sehun to the hospital. Grab his other arm."

Chanyeol cut the reunion short, more worried over the pain that the younger was feeling. Jongin nodded, wiping his tears before helping carry Sehun's weight. With both of them to distribute the orange haired teens weight, they could walk faster.

Soon enough they were at the hospital, carrying Sehun inside and receiving strange looks and glares from other patients. They quickly divided up tasks, Chanyeol would carry Sehun to a chair, Kyungsoo would call Junmyeon, and Jongin would get the papers to sign in Sehun.

"I'm sorry."

Chanyeol turned his head, now staring at the boy sat next to him. Chanyeol smiled, staring at him before replying.

"It's alright."

Seven and a half hours had passed from the incident that the four were calling 'Sehun got his ass kicked by mystery people', Junmyeon hadn't appreciated the name. Sehun hadn't told anyone what had happened yet but Chanyeol got an inkling as to who it had been.

Junmyeon had come and finished signed the papers, hugging Sehun before the doctors had taken Sehun away to X-ray his leg. One cast later, the four teens were cramped in Junmyeon's car on the way home. It'd been a few hours since they'd all left their houses, well past their curfews. Junmyeon was taking them home to explain what was going on and to apologize to their parents for keeping them out so late.

The teens had pleaded for him not too but quickly shut up once he glared at them. Jongin and Junmyeon got out of the car first, Junmyeon telling the three that he'd be back. Jongin pressed his lips to Kyungsoo's face, wishing Chanyeol goodnight before ruffling Sehun's hair.

"It was dad."

Sehun whispered after a minute, looking straight ahead so he didn't see their reactions to his words. Chanyeol sighed, nodding. He had been right. Kyungsoo was silent as well, leaving the car to be obnoxiously loud with their thoughts.

"He found me outside of the apartment. I was going to go back in. He didn't even say anything, he just kicked me. He said I was going to die and they could return back to normal with their useless son dead."

Sehun sobbed, furiously wiping his tears away. Chanyeol's hand was clenched into a fist, pissed at how his friend that felt like a younger brother had been treated. Kyungsoo was the next one to speak, also the last one to speak.

"You aren't useless, Oh Sehun."

Harder sobs, Sehun's body shook as he cried. The eldest two were left in the backseat, unable to help. It'd been a long day, one that had started so well ended so poorly. Even if Chanyeol tried to find the positives in the hours, all he could come up with were even more negatives.

One day, they wouldn't be around to help Sehun. They'd be all over the place, they couldn't just up and leave. What happened when Sehun couldn't feel their love anymore? Would it stop with drunken alley fights? Or would Sehun do worse, would he go through with things that he's confessed he'd though about at sleepovers. Chanyeol feared the worst.

Junmyeon came out soon, the three as silent as before even after they dropped off Kyungsoo. When they got to Chanyeol's house, the car wasn't in the driveway. Chanyeol pleaded to just call his parents later, the two needed to get home.

Junmyeon didn't put up a fight, Chanyeol could see the elders bags that laid under his eyes.

"Goodnight Chanyeol."

Junmyeon said as Chanyeol opened the door, putting one foot out before speaking.

"Tell him what happened, Sehunnie."

Shutting the door behind him, Chanyeol walked up to the front door, shocked to see someone sitting on the steps.

"Is Sehun okay?"

Baekhyun.

Chanyeol nodded, opening up the front door and urging the other teen inside. The two made their way inside the kitchen, Chanyeol getting out mugs and making hot chocolate for the both of them.

It had been a long day.

Once the mugs had been filled, Chanyeol offered one to the teen sat across from him. Taking a sip, Chanyeol realized Baekhyun was sat there frozen.

"What's wrong?"

Chanyeol asked, not quite understanding why the teen would be the emotional right now. They had found Sehun, he was mostly alright for the time being. It was up to Sehun what they would be doing now, if they wanted to charge Sehun's dad with assault.

"Does this happen a lot?"

Baekhyun asked his voice shaking as he gripped the mug of hot chocolate, he was so pale. Chanyeol thought over how he would reply, had this happened so often that he'd gotten numb to it?

"I'm not going to lie to you, it happens more than any of us would like. It used to be worse, almost every day. He's gotten better, this time wasn't about Sehun."

Chanyeol knew that didn't make sense, it wouldn't make sense to someone who didn't spend sleepless nights listening to someone you cared about cry. It was hard to explain to someone who hadn't had to spend hours in the dark looking for their best friend fearin that they would be dead.

Perhaps Chanyeol had numbed himself, but he felt so much for the younger that he wouldn't be able to function without shutting himself off.

Both were quiet, sipping their hot chocolate occasionally. It was a silence that made Chanyeol anxious, he'd been infatuated with this boy since the beginning of high school, how would he take it if Baekhyun didn't approve of Sehun.

Tears slowly gathered in Chanyeol's eyes, pooling around his chocolate colored orbs before streaming down his cheeks, a silent sob shaking Chanyeol's body.

When was the last time he cried? When was the last time that he allowed himself to be vulnerable?

"Okay."

Chanyeol looked up, slightly surprised by the single word. His tears clouded his vision, making the brunette across from him seem dream like, as if this was all a fantasy that Chanyeol's subconscious had created.

Baekhyun's chair moved back with a squeak, startling Chanyeol, fearing that the teen was leaving. Instead Baekhyun closed the distance between them, his fingers wiping Chanyeol's tears, lingering on his cheeks.

"I love you," Baekhyun paused, wiping another tear From Chanyeol's eye. The pit of anxiety opened up in Chanyeol's mind and for those few second he spiraled to his worst fears, waiting for a but. It never came. "No matter what, Bambi."

A dopey smile from Baekhyun, the one where he closed his eyes and you could see his tongue behind his teeth, the smile that erase all of Chanyeol's fears instantly. The smile that beat the sun out in brightness, the part of Baekhyun that made Chanyeol want to protect him.

"I love you too."

Tears and all, the thoughts of being separated, the fear of what would happen to his friends not forgotten, those thought lingered in the back of his mind. Like the fear of rain on a perfect day, it was useless to worry about.

Byun Baekhyun was Chanyeol's perfect day and he would be damned if someone took him away.

[counterfeitmoneyforsaleonli-blog]

Everything you need to know about Counterfeit money

even though UV counterfeit detection lamps and counterfeit cash pens are helpful gear, there are numerous other methods to tell if a invoice is authentic or counterfeit. bodily traits of the banknote, consisting of ink, watermarks, and textual content, are intentional safety features to help human beings understand authentic money.

Undetectable counterfeit money for sale

while retail associates discover ways to spot a faux $one hundred bill, they can help lessen the chances of a commercial enterprise suffering a loss of thousands of dollars. here's a listing of eight approaches to tell if a invoice is actual or counterfeit:

1. colour-shifting Ink one of the first matters to test to look if a invoice is real is that if the invoice denomination on the lowest proper-hand corner has color-transferring ink. Going returned to 1996, all bills of $5 or more have this security feature. in case you preserve a brand new collection bill (except for the brand new $5 bill) and tilt it backward and forward, you can see that the numeral inside the lower right-hand nook shifts from green to black or from gold to inexperienced.

2. Watermark The watermark is a characteristic protection feature of actual banknotes. many of the new payments use a watermark that is certainly a reproduction of the face on the bill. On different banknotes, it's miles simply an oval spot. right here are a few things to preserve in mind when looking at a bill’s watermark: • The watermark should only be visible while you keep the invoice up to the light. • The watermark have to be on the proper aspect of the invoice. • If the watermark is a face, it ought to exactly match the face on the bill. sometimes counterfeits bleach decrease payments and reprint them with higher values, wherein case the face wouldn’t healthy the watermark. • If there may be no watermark or the watermark is seen without being held up to the light, the bill is maximum probably a counterfeit.

three. Blurry Borders, Printing, or text an automated red flag for counterfeit payments is quite blurry borders, printing, or text at the invoice. genuine payments are made using die-cut printing plates that create impressively high-quality traces, in order that they look extraordinarily distinctive. Counterfeit printers are commonly no longer able to the same degree of detail. Take a near look, in particular at the borders, to peer if there are any blurred elements inside the bill. actual banknotes additionally have microprinting, or finely published textual content positioned in numerous locations on the invoice. If the microprinting is unreadable, even below a magnifying glass, it might be counterfeit.

four. Raised Printing All real banknotes have raised printing, which is difficult for counterfeiters to breed. To locate raised printing, run your fingernail cautiously down the note. You have to experience a few vibration on your nail from the ridges of the raised printing. if you don’t sense this texture, you then ought to take a look at the bill further.

5. protection Thread with Microprinting the security thread is a skinny imbedded strip jogging from pinnacle to bottom on the face of a banknote. within the $10 and $50 bills the security strip is placed to the proper of the portrait, and within the $five, $20, and $one hundred bills it's miles located just to the left.

true bills have microprinting in the protection thread as any other layer of security. below is a list of the microprinted phrases on proper banknotes: • $five bill says “u.s. 5” • $10 invoice says “united states of america TEN” • $20 invoice says “u.s. TWENTY” • $50 bill says “u.s.a. 50” • $100 invoice says “america one hundred”

6. Ultraviolet Glow Counterfeit detection tools and technology use ultraviolet light because this is a straight forward way of telling if a invoice is counterfeit. the security thread on real bills glow under ultraviolet mild within the following colorings: • $5 invoice glows blue • $10 bill glows orange • $20 bill glows inexperienced • $50 bill glows yellow • $one hundred invoice glows crimson/purple

7. pink and Blue Threads in case you take a near have a look at an true banknote, you can see that there are very small pink and blue threads woven into the cloth of the bill. even though counterfeit printers try and mirror this impact by means of printing a pattern of pink and blue threads onto counterfeit bills, if you may see that this printing is simply surface degree, then it's far in all likelihood the bill is counterfeit.

eight. Serial Numbers The final issue to check on a invoice is the serial wide variety. The letter that starts a bill’s serial wide variety corresponds to a particular 12 months, so if the letter doesn’t suit the year printed on the bill, it is counterfeit. underneath is the list of letter-to-year correspondence: • E = 2004 • G = 2004A • I = 2006 • J = 2009 • L = 2009A

[badymoen-blog]

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