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kommandonuovidiavoli · 4 months

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Will we ever find out what happened to penny’s parents? Also, will we find out why penny is seeming 10 years old forever?

These two are related, so I will answer them together and explain the WHOLE situation. Brace yourselves, it's gonna be a ride.

[TW: abuse, manipulation, violence]

This got LONG, oh boy... HUGE thanks to @deyasworld for the proofread, corrections and important addictions!!! This story wouldn't be even half this good if it wasn't for her!!! GIVE HER A HEART IF YOU CAN!!!

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Penny was a normal girl, who could age normally like any other kid. Her parents disappeared when she was 8, and turned 10 while living with Nigel.

One fateful day in 2015, the city woke up to a pink sky. This alone was pretty unusual, but what made that day so strange from the rest was that everyone in the city had reverted back to being 10 years old!

Everyone except kids younger than 10, —who just remained the same age—, but everyone else: adults, elderly people and teens, were back to being 10 year-old kids! Running around unsupervised.

This strange event unleashed a LOT of confusion and panic. Even worse, people seemed to have completely forgotten about their families and jobs, and went straight to playing around instead of keeping their responsibilities.

Sector V responded immediately by establishing an Emergency Camp at the city’s stadium, where all the unattended children were gathered and taken care of until their parents got back to normal.

At this point of the story, Nigel is the only member of the old Sector V who still lives in the city, and technically also Kuki, —though she had been decommissioned a year prior, when her kid was born and when… Wally disappeared.

Nigel was asked to take over the operation and investigate, but he refused to take the lead. Instead, he chose to follow Penny, who was the standing chief of operations of the current Sector V, and believed she should be the leader of the mission.

Cinzia and Joey were left in charge of the Emergency Camp, helping to take care of the kids. Many kiddified adults managed to keep a cool head and volunteered to help around, which made things easier around the camp. Even though these adults were technically helping the Kids Next Door as kids, they were not made aware of the organization, and the ongoing operation remained a secret to them.

Robbie was left in charge of leading the search for the reckless parents who separated from their small kids, alongside a kiddified Lou, who was very PISSED about the whole situation.

Penny and Nigel kept things under control and maintained communication with the Moonbase, in case something more happened. They discovered a strange barrier surrounding the edges of the city, turning everyone in town into kids. Anyone who entered the city would be turned into a kid, but if a kiddified adult tried to leave the city…, nothing would happen. The KND surrounded the area and made sure no-one else would get in.

Abby and Hoagie lived in another city, where Abby was going to college. She was five months pregnant at the time, and was ABSOLUTELY NOT ALLOWED to enter the city.

After two days of effort, the power source of the barrier was found in Northern Greenland. Nigel and Penny were sent to investigate, while the rest of the crew stayed back to handle anything that could possibly happen.

The source tracked down to an abandoned facility in the middle of nowhere, covered in ice and snow. Once they managed to get in, they found a staircase leading deeper down the icy structure, and they quickly understood that the place was much larger than they initially thought.

Navigating the huge facility was tricky and full of rooms, so they made sure to mark the route they decided to follow.

After some exploration, they wound up in a bright open space. Lights reflected all around the ice, completely illuminating the whole place. It was very quiet, and it seemed to be the last room left to explore in the building.

In the middle of it, there were two kids.

Penny didn’t have a doubt as she ran towards them. Younger or older, she could recognize: Those were her parents.

The kids hugged and cried of joy at the reunion; Penny couldn’t hold back a single tear. After tiresome years of search, the reason she had joined the Kids Next Door had finally been fulfilled. The two kids pat Penny to calm her down and reassure her.

Nigel felt… uneasy. Something felt wrong. And it wasn’t the thought of Penny leaving him for them; it was something more, and it was coming from them.

Penny collected herself and called him over, but the two kids were quick to recognize him as, the legendary, Numbuh 1. The kids stated that they were big fans of his ideals! And cited him as their main inspiration to build the device that turned adults into kids.

So well… They were responsible for the whole mess, adding a reason for Nigel not to trust them, on top of the fact that they had abandoned Penny for all those years..

And from there it got worse. They elaborated their plans, explaining that they planned on turning the entire world into kids so that no-one would turn into a sad, boring, serious adult. “No kid should have to go through that ever again!”; everybody would be able to play and have fun forever! And that’s why they had decided to become kids again, and study how to make the world Adult Free!

This only made Nigel dislike them even more. He pointed out that, even if everyone was a kid, someone would have to take the jobs adults do. They’d still need doctors, and factory workers to produce foods, and even toys!

The kids argued that yes, that was true, but kids would make everything funnier!

Kids were perfectly capable of doing everything on their own, and the KND were the proof of that! Kids didn’t need adults or parents to guide them!

That’s when Penny asked if that was the reason they left her….

… And, in fact, it was. They waited for her to be old enough to “fend for herself” and went on with their research, because, to be honest, parenting wasn’t their thing. Caring for kids was too much work, too complicated, too stressful and depressing. But from now on, they could be like siblings! It would be so much better and way more fun!

Penny’s little heart sunk in pain, and she stepped away from them, crying.

“I don’t want siblings!” She cried, “I want a mom and dad!… I need parents that protect me, and help me when I need them!”

Nigel had had it. He grabbed Penny and pulled her behind him, shielding her, and started yelling at these monsters.

Kids DO need adults! They DO need parents to help them, educate them, take care of them, among many other things! Yes, adults ruled the world, but not ALL of them were bad. There were good adults who wanted to keep kids safe, that’s what the Adult Division is for! These two were just selfish assholes who abandoned their daughter, who are now trying to force their moronic views on the entire world.

The two looked at each other with boredom. “Never meet your heroes….”

Nigel held Penny’s hand and turned to walk away, when suddenly she was yanked from him, and before he could say or do anything, a sharp, burning pain pierced on his left shoulder.

Looking over, he sees the boy holding Penny, and the girl holding a laser gun that was still fuming.

He watched in horror as the two dragged Penny away screaming. He tried to catch up to them, realizing in that moment that he couldn’t use his powers at all, for some reason. The pain was too intense, and he collapsed on the ground.

The all-too familiar solitude of silence had surrounded him once more…, followed by its darkness…

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Nigel found himself lost in the void, floating in its pool of emptiness... All hope was lost for what felt like an eternity, until a warm, familiar voice echoed. It was calling for him, telling him to wake up or he’d be late, “Penny is waiting for you”.

“…. dad?…”

And then he woke up.

He found himself in a hospital bed. Robbie and Joey were standing on one side,… and Abby and Hoagie at the other.

The two explained that they had been informed of the situation, and they traveled along to where the signal came from, and that when they got there, they had found him faint and wounded.

They didn’t think twice about getting him to the city’s hospital, and accidentally got turned into kids. Nigel got startled the moment he noticed, and felt a despairing rage when he realized that, by doing so, Abby had apparently lost her baby…..

Hadn’t those two done enough??! THEY were the cause of all this! THEY chased a childish dream and cost the world Everything! And now they had Penny in their clutches.

Against the doctor’s orders to rest, Nigel got quickly on his feet and ordered a rescue mission for Penny. All KND operatives in the city were called in to join the mission.

The operatives raided the Greenland hideout and found the two mad scientists doing something to Penny, who was trapped in a strange machine.

The two explained that they had discovered how to freeze aging and stay Ten Forever! They revealed that they had gotten Father to give them his Delightfulization formula, and cracked a formula from it to get the results they wanted.

Penny was their first success.

There was a furious fight that got the lab destroyed in the process, but Penny had been rescued. By destroying the machine that powered the barrier, everyone affected went back to normal, and by miracle, Abby’s pregnancy was unharmed and back to normal.

Everyone was back to normal except for Penny’s parents. The process they had used on themselves was different. The KND scientists asked if they should revert them and bring them back to their actual ages, but Nigel refused.

“Let them grow again. I think that’s the worst punishment these two can face.”

Everything was back to normal, but indeed…. Ever since that day, Penny hasn't grown a day older.

Somehow she can’t realize she can’t grow. She has lucid moments where something feels off, and Nigel is always there to help her get through them.

Nigel and Penny’s relationship started as that of a brother and sister, but as time went on, Penny began to consider Nigel as more of a father, as he’d look older and older. In 2019, Nigel adopted Penny officially, and they became father and daughter, filling in for the paternal figure she much needed.

The KND decided to keep her because you don’t let go of a Forever Kid! She wouldn’t be able to become Soopreme Leader though, because it wouldn’t be fair for other kids, but she remains the Sector V leader until she wants out, be it out of the position or out of the organization, —which she wouldn’t even dream of!

KND scientists from all divisions are working non-stop to find a way to reverse the anti-aging process so she can grow normally, and so that she can move on.

[End of Transmission.]

#post teen au #knd #kids next door #penelope doe #numbuh 1-2 #nigel uno #numbuh 1 #john doe #jane doe

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schemmentis · 5 months

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La Cosa Nostra - Pt. 16

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15

Cowritten w/ @janeyseymour

WC: 2k

Summary: The Howards receive an overdue visit; You and Melissa might finally be on the same page again...

As luck would have it, today is the day that Danik and Shaw decide to bombard the senator with questions, almost as soon as Barbara enters the office.

“Senator Howard,” Danik greets.

“Hello,” Gerald smiles easily at the two of them as he pulls out the containers with food in them. “What can I do for you?”

“We were hoping we would be able to speak with you and your wife about a few things.”

“Of course, although you are catching me on a busy day, and I am about to have lunch with Barbara,” the senator tells them. He gestures to the food in front of them in emphasis.

Shaw flashes the FBI badge. “This can’t wait.”

Barbara’s brows creep up her forehead. This is clearly in connection with your family. But Gerald is unaware that any of this is going on, so he assumes it has to do with something else.

“Ask away, but the two of us will be enjoying our lunch.”

“What do you know about the Schemmenti family?” Danik gets right to the point.

“The Schemmentis?” Gerald repeats. “A lovely family. Melissa owns Twelve Tables and does a damn good job, and Y/N has owned that salon of hers for years now. Babs used to go there before the woman who specialized in textured hair. The two girls that they have together are precious- really just little angels walking this earth. Why?”

“And what do you know about the Schemmenti family, Mrs. Howard?” Shaw turns to the woman who holds the ledger.

“The same as my husband,” Barbara says, and she prays they don’t hear the slight waver in her voice. “A lovely, driven family. Why do you ask?”

“How do you know them?”

“They attend the same church as us, and have for years,” Gerald tells the two. “We’ve watched them grow together and bring those two little ones into the world. They’re excellent parents- always bringing two happy, well-dressed and well behaved little ones into church on Sundays.”

Danik and Shaw glance at each other. As far as they know, neither Howard knows anything of your other lives that you lead.

“Very well.”

“Why are you so concerned with the Schemmentis?” Gerald presses again.

“We have reason to believe that they are not who you think they are,” Shaw states.

Gerald’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “What possible reason could you have to believe that?” He asks, incredulous.

“We can’t discuss specifics of an ongoing investigation, Senator Howard. I’m sure you understand.” Danik answers.

“I do.” Gerald easily agrees, except a moment later he’s walking around his desk towards the door of his office. “I’ll say one more thing, on the record, Agents.” He pauses as he looks between both Danik and Shaw. “Whatever you think you know about the Schemmentis; you don’t. It’s my job as much as it is yours to take care of the criminals on our streets. I’m sure you’re fully aware of all my campaigning and the attempts to do just that. The Schemmentis? Are not criminals. Now, please, leave me and my wife to our lunch in peace.” He finishes, opening the door and waving the both of them out.

Gerald shuts the door after the agents, staring at the wood in confusion for a moment. Then he shakes his head, turning back towards his desk, and his wife. “Can you believe that?” He mutters as he passes Barbara for his chair behind the desk. “The Schemmentis? Not who we think they are?” He scoffs as he unwraps one set of the plastic silverware provided with the takeout which he hands to Barbara. “Neither one of them could hide a thing. They both wear everything on their sleeves.”

Barbara clears her throat, murmuring a ‘thank you’ to her husband who passes her silverware pre-opened. “It’s…a ridiculous notion that they aren’t good people.” She finally says. She doesn’t say much else during their lunch, although she knows that she’ll have to confess what she knows about your family later- in the comfort of her own home.

The rest of their lunch is spent quietly, Gerald going on about a few projects he’s working on while Barb tells him how her morning went; going to church and running into you, although she leaves out the part where she told you what she knows.

“See?” Gerald asks. “If they weren’t good people, Y/N wouldn’t be at church on a Monday morning.”

Barbara just hums.

At home, you and Melissa have no idea what you’re going to do, and by the time you have to pick up the girls, you’re just as lost as you were that morning.

“Shit,” you grumble as you head out to gather the girls from school.

The drive is silent until Melissa takes your hand gently. “Honey, I really am sorry for how I acted over the weekend… I- I shouldn’t have gone over your head, and when you confronted me about it, I shouldn’t have doubled down and hit you where it hurt.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” is what you offer her.

“I truly am sorry they took the salon out from under you, and I’m sorry they put me in charge, and I hope you know that you absolutely are not worthless when it comes to the girls; you contribute so much, and Cat and Rosie are lucky to have you as their Mam.”

You take your eyes off the road for a split second, giving your wife a soft look. “Thank you.”

When the girls run out of the school, they’re thrilled to see that you’re back to holding Melissa by the waist and whatever mother drama was going on between the two of you is settled. They launch themselves into your arms with giggles and rapid explanations of the ‘so crazy tag game’ they were playing at recess.

You wrangle them to the car, and when you pull off, you don’t head in the direction of your home. Instead, you take them to Twelve Tables.

“Really?” Melissa asks you quietly.

You shrug and squeeze her hand. “Having them around is the best bet right now to keep everything under wraps… and we both know that if something does happen, someone will protect our girls here.”

As Melissa works in the back of Twelve Tables, you worry about your girls at your usual table. Your eyes wander a bit more than usual around the dining room every now and again. Just to be safe. You marvel at the fact your wife is diving into business like normal tonight. You’ve always admired her ability to seem so at ease even when she’s stressed—until she snaps, anyway.

Anyone else has no idea. You do though. When she greets her elder regulars that have come in at night instead of lunch; her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. When Valentina or the rest of her crew tease and joke; she joins in but her laugh is the one you know isn’t entirely real.

You referee the girls fighting over the purple crayon; reminding them they do have two. The other had merely fallen off the table. At the same time, your mind turns over what you can do. Your options are limited. Still, if you don’t do something you know you’re not doing what you’ve always sworn you’d do. Protect your family at all costs. Your family. Not the family.

By the time Melissa is sitting next to you on her dinner break, squished as close to your side as she can get, you’ve grasped that of your limited options there’s really only one that is logical and safe to take. Your arm wraps around her waist, your other hand picking at your plate. Your appetite is nonexistent. You glance at the twins, finding them gleefully occupied with the small dinner plates Melissa had brought out for them. Swapping and trading as if they don’t have the same chicken nuggets. Apparently the shape matters and only one of them can have that one, and they’ve decided which of them, too.

You turn your head back to Melissa, kissing her temple and leaning your head briefly against the side of hers. She leans more to your side in silent response even as her fork still twirls the pasta on her own plate. “I think we have to do what nobody in the Family would ever say they’d do.” You murmur, your lips against the apple of your wife’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Melissa sighs, turning just enough to briefly kiss your lips. “I was thinkin’ the same thing. If we do it ourselves before they figure it out…we can give the information for no jail time.”

“It’s the only way we can still be here. For the girls.” You say, your tone soft and quiet enough your giggling twins don’t hear or recognize you’re speaking about them.

Melissa’s hand reaches to cradle your cheek, her thumb gently passing over skin. “For the girls.” She echoes before kissing you again. It’s only then that she returns to her meal, nudging you with her elbow in silent insistence you eat some yourself.

You’ve hardly spoken through the details; something you’re sure you’ll do once the girls are in bed tonight. Yet, you know with certainty you’re on the same page. For what feels like the first time since this whole mess started. You press one more kiss to red locks at the side of Melissa’s head before picking your fork up once more. You’re going to turn yourselves in. You’re going to flip on Cosa Nostra.

You take the girls home and get them to bed before your wife gets home. When she enters, she makes a beeline for the girls’ room. You can hear her speaking to their sleeping figures in Italian, telling them how much she loves them and that Mommy will start being home earlier again. And then she’s curling up next to you on the couch and offering a glass of wine.

“How are we going to do this?” Melissa asks you quietly. “Without getting murdered in the process.”

You sigh. “I have no idea. But I know we need the ledger from Barb, so you have to get it from her.”

“I’ll call her tomorrow,” she promises you. “I think… I don’t know. If we flip, there isn’t a chance in hell someone isn’t going to come after us.”

Neither of you says it, but you know that word tends to travel relatively quickly within the family, and if someone finds out you’ve flipped… you will be murdered. That’s almost guaranteed.

The two of you sit in silence, both trapped in your thoughts until you decide to head to bed. She curls up behind you, spooning you, before kissing your shoulder, and then the spot behind your ear. You shiver at her touch, and her hands start to wander as she leaves a few marks- ones where your girls won’t be able to see.

You turn around in her hold. “Baby, not tonight.” You lay your head on her chest as you tangle your legs together.

Melissa presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “I love you- and I’ll always love you, no matter what might happen to us.”

You just sigh softly before leaning up and kissing her softly before laying your head back down.

Neither of you get a great deal of sleep, both of your minds whirling with what fate has in store for you.

But motherhood never ceases, and your alarm starts ringing to signal that you need to get the girls up and to school.

Today is a day that you both take the girls, cherishing the way that they’re smiling and giggling like nothing is wrong- because nothing is wrong in their worlds. But you? You don’t know how much longer you have with them, so you soak up every second you have with them. You take in the laughter and the hugs, soak up each kiss that is planted to your face no matter how wet and slobbery. When they have to enter their classroom, you hug them extra tight, praying that you’ll see them again at the end of their school day.

And then you and your wife are off to the church, praying that you can catch Barbara Howard.

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #abbott elementary fanfiction #collab fic #la cosa nostra

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treemaidengeek · 7 months

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Hey, fellow spoonies! Got a min for a bit of writing that has absolutely transformed my relationship to my chronic illness?

This is from Mindfulness Meditation for Pain Relief by Jon Kabat-Zinn, based on his experiences co-running (?) a clinic specifically for people with severe unmanageable chronic illness & chronic pain. Part of the book is exercises, which weren't hugely impactful for me. But this section I've listened to over and over. It's been a game changer for me. Maybe it'll help you too.

Below the cut bc it's long.

"First, a working definition of mindfulness so we know what we're talking about when we use that word. You can think of mindfulness as pure awareness. In particular, the awareness that arises from paying attention, on purpose, in the present moment, without judgment or reaction, to whatever appears in the field of your experience.

You already have awareness. It’s as much a part of being human as our capacity for thinking or for breathing. So you can always ask yourself in any moment: is my awareness of pain, in pain? and then take a look and see. You can also expand this line of investigation to ask yourself, is my awareness of fear afraid? Is my awareness of anger, angry? Is my awareness of sadness, sad? Very revealing and liberating exploration, as we shall experience firsthand.

Of course being non-judgmental and non-reactive sounds like an ideal. But it isn't, really, not in the way we’re talking about it. It's a way of being in relationship to experience, a commitment to--as best we can–suspend our judging for a time, and suspend believing in our judgements as being true.

Of course, we judge everything, and tend to react automatically whenever things are not to our liking. And we can be very emotionally reactive, especially when we're hurting. So as we shall see further on, and in the practices themselves, we just observe the judging and reacting when they arise, and–as best we can–refrain from judging our judging, or reacting to our reactions.

A number of principles, attitudes, and perspectives are important to keep in mind when cultivating a mindful approach to working with chronic pain conditions or any other distressing elements in your life.

Here are seven that are fundamental and bear revisiting and keeping in mind, and listening to again and again, just as with the meditation practices. We will be making use of them every day, and even moment by moment throughout the day.

1. As we said, as long as you’re breathing there is really more right with you than wrong, no matter what is wrong. And our work will involve mobilizing those interior resources of your own inner landscape, of your body and mind, to work for you to improve the quality of your day-to-day and moment-to-moment life.

2. One of those interior resources is the power of the present moment. The power of “now” is enormous, yet mostly we persist in living in the past or in the future, in memory or in constant anticipation, worry, and planning, most of the time. And we never realize and never recognize how powerful and healing it can be to inhabit this moment, the only one we are ever alive in.

So strange as it may sound, it turns out it is very challenging to actually live in the present moment, even though it's the only time we ever really have to do anything: for learning, for growing, for coming to terms with things as they are, for expressing our affection and appreciation for others, for loving. All this takes ongoing practice.

3. Of course we are happy to show up more in the present moment as long as it's exactly to our liking. But it usually isn't anywhere near as good or as pleasant as we would wish it to be. That is true even if we don't have a chronic pain condition that we could see as the cause of all our troubles.

Have you noticed how easy it is to always want things to be different from how they actually are?

We certainly don't want to inhabit the present moment if we don't like it, and we certainly don't like it if we are in significant pain. So we can easily get caught up in trying to distract ourselves and escape from the present moment because it's not to our liking.

4. Our usual options when faced with situations we don't like and wouldn't want anyone to suffer from, are twofold. As we just saw, we can turn away from them and try to ignore them or escape from them as best we can. Or alternatively, we can get caught up in obsessing about our troubles endlessly and feel victimized.

Either way we might (as so many people do) turn to familiar resources at our disposal to dull the pain, such as alcohol or drugs, or food or TV, even if those coping strategies don't work, are addictive, or have terrible consequences that may make our lives worse in the long run.

We might also get into the habit of being irritable, gruff, and angry a good deal of the time, out of our own pain and frustration. Or emotionally withdrawn from others and from life, distant, cut off, in a state of perpetual contraction of both body and mind.

None of these coping strategies make for much happiness and ease of being. Grinning and bearing it isn't much fun. And blaming all our troubles on the pain doesn't actually make anything any better, as we usually come to see at some point or other. This can just further compound our frustration and even despair.

5. There is a third way of dealing with painful experiences, a way of being rather than perpetual doing and forcing. One that involves neither turning away from painful experiences, nor becoming overwhelmed by them. That third way is the way of mindfulness, the way of opening to and befriending our experience, however strange that may sound.

We do this by turning toward what we most fear to feel and opening gradually, over time, and only to the degree that you choose, to the full range of our experiences in any given moment, even when what we are experiencing is highly unpleasant, aversive, and unwanted.

You could think of it as putting out the welcome mat for what is happening. Because whatever it is, it is happening already. Any attempt to turn away is really a denying of your situation, which doesn't help much. And succumbing to resignation, a sense of being defeated, or to depression or perhaps even self-pity will clearly only make matters worse. If we take the turning-away route, we will be turning away from the opportunity to learn from what the pain has to teach us.

If we take the turning-away route, even though it may seem simpler when we are in a depressed mind-state, we may never find openings, new possibilities, new beginnings, new ways of being that are available to us right inside our own circumstances and our own mind and body. We might not discover that we can become stronger and more flexible in the face of whatever it is that we are dealing with, discover new options for relating to what we are carrying – which is the root meaning in Latin of the word “to suffer.” The approach of mindfulness, of turning-toward and opening to our experience – even when it is difficult – can readily lead to new ways of seeing including new possibilities for coming to terms with our situation in the moment, whether we like it or not, whether we want it or not.

This is called resilience, an interior strength we can cultivate through practice. A way to live, and live well, with what life offers up for us: “the full catastrophe,” as Zorba the Greek called it – the human condition itself.

6. This path of mindfulness involves learning to open to experience moment by moment with kindness and compassion towards oneself, whether what you are experiencing in any given moment is pleasant, unpleasant, or neither pleasant nor unpleasant. And without judging the experience as good if we like it, bad if we don't like it, and boring if we don't have any particular feeling one way or another.

As we said earlier, that doesn’t mean we won’t be judging plenty. But we can form the intention to suspend our hair-trigger tendency to judge everything according to whether we like it or not, and also our tendency to react emotionally and fairly automatically in a similar way : with acquisitiveness, even greediness, if we like it and therefore always want it to last or want more of it; and with rejection, anger, hatred, or disappointment if we don’t like it and want it to go away.

So non-judging and emotional balance in the face of challenging circumstances will be factors we can cultivate in working mindfully with our moment-to-moment experience–not as ideals we try to impose on ourselves or strive to grab hold of, but as potentials already within ourselves that we can learn to recognize and bring into greater awareness when they do arise.

Over time and with practice, we may find that being less emotionally reactive and less harshly judgemental, and kinder and more accepting of ourselves and our moments–however they may be–becomes more and more our default setting, rather than anger, resentment, fear, self-loathing, and contraction in both the mind and the body. And since these kinds of contractions of mind and body usually increase the intensity of our pain, they just compound our misery and suffering. This is one easy way we can exert significant positive influence over our pain.

7. None of this has to do with making anything go away. We’re not trying to suppress our pain or “control” it, or suppress our emotional state. We’re not trying to fix anything at all–even though we may want to, or feel helpless and resentful that medicine cannot fix what we feel is the matter. On the contrary, we are just looking for a place to sit or to stand, a momentary refuge within which we can contemplate the present moment, and perhaps discover some respite right in the middle of things as they are, however they are. Amazingly, this stance of what I often call non-doing or just being can very quickly lead to things changing–since things are always changing, even our pain and our relationship to it.

But sometimes if we are too stuck in our thought-habits, in the same old ruts regarding our condition, desperate to get somewhere else or fix something you think might be broken, or else make it go away, our very desire and fixation may lead to its just staying around longer, as if we were actually feeding those energies, as if we ourselves are locking ourselves in and preventing our world from changing. The world and our bodies are always changing. That is a natural law: the law of impermanence. Everything changes. Why would we be an exception? So sometimes patience and forbearance may be called for, and good strategies for allowing things to change and even heal on their own."

#jon kabat zinn #spoonie #mindfulness #coping strategies #chronic illness #chronic pain #pain management #mental health #I just have the audiobook so I've made my best guess at kabat zinn's punctuation #I'm not affiliated with him or anything I just found his work super helpful and want to share #if it seems helpful to you you might consider checking it out from your library to hear/read more and to help him out as a writer #this is not mine!#in case that's not obvious

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daitranscripts · 2 months

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Dorian Cutscene: High Approval

Undue Influence

Dorian Masterpost

The PC approaches Dorian, overhearing his ongoing argument with Mother Giselle

Giselle: I don’t know what you think you’re doing.

Dorian: I’m being clucked at by a hen, evidently.

Giselle: Don’t play the fool with me, young man!

Dorian: If I wanted to play the fool, I could be rather more convincing, I assure you.

Giselle: Your glib tongue does you no credit.

Dorian: You’d be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, Your Reverence.

The PC walks up.

Giselle: Oh, I…

PC: What’s going on here?

Dorian: It seems the revered mother is concerned about my “undue influence” over you.

Giselle: It is just concern. Your Worship, you must know how this looks.

Dorian: You might need to spell it out, my dear.

Giselle: This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumors alone…

1 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Because he’s Tevinter? [2]

General: There’s no need to worry. [3]

General: Rumors? Do tell! [4]

General (after asking about his being from Tevinter): Tell me about these rumors. [4]

General: We do not serve the Chantry. [5]

2 - Investigate: Because he’s Tevinter? PC: What’s wrong with him being from Tevinter? Specifically. Giselle: I’m fully aware that not everyone from the Imperium is the same. Dorian: How kind of you to notice. Yet still you bow to the opinion of the masses? Giselle: The opinion of the masses is based on centuries of evidence. What would you have me tell them? Dorian: The truth? Giselle: The truth is I do not know you, and neither do they. Thus these rumors will continue. [back to 1]

3 - General: There’s no need to worry. PC: There’s no cause for concern, Your Reverence. Giselle: With all due respect, you underestimate the effect this man has on the people’s good opinion. PC: Do the people know how he’s helped the Inquisition? [6]

4 - General: Rumors? Do tell!/Tell me about these rumors. PC: Oh? I’d like to hear what these rumors are, exactly. Giselle: I… could not repeat them, Your Worship. PC: Repeat them? So you’ve shared them before? [6]

5 - General: We do not serve the Chantry. PC: The concerns of the Chantry are no concern of the Inquisition, Mother Giselle. Giselle: I’m aware of that. You risk, however, not only the Chantry’s opinion. PC: And if I asked from where these rumors originated? [6]

6 - Scene continues.

Giselle: I… see. I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man’s intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both.

Giselle leaves.

Dorian: Well, that’s something.

Dialogue options:

General: Are you all right? [7] General: This happens often? [8] General: Forget her. [9]

7 - General: Are you all right? PC: She didn’t get to you, did she? Dorian: No, it takes more to get to me than thinly veiled accusations. PC: You don’t think she’ll do anything? Dorian: Do what? Yours is the good opinion I care about, not hers. [10]

8 - General: This happens often? PC: This sort of thing happens often, does it? Dorian: More than anyone tells you. No one knows their own reputation. PC: Until someone helpfully informs them. Dorian: There is that. She meant well, if that’s of any concern. [10]

9 - General: Forget her. PC: Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Dorian: She does, actually. There are rumors, and her concern is well-meaning… if misplaced. PC: It doesn’t matter. Dorian: Listen to you. It’s good to be the Inquisitor. [10]

10 - Choice dependent dialogue:

Romanced [11]

Flirted but not romance not locked in (Male PC only) [12]

Not flirted/female PC [13]

11 - Romanced Dorian: It does make me wonder. Is my influence over you… undue?

Dialogue options:

General: Not at all. [14]

General: Only in a good way. [15]

General: You don’t influence me. [16]

14 - General: Not at all. PC: No, not undue at all. Dorian: Overdue, then? [19]

15 - General: Only in a good way. PC: Perhaps, but it’s the kind of undue influence I enjoy. Dorian: No one accused you of being politically astute. PC: Not today. [19]

16 - General: You don’t influence me. PC: I don’t think you have any influence over me. Dorian: Not that I was attempting such, but how kind of you to underline it so. Perhaps what we’re doing—whatever that is—isn’t worth the trouble? I wouldn’t want to cause you grief.

Dialogue options:

General: Don’t be ridiculous. [17]

General: That’s for the best. [18]

17 - General: Don’t be ridiculous. PC: I never said you caused me grief. Dorian: And yet you have that look. PC: That’s just my face. Dorian: All right, all right. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Scene ends. ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ 18 - General: That’s for the best. PC: Maybe so. Dorian: Then friends it shall be. PC: Friends? Relationship ends.

19 - Scene continues.

Dorian: (Laughs.) I tease you too much, I know.

Dialogue options:

General: Your wit is useful. PC: It’s helpful when you turn that scathing wit on people other than me. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: It’s deserved. PC: Oh, I probably deserve it. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: Sometimes, yes. PC: Occasionally.

Dorian: I’ll have to find something we can do that doesn’t involve teasing. Soon, ideally.

Scene ends.

12 - Flirted but not romance not locked in Dorian: I don’t know if you’re aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are… intimate.

Dialogue options:

Flirt (available for romance): That’s not a bad idea. (Start a romance with Dorian, if possible) [20]

Special: What about Cassandra? [21]

Special: What about Iron Bull? [22]

Special: What about Josephine? [23]

General: But it’s not true. [24]

General: That doesn’t surprise me. [25]

General: I don’t like that idea. (Dorian will stop flirting with the PC) [26]

20 - Flirt: That’s not a bad idea. PC: That’s not the worst assumption they could have, is it? Dorian: I don’t know. Is it? PC: Do you always answer a question with a question? Dorian: Would you like me to answer in some other fashion? PC: If you’re capable. Dorian kisses him. Dorian: “If you’re capable.” The nonsense you speak. PC: You realize this makes the rumors somewhat true? Dorian: Evidently. We might have to explore the full truth of them later. In private. Scene ends.

21 - Special: What about Cassandra? PC: They don’t know about Cassandra, then? Dorian: Don’t know or don’t care. Baseless insinuation is grand fun. PC: I hope Cassandra isn’t upset by this. Dorian: Have you met Cassandra? If she even noticed such talk, she’d just punch it in the face. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend. Inquisitor. [30]

22 - Special: What about Iron Bull? PC: They don’t know about Iron Bull, then? Dorian: Don’t know or don’t care. Baseless insinuation is grand fun. PC: I wonder what Iron Bull would think of this. Dorian: If he’s even heard. Something tells me he’d find it amusing. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend. Inquisitor. [30]

23 - Special: What about Josephine? PC: They don’t know about Josephine, then? Dorian: Don’t know or don’t care. Baseless insinuation is grand fun. PC: I hope Josephine isn’t upset by this. Dorian: Please. She no doubt knows of the talk, says hello, and brings it biscuits. I wouldn’t worry. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend. Inquisitor. [30]

24 - General: But it’s not true. PC: But that’s a lie. There’s no truth to it at all. Dorian: Has that ever stopped anyone? PC: It should. Dorian: You’re such an idealist. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend. Inquisitor. [30]

25 - General: That doesn’t surprise me. PC: You know how people are. Dorian: I didn’t start those rumors. PC: Mm-hmm. Dorian: I didn’t! My rumors would be so much more detailed. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend. Inquisitor. [30]

26 - General: I don’t like that idea. PC: Really? I don’t care for that assumption. Dorian: Yes, well, it probably isn’t the worst thing said about you today. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend. Inquisitor. [30]

13 - Not flirted/female PC Dorian: I should ask… do the rumors bother you?

Dialogue options:

General: Only on your behalf. [27]

General: There will always be rumors. [28]

General: Yes. (Dorian will stop flirting with the PC) [29]

27 - General: Only on your behalf. PC: I wish they wouldn’t disparage you. They don’t know you. Dorian: They know you even less than they know me. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend. Inquisitor. [30]

28 - General: There will always be rumors. PC: Why should it bother me? Everyone’s talking about the Inquisition. Dorian: That’s good. I’d hate to think I brought you any grief. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend. Inquisitor. [30]

29 - General: Yes. PC: They do, actually. Dorian: (Sighs.) I feel the same. Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend. Inquisitor. [30]

30 - Scene continues.

Dorian: I have precious few friends. I didn’t think to find one here.

PC: I–

Dorian: Don’t speak. I detest confessions, and I’d like to get this over with. Allow me to say I’ll stand beside you—against Corypheus, my countrymen, or spurious rumor—so long as you’ll have me.

#dragon age inquisition #dai transcripts #dragon age #dragon age transcripts #dragon age dialogue #dai #long post #dai dialogue #dorian #dorian pavus

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allthecanadianpolitics · 10 months

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Statement by the SPHR of Concordia University, concerning the meeting with president Graham Carr on 16/11/2023

The Society for Palestinian Human Rights held a meeting with Concordia University president Graham Carr for multiple concerns, the unaddressed violence on campus towards Palestinian and Muslim students and pro-Palestinian allies by zionists' harassment, as well as the University's investments in arms companies that arm Israel, thus funding the genocide of Palestinians. Here is their response to the disrespectful and dismissive exchanges with him.

Full statement under the cut.

"On Novemberr 16th, two representatives of SPHR Concordia met with University President Graham Carr. SPHR and many other student activists have been concerned with President Carr's efforts in recent years to deepen our universities' ties to Israeli institutions since learning about his trip to Bar Ilan University in August 2022, but the President has so far not responded to these student concerns.

This meeting offered a very important opportunity for SPHR members to voice our concerns around systemic anti-Palestinian racism and Islamophobia on campus, as well as Concordia's investments in the apartheid regime. Due to the administration's stated intentions to listen to student concerns, we were hopeful that the discussion might lead to some positive changes being implemented.

SPHR came to President Carr to ask the following:

An investigation into recent and ongoing attacks against students of all faiths and backgrounds, many of whom have been explicitly targeted for their solidarity with the Palestinian people. The University's divestment from initiatives and organisations [sic] which actively fund or otherwise support the ongoing genocide and ethnic cleansing of the Palestinian people.

Unfortunately, the outcome of the meeting was disappointing as no commitments were made for meaningful repair and positive change and we were once again met with empty words.

When asked if he acknowledges statements by human rights organisations [sic] such as Amnesty international, the UN, B'Tselem (and at least 16 other Israeli NGOs as of July 2023) identifying Israel as an apartheid state, he replied: "I am certainly well aware of those statements and I think part of this question is here is what the role of the university is...?", deflecting and failing to answer the question.

While he could not deny that Concordia invests in several organisations [sic] identified by international human rights groups as being complicit in Israeli war crimes, he claimed that Concordia differentiates itself by saying "there is a way that we can also use investments to bring about social good in the world", to which one of our representatives asked "so social good is delivered by bombs?"

President Carr failed to respond when asked how investing in institutions founded and dependent on ethnic cleansing initiatives constitutes working to bring about this so-called 'social good'. He also did not specify how these philanthropic investments would benefit Palestinians, but rather continued the university's tradition of Greenwashing or "Social Washing" to divert attention from Concordia's more unsavoury investments.

Graham Carr's response to financially contributing to Elbit systems through its BMO investments was "Concordia is not DIRECTLY funding a weapon's company" and asked "so what's your solution on that front?"

In response to our demands of ending our university's complicity with the apartheid regime, he asked "Do you think Jewish students would be more secure?" We certainly believe Jewish students would feel safer knowing their university isn't complicit in a genocide. These types of questions are not only disrespectful to our demands, but also to the Jewish community.

While we were able to establish common ground throughout our meeting that both SPHR and the administration places the safety of students as an absolute priority, we were not provided with a clear statement on when or how the University's administration would be pursuing sanctions against members of the Concordia community who are actively harassing, doxing [sic], threatening, and otherwise attacking Palestinian, Muslim, and racialised [sic] students and their allies.

SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT

Graham Carr cut our meeting short without providing us with clear answers on our demands...

As a diverse coalition of students united for Palestinian Human Rights, SPHR would like to put these questions to their fellow students, as well as Concordia faculty, staff and administration:

Why would President Carr meet personally with SPHR to ask about our concerns, if only to belittle the urgent issues of Islamophobia and anti-Palestinian racism and dismiss the urgent need for divestment?

Why is it that Concordia has an entire Israeli Studies Institute, and Israel is the only state in the Middle East to have its own dedicated Poli Sci course, but does not offer a single course specifically on Palestine?

How could a university President who spent nearly $9000 of student tuition on a trip to Israel organised [sic] by the CIJA, the largest pro-Israel lobby group in Canada, be reasonably expected to ensure a balanced and supportive environment for Palestinian students on campus?

Why would the university promote a social and environmental investment policy, while investing in Elbit systems' largest investors?

How can we ensure our tuition money is invested in humanitarian and decolonial initiatives for the Palestinian people as well as Indigenous people around the world instead of "impact investment" initiatives run by companies like BlackRock that has massive investments in Israel and in companies including Lockheed Martin and Northrop Grumman that make the weapons Israel uses to murder Palestinians?"

Transcribed from this IG post by @el-shab-hussein, links added were not included in the original post.

#cdnpoli #University of Concordia #Montreal #Québec #Foreign Policy #zionist occupation of Palestine #western imperialism

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sleepingdeath-light · 2 years

Text

weary head ; l lawliet (18+)

kinktober day seven ; hair pulling

pairing ; l lawliet x gender neutral!reader

reader pronouns ; they/them/theirs

word count ; 1248

note ; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

“My dear, you look like death,” they offered gently, leaning their side against the doorway as they watched their dear boyfriend work himself to the brink of exhaustion once again, “one can’t solve a case if they become a victim of it - you do know that, right?”

“I also can’t rest until we capture Kira,” he responded in turn, his voice, as it so often was, being monotone and is tone clinical - as though what he was saying was infallable, “it’s my job. I will not let him kill again; I can rest after I’m done.”

“Him?” A gentle yet intrigued prodding escaped them as they slowly made their way towards him and wrapped their arms around his shoulders. “You’ve narrowed it down to a demographic? You only got assigned to the case two days ago, love.”

“I’ve settled on an individual culprit, actually,” he teased warmly, turning his head to address them with a proud glint in his eye, “Yagami Light; a high school student and the son of a policeman - they’ll set up cameras for observation tomorrow when the house is empty.”

“That’s incredible!”

“That’s my job.”

They huffed at that and leaned down to press a chaste kiss against his lips before he quickly broke away to return his gaze to the computer screen in front of him. Being with the world’s greatest and most dedicated detective frequently posed unique challenges for their relationship, with his hyper focusing on ongoing cases being one such example.

Of course they admired his work ethic and his dedication to bringing these people to justice, and they knew who he was and what he was like when they got together, but they couldn’t help but miss him and desire more of his attention than he was often able to spare. Most days they hardly had the opportunity to give him a hug or kiss in the mornings before he hurried off back to his laptop - only having been pried away overnight due to their insistence on him maintaining some degree of good health during his investigations.

Though they swallowed this displeasure and revelled in their current intimate position, resting their chin on the back of his chair and starting to gently and slowly play with the messy mop of dark hair that covered his head. Gentle as ever, and watching for any signs of discomfort, they ran their fingers through his locks - lovingly untangling any knots that had formed due to his lack of self care in recent days and twirling the softer strands between their fingertips.

Bit by bit, moment by moment, they could feel and see him relaxing beneath their unrelenting touch: shoulders relaxing, eyes fluttering closed every few moments, low moans and sighs escaping his lips and his head leaning into them beyond his awareness. And the moment they noticed this, they moved on to massaging his scalp, scratching it with their fingernails and doing anything they could to prolong the pleasant feeling on his end.

He did deserve it, after all. He deserved this and so, so much more.

————

“Feel good, dearest?” They crooned lowly, smiling to themselves when he hummed quietly in response, leaning down to gently kiss his jaw as they continued to play with his hair. “Good; you needed this, it seems.”

Every so often they’d lightly tug at a couple of locks of dark hair, twisting them between their fingers and tugging shortly from the scalp. And every time they did so, a barely-audible moan would escape his lips and it would send another wave of arousal straight to their core - which they ignored for the time being, opting instead to prioritise their lover as a reward for his devotion.

Tug. Twist. Stroke. Card.

Settling into a pattern was easy and relaxing even for them, a soothing and repetitive routine that allowed their mind to wander as they admired their dear boyfriend in his vulnerable state: his face was the picture of vulnerability, with closed eyes and parted lips that allowed pleased sighs and the occasional groan slip through; his head was leaned back against the seat, giving them complete freedom to do whatever they wished in that moment (including admiring his sharp features as they worked); his arms and legs hung limp about himself, with him having long since slipped out of his typical position and taken on something much limper and less slouched in order to better accommodate them.

Ever considerate with them, even when they were just trying to do something nice for him. What a gentleman.

Though after a good few minutes of this relentless massaging of his scalp, their own arousal was becoming damn-near unbearable, even interfering with their focus as they kept having to rub their thighs together and adjust themselves to minimise the friction against their sex. So, in order to continue L’s reward whilst still dealing with themselves, they decided to take advantage of what they’d recently found out about him - tempted by the ease of the act and the sureness that they’d get exactly what they wanted.

All it would take is one swift, angled tug against the hair on the back of his neck; one careful, calculated movement. It would only take a second at most, and who could complain about that?

Not them, certainly.

So with a smirk on their face, they gently reached behind him and pulled that sensitive bit of hair - forcing his back to arch upwards as he let out a moan loud and lewd enough that it startled them both.

————

The first few moments after they'd given in to their urges was filled with an awkward, somewhat flustered, silence with tension thick enough that a heated knife would surely be able to slice through it - the air almost palpable in a way that froze them to their place with anticipation. And then he acted, spinning around in his chair and catching them off guard as he pulled them down onto his lap and took a harsh grasp of their hair - using it to force them to meet his eye.

"What do you think you're doing?"

They smiled sheepishly at him, squirming a bit in his lap as they tried to find a more stable position before swallowing thickly and responding in a meeker voice than they'd have liked. "I - uh - I was just trying to help you relax, you've been working so hard lately and -"

"and that's for good reason," he interrupted calmly, tightening his grip in something like a warning before continuing, "and I can't seem to understand how arousing me is going to relax me. In fact, it has the direct opposite effect because it makes me agitated."

"I was going to help you with it, dear,"

"But you started it to help yourself," he retorted swiftly, forcing one knee between their thighs and rubbing it against their sex - clinically nodding and observing the way they responded to that brief contact, "I'd argue that makes your actions more selfish than selfless, wouldn't you?"

Then, he hummed and adjusted his grip on their hair, tugging sharply once, then twice before he forced them closer to him - close enough that his lips were pressed against the shell of their ear as he spoke in a low tone, almost challenging them in a way (and coaxing an eager whimper from their lips despite their compromising position).

"Well that doesn't matter now. You have my attention; so you'd better make the most of it."

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #smut #minors dni #hair pulling #death note x reader #death note smut #l x reader #l lawliet x reader #l smut #l lawliet smut

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saintmeghanmarkle · 5 months

Text

THE FUTURE OF THE MARKLES - HOW THE DEMISE WILL BEGIN! by u/media_lush

THE FUTURE OF THE MARKLES - HOW THE DEMISE WILL BEGIN! https://ift.tt/s3po5qC story:Naomi Campbell's high-profile Fashion For Relief charity has been shut down amid the charity watchdog's probe into claims of financial mismanagement, The Mail on Sunday can reveal.The Charity Commission last night confirmed that it had removed the supermodel's charity from the UK charity register while it continued its investigation into allegations of misconduct.It follows revelations by this newspaper that official accounts showed that during a 15-month period it spent more than £1.6 million on a glittering gala in Cannes, but gave just £5,000 to good causes.The watchdog said it was still conducting an inquiry into Fashion For Relief, which Ms Campbell founded in 2005, saying she had been inspired by her friend Nelson Mandela telling her to 'use [her] voice' for good.The charity claimed to have raised more than £11 million, mostly through glitzy fundraising events held all over the world, including in New York, Mumbai and Moscow.Ms Campbell, 53, would take centre stage at the galas, appearing in showstopping designer gowns, and was honoured by the British Fashion Council for her philanthropic work in 2019.But concerns were raised in 2021 about how much money was being passed on to people in need after the Mayor's Fund for London lodged an official complaint, saying that it was owed £50,000 by the charity.The Mayor's Fund, which helps young Londoners from low-income backgrounds, filed a 'serious incident' report with the Charity Commission, which announced a statutory inquiry in November that year.Last night, a Charity Commission spokesman told this newspaper that the charity had been removed from the charity register last month. It came after the watchdog appointed two managers to take over Fashion For Relief, which had consistently filed its accounts late.A friend of Ms Campbell last night said that Fashion For Relief was set up to raise 'awareness' and not just money. They insisted that the supermodel, worth a reported £63 million, had decided to call time on Fashion For Relief before the watchdog inquiry was launched.A Charity Commission spokesman said: 'We can confirm that the Commission-appointed interim managers of Fashion For Relief applied for its removal from the register of charities on the basis that it no longer operates.'The removal process is now complete and reflected on the public register. Our statutory inquiry into the charity is ongoing.'As part of the investigation, Fashion For Relief trustees were restricted from making certain financial transactions in order to 'protect the charity's property'.The trustees were Ms Campbell; her key aide, Veronica Chou, who is the heiress to a £2 billion textile fortune; and socialite and lawyer Bianka Hellmich. Ms Chou quit the charity days after the Commission launched its probe in 2021.A spokesman for the charity said: 'The winding up of Fashion For Relief was a decision made by the trustees three years ago. It was not forcibly closed.'Fashion For Relief operates in America and will continue to do fundraising initiatives worldwide.' post link: https://ift.tt/YgbR03r author: media_lush submitted: April 28, 2024 at 03:26AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

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tobiasdrake · 10 months

Text

So Rain Code has DLC to zero in on each of the non-Yuma detectives. Gonna play through these in order of release. Who do we start with? Let's see, that would be....

Goddammit. Desuhiko.

Okay, well. At least we can get him out of the way and then move on to the characters I like. Wonder if these take place before, after, or during the main game?

Well, we're opening at the Scary Zombie Rex Museum so that eliminates "before" as an option. Either the Secret of Kanai Ward investigation is currently ongoing or this is between Makoto's defeat and the Master Detectives leaving town.

Ooh, classic cat burglar mystery going on. So it looks like we'll have to stop this notorious thief from stealing the precious jewels. Okay, we can--

Nope, never mind, we failed. That was a short DLC. Alright, who's next on the list?

Alright, shouldn't be too hard to identify the Nine-Tailed Cat. As we can clearly see from this silhouette, our target is a naked man. Bizarre choice of aesthetic for a cat burglar, but I'm not going to judge.

Go, Nudist Thief, go!

...where do you think he stashed the jewel? Probably best not to think about that.

Again!? How often do naked men steal things on your watch!?

Desuhiko's over here proving my firmly-held belief that the word "again" is the funniest word in the English language.

Will you, though? Your skillset is in intelligence gathering. You're pretty much my last choice in fisticuffs, so I'm pretty sure anyone else on the team is better suited to apprehending our streaker.

Makoto agrees. When he was faking everyone's deaths, he had you die first. He knew there'd be no doubt about that.

I wouldn't call what Desuhiko has charisma. If he were charismatic, people would be willing to buy what he's selling. Instead, his role is one of constantly embarrassing himself for comic relief but with zero self-awareness of how cringe everyone else finds him. His behavior routinely makes him the butt of the joke.

Enthusiasm is how I'd describe Desuhiko. He has enthusiasm. Despite rejection after rejection after rejection, despite constantly failing to convince anyone or even himself that he's cool, Desuhiko never stops putting out a positive façade and trying again.

Oh hey, Yakou's sapient! That places us pretty firmly in the "during" timespan. We're somewhere between Desuhiko's arrival in town and Chapter 4.

The museum must be taking this pretty seriously. Amaterasu's isolation would make it difficult to procure new art pieces for display. Pretty much whatever they already had here plus anything new that the residents create, that's it.

So far as new gems go? Amaterasu doesn't do business within the city; People were talking about that in the epilogue. That's a problem because Amaterasu may have international reach, but they're the only part of Kanai Ward that does.

So good fucking luck getting gemstones here. It's not like Makoto's going to let anyone go out and open a mine somewhere.

That being said, our naked man has to be stealing for his own private collection, right? It's not like he can take the gems to a fence. I can't imagine Kanai Ward has a thriving black market. Why would someone even become a notorious serial burglar in an isolated city-state?

Unless this is a human burglar from outside the rain cage. In which case, WHOA HO HO did he come to the wrong city.

Okay, so their reputation extends to before the Blank Week. That makes a bit more sense. It's possible Kanai Ward had a black market before the isolation. Either way, the possibility of an aristocrat stealing for their own private collection remains as well.

That doesn't sound so bad, honestly. I'm glad Yuma's not on this case. A cat burglar who robs from museums hardly warrants a death feral regeneration sentence.

That's where the nudity comes in. It draws the eye away from the face, and that's if you don't look away immediately out of embarrassment. Brilliant, really.

Sorry, Desuhiko, but I think I'm on Team Kitsune. Robbing a megacorporation barely even constitutes a crime.

I AM 100% ON TEAM KITSUNE. Why would we even want to thwart these robberies? Desuhiko's pride? That and a dozen coins is worth 12 shien.

Oh, it is Desuhiko's pride at stake. I thought I was being dismissive.

Wow, I aggressively do not care about the stakes of this conflict. Let the Nine-Tailed Cat keep pissing in Yomi's corn flakes. It's not like they're hurting anyone.

Oh no, you're mentioned on the seventh paragraph here. "Yellow stranger spotted shaking fist impotently at the burglar."

Hey, I'm all for bagging on Yakou for being a shit detective. But this sounds a hell of a lot like Yomi's problem, not ours.

Yuma does enough of that shit as it is. Do you have any idea how frequently he nearly gets shot? The answer may surprise you.

This was all about impressing a girl. That makes sense. I am now even less invested in the stakes than I was before.

Sound advice, Yakou.

It's amazing how much less irritating his dismissive reluctance to do anything becomes when it's Desuhiko on the receiving end instead of Yuma.

Alas, as with Yuma and Kurumi, Yakou's greatest weakness in reining in his Detectives shows itself once again: His stern disapproval is no match for a brisk jogging pace.

At least we can be sure that didn't change when he turned feral. Yakou's speed has always maxed out at a shamble, so his zombie's barely changed in that regard.

#master detective archives: rain code #drake plays rain code #desuhiko thunderbolt

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rosiebee-18 · 3 months

Text

Psycho-Pass

Directed by Naoyoshi Shiotani

Psycho-Pass was very interesting to watch. I didn’t know what to expect by watching it for the first time, but I am glad I had no expectations. Psycho-Pass plots follow a young woman named Akane Tsunemori, who joins the Public Safety Bureau's Criminal Investigation Division. She is also tasked with taking down criminals who are flagged as potential threats to society through the Sibyl system. I believe this is where technology overpowers and becomes our justice system, because the Sibyl system measures people's psychological states and their likelihood to commit crimes. While this is a perfect system for a perfect world, relatively speaking it is not. At the end of the day, we are still living among humans that exhibit complex emotions and morals that no technology can fix. This anime sheds light on advanced surveillance technology and the free will vs societal control.

Technology

This anime presents a society where surveillance technology monitors citizens' mental states to predict criminal behavior. We can see that from the episode where the man was flagged as a latent criminal and later causing the hostage to become one as well. The system's judgments often lead to drastic consequences for those labeled as potential threats, regardless of their actual intentions or mental state. Citizens' thoughts and feelings are being tracked without their permission due to this ongoing surveillance, which violates their right to privacy. The system's pervasiveness raises concerns about where personal autonomy and public safety should end. This issue persists globally where any technology we use is constantly being watched by the government or a third party. Most of the time we are never aware of what is happening to us in our own homes. Personal data is less secure because of it. This relates back to the reading about surveillance machines, tracking our every move digitally and in person.

Free will vs Societal Control

The system also controls the mind into thinking that its judgment is morally right because of its interest to protect the public from latent criminals. However, it does leave room for whether each individual in that society is morally good or they are just following the rules to not face the consequences. How much does societal control have our own free will? We can see this example when Akane faces Makishima holding her friend hostage. She was faced with a challenge to end Makishima with the Sibyl or with the shotgun. She relies on the morals that was created for her to choose the Sibyl but it failed her in the end when it couldn’t detect Makishima as a latent criminal. This where he describes how free will like personal choices and actions are heavily influenced or even dictated by external factors rather than individual agency. I believe as an individual living in a society where there are a lot of moral norms that are spoken through rules and regulation, many people are not morally good for following those rules because of the fear of the consequences. Even though we express free will, is it truly free will if it does not fall under what is considered good and bad?

#anime analysis #psycho pass #makishima

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kadavernagh · 11 months

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: The morgue at the ME's Office PARTIES: Eleanor and Regan SUMMARY: Eleanor is in research mode for her novel, and she's thrilled to be invited to watch Regan conduct an autopsy so she can write an accurate medical examiner. Regan is pleased to have a curious mind to engage. But the autopsy turns out far more horrifying than Eleanor ever thought it would when things get squiggly, which is great for a horror novel, right?

After rejecting two autopsy viewing requests from people whose reasoning was “I just wanna see,” it was a refreshing change of pace to be welcoming in an author today. An author who cared about doing her due diligence to represent Regan’s profession.

When Marcy alerted her to the visitor, Regan was quick to offer her usual brisk greeting. The winter coat lacked professionalism but she would make up for it in every other way. “Dr. Kavanagh. I assume you’re Eleanor. If you’re ready, follow me.” She guided Eleanor toward the door, carded them in, and led her down the long hallway that terminated in the autopsy suite. “Did you have that breakfast we discussed?”

Death greeted her as the doors swung open, tugging her closer. Whatever had happened with Beau the other day wasn’t a constant. Right now, the death was a familiar comfort and light touch; a far cry from the smothering weight it had become before. It would need to stay that way. Yesterday she had been forced to retreat into her office in the middle of an autopsy, crushed by her surroundings, yet electrified. She couldn’t escape it, even there. Glass still needed to be swept up.

Today would need to be more favorable. Regan pointed over to the personal protective equipment and wriggled into a lab coat herself – two sizes too big so as to fit over the coat. She turned to Eleanor, explaining. “Take notes if you wish. While I haven’t made a determination yet, I selected a decedent whose death seems to be of an accidental manner. Your novel likely involves homicide, but I don’t want to bring you in on an autopsy for an ongoing investigation.” She picked up the clipboard by the autopsy table, where the cadaver was waiting patiently, already washed and ready. The body’s short, freshly-washed mop of curly hair was drying on her scalp and without contesting muscles, gravity was not kind to her face, aging the woman considerably. “I suppose I should acquaint the two of you, too. This was Martha Williams, 41 years old, Caucasian, five-foot-seven. She was found by the bushes in front of her home a couple of days ago. When I went to the scene, her state was consistent with a post-mortem interval of one to two hours. But one must never be closed off to other possibilities.” She looked between the very dead woman and the very live one. “Any questions before we begin? The waste bin is in the corner. Do not stop me if you have to vomit.”

Although Eleanor had been a nervous wreck after being offered what she considered to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, she had made sure to get a good night’s rest and, per instructions, successfully put down a good hearty breakfast. She’d always believed in doing extensive research whenever writing about subjects she wasn’t familiar with but had never been granted with such an honor before - she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

Upon her arrival at the medical examiner’s office she was immediately made aware of the lack of living people around and while Eleanor knew full well what to expect in advance, it still gave her an eerie feeling. It wasn’t like being around the undead: they could communicate with her whereas the bodies that filled the morgue had been reduced to place holders, evidence of people who had passed onto the great unknown. More than anything the utter silence of it all caused a shiver to run down her spine.

“Yes! Hi! I had a great breakfast, thank you.” Eleanor had reached out her hand for a shake but let it drop and immediately fell into step behind Doctor Kavanagh. From their short exchange online Eleanor had picked up that the other didn’t engage in lengthy conversation so she didn’t take the clipped sentences and monotone words as an insult. She was there to be professional, not to visit a friend at their place of work, so she followed silently, her eyes wide and her ears open. She’d also tried to get a read on the pale woman and was happy to find that she seemed relaxed and mellow, moreso when they entered the actual autopsy suite. Eleanor sighed and mentally thanked the doctor for her stable mood - there would be no battling her abilities, just pleasant note taking as she had planned.

Eleanor wanted to ask about the winter coat but decided against it and obediently pulled on her own lab coat. Surely if Doctor Kavanagh wanted to explain her fashion choices she would, and if she didn’t it had absolutely no effect on why they were there in the first place. She nodded, her notepad and pen already out and scribbling furiously as the other spoke. Her eyes roamed over the body in front of her and that same shiver ran down her spine - she wasn’t frightened, it was just strange. “Yes, how were you able to determine how long she’d been dead?” Eleanor eyed the trashcan and the corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “I think I’ll be alright, but I’ll be careful not to bother you if I do prove to be weaker than I believe.” Returning to her notepad she asked one more question, “What about the scene makes you believe the cause of death to be accidental?”

Eleanor’s chipper attitude was bothersome, but Regan approved of her professionalism. She had clearly come ready to take notes, and if someone was going to watch an autopsy – the most intimate medical procedure one could receive, Regan thought – the observer should be getting value out of it. And Eleanor was already asking questions. Good. “We have different tools to determine PMI, depending on what stage of decomposition is occurring. In this case, rigor mortis had not even begun when the body was found, and a neighbor confirmed that she had a brief conversation with the woman only a few hours earlier. We also use body temperature. Bodies cool at a predictable rate… though influenced by many factors.” Regan reached down and wiped a couple of blow fly eggs off the woman’s cheek. The freezer had rendered them invalid, but they clung to her skin even through the bath. “Insects help, too. The flies had just found her.” Admirable little things. They were quick.

If Regan could smile, she might have. “I’ll show you.”

With practiced hands, she rolled the body into a prone position, revealing what had been invisible from their previous perspective. In the upper right quadrant of the woman’s back there was a large hole – too big to be from a bullet, and the margins were flush with blood. Regan had already stuck a ruler into the hole earlier, needing to make an early assessment of the situation. She went four inches deep before a rub pushed against the ruler, halting its progress. She suspected whatever had tunneled into the woman had gone straight into her heart. Around the hole was a series of smaller holes and places where the skin was raised and irritated concentric to, what looked like, pinhole-sized bug bites. “I could be wrong, of course, but this is suggestive of an animal. You can tell from blood that this occurred ante-mortem – that is, before death – and when the cause of death is animal-related, insect envenomation, or similar, the manner is classified as accidental.” She looked down at the holes. “Had a person done this, I would expect overt signs of a struggle. Is that what happens in your novel?”

“That said, we still must be thorough. Everyone gets a complete autopsy. Not only in case initial impressions are wrong, but because we may find something else that could be important to the family. Even beyond the decedent. Many findings have a genetic component.” It made sense to start with the woman’s back, considering everything was currently served in front of them like a feast-filled dinner plate. “I will be dictating my notes today, which will be to your benefit.” She pressed the START button on the recorder. After speaking a brief overview of the patient’s demographics and findings at the scene, she attempted to document what they were seeing. "A deep, well-defined cavity is situated in the dorsal upper right quadrant, approximately 4 inches in depth and two inches in diameter. Consistent with a traumatic or penetrating injury, suspected from an animal, with clean edges and no evidence of irregular tearing or avulsion. Upon examination, the depth of the cavity is noted to extend beyond the subcutaneous tissue, reaching into the underlying musculature." She turned to Eleanor. “When we open her, we will be able to know precisely how deep it goes.” Regan continued, next describing the smaller surrounding wounds. “What do these look like to you?”

Eleanor hardly had time to look up from her notes when Regan started to throw information at her left and right and her hand flew across the notepad as she tried to keep up, her tongue poked out past her lips in concentration. She hadn’t even had time to truly feel intimidated, though she was sure that would come at some point, because she’d been immediately tossed into the thick of it. While her hand continued to scribble messily she looked up when Regan rolled the body over and sucked in a quick breath while her eyebrows knitted together. What could have possibly made that hole? She’d wanted to ask, but there would be no point since that was the reason they were there, to find out what exactly had happened.

“Since you mentioned you could tell from the blood whether an injury occurred before or after death, how soon after one dies does blood flow stop entirely? And is it true that you can tell what position a person was in when they died by the amount of blood pooled into a certain area of their body?” Eleanor was certainly out of her comfort zone and thought it best to ask as many questions as she could since up to the point her main form of information on the subject had been true crime podcasts and TV shows. She wanted to know the truth from someone who actually worked in the field and didn’t just make content for the masses. She nodded in response to Regan’s question. “Yes, in my novel there will be signs of struggle - wounds on the hands, among other things, to show that the victims attempted to defend themselves.” She was glad to hear that the notes would be recorded because it meant that Regan would be sure to thoroughly explain everything for the recorder, if not for Eleanor herself.

Something about the way the phrase “when we open her” sounded made Eleanor’s hand pause for a brief moment before she went back to scribbling down her notes. It amazed her how calm Regan was and had to remind herself that this was something she probably did nearly every day, the shock had more than likely worn off long ago. She glanced at the doctor for a brief moment as though making sure it was alright for her to approach the table and took a long, close look at the wounds on the corpse’s back. “They look to me like bite marks. So, would whatever did this have gone inside of her or just taken a couple chunks out?” She was sure she knew the answer but, again, wanted to be thorough.

After the tumultuous couple of weeks Regan was having, Eleanor’s questions were music to her ears. They reignited her sense of professionalism and expertise when she was not feeling as though she understood much of anything at all. She wasn’t sure what the right way forward was – staying or leaving – or if she could have any semblance of a say on the matter. But death, she knew; death, she could speak on. “Blood flow stops immediately, technically, but it takes about fifteen to twenty minutes for that to become physically apparent. You’re referring to a process called livor mortis. When the blood stops flowing, it moves toward gravity-dependent regions of the body, causing a sort of… redfish-blue coloring of the skin. This is said to become “fixed” after about 6 to 8 hours, and can be informative for both post-mortem interval and how the body was positioned.” Regan gave the decedent’s back an amiable tap. “You won’t be seeing any livor here. She wasn’t left out long enough, and the freezer spared her most of it. But she was found prone, like this, and her shirt was full of holes. Much like her back.”

She noticed Eleanor seemed to hesitate for a moment. She was doing well. Many could not tolerate this much. But that jolt of a pause spoke to her nerves, or thoughts. Regan was pleased that Eleanor was able to quickly regain her focus, keeping it where it ought to be. “I also believe them to be bite marks.” And her question was a good one. The smaller marks were not very deep – it looked more like an animal had been sampling the skin, or had decided there were too many obstacles in those locations – the scapulae, or the spine, for instance. The large hole in the middle, though, was clearly an entrance wound. The way the skin peeled inward was indicative of that. And much like a gunshot wound, Regan would have expected more of a stellate pattern had something come out there instead. “I don’t see a clear exit wound. But it could have come out the same hole it created to go in.” And if not… well, Regan wasn’t sure what they’d find inside of this woman. But whatever it was, her fingers itched with anticipation. She nodded toward Eleanor as if to say they were done back here, and then carefully rolled the decedent back into a supine position. For a second, she felt something. Like some force inside of the body resisting the movement. Pushing against her hands. Regan denied the thought; it made no sense.

What other opportunities could she provide Eleanor? If it was for the good of this book, for the good of scientific accuracy and literacy among the fiction-loving general public… a thought occurred to her. Regan reached for the dead woman’s hand; the fingers were stiff but not set in rigor. “Have you ever touched a decedent before?” She asked Eleanor, her eyes inviting. It was obvious why she was asking. “Only if you want, and only her hand.”

“Livor mortis…” Eleanor repeated under her breath as she hastily paraphrased the doctor's informative words. There was another wave of satisfaction that came from Regan, though not much of anything else, and it kept the empath focused and ready to learn more - there were no sudden changes in mood, no overwhelming feelings of sadness or anxiety. Regan, she realized, was just as easy to be around as the undead. “Have there been any other deaths that were common to this, or is this the first to have these kinds of wounds?” In her novel the medical examiners would notice a trend when it came to the victims’ wounds so it made sense to her to ask if the strange holes in the woman’s clothes and back had ever been seen before. Eleanor felt the doubt behind Regan’s words more than heard them. She didn’t like the idea of whatever had burrowed into the woman still being inside of her, but because she didn’t want to make her host regret allowing her to witness the autopsy she kept her concerns to herself and simply nodded along as Regan spoke.

Once again Eleanor was pulled from her notes and stared straight at Regan with wide eyes. “No, never.” She remembered vividly that awful funeral she’d been forced to go to for a relative of one of her foster families. She’d never met the man, didn’t know anything about him except for the things people said about him during the service, but she’d been told she had to be in attendance because her babysitter had canceled. Already terrified, she had had a panic attack upon viewing the body since it was her first time seeing a dead body and her first time not being able to get a read on someone. She was fine with observing from a few feet away but could she honestly handle physically touching the cold hand in front of her?

Of course she could if it meant being able to obtain accurate information for her novel. As she nodded she reached out with the hand that still clutched her pen and, ignoring the way it shook, lightly brushed her fingers along the back of the woman’s cold, dead flesh. Curiosity gripped her then, stronger than it’d been before, and her mouth pulled down at the corners as she made to hold the woman’s hand. Had she imagined it or had the body reacted to her touch? But that wasn’t possible, of course, the woman had been found dead, not to mention had been living in a freezer for the past couple of hours.

“Did you see -” Eleanor started to ask but was cut off by another convulsion. She immediately pulled back, her eyes fixed on the supposedly dead woman. “Tell me you saw it too.”

“I haven’t had any other decedents with wounds quite like this, though it’s possible Dr. Rickers – the other forensic pathologist here – has. I expect he would have told me, though. He tells me… everything.” Far too much. “Communication is important; it can be the only way we notice patterns. They’re… unusual wounds. Not the strangest I’ve seen, not even close, but they demand answers.” Regan presumed Eleanor had a good reason for asking about that, whether simple curiosity or a literary purpose. Either way, she would continue to entertain questions. Eleanor has been exceptionally polite in how she asked, never objectifying the body she was learning from or making rude remarks about Regan’s profession. Like calling her a coroner. The woman had seemingly done enough research to know not to do that. She was, all things considered, a model attendee. And Regan was interested in seeing how she would fair with the invitation she’d extended.

Everyone responded differently to touching death, even seeing it, whether it was a bird that flew into their window or their grandmother’s wake. Regan had observed people shy away, averting their eyes like death was the ugliest thing one could possibly look in the face. Others had childlike curiosity, understanding very clearly that the cadaver before them was no longer a person, and what remained was something worthy of both fascination and respect. Others yet simply voided their stomach. Eleanor was affected in some way, but Regan couldn’t tell if her reluctance was born out of some innate fear or distaste of death, or the humbling that inevitably came with confronting it so plainly. Regan believed that no one should be seeing a loved one as their first dead body. To be able to separate death from grief pulled back the veil, and allowed people to understand that it was not something to be feared. Too often it was entangled with a sense of loss.

But as Eleanor reached for the dead woman’s hand, something… rippled inside of the cadaver. Regan’s eyes snapped to her torso, where it seemed like the skin had shuddered. It was still now, like nothing happened. Had Eleanor somehow managed to do that when she’d made contact? Had it been in the way she’d gripped her hand? She seemed just as surprised, if not more. Regan swallowed back her uncertainty, knowing she was the authority here. For multiple reasons. “I saw it.” Despite the cool composure in her voice, her eyes widened and she found herself straightening up, readying herself for something. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a cadaver seem to move. Though past incidents could be explained by her asfís bháis, this was also witnessed by Eleanor. So… maybe it was the first time. “Sometimes cadavers become so bloated, the gas – it can make noise, cause some motion. But…” …But the cadaver in question had not yet reached the bloat stage of decomposition.

With a sickening squelching sound, something long exploded out of the dead woman’s stomach. Scraps of skin flew across the room, coagulated blood spattered across Regan’s face shield, and a hissing, snapping noise filled the room. For a second, she wondered if she had done this. It was in line with – but no, they weren’t alone. She quickly noticed the writing creature on the floor, snaking closer and closer to their feet. It had a perfectly round jaw set with rows of serrated teeth, attached to a long, fleshy, pink body that was covered in bits of viscera. The shade reminded Regan of Teagan’s skin. Eugh. Regan’s slow heart quickened when she realized they needed to do something. This had obviously been the cause of those wounds. And right now, it seemed more interested in the two of them than going back to snack on her decedent.

“Behind me,” Regan said, though she didn’t exactly have a plan. Screaming was out. But – right, she had everything she needed right here. Her eyes flashed to the table. Of course. Her hand darted down and her fingers frantically clenched onto the bone saw’s handle.

By that point Eleanor was taking notes so quickly that her hand was a blur as it raced across her notepad. She was overjoyed by the amount of unrestricted information that Regan shared and admired the woman even more for the amount of work that she did, but the admittance that the wounds the Williams woman had sustained weren’t nearly as strange as others that had come through the morgue stumped her for a moment. She wondered what could possibly be stranger than bite marks around an open wound that appeared to have been burrowed in. It certainly wasn’t anything that she’d ever heard of before but, then again, she didn’t spend a whole lot of time around or inspecting dead bodies.

Gas, right. Regan was the expert, she literally did this every day, but still Eleanor couldn’t stop herself from thinking that something wasn’t right. Gas was a perfectly acceptable excuse, especially since she herself had no way of actually identifying whatever had caused the strange ripple, so for a brief moment she simply nodded and tried to bury her head in her notes again, trying to convince herself that she’d just witnessed something unsettling but completely normal. Honestly, what were the odds that something not normal would happen on the day that she’d been promised a thorough walk through of the autopsy process? Eleanor believed that she had some really bad luck but it couldn’t have been that bad.

She hardly had time to react to the awful noise that filled the room because of the explosion that accompanied it. Letting out a bloodcurdling scream, Eleanor dropped her notepad and pen and held her arms up over her head in a failed attempt to protect herself from the blood and skin. “Can gas do that?” She dropped her arms to try and get a glimpse at the state of the body but her eyes went straight to a large worm-like creature on the ground that had started to move toward them. For a split second that felt like an hour she wanted to simply drop onto the ground right where she was in a dead faint, but the realization that that would put her closer to the creature’s teeth kept her upright. Regan’s voice helped clear the fog that had started to fill her mind and Eleanor responded immediately, jumping behind the other woman without a second thought; she noticed immediately how Regan had been stirred from the dead-like state she’d been in since they’d met. “What the hell is that thing? It’s just been sitting inside of her this whole time?!” Again, she was by no means an expert, but she thought that a giant flesh-eating worm would have been pretty hard to miss and the thought that they’d been so close to it the entire time made her sick to her stomach.

“That wasn’t a very impressive scream, you kn–” The snapping of the worm’s jaws cut Regan off and reminded her that her scream queen status was not the most pressing matter right now. The bone saw was tight in her hands and the worm writhed across the floor with carnivorous intent, swerving a trail through the decedent’s splattered blood and flesh. It didn’t have eyes – at least from what Regan could see – but nonetheless seemed to be angling itself toward them, like it otherwise sensed them. She would not let it harm Eleanor. The woman was under her supervision right now. And she preferred her patients dead on arrival. “It’s a– I mean, it looks like a worm.” That was obvious. Eleanor probably hoped Regan knew a little more than that. But it wasn’t like her patients were full of worms that sprung out in the middle of an autopsy.

Her lungs banged with a sensation of fullness, of panic. Something crying to come out. One look at Eleanor’s giant eyes and trembling bones was all it took for her to gulp it back down and remind herself to be stone. She was as dead as Williams, or at least she needed to strive to be, and Williams, in death,was not subjected to such shameful emotion. Regan would not be either. Why should she fear a worm? It was a worm. And she was a force of nature. In a swift motion, Regan lunged forward, the saw making a clean slice through the center of the creature before it could jump at her or squirm out of the way. She allowed herself a moment of victory; it warmed her, and she looked to Eleanor with satisfaction that was only absent a smile.

Both halves of the worm squirmed, a clear fluid spurting across the floor. But then they turned, both of them, the motion catching Regan’s eyes again. And where there should have been a clear bisection, the worm’s layers of flesh and innards visible, there was instead another row of glistening teeth. “Lámhaigh.” Regan muttered. This was the first time a bone saw had ever caused a problem for her. She was filled with the dreadful realization that it would only create further problem if she tried that again. Was this some sort of replication? She scanned the room dizzyingly, looking for a solution. Her scared companion would be no help. This was not what she had signed up for. Maybe next time Regan should add the possibility of this happening to those autopsy attendance consent forms. “Okay, forget the saw,” Regan said, setting it frantically aside. She didn’t even want to tempt herself to take another swipe at it. “The bag! Can you get the body bag?” It was off to the side, closer to Eleanor, and the two worms were rounding on both of them like a pair of hunting wolves. “You have to reach it. Move. I do not want to autopsy you yet. So stop being a scared thing and help yourself.”

Had she not been more terrified than she’d probably ever been in her life Eleanor might have spent more time questioning Regan’s judgment toward her scream, but since an alien-looking worm was inching its way toward the two of them she decided that it could wait until they weren’t about to be devoured by a creature from the most twisted of nightmares. “You’ve never seen this before?!” She wasn’t sure what kind of response she’d expected, but it didn’t make her feel better to know that this wasn’t something the other had experience dealing with. How the hell do you always find yourself in the middle of these kinds of situations? It was a question she’d found herself asking a lot recently. When Regan lunged forward Eleanor closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to witness a murder firsthand. When she opened them again she was surprised to find the medical examiner in one piece but the worm in two.

“Are you crazy?” It was the first thing Eleanor could think to yell until she realized that Regan’s quick, although foolish, thinking had probably saved their lives or at the very least allowed them a few extra minutes. “You’re crazy but kinda amazing.” But the feeling of terror bubbled up inside of her again as she realized that the fight was not over - the two halves didn’t seem ready to give up just yet. “M-move?” That was the last thing she wanted to do. Whenever it came to fight or flight she’d always defaulted to the third and most pathetic of the responses in her opinion: freeze. Her mouth went dry and her heart beat so quickly in her chest that she thought she might actually be in danger of a heart attack. “I really don’t think I can…” She managed to tear her eyes away from the worm and located the body bag, pleased to find that it wasn’t nearly as far away from her as she’d thought, but she’d still have to risk moving from where she’d firmly planted her feet. Eleanor shook her head quickly and wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. This wasn’t the kind of thing she did, she wasn’t someone who could just muster up the courage to face off with something from a horror novel -

A horror novel! Wasn’t that the whole reason she was there? She needed inspiration and, in a terrible turn of events, she’d found herself in a horror novel. What would the main character of her story do? She sure as hell wouldn’t cower in the corner and hope that whenever the monster eventually got to her it wouldn’t prolong the process and save her from feeling too much pain. She’d get the damn body bag and follow any other orders thrown her way. Without thinking, otherwise she might convince herself again not to do it, Eleanor reached for the bag and missed by inches, stumbled, then reached again and found purchase, yanking it roughly so that she could return to her position behind Regan. She shoved it into the doctor’s arms and tried to stop herself from hyperventilating. “Please tell me… you have a plan… an actual plan.”

The worms twisted, still leaking fluid all over the shiny floor, and Regan didn’t wait to wait around to learn what they would do when they reached them. Maybe they couldn’t do anything. Or maybe they’d bore through flesh and muscle and bone, burrowing inside just as they had with Williams. So Eleanor needed to move. But the woman was looking to Regan to know what to do. And as clueless as Regan felt about this situation, she was determined to earn that status and recognition. If Eleanor thought her competent enough to handle even this – and she was right – then by Fates, she needed to step up.

She frowned. She was not crazy. But the compliment was acceptable and now did not seem like the proper time to argue. “The plan is to put the bag over the worms and get rid of it before they chew through it. Sound sufficient?” Regan wasn’t sure it was. She also wasn’t completely sure she wanted to get rid of it. Actually, she had another thought about that. Amazingly, Eleanor listened. Regan must have done something right. The body bag was shoved into her hands with a loud crinkle, and she realized that it was now on her to do what needed to be done. No further help from Eleanor, then. That was fine. Regan’s lungs tightened and she tried to summon the cool composure she knew she needed. What was a worm, anyway? Nothing. It was nothing, yet it dared to interrupt an autopsy. Any remnants of fear twisted into disdain, and Regan pounced before she could second guess.

She ended up on the floor. The bag was successfully slammed over both worms, but one of them was sticking out from under the edge, writhing and far stronger than it looked, like it was made only of muscle. Regan buckled at the force but didn’t let herself get thrown off. She slapped the tail end of the creature and through what was probably dumb luck alone, it worked to get it stuffed into the bag. Now she had them both trapped. But the opening was against the floor. It was like trapping a spider under a glass, right? If she could just… in one swift motion, Regan swooped the bag to the side, and she could feel the two masses tumbling down to the bottom. She clenched the neck of the bag with her fist, and gave Eleanor a startled, incredulous look. It worked?

For now.

Two violently wriggling worms pushed against the bag in her hands, and she wasn’t sure they had very long. She managed to clumsily tie it shut. “Open the fridge door! The empty one that Williams was in.” She pointed to the right section. Eleanor better not pontificate about this. “If you do not open it, you might as well tell me your medical history now so I can start writing your autopsy file in my head.” There. With a deep hiss, the door opened and Regan had never been so glad to see a completely empty compartment before. What was usually a disappointment was now to their benefit.

In, with a thud, went the animated bag. Eleanor wasted no time closing the fridge, which was good. Learning.

Regan immediately twisted the thermostat down as low as it went. “If the cold doesn’t kill them, I will.” A glance to the gleaming set of tools by the table, and the bone saw she did not get to use today. She realized her breath was catching in her throat and her heart was pounding. Now, she could feel panic receding even if she hadn’t allowed herself to feel the actual panic. Regan swallowed, looking from the closed fridge to Eleanor. “They’re not, um, all… like that, you know. For your book.”

Eleanor had a lot of concerns regarding Regan’s plan, most of all how they were going to carry it out without losing a limb or two, but because she didn’t want to annoy the doctor with her questioning she decided to remain silent and nod along. Anyhow, she was distracted by the almost tangible shift in atmosphere as Regan apparently simply decided that she would no longer be fearful of the things in front of them - it was like nothing the empath had ever witnessed before and it left her confused, impressed, and in awe all at the same time. Swaying nervously on her feet, Eleanor tried to tap into Regan’s confidence thinking that even if it was fabricated it was better than being scared out of her mind and of no help whatsoever.

She forced herself to watch the entire struggle and silently swore that if things looked as though they weren’t going in Regan’s favor that she would jump in and do… something, but she wouldn’t just stand there and let the person who’d given her such an amazing opportunity get brutally mauled by an alien-thing. But as it turned out Regan was a lot better at wrangling the worms underneath the body bag than apparently even she’d anticipated. Keeping her promise of acting and not speaking, and Regan’s threat of immediate death at the forefront of her mind, she quickly followed her orders of opening the fridge, everything moving too quickly for her to fully process it in the moment, and slammed the door shut with all of her body weight.

Her back still against the fridge and her breathing ragged, Eleanor slowly slid down to the floor. She focused all of her attention on trying to get her hands to stop shaking, then her legs, her shoulders… “How the hell - why does this kind of stuff happen to me? Am I really that big a magnet for trouble?” She let out a choked laugh, somewhere between impressed and annoyed that the only thing Regan seemed to really be concerned about was how her autopsies might be portrayed in a fictional novel. “I’ll take your word for it. I think I’ve had my fill for the time being. But I am very concerned because where did they come from? Are there more?! How are you not just a little more freaked out?” She tried to take a moment to rest but gave up on trying to get her breathing back under control. “What’re you gonna do with those things? I’m sure it’s not lost on you, but we almost just died - you’re not serious about trying to kill them yourself, are you?”

With the danger (probably) passed and self-preservation instincts being quelled, Eleanor was overcome with the type of full body panic Regan herself had once been prone to (no – that was someone else). She looked down at Eleanor, her gloved hand itching to reach out, but it did not. The whole display was embarrassing – for Eleanor – and Regan felt pangs of something meant to be long-forgotten. “You? You think this happened because you were here?” She raised a brow. Humans were terrible at understanding that the universe did not work in such a way. Most banshees would handwave it by saying it happened because it was fated to happen. Regan chalked this one up to a random present from the universe. Wrong place, wrong time. Though Williams was even worse off than Eleanor in that respect. “This town has a way of bringing out the most unfortunate of experiences. By staying here, you resign yourself to that. Consider this one of them.” She ushered Eleanor up and away from the door so she could drag a desk in front of it (with some difficulty). “Just, uh, to be safe,” she explained, grunting as it pushed in front of the door.

Where there was one, there might be more. This seemed like something to ask Kaden about, if she could tolerate it. Right now, though, she did not need Eleanor telling the entire town that the worms were taking over. She realized that, to Eleanor, this had been a life-or-death experience. Oh. She had been primarily concerned with her decedents (and, fine, Eleanor), barely even considering the potential for her own death. “We were not going to die.” But she also knew all too well how quickly the tides could change. And despite her confidence, she could feel her own muscles relaxing. They had been pulled more tense than she’d realized. “I don’t get freaked ou–”

There was a hollow thwap as something thrashed against the metal door of the refrigerator… from the inside. Regan’s spine stiffened, and she forced her expression to calm before it contradicted what she had almost just said. “I - don’t worry about how. But when I kill it and understand it, I will preserve a cross section for you. You have earned it. You must come back for another autopsy, though. They are not… this hasn’t happened before. It will not again.” Probably.

Another thwap.

She needed Eleanor gone before the worms managed to escape. And also before she could actually proceed with worm-icide… or attempt to. In the meantime, Williams was decomposing on the table. And Eleanor continued to display a hive-inducing amount of emotions. “These old fridges, you know, they – um, why don’t you go write up what you’ve learned before you forget it?” Regan gave Eleanor a gentle nudge toward the door that left no room for interpretation; she was being dismissed. “Except for the worms. Leave those out. No need to include them in your story. Oh, but be sure to sign out with Marcy at the front desk before you leave. She has coupons for therapy sessions.”

#c eleanor #writing

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