#i have the same unit 02

[poolseason]

[NINJAGELION AU]

i've had this Ninjago x Evangelion/Mecha crossover au brewing in my head for years now, felt like revisiting it

Long post under the cut: Backstories, design notes and character lore

Mechs:

Unit-01 (WIP) : Lloyd's mech, supposed to resemble an Oni. It's primarily a dark purple with glowing green panels and orange accents, with 2 horn like antannae. It's 4 eyes are actually an LCD display. Unit-01's color scheme the same as from the source material, bc purple green and gold are plot relevant colors for Lloyd specifically. The weapons this unit uses are short-swords, plasma blasters, and it's bare fists(lol). This mech is prone to going berserk a lot, possibly due to it's pilot's mental instability.

(In NGE, the mech's are possessed by a spirit of their parents or loved ones, I'm indecisive on if Garmadon is the ghost in Lloyd's mech or Misako. Last time I was thinking about this au, Misako was possessing it, but i'm sort of leaning towards Garmadon again. idk idk.....)

Unit-02 (WIP): Built to resemble a samurai with dragon like elements that glow red. This mech is built for but land and undersea combat, making it the most versatile machine on the force. It's equipped with a retractable sword and an acid blaster. It's possessed by a former scientist named Nyad.

Pilots (and Cole):

Cole is a captain, (looking to be promoted to major) and is the head of the New Ninjago City base's combat division. He sort of a silly dude and while he takes his job really seriously, he's also prone to unprofessionalism. He personally oversees the pilots training and coaches them during fights. When Commander Garmadon and Assistant Head Wu refuse to take Lloyd in when he arrives at NNC, Cole decides to take the kid in himself and be the parental figure he doesn't have. Cole's got a complicated relationship with his own family, especially after his mother died saving him the Second Impact 20 years ago, now he vows to destroy all the darkness monsters that are invading.

Zane is sort of a mysterious guy. He's an artifical lifeform created specifically to pilot any mech but he usually fights in the prototype, Unit-00. Unit-01 doesn't seem to like him, and never responds to him. His suit is mostly grayscale, white armor, and light blue accents. His neural interface comes with a visor to help him see better. His primary relationships are Cole, Dr Pixal Borg, who is his personal doctor and (almost) confidant, Wu, who he has a father-son esque relationship with, and Lloyd his first true friend. He doesn't see much value in himself because he can always be replaced with a different copy, but his time with his friends starts to teach him otherwise

Nya and her supervising officer Kai are from Ignacia and joined the NINJA-go battle mech program through their connection with their parents, who were officers of the organization. But after a terrible accident following the Second Impact, they were left orphaned. Kai was too old to qualify as a pilot, but Nya was the perfect candidate. She began training at age 13, and became the strongest fighter on the force. Now at nineteen, the darkness monsters are now attacking and she (and her brother) are transferred to the New Ninjago City base, which seems to be the epicenter of the attacks, and now the the former solo-flyer has to learn to be a part of a team. She's a bit arrogant and prickly and a kindhearted friend to the other pilots, and she's got a bit of a crush on Junior Technician Jay Walker. Nya's suit design is definitely the most personalized primarily blue with grey, and darker blue and red accents with white armor, actually she ended looking a little like D.Va lol.

Lloyd, is the youngest pilot on the team now, but he's still a minor so he has to deal with the joys of school alongside his new life as a mech fighter. Having been unexpectedly summoned to Ninjago City by his estranged Uncle Wu and pressured into fighting the invading monster, Lloyd is apprehensive about his new double life, but this responsibility bestowed on him now means he now has friends and people who care about him, a far cry from the abusive boarding school he was abandoned at. Lloyd's a moody kid, with some anger issues and unresolved trauma at something terrible he witnessed when he was a young child, but he's also an empathetic kid who's willing to help everyone he meets. Lloyd has a sibling like rivalry with Nya, big brother(teetering on fatherly) relationship with Cole and Kai, a crush on the girl from school who punched him Akita, and really strained relationship with his parents and uncle. Beyond that he has a friendship with his mysterious colleague Zane that he doesn't really understand. Lloyd's suit is the most simple of the pilot suits, mostly green with white armor and gold accents. He didn't really think too much about it, other than asking Jay to make it green. His neural interface is also pretty simple, since he has an bizarrely high natural sync rate with his mech, which resemble little horns.

MISC Lore:

The second impact was an event where humanity fucked around and found out on the Dark Island and and entity called the Overlord awakened from hibernation, causing a near apocalypse that left Ninjago in an eternal heatwave. 20 years later these dragon-like monsters have started attacking trying to get to something being held deep below Ninjago City (source dragon? FSM as a dragon? firstbourne?? some kind of Dragon is under the base)

Zane promised Lloyd that he'll bring snowy winters back for him, and even though Lloyd thinks that was a rare moment of cheesiness from his friend, little did he know that Zane was going to cause an Ice Age during the climax.

Only people born after the second impact are viable candidates to pilot the NINJA mechs. When Kai learned of this he was furious that he couldn't be the one to avenge his family, and had to watch his sister fight and train instead. But in spite of his anger he made it a personal mission to get power in the organization and uncover the conspiracy behind the Second Impact and the attacking monsters.

Unit-00 is a prototype mech and isn't equipped for most combat scenarios, so Zane is primarily a long-range fighter and sniper. Zane might be replaceable to the force but Unit-00 isn't. Unit-00 was originally designed by Dr. Julien, but the man went mad and under mysterious circumstances, he was found dead inside it's entry plug alongside Zane's original iteration, Echo. After that incident, testing began on it, the original test pilot was a 24 year old, Morro, who was personally recruited by Wu, but the synchronization failed and disaster struck again, ending with Unit-00 going berserk, and another casualty. A similar incident happened with Zane, and later Lloyd, though they survive. Wu just needs to learn that Unit-00 really hates new pilots, and Zane is the only successful pilot for it.

Unit-01 is also a very testy machine, it only likes Lloyd, and goes berserk if it feels that Lloyd is in danger. Otherwise it doesn't respond to anyone else.

Cole and Kai might have hooked up in grad school, no one really knows for certain.

Pixal is the second Borg to join the organization, her father Cyrus Borg was one of the original researchers, and the person who designed the Geofront system that allowed the inhabited buildings in New Ninjago City to safely go underground and become a fortress on the surface. Pixal is more interested in the actual NINJA mechs and combat division research more than the civilian safety r&d, and she becomes the Head Scientist by the time the story begins.

Pixal the second in command to Cole, and her assistant is 23 year old genius Jay Walker, fresh out of an engineering degree and landed himself in the most insane secret government organization. Skylor and Dareth are the two other lead technicians. But Dareth's not too amazing at his job, admittedly.

The NINJA mechs aren't just machines,, they're enormous building sized cyborgs, and are actually alive creatures being held under armor. Unit-00 and 02 are cloned only from the dragon held under the Ninjago City base, but Unit-01 is cloned from the Overlord and the Dragon, making it a hybrid.

Throughout the story Cole and Kai begin to uncover a conspiracy orchestrated by the Commander and (reluctant accomplice Wu) and a mysterious council, with plans to destroy to world and rewrite reality, and for some reason Zane and Lloyd are at the center of it.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Oregon bans the corporate practice of medicine

I'm in the home stretch of my 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PDX TODAY (June 20) at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG and at the TUALATIN public library on SUNDAY (June 22). After that, it's LONDON (July 1) with TRASHFUTURE'S RILEY QUINN and then a big finish in MANCHESTER on July 2.

Private equity firms are the demon princes of the hellspace that is the imploding, life-destroying, plutocrat-generating American economy. Their favorite scam, the "leveraged buyout" is a mafia bustout dressed up in respectable clothes, and if you mourn a beloved, failed business, chances are that an LBO was the murder weapon, and PE was the killer:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

(Despite simplistic explanations and bad-faith apologestics, a leveraged buyout is nothing like a mortgage – it is a sinister, complex, destructive form of financial fraud:)

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

As bad as this is, it's ten quintillion times worse when applied to healthcare. When PE buys your hospital, people die. A lot of people:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

PE doesn't even have to buy the whole hospital – for a long time, PE groups bought out anesthetist practices affilated with hospitals and pulled them out of the hospital's insurance affiliation. Unsuspecting patients who went in for routine surgical care at a hospital that was in-network for their insurer would get a rude awakening from their sedation: "surprise bills" running to tens or hundred of thousands of dollars. PE groups did the same thing with emergency rooms, so that people experiencing serious medical emergencies who had the presence of mind to insist upon being brought to an in-network ER nevertheless got hit with life-ruining surprise bills:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/14/unhealthy-finances/#steins-law

Donald Trump sometimes panders to anti-elitist elements in his base by threatening the private equity racket. For example, Trump has frequently railed against the "carried interest" tax loophole that allows PE bosses to pay half as much tax as you or I would on their vast takings. "Carried interest" is a tax law that gave 16th century sea-captains a break on their "interest" in the cargo they "carried." It is both weird and fantastically unjust that richest, worst financiers in America are able to take advantage of this Moby Dick-ass-law:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

But while Trump sometimes talks a good line about fighting private equity looters, he does not, has not, and will not lift a finger to them. He dares not. The carried interest tax scam is preserved in the Big Beautiful Bill, joined with many other giveaways the least productive, most guillotineable looters America has produced:

https://www.pillsburylaw.com/en/news-and-insights/no-changes-carried-interest-big-beautiful-bill-so-far.html

Working people cannot rely on Trump's federal government and the Republican Congress to protect us from these vampires. But this is America: when the feds fail, that creates an opportunity for state legislators to step in and act. And that's just what's happened in Oregon, where the state legislature has passed sweeping, bipartisan legislation that bans corporations from owning or operating a medical practice in the state:

https://prospect.org/health/2025-06-13-united-health-care-oregon-corporate-medicine/

This is called the "corporate practice of medicine" (CPOM) and it's already banned. The American Medical Association has a longstanding, absolute prohibition on medical practices that are run by anyone except a doctor. Oregon has had a CPOM ban on the law-books since 1947. Private equity meets this prohibition with a very transparent ruse indeed: they get a "rent a doc," often out of state, to serve as the nominal owner of their practices, and the doctor takes orders from the PE firm, and hires the PE firm's outsource agencies to actually operate the clinic or hospital, absorbing the entirety of the practice's profits.

The Oregon bill closes this loophole, and not a minute too soon. Giant healthcare monopolists – most notably groups associated with Unitedhealth, the largest health corporation in America – have embarked on a statewide buying spree, buying and shutting down rural hospitals and clinics, and transforming the remaining facilities into understaffed charnel houses that hemorrhage doctors.

The bill took several tries to get through the legislature. As Oregon House Majority Leader Representative Ben Bowman told Matt Stoller and David Dayen on their Organized Money podcast, the statehouse was crawling with lobbyists hired by out of state private health-care firms who were worried about "contagion" if Oregon's bill passed and spread to other states:

https://www.organizedmoney.fm/p/how-oregon-is-ending-corporate-run

But the bill passed anyway, thanks to a combination of two factors. First, during the bill's legislative adventure, Unitedhealth's Optum bought out the Oregon Medical Group and made working conditions so terrible that dozens of doctors quit, leaving thousands of rural patients (from predominantly Republican districts) without medical care. Optum "fired" thousands of patients, including some who were undergoing cancer treatment, on the basis that they weren't profitable enough to care for:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/private-equity-unitedhealth-take

In the midst of all this, another Unitedhealth monopolist, Change Health, got hacked and virtually no one in America could get a prescription filled – worse, the hack exposed the health records of almost everyone in America, the largest health-related breach in US history:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/28/dealer-management-software/#antonin-scalia-stole-your-car

Then, as icing on the cake, Unitedhealth's Oregon operation screwed over multiple, cancer-fighting lawmakers who were serving in the state-house as the bill was under debate. Combine this with testimony from doctors who described how they were unable to practice medicine after leaving Unitedhealth's terrible facilities because they had been trapped with noncompete clauses in their contracts, nor could they warn other doctors away from falling prey to this trap because they were also bound by nondisparagement clauses.

The new bill, SB 951, passed out of the legislature and was signed by the governor earlier this month. It is now good law in Oregon, which means that corporations can't operate medical practices, and that medical personnel can't be subjected to noncompete clauses (fun fact: every noncompete clause is written by a lawyer, but the American Bar Association prohibits noncompetes for lawyers).

Now it's time for those out-of-state healthcare looters' worst fears to be realized. It's time for the contagion to spread to other states.

The US federal system is a big, gnarly mess, but by design, it leaves a lot of power in local hands. That's bad news when local power is being used to ban trans people from peeing, or to attack school librarians, or to ban masking. But it's good news when states and cities can use the American system to create sanctuary systems that welcome asylum seekers and treat them with dignity (which is why the American right, the standard bearer for "states' rights" when it came to school segregation and voter suppression, is now all-in on sending armed soldiers to terrorize their fellow Americans with assault rifles).

Another reason to like state and local politics: local Democrats often suck way less than the necrotic federal Dem establishment. Some of them are even good! In Philly, Mayor Cherelle Parker just signed the Protect Our Workers, Enforce Rights (POWER) Act, which protects 750,000 workers from wage theft:

https://prospect.org/labor/2025-06-18-how-philadelphia-secured-basic-rights-for-750-000-workers/

The POWER Act shifts the burden of proof for wage theft allegations from workers to their bosses and allows them to recover their stolen wages plus $2,000 in statutory damages per violation; it sets up a new fund (replenished with employer fines) that gives money to victims of retaliation, and it creates a public "bad boss" database of repeat offenders.

As Brock Hrehor writes for The American Prospect, the POWER Act was passed after Trump gutted the National Labor Relations Board and left it unable to protect American workers. The POWER Act tackles one of the most pernicious forms of crime in America: wage theft, which accounts for more losses than all property crime in America combined, with losses overwhelming borne by Black and brown workers, especially women. Wage theft is notoriously hard to police, thanks to fear of retaliation and the precarity of victims of this crime.

The POWER Act passed as a result of the combined efforts of unions (SEIU, AFL-CIO) and the Working Families Party. Along with the Oregon Corporate Practice of Medicine ban, it shows how local, grassroots activism can protect everyday, working people from even the worst corporate criminals, even in Donald Trump's America.

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/06/20/the-doctor-will-gouge-you-now/#states-rights

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 02.

ꕥ part 01. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05. | part 06. | part 07. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~3.5k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

wednesday

“Eek, this is like a group vacation.” Her quick, light claps accompanied Garcia’s excited squeal. Her bright, energetic demeanour seemed to lift everyone’s mood, which was below average that early afternoon on a cloudy Wednesday. The reason was mostly that they were all tired from the mission on the previous day. Also, the fact that a one-and-a-half-day road trip was ahead of them didn’t really help either.

As soon as they clocked in to work that day, Hotchner greeted them with the rather unfortunate news that in order to avoid any suspicion, they’d have to travel on the road and not with the private jet, which meant a roughly 35-hour-long drive. The Bureau was kind enough to provide the team with a minibus and three assigned FBI agents as drivers so they wouldn’t have to take turns behind the wheel.

“Did Morgan manage to kick down fewer doors in the previous month or what?” you asked jokingly as you watched the biscuit-coloured vehicle roll up to the team. The Bureau was constantly up in your asses with the monthly budget and how expensive it was sometimes to fund the unit. They were so stingy that it became a joking material between you.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” rolled his warm, chocolate brown eyes the mentioned man as he lightly punched your shoulder.

The truth is this wasn’t out of generosity. It was more of a tactical investment, recommended by the anti-trafficking unit. If it were up to the Bureau, you’d be crammed up in those notorious black SUVs for almost two days straight. But the dark vehicles became so known for belonging to law enforcement personnel that if the host or some guests from the auction saw them, the BAU would immediately get noticed and the mission would be a failure.

“So, Hotch” spoke Reid not so far from you who was strangely silent this morning. “We are going to spend the night at some hotel, I assume.”

“Yes. This way we will arrive at Flathead Lake either tomorrow night or Friday morning, depending on the traffic.” nodded your boss. He informed you that the briefing will take place on the bus since the anti-trafficking unit - who invited the team to help with the case – gathered some new information about the owner of the lakeside mansion where the auction will take place. While you infiltrated yesterday’s gala, they also put together a somewhat solid plan. Luckily, the BAU didn’t have to do everything all by themselves, they got joined up with competent people.

You quickly ran your gaze through the whole team. There was Hotchner, Rossi, JJ, Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia, Reid and of course, you. An even number of people. Meaning everyone had to share rooms with someone. You were more than sure that the “dads” – as in Aaron and David – would share one, just like Emily and Jennifer. There wasn’t any question about it. Now came the bigger problem, which was the Morgan-Garcia duo. If they were to share a room, it would only leave you with the doctor. Oh God no. You definitely can’t let that happen.

The minibus was the smallest possible one out there with 12 seats maximum, plus the seat of the chauffeur. This looked worse and worse for you by the minute. Of the three drivers, one was obviously behind the wheel, and the other two were occupying 2-2 front-row seats so they could rest properly. Leaving exactly eight seats for the team, so nobody had the opportunity to sit alone.

“So, Pen…” you hugged the woman next to you with one of your arms and had a Cheshire cat kind of smile on your face.

“Absolutely not” objected Derek, shaking his head before the flamboyant blonde diva could even take a breath. “There is no chance in hell that I’d sit next to Reid for around 40 hours. Babygirl is with me, so don’t even try. And I’m also sharing a room with her.”

“But…”

“Get your asses moving, guys” called for you already from the bus Emily. The rest of the team was waiting for only the three of you. As you placed your foot on the thin steps of the light-coloured vehicle, you silently prayed that someone, out of pure coincidence, decided to sit next to Dr Pain-in-the-ass Reid. The cleanly designed door of the modern bus silently shut behind you while you quickly scanned the insides. Since you were the last to get on board, there was only one unoccupied seat in the third window row… Next to your unpleasant co-worker. Of course, where else? At this point, you felt like God was testing you.

It’s not that you didn’t like him, but there was always some underlying tension between you, and you felt like you were constantly on edge around him. The subtle rivalry was exciting, of course. You were a very competitive person by nature. But still, you felt like you were under a microscope, getting dissected by his curious, watchful eyes each and every time you were in the same place. You weren’t friends, not even close to that, in your opinion. Simply co-workers who were a bit too similar in some ways and exhaustingly different in others.

Reid was sitting in the aisle seat. His thumbs played with the edge of the case folder, which was on his lap while he leaned back in his seat with closed eyes. He tried to shut out the lively group for a moment and get 8 hours of sleep done in 2 minutes.

“Hey…” you were the one who pulled him out of his somewhat meditative state as you awkwardly stood next to him. “Could you let me in?” you pointed at the empty seat.

For a moment, he didn’t really react, just looked at you with his eyebrows furrowed. He was slightly taken aback. Of course, there was a high possibility of you two having to sit next to each other. However, he thought that due to the complicated relationship that you had – which oftentimes was the cause of heated arguments -, someone would do the whole team a favour and take the place next to him. But no. Everyone seemed to stick with whom they were the closest with. This was reasonable, given that suffering through 1 and a half days of travelling would be even worse if you’re by the side of someone you aren’t that close with.

In a sense, the BAU was like a family, yes. During their years of work, they crossed the river Styx and came back countless times. They’ve seen Hell unleashed. They’ve experienced how cruel and disgusting human nature can be. But they did it together. And this created an unbreakable bond between them. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for each other.

Now, sitting in one place for around 40 hours crammed up in a small space is an entirely different question. Everyone gets bored, grumpy and annoyed easily. It’s safer to stick with the person you’re especially comfortable with, even amongst them.

Reid quickly collected his thoughts. He wasn’t feeling like he was in his element, and it bothered him. He couldn’t lose against you. Not even in a non-existent competition about which one of you is handling this cooler.

“Be my guest,” he smirked but didn’t move an inch.

“Are you serious right now?” you crossed your arms in front of your chest as you looked him in the eyes with a challenging spark in your irises. The bus slowly moved under you, making you stumble a bit. His smirk turned into a grin as he slid down in his seat, making himself more comfortable.

“Everyone, I’d like to start the briefing,” you hear Hotch’s voice through the bus’s speaker since he used the microphone at the front. They were waiting for you to sit down finally.

“I won’t hesitate to step and walk all over you,” you tried to sound as serious as possible, hoping that by asserting your dominance, he’d stand up and let you in.

“Kinky” came the unserious comment from JJ who was in one of the backseats, causing the more unserious half of the team to chuckle.

“Guys, please,” your boss tried to take control of the situation while the little asshole next to you was just smiling smugly. This was your last straw. You took a deep breath and lifted your left leg over his lap, so your back was facing him. This situation was so embarrassing that you couldn’t possibly face him and remain collected.

Since the trunk was placed there, the ceiling above the seats was low, you had to kind of sit down to be able to squeeze yourself in. So, for a few excruciating moments, you were in his lap.

“I swear to fucking God one of us won’t get off of here alive, and it won’t be me” you murmured, your voice was filled with anger as you finally wiggled your way through the obstacle, being a literal grown-ass man. You didn’t even notice that the sound of his irritating chuckle was absent. He severely miscalculated things with this stunt that he pulled. You were so close to him. So damn close. He could smell the pleasant mix of your soft, sweet perfume and your shampoo lingering in the air. It wasn’t too strong, nothing over the top. You mostly used things that had natural scents, either from flowers or fruits. Things that smelled like candy, or anything overly artificial usually gave you a headache so you tended to avoid those. He probably wouldn't have noticed it if you weren’t that close. But now, as the gentle aroma filled his nose, it became impossible not to think about it. Also, the fact that he could’ve just reached his hands out and grabbed your hips when you sat down for a flickering moment on his thighs was an image he was hardly able to ignore.

But alas, you finally got to your seat and Hotch was able to start going through the developments of the case with the assistance of the one and only Penelope Garcia. “I’m sorry to say this, my lovelies, but the mansion is equipped with the best security system anyone could ever dream of. On top of that, the private guards hired are employees of the most elite and most efficient security agency worldwide. I don’t think it’d be possible for you to sneak in,” she said while she sent files and pictures to your tablets. “Being wired is also risky. Plus, there is the problem of no weapons, no vests, no nothing.”

“So, we're just going to raw dog this mission the way God intended?” you clicked your tongue as you said the rhetorical question mostly to yourself, causing Derek, who was sitting behind you, to snort.

“Well, one of us is definitely going in ra…” Emily’s sly smile matched her unserious tone perfectly. You could envision a crystal-clear picture of her face with a playful glimmer in her eyes. Not even a day went by since the undercover mission with your boss, so it was obvious none of them were going to let the topic go.

“Prentiss.” Hotchner’s deep, warning grunt came from the front seats as firm advice for your best friend to think carefully about whether she’d like to continue her sentence or not. You let out an awkward laugh as you pressed your forehead to the back of the seat in front of you. When the others quieted down, your boss continued. “Luckily, the anti-trafficking unit was able to get information about the staff working on the event. Morgan, Reid. You and a few agents from the other unit are matching their descriptions. They were all pursuable to give their shifts over to us. Garcia will send you detailed information about them, so you’ll be able to blend in as much as possible.”

This seemed logical so far. It was clear as day that you couldn’t send in Emily, JJ or Rossi since they were more or less public figures. Rossi was a well-respected author, JJ was the liaison of the team who later became a full-fledged agent, and Emily was known for her international contacts.

“We know that there are even politicians and CEOs joining the event. This will be an awfully low-risk crowd in one place at the same time. Wouldn’t they be more throughout with the workers too?” shook his head Spencer making his light brown wavy locks bounce slightly. He let his hair grow longer, giving his characteristic face a perfect frame. It took some time to collect himself, to tame the rushing thoughts that were so out of character for him. He honestly didn’t understand his reaction. Why did he freeze at the smell of you? Why did those sharp images appear in his mind out of the blue? What the hell was wrong with him?

Countless thoughts occupied his outstanding brain, making him somewhat irritated. Ever since they started working on the case, he felt like every single factor was against them. With politics involved, it was almost impossible to gain the upper hand, moreover, the team was at a bigger risk than usual. And now this too?

“Well, I’m sure the host will be. But the other rich assholes don’t give a fuck about anyone lower than them, let’s be honest. Moreover, I could also imagine that the staff is the responsibility of an employee of the host, not even the host himself.” you didn’t even realize that you went against his judgement, it came so naturally, almost as an instinct. But you opposed him, again. He turned his head towards you, a stern, stoic expression on his face, one of his eyebrows slightly raised.

By this time, your head was also in the game. You quickly collected yourself after the embarrassing moment with Reid and your teammates' comments. The latter one wouldn’t have bothered you, but since you were already awkward and your face was all hot and red, the girls’ remarks were like gasoline to the fire. But you couldn’t let this bother you for a long time. You worked too hard to get to where you are right now. You loved your job and were great at it. You loved the team too, more than anything. That bastard next to you couldn’t possibly gain the upper hand so easily over you.

“Are all the victims kept in the mansion?” took over the word Rossi. His eyes were slightly narrowed as he stared at the documents on the flat electronic device in his hands.

“According to the anti-trafficking unit’s information, over the years, Jonathan Grace, our host this weekend, brought most of the land around the northern area of Flathead Lake through different, hardly traceable accounts and he has properties all around the area. There is a big chance that the victims are held captive in all locations, making it harder for them to unite and attempt escaping.”

This was making things even harder. Now, there was a huge possibility of the victims not even being at the same place at the same time, making rescuing them in one organised attempt almost impossible.

“There are an awful lot of things that could go sideways,” Derek’s sigh was filled with worry and annoyance. He hated nothing more than when politics got in their way. In humanity’s way. This whole thing was bullshit. Proceeding with caution when hundreds of people were forcefully stripped of their freedom, their free will, and their lives, just because politics made this case a delicate one?! It almost seemed as if the actual victims hardly mattered, the only important thing was not to get damaged by an influential asshole. Of course, he knew that it wasn’t the situation with the team, but the outside looked very much like it. If it was up to him, he would’ve raided all of Grace’s properties with a bunch of SWAT members and got everyone out immediately. But he also knew that the moment the traffickers smelled something fishy, they’d disappear without a trace and reorganise somewhere else, continuing their activities, destroying people’s lives while not even being on the radar anymore. He would’ve ruined months, even years of hard work for the AT unit. Not to talk about any future victims he wouldn’t be able to save. So, logically speaking, he understood perfectly why they were handling everything so carefully and second-guessing each of their ideas, but it still infuriated him.

“Will there be units at every building Grace owns?” you asked. You habitually turned over and over the single ring on your ring finger as a subtle method of stimming. You were anxious because of the case. It was impossible not to be.

“Obviously,” came the kind of condescending reaction from, you guessed it right, Reid. “That was kind of a dumb question, Y/N, don’t you think?” he was facing you, his head slightly tilted downwards to look you in the eyes, since he was significantly taller even while sitting. A small smile was plastered on his face, making your blood boil even more. You weren’t even on the road for half an hour and already wanted to choke him to death.

“Yeah, I decided to take one for the team and ask the stupid question early on so you could correct me and get your daily bitching done,” you nodded your tone full of fake sympathy.

“Is it really daily bitching or you’re just constantly making mistakes?” he clapped back immediately while wearing a passive-aggressive smile on his patronising, punchable face.

“Ah, here we go again,” came Morgan’s grunt from behind you.

“Last time I checked I had more solved cases than you, thanks to my so-called mistakes.”

Ah, yes. Solved cases. Obviously, none of the successful ones were thanks to a singular person, everything you do is a team effort. However, since both of you were competitive as hell, you had this unsaid game going on between the two of you. Whoever’s leads or ideas proved the most useful during an investigation could take that case as their own.

“Kids.” This time the eldest was the one whose warning voice caused you to stop.

The next four or five hours went by quietly. After Rossi put an end to your bickering, both of you stayed in line. We could even say, you acted as normal, reasonable adults. The briefing went on for an hour more but after that, everyone became silent and absolved in the files.

The time for the first toilet break came when the bus parked at a resting stop. You pulled the earphones out of your ears and stretched in your seat. As you arched your back, the salmon-coloured button-up shirt that you were wearing tightened a bit around your upper body, perfectly outlining your otherwise hidden curves. Your movements weren’t provocative, not even in the slightest. It’s just Spencer who’s been finding himself in these weird scenarios where he suddenly noticed everything about you.

Of course, you were pretty, he was very well aware of this fact from day one. But now it seemed like this piece of information was actively in his mind for some unknown reason.

“Will you let me out or do I have to crawl over you again?” you turned with your upper body towards him and leaned a bit closer. The others were in the middle of leaving the bus, so nobody gave much attention to you, luckily.

He also leaned towards you, and swallowed his saliva before answering, making his Adam’s apple quickly rise and fall. “Whichever one you’d prefer more.”

“Move your ass then,” you urged him as you looked directly into his pretty, light brown eyes that had hints of green in them, seemingly unaffected by what he said. He kept eye contact while his pupils slightly dilated but didn’t say a thing. For a quick, unnoticeable moment his brows got furrowed and his jaw tightened but this expression disappeared as soon as it came. Without a word, Spencer stood up and left the vehicle with quick-paced steps. He felt like even the air got tighter around them in the small space. Must be the fault of the tiny bus.

thank you so much for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! divider from @cafekitsune

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 30. breaking news

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. physical aggression. verbal abuse (not to reader). infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.4k

notes: thank you again for your patience with the chapter! life update: i resigned from my company (on good terms, even though the work had sucked my mental and physical health), and i am soon doing a trip to japan and southeast asia as part of my recovery. still, i will be actively writing and responding since this community is so important to me! also, has anyone been keeping up with jujutsu kaisen's manga?! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Life without a sugar daddy was rough.

As Toji Fushiguro's ex-wife and Naoya Zenin's ex-mistress, Mari faced this harsh reality since no one threw their money in her direction anymore. She slept little this past week, overwhelmed by financial stressors. While she still subsisted on the younger executive's credit card (with his fortune, Naoya hardly noticed the charges on his bill), she realized that she actually had to work for an income.

Such was the case as Mari walked home one evening after interviewing for jobs, her body and mind exhausted from fielding mundane questions about her previous professional experiences (which she had little of).

Upon unlocking her apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her illuminated living room.

That struck her as odd.

She always switched the lights off before she left.

However, when she spotted a familiar face down the hall, she found the answer.

"Tsumiki." Mari dropped her purse by the door. "What are you doing here?”

The woman had not seen her one and only blood-related child in months. While she knew that her daughter—who was, without doubt, a fantastically accomplished and intelligent young lady—just completed her second year at Oxford University, she thought the girl had chosen to remain in England for her summer break. Didn't Toji mention that she did not want to return to Tokyo?

Not that Mari complained. She was just...confused.

Admittedly, Mari should know the answer to her question, but she had been too ‘occupied’ to contact Tsumiki as much as a good mother should. As a result, Mari found herself in the dark about the girl's life in the United Kingdom, her plans for the university holiday, and her recent classes in…what was her field of study again?

Surely, Toji and his twerp son Megumi would know all the answers since Tsumiki had always been closer to her Fushiguro stepfamily. Quite a shame, since Mari would have considered her daughter as the most perfect angel otherwise.

She toed her shoes off.

“When did you arrive in Tokyo?” Mari continued with a plastered smile and approached the girl sitting with crossed arms in the living room.

Genetics ran deep between mother and daughter. Uninformed observers might even mistake the pair as sisters, the physical resemblance uncanny in how Tsumiki presented a more youthful version of the older woman by sharing the same warm chocolate-colored eyes, long dark hair, and flawless porcelain skin.

Yet, physical similarities meant nothing when Mari could not fully decipher her own flesh and blood.

“I came back to Japan earlier this week,” Tsumiki responded a terse edge in her tone.

“But I haven’t seen you until now.”

“Because I’ve been staying with Dad.”

“Oh.” So, she meant with Toji. “You mean your stepdad.”

“No,” she corrected sternly. “He's my dad.”

Theoretically, Mari could go into a whole tangent on how Tsumiki’s actual father was some middle-class nobody whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since her first divorce (and that was many years ago). Or how the Fushiguros technically were Tsumiki’s ex-stepfamily since Mari had divorced her second husband Toji earlier this year.

But she spared her daughter from the reminders.

“Well, I’m glad to see you back, honey.” With a bottle of unfinished cabernet sauvignon in the fridge, Mari meandered to the kitchen to pour herself a full glass. She returned to living room and joined her daughter on the sofa. “How have you been? I’m guessing England has been treating you well? I have never been, so I wouldn’t know. Heard that the fish and chips are good there."

No response.

Am I being ignored? Mari commented inwardly and swirled the red wine in her chalice.

She took her first sip amid the long and awkward pause before switching the topic to encourage conversation. "Anyway, whenever you would like, you’re always welcome to stay a few nights here. Wouldn't hurt to spend some more time with your mother."

Only for Tsumiki to quip, “We’ve talked about this before. I don’t want to live with you.”

Now, this—Mari believed—was certainly uncalled for. "Watch your tone with me, young lady."

"For what? I am not here because I miss you," her daughter resumed. "If I had a better option, I would not bring myself to show up here and be in front of you."

The older woman placed her glass down and tried to appear calm. Hearing Tsumiki speak with such contempt twisted a deep knife into Mari's heart. Once upon a time, her daughter had been the sweetest girl—warm, full of life, and eager to express her innocent thoughts with anyone she encountered. Now, however, that same person had been tainted into someone cold, guarded, and withdrawn, demonstrated by her disrespect to the very woman who had given her life.

"That is no manner to talk to your mother," Mari cautioned.

"Well, maybe because I have my reasons."

"Which are?"

"Do you want to know why I did not bother to text or call you these past several months?" and Tsumiki did not wait for an answer before she angrily added, "Because I am so upset that you filed a divorce with Dad!"

While Mari had hoped to not bring up the topic before, she had no choice but to do so now.

"That big, burly, bulky man is not your father," she snapped. "He and his emo Harvard-bound son are not your family! In the eyes of the law, there is no longer any relation between you and them. But, I am your mother. I had given you life, and this is what you think of me?"

"Because I love them!" Tsumiki opposed through a hardened glare. "Dad and Megumi treat me more like their blood-related family than you do!”

Mari could not believe the preposterous words her daughter spewed. She always presumed that the Fushiguros had been corrupting her child, and to see her suspicions confirmed had Mari standing up promptly from the couch.

"How dare you say after all I have done for you, Tsumiki?" Mari interrogated angrily. "Did you think that I left your biological father and then divorced your stepfather for what...for fun?! These choices were difficult for me, too! But I made those judgments because I wanted to give you a better life in which we didn't have to worry about where our next meal, our next piece of clothing, or our next rent payment would come from! Your biological father is a no-name nothing. He could’ve never supported the lavish lifestyle you had experienced during your adolescent years. In fact, if I hadn’t married Toji Fushiguro, you probably wouldn't be studying at the University of Oxford right now! I, alone, could never have afforded all your years of expensive tutors or private school tuition. Please, think before you speak. I know I did not raise an ungrateful brat.”

Tsumiki furrowed her brows from the comments.

“You're the ungrateful one, Mom!” she insisted, and the said woman visibly reeled back when the girl continued to seethe with antipathy. “All the money that you had spent while married to Dad, he never asked for a single cent back. Never. In fact, he still pays for my university. In his eyes and mine, I’m as good as any blood-related child to him. He hadn't asked you to chip in because he knows you wouldn't have the money to. Divorcing the man you've been leeching off of isn't a sign of appreciation, Mom."

To hear her child defend another family, Mari wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry at how ridiculous this scene was, the only thing she could process being the pain and betrayal that slammed her with one bitter blow.

"Well, did you want to become a laughingstock?" the woman rationalized. "Given our ties to the Zenin name when Toji left the company, those nasty journalists would've clung onto any scrap to label you a buffoon. You know what those tabloid writers are like! I had the foresight to divorce that man. I did not want the disgrace if we remained attached to the Fushiguros."

After that response, Tsumiki turned quiet with one sharp exhale as her eyes snapped shut, and Mari, whose entire body had undulated from heavy and irate breaths, thought that finally—finally—she had won this godforsaken argument.

Until she heard the younger girl speak again.

"Yet, you have humiliated me more than anyone," and noticing how her mother quirked a brow, Tsumiki went on. "Who are you really trying to protect, Mom? Are you truly making these decisions for my benefit? Or is it...for yourself?"

Despite hiding a gulp, the older woman noticed her heart race. "What do you mean?"

"How can you explain this?"

As though that was her cue, Tsumiki reached for her phone. She tapped onto the front page of the Yomiuri Shimbun, the most highly circulated newspaper in Japan. Before Mari could read the bold title labeled as 'Breaking News,' Tsumiki provided her with a verbal summary:

"The world knows you're a homewrecker, Mom."

Naoya found no surprise when Naobito Zenin burst into his executive suite as an angry bull would charge toward a provoking cape.

Plenty of times, his father barged into his private office completely unannounced, slamming the door open with enough force to rattle the wooden bookshelves behind him. Usually, the dramatic entrance would be followed by a slew of harsh admonitions, and this encounter—Naoya could tell—would be no different.

The astringency cast on his father's countenance gave the executive no other choice than to rise from his seat, his office chair sliding back so he could pose tall and confident as the heir to Japan's largest conglomerate should be.

"Father," he greeted, curt.

Taking hurried steps around his mahogany desk, Naoya aimed to meet the older man halfway until he instead came into contact with one harsh blow that sent his face flogging to the side.

Naoya froze, his gaze lowered.

Instinctively, he reached for his throbbing cheek with one hand as the other wiped briefly over his busted upper lip. To have his father approach him physically like this didn't even register as a surprise. Despite his title as the Zenin CEO, Naoya continued to be scolded, lectured, and outright ignored because, in his father's words, he 'never seemed to get anything right.'

Even now, the older man found no hesitation in cursing out his only child.

"You fucking son of a whore! Want to explain why your affair with Toji's ex-wife is all over Japanese media?!"

Slowly, Naoya lifted his eyes from the floor. He had suspected that this would be the topic of discussion. In the last hour, Naoya saw his name plastered over tabloid pages, news websites, and social media feeds as an anonymous whistleblower tipped publishers in regards to his scandalous affair with Mari—and the millions Naoya spent to hide it. Evidence ranging from supposedly long-gone paparazzi photos to screenshots of money transfers circulated quickly with the internet.

Naturally, Naoya had seen the headlines too...

'Zenin Corporation CEO Exposed for Concealing Affair with Predecessor's Ex-Wife' 'Everything to Know About the Zenin Household's Uncovered Drama in Family, Business, and Love' 'Billionaire Naoya Zenin Entangled in Cheating Scandal, Accused of Bribing Press to Silence Coverage'

...and the comments:

'That’s why you can’t trust rich people. They never have any shame.' 'His wife and company deserve better.' 'Disappointed that this is the scumbag leading our country's largest company.' 'The Board should fire him.’

Now, that last comment struck a very particular chord, especially since the Chairman of that very Board stood before him.

Naoya clenched his hands, yet he stood mute. With every wrong move certain to cost him far too much in return, he was completely powerless in front of the family patriarch and, as a result, his first logical reaction was to defend himself.

"I do not have the evidence yet, but I am certain Toji had planned this, Father. Him, and also Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. All four leaked these details because they didn’t want to see your son succeed. I will resolve this. I am going to call Toji immediately and—“

"You're right," Naobito interrupted coldly. "If Toji had still been CEO today, he would've made sure that none of this bullshit would’ve happened.”

Naoya widened his eyes in bewilderment, not anticipating his father to twist his logic like that. He already received a literal slap across his face, but to realize that Naobito still compared him to his older cousin all these months later drove him insane!

"No, Father. What I meant was—"

"Oh, there is no need to correct me. I know what you meant," Naobito tested in a low voice. "What I gathered from this conversation is that I have given you a million chances in life, and you know what? You blew every single one of them. You're an asshole, you're a cheater, and you're a complete humiliation. I can always count on you to paint me as a failed father."

Outrageous.

With the bitter staring contest between father and son, the latter boiled internally listening to the insults from the man who sired him. For the ruthless Naobito Zenin, Naoya meant no value as an heir without the ability to achieve his high standards. 

"Some twisted brain you have for sleeping with your cousin's ex-spouse,” Naobito then chided, yet amusement remained absent in his tone. “Was that the low-class tramp I saw in the photos with you on the private jet the other day?"

The blonde kept his mouth shut.

But his father wanted an answer. "Well?!"

Suck it in, Naoya. That's all you can do now. "Yes."

What a sight, to see how someone blazing as a furious flame then erupt into a violent volcano. Naobito grabbed his son's collar, pulling him forward and shoving him against the wall. His fists shook as he sought the other's gaze.

"You're fucking married, you realize that?!" he snarled.

"I do! Which is why I have cut Mari from my life! I don't talk to that woman anymore."

Unimpressed, Naobito tugged forcefully at Naoya's shirt again. "I am truly astonished by what an idiot you are. Your answer doesn't change shit." He tightened his grip and did not care that his son wrapped both hands around his wrist to prevent himself from choking. "Let me tell you something, boy. I did everything—everything—to convince our Chief Operating Officer to let his treasured daughter marry you, you despicable bastard. He didn't want to hand the girl over because he knew—oh, that man is wise!—he knew that the union mainly served as a tactic to improve your public image and that there was little obvious benefit for his child. Power and money did not interest him when compared to his daughter, so the one promise I made is that you would love her," and he roared, "so, what the hell have you done?!"

Naoya had heard his father’s warnings countless times, yet he previously brushed each one aside with an ambivalence he now acknowledged as foolish. Unlike before, the threat to his hard-earned position suddenly became very, verypalpable. He grappled with a strange fear, unable to pinpoint what precisely unsettled him the most. The scorn from a world that no longer saw him as an honest businessman? The sneers from relatives with an undeniable reason to mock him? Or perhaps the fury from his draconian father, whose disappointment cut deeper than any public disgrace?

"I—" Naoya's choked voice resembled a croak. He could hardly breathe. "I apologize. This entire situation...this got out of my control."

Alongside his callous disregard for his son’s feelings, the Zenin patriarch even scoffed.

"This isn’t about getting out of your control, boy. This is about your complete lack of judgment. In fact, Daisuke called me when he saw the headlines, and you know what he told me?" and he had to refrain from flinging his son onto the ground before he continued, "That Y/N's been staying in her family residence again because she is going to leave you!"

Naoya held his next breath. Fuck, he knows. Naoya intended to keep his recent arguments with you a secret, hoping to resolve the situation first. However, since your father snitched...lying would be a dangerous move.

"I have not seen Y/N in a week because we've had a few fights." Naoya did not dare admit the details about how you two became arguing spectacles, first in his cousins' presence and later on at the café. "Just...marriage quarrels. We will get over—"

“She would be a moron to stay married to you,” Naobito cut off. "Y/N and your unborn child deserve more than to have a public disgrace like you in the household."

Right. Had he not been reminded, Naoya would've forgotten that he had lied to his father about your pregnancy, too. His hands grew clammy where they still seized his father’s wrist.

“There"—a cough—"there is no child,” Naoya blurted out, determining to rip all bandaids off in one go.

Naturally, his father became perplexed.

“Excuse me?” His hold loosened just enough for Naoya to gasp properly for his next breath.

“Y/N is not pregnant,” Naoya repeated, his voice hollow with resignation. “During our last family dinner, I only said that because I wanted to please you.”

The older Zenin became still, appalled by the younger one's bravery to say those words. For a moment, Naoya braced himself for another physical blow before his father released him, shoving Naoya backward such that he stumbled.

“If you weren’t so disappointing, there would be no need for you to lie to me,” Naobito pointed out coldly. "Not only to me, but also your wife, your colleagues, and your shareholders on matters about your family, your marriage, or your commitment to the company. If Toji had not brought this to the media's attention, how much longer would you have manipulated the truth for your benefit?"

There he went again.

"I don't understand," Naoya protested, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "Toji doesn't belong in this family anymore! Why do you keep talking about him? Father, you forced him to leave earlier this year, citing his threat to our family and company's reputation."

"You're the one to talk!" Naobito shot back. "At least Toji has the brain that you utterly lack." Before the younger man could react, the Chairman had already turned on his heel. "I have made my decision."

His decision?

A confused Naoya watched his father head for the exit.

"Wait, Father...!"

"Enough!" The infuriated man raised a hand right as he neared the door, a warning for him to not speak further. "Our discussion has concluded. Effective immediately, Toji Fushiguro has been re-instated as the Zenin Heir and CEO."

Instantly, Naoya slumped forward in disbelief.

Even as the older man disappeared, the room appeared to spin dangerously. Toji Fushiguro...re-instated? As the heir and CEO?

Naobito Zenin could never make up his mind, now could he? In Naoya's head, this must be some cruel joke.

Ever since he comprehended his ability to bend fate to his will, he had promised himself to fight tooth and nail to defend the (very rightful!) position that he worked hard to earn. He had disposed of his cousin through slander, he had to put up with shitty corporate politics, and, hell, he had to even marry you!

Some may label Naoya's current negative publicity as irredeemable, but he held hope the situation would normalize once the steam blew over.

With these thoughts in mind, Naoya regained his balance and rushed out as well. "Father!"

However, by the time he reached beyond the doors, Naobito Zenin was no longer there. Even his secretary could not be found as, instead, two imposing figures stood by the desk where his assistant should be. Naoya didn't recognize them. The men were tall and well-built, their muscled arms and thighs visible despite the fabric that covered their tattooed skin.

"Nice to meet you," one started after the long silence. "I am Eso and this is my younger brother Kechizu."

A stumped Naoya frowned.

"May...I help you?"

"No," the other answered nonchalantly, "because we are here to knock you out."

"Wha—"

And Naoya's vision went dark.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Note that Eso and Kechizu are Choso's younger brothers in JJK. (Both are not completely human in canonverse, but we shall suspend beliefs.) Also, I cannot explain the satisfaction as I wrote about Naoya and his mistress finally getting wrecked! Talk about justice being served! There were many ways these scenes could have played out, but I strategically chose Tsumiki and Naobito as the agents in the discussions. Freed from corporate America handcuffs, I plan to post again soon. Love you all!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzuruu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[unknown171204]

Les Misérables 1980

I have already talked about Les Misérables , but I wanted to expand on the subject a little more, by detailing the three French versions as best I can !!

This strange idea of ​​adapting Victor Hugo's novel into a musical came from Alain Boublil after he attended a performance of the musical Oliver! play in London ( he reports having perceived in his mind a resemblance between Oliver Twist and Gavroche )

Carried away by what he considers (rightly) as a flash of genius, he will work in collaboration with Claude-Michel Schönberg and Jean-Marc Natel to compose the music and lyrics for the future album

Fortunately the album will experience its small success with the public, this victory will make the creators grow wings who will launch head first into the torrent of stage creation !

This heavy task will be entrusted to Robert Hossein , an French director, actor, screenwriter, dialogue writer , who will use his fame to the best of his ability to promote the show (which he would be criticized for and mocked , trample his enthusiasm)

The very first production of Les Misérables was created and then performed in Paris at the Palais des Sports in September 1980

Scheduled for a minimum of eight weeks, it will be played for sixteen weeks, with the Palais des sports no longer available beyond that With 107 performances, it attracted around 500,000 spectators

( I don't know how it works in the United Kingdom and the United States at the same time but in France it will be necessary to reach the end of the 90s for the musicals to travel throughout the country + outside of France )

DISTRIBUTION :

Maurice Barrier : Jean Valjean

Jean Vallée : Javert

Rose Laurens : Fantine

Yvan Dautin : Mr Thénardier

Marie-France Roussel : Mrs Thénardier

Maryse Cédolin / Sylvie Camacho / Priscilla Patron : little Cosette

( alternately the little girls also played little Eponine and Azelma )

Fabienne Guyon : Cosette

Marianne Mille : Éponine

Cyrille Dupont / Fabrice Ploquin / Florence Davis : Gavroche

Gilles Buhlmann : Marius

Christian Ratellin : Enjolras

René-Louis Baron : Combeferre

Dominique Tirmont : Mr Gillenormand

Anne Forrez : Mrs Gillenormand

Claude Reva : Storyteller

There remain too few archives of the original shows, unfortunately at the time filming in theaters and performance halls was not a common reflex ...

I did my best to find as much as possible :

Unreleased Javert song, not kept in the album and show ⤵️

The Full Live Recording of the Show :

ANECDOTES :

If I'm not mistaken, this is the only version that uses the character of Azelma , the sister of Eponine and Gavroche

...

Cyrille Dupont, one of the three kids who played Gavroche, was known vocally for singing the theme song for Nobody's Boy : Remi

...

Florence Davis one of three actors playing Gavroche was a girl ?!

Strange artistic choice ? Or last-rescue liner ??

...

Robert Hossein was so marked by this show that two years later, he made a film adaptation of the original novel !!

Starring the legend Lino Ventura as Jean Valjean and the very young Emmanuel Curtil as Gavroche (this little boy is today an ICONIC voice actor in France : Jim Carrey, Mike Myers, Matthew Perry and many many others characters )

The Full Movie :

You can find the 1991 version and other French musicals on my Masterlist :

[calebdatabase]

Caleb & MC Bound by DNA

My god first off I was crashing out while watching the trailer I'm so excited for more CALEB LORE! I remember asking for more Sci-Fi content on a survey and they delivered! Soooo many incredible feelings, so I wanted to follow up on my Caleb as Donor 002 post.

Now we know that Caleb and MC were created from the same 'source' as he literally stated in the trailer. Seems it wasn't far-fetched to draw a connection between Eve being created from Adam's rib!

Taking a closer look at the structure of the DNA helix, I interpret 'source' as they are Cyborgs birthed from the same 'energy source'. The helix appears mechanical in nature with rippling energy currents.

It appears, in this new timeline, Caleb and MC are bound by their very DNA; his myth trailer included imagery of a metal double helix and the following text:

"The enigma behind the double metal helix... The promise you had since you were born."

"But the promise we've had since we were born, I kept that one." - Caleb to MC

Again, there is this imagery of being bound at birth, similar to how twins are (I mentioned the symbolism of twins/siblings and how they're often experimentation victims of Ever in the Donor 002 post). In this case, perhaps they are cyborg clones of the same energy core.

And if you're a Potterhead, you'll see that its a concept remniscent of Harry's and Voldemort's twin Phoenix Feather wand cores. One cannot survive without the other, both must die for one to be vanquished.

Twins, clones, whatever you want to call it**—** it's a pattern you can't deny, and now I'm convinced in the present timeline, Caleb and her are linked in more ways than they appear to be.

Also love how Caleb x MC haters got their panties in a twist and Infold was literally like 'LET ME SPELL IT OUT FOR YOU' *drops myth trailer* Kudos to them for sticking with the planned lore and remaining unfazed by the initial controversy. They had to prime everyone before dropping this, and the ones who get it, get it.

"Then it's a promise. In life and in death, we will never be apart."

You can't tell me these aren't their literal wedding vows HAHA I'm sickkk. Caleb basically said: 'Till death do us part? I think not..' The look in his eyes is so intense too like damn ok i'm all yours for eternity my dude.

I think the promise they made when they were born refers to his promise to protect her always. It's a call back to their childhood memories about Caleb protecting her like a ring system protects its planet; they are born together and they die together.

Here's my thoughts on their A-01 and X-02 titles:

Caleb was distinctively labeled Donor 002 while MC was labeled Subject 001 in old experiment documents by Gaia and Ever.

In Caleb's very first intro trailer and his new myth trailer, his title is X-02. Respectively, MC is A-01. They are a pair represented by the concepts of Death and Rebirth, the ideal weapons to destroy one another, as we're all aware.

'A' may represent 'Alpha' in the concept of 'Alpha and Omega' aka the 'Beginning and the End'. MC can miraculously revive after dying via her Aether Core and can only be fully destroyed (and by proxy reborn) by the power Caleb wields.

'X' is associated with 'with death and rebirth, as it is thought to mark the end of one cycle and the beginning of another. It is also often seen as a symbol of change or transition, as it represents the crossing of a threshold.'

Pretty straightforward. All I experience is pain with these two, and I. Need. More.

In honor of Caleb's myth dropping, I'm gonna post my embarrassingly long Supernova theory on the pair soon since I gleaned more insight from the myth trailer tidbits. Now I'm not sure if I should wait until reading his myth so I can go back and edit or just release it as is.

Might have to split it up into a few posts with their own section so its digestible lmao. It's been a couple months in the making and while it includes the scientific concepts explained in the Bound by Gravity, United in Resonance video, I also weaved it into the lore and the direction of Caleb's story. I've been a full believer in the Supernova Catalyst theory since Caleb was released and I'm excited to share my thoughts on them so stay tuned (his eyes are literal supernovas)!

My tumblr is Caleb Database and I plan to post more fun things like fics, lore theories, and fanart (I've already got one fic and two lore posts up). I'm also obsessed with Star Wars and Harry Potter, so you're likely to see some AU's of Caleb in these realms...

[mirthfulmoonshine]

Hellsing / Neon Genesis Evangelion AU

I have an unhealthy coping mechanism called smashing my interests together and hoping they stick. There is very few one-to-one character duos so don't take the screenshot redraws literally in terms of who's who. Ramblings below, spoilers for Hellsing included.

Seras Victoria was a nobody at NERV who, during an Angel attack, gets severely injured and in a rogue move, Alucard (Eva Unit-00, Baskerville) brings her into his LCL entry plug to save her. It splices her DNA though to make her part...whatever tf Alucard is. Not human but not angel. I can't decide yet. Seras then is charged in piloting Eva Unit-02, Harkonnen, under the watch of Commander Integra Hellsing, head of Nerv and occasional pilot of Eva Unit-04, Knight. Nerv's staff is made up of Walter (former full-time pilot of Eva Unit-01, Blackbird, current Fuyutsuki figure), Enrico (head of Iscariot, kinda a SEELE figure, head of the Vatican Computer), Anderson (pilot of Eva Unit-03, Paladin), Heinkel (Central Dogma technician and pilot in training for Eva Unit-06, Martyr), Yumie/Yumiko (Central Dogma technician, failed pilot of Unit-06), and newcomer Pip (captain of the Euro Division and pilot of Eva Unit-05, Mercenary) etc. etc. Round Table is in there too somewhere I just don't have the time to care lmao. Makube is there too. Alucard and Walter served in the Second Impact. The all red image would probs be from the Dawn Era and the first defeat of the Wold Angel lmao. Each Millennium member is also gonna have a corresponding Angel, probably gonna be called FREAKs or something. A lot of Eva's plot points stay the same they're just mega moved around. Seras and Pip have to do a synchronized attack cause they're silly. There are a bunch of Alucard clones in Nerv's basement. Apartment shenanigans with a lot less minors. Anderson's Eva gets corrupted by an Angel (Nail of Helena) and Heinekl replaces him. Seras somehow triggers a Third Impact equivalent following Alucard's complicated results from dealing with Anderson/Walter, not quite sure yet. Walter gets obliterated by the Angel equivalent of the Captain and comes back as a sniveling teen 13th Angel. Pip gets absolutely shredded by an Angel attack but willingly gives himself to Seras' Eva, thus merging with the LCL/psychic link. Alucard goes big and goes naked (Lilith). Idk. I'll flesh out more later, thanks for reading my nonsense <3

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Steve Brodner

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

April 1, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Apr 02, 2025

Today Senator Cory Booker (D-NJ) made history.

For more than 25 hours he held the floor of the Senate, not reading from the phone book or children’s literature, as some of his predecessors have done, but delivering a coherent, powerful speech about the meaning of America and the ways in which the Trump regime is destroying our democracy.

On the same day that John Hudson of the Washington Post reported that members of Donald Trump’s National Security Council, including national security advisor Michael Waltz, have been skirting presidential records laws and exposing national security by using Gmail accounts to conduct government business, and the same day that mass layoffs at the Department of Health and Human Services gutted the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), the National Institutes of Health (NIH), and the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), Booker launched a full-throated defense of the United States of America.

Booker began his marathon speech at 7:00 on the evening of March 31 with little fanfare. In a video recorded before he began, he said that he had “been hearing from people from all over my state and indeed all over the nation calling upon folks in Congress to do more, to do things that recognize the urgency—the crisis—of the moment. And so we all have a responsibility, I believe to do something different to cause, as John Lewis said, good trouble, and that includes me.”

On the floor of the Senate, Booker again invoked the late Representative John Lewis of Georgia, who had been one of the original Freedom Riders challenging racial segregation in 1961 and whose skull law enforcement officers fractured on the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, in 1965 as Lewis joined the marchers on their way to Montgomery to demand their voting rights be protected.

Booker reminded listeners that Lewis was famous for telling people to “get in good trouble, necessary trouble. Help redeem the soul of America.” Booker said that in the years since Trump took office, he has been asking himself, “[H]ow am I living up to his words?”

“Tonight I rise with the intention of getting in some good trouble. I rise with the intention of disrupting the normal business of the United States Senate for as long as I am physically able. I rise tonight because I believe sincerely that our country is in crisis and I believe that not in a partisan sense,” he said, “because so many of the people that have been reaching out to my office in pain, in fear, having their lives upended—so many of them identify themselves as Republicans.”

Standing for the next 25 hours and 5 minutes, without a break to use the restroom and pausing only when colleagues asked questions to enable him to rest his voice, Booker called out the Trump administration’s violations of the Constitution and detailed the ways in which the administration is hurting Americans. Farmers have lost government contracts, putting them in a financial crisis. Cuts to environmental protections that protect clean air and water are affecting Americans’ health. Housing is unaffordable, and the administration is making things worse. Cuts to education and medical research and national security breaches have made Americans less safe. The regime accidentally deported a legal resident because of “administrative error” and now says it cannot get him back.

“These are not normal times in America, and they should not be treated as such,” he said. “This is our moral moment. This is when the most precious ideas of our country are being tested…. Where does the Constitution live, on paper or in our hearts?”

Throughout his speech, Booker emphasized the power of the American people. He told their stories and read their letters. And he urged them to stand up for the country. “In this democracy,” he said, “the power of people is greater than the people in power.”

He emphasized the power of the people by calling out South Carolina Senator Strom Thurmond, who until today held the record for the longest Senate speech: a filibuster he launched in 1957 to try to stop the passage of that year’s Civil Rights Act. Thurmond spoke for 24 hours and 18 minutes, but unlike Booker, who used his time to make a powerful and coherent case for reclaiming American democracy, Thurmond filled time with tactics like reading from an encyclopedia.

But, Booker noted, Thurmond’s attempt to stop racial equality failed. After he ended his filibuster, Congress passed the Civil Rights Act of 1957, and Black Americans and their allies used it to demand the equal protection of the law, including the right to vote. “I’m not here…because of his speech,” Booker said. “I’m here despite his speech. I’m here because as powerful as he was, the people were more powerful.”

“It is time to heed the words of the man I began this whole thing with: John Lewis. I beg folks to take his example of his early days when he made himself determined to show his love for his country at a time the country didn’t love him, to love this country so much, to be such a patriot that he endured beatings, savagely, on the Edmund Pettus bridge, at lunch counters, on freedom rides. He said he had to do something. He would not normalize a moment like this. He would not just go along with business as usual. He wouldn’t know how to solve it, but there’s one thing that he would do, that I hope we all can do, that I think I did a little bit of tonight.

“He said for us to go out and cause some good trouble, necessary trouble, to redeem the soul of our nation. I want you to redeem the dream…. Let’s be bolder in America with a vision that inspires with hope. It starts with the people of the United States of America—that’s how this country started: ‘We the people.’ Let’s get back to the ideals that others are threatening, let's get back to our founding documents…. Those imperfect geniuses had some very special words at the end of the Declaration of Independence…when our founders said we must mutually pledge, pledge to each other ‘our lives, our fortunes, and our Sacred Honor.’ We need that now from all Americans. This is a moral moment. It’s not left or right, it's right or wrong.

“Let’s get in good trouble.

“My friend, madam president, I yield the floor.”

According to Washington Post technology reporter Drew Harwell, before he was through, Booker’s speech had been liked on TikTok 400 million times.

The people spoke today in special elections. Republican candidates in Florida won by about 14 points in each of two U.S. House races, but just five months ago, Republicans won those seats by 30 and 37 points. It appears that voters are angry at the Republican Party.

In Wisconsin, the state supreme court race showed a similar dynamic. The candidate endorsed by President Trump and backed by more than $20 million from Elon Musk, lost the race to his opponent, circuit court judge Susan Crawford. Musk had campaigned in the state for Crawford’s opponent, handing out two $1 million checks and saying that the election could determine “the future of America and Western Civilization.”

Crawford won by about 10 points.

“As a little girl growing up in Chippewa Falls,” Crawford said in her victory speech, “I never could have imagined that I’d be taking on the richest man in the world for justice in Wisconsin. And we won.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[curedigiqueen]

I think if there was ever a follow up to Survive it'd probably be an 02 and/or Tamer's inspired sequel, and I do have thoughts about that, but I honestly think Frontier getting the Survive treatment would be coolest. I mean already Frontier is probably the anime most like Adventure outside of Adventure's reboot, so I think it would work really well for similar reasons as Survive. But it's got enough going that it'd be distinct too.

Survive deals with the horror in having another life form, a life form with the potential for incredible amounts of strength tied to you and your sense of identity. The horror of a group of children being spirited away to another world in the name of saving it (as sacrifices).

But with Frontier, the horror in asking what kind of kids, or for what reason kids would choose to follow a message and end up in another world. The horror in becoming something else.

Survive has 10 main characters, there are 10 legendary warriors.

Three Archangels and Lucemon instead of Four Holy Beasts and Fanglongmon

Instead of Haru and Miyuki a Strabimon (or Flamemon) who is later revealed to be a former human kid is found already in the Digital World

Instead of echoes of the human world the kids find chunks of land getting rearranged or just straight up missing

MagnaGarurumon and KaiserGreymon instead of Boltboutamon and Plutomon for route dependent evolutions and dependent on which kids survive to the end.

Susanoomon if all survive to the end/true ending

Karma/affinity levels determining attribute of characters (not how variable attribute usually works by tbh why not)

One route kids stay in digital world as digimon in another they leave the digital world forever in another they stay digimon but go home?

Light and Darkness can still be twins but like maybe codependent prior to being separated in the digital world. Like Strabimon is met by the group immediately and Duskmon is trying to hunt the kids down, but Strabimon weirdly won't let them hurt Duskmon?

Protag would be Flamemon(or equivalent) when they go back home in Takuya parallel and maybe have to fight human units without hurting them in the Ch 8 parallel

Character who dies because they'd rather die than become a Digimon.

Speaking of which what happens when these kids die?

Character who refuses to become human again because they never want to be weak again.

Character who loses themself to their beast form, maybe hurting themselves or someone else

If we want to include the concept of fractal code, the idea of the kids having parts of their code stolen/ changed/added to, affecting memories, physical traits, tastes, and skillsets.

Character conflicts leading to physical fighting in their Digimon forms

Being able to eat the strange foods in the digital world that would normally definitely be inedible

I think there's a lot of room for drama in what decisions lead the kids to end up in this world

Obviously one of the kids can be dragged their by their bullies so we have some bullies on the same team as their victim.

One kid went because they take any excuse not to go home so figured might as well check this out

Or another kid who desperately need money and were under the assumption this was a meet up for one of their jobs

Water can be the victim of toxic beauty standards/show industry/an idol

I think the fact the gender balance isn't as much of a problem as people might think as I think a lot of the Spirits are actually gender neutral looking enough to be female. I could see Darkness, Ice and/or Wood especially. (See Survive and Plutomon or Cyber Sleuth Alphamon for example).

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter 11 • Eye in the Sky

TAGLIST FORM

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⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary:

Content Warning: Usual SVU & Violent Crimes talk • crime scene, blood, getting shot, sniper, corpse, NYPD officers, witnesses, shooting in broad daylight, CSU, security consultant, SA, Abuse, threats, Mention of manipulation, fear, control, mention of obsessive boyfriend, mention of online harassment, being silenced, | Mention of being back at work too early | Mention of weapons such as a Glock and a rifle | Getting shot in the vest.

*

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 02

Midtown Manhattan — CRIME SCENE

03:48 PM

The sirens had long faded, leaving behind only the hum of police radios and the low murmur of uniformed officers pushing back the curious crowd. Bright yellow tape stretched across the sidewalk, fluttering in the breeze like a warning flag. It was still daylight, the winter sun casting long shadows through the city's narrow street. But there was nothing warm about the scene.

Alexis stepped out of the black Bureau SUV and adjusted the tactical vest across her chest, her breath visible in the crisp afternoon air. The familiar weight of her sidearm, the stiff collar of her neck warmer, the gravel under her boots–it all brought her right back to the tempo of stateside work.

She scanned the perimeter automatically, even as the wind tugged at the edges of her rainproof jacket. Her face still bore the marks of long months away–subtle sun-creased lines at the corners of her eyes, the faint shadow of a healing bruise under one cheekbone, and a gaze just a bit more hardened than before.

Her partner joined her a second later, slamming the passenger's door shut with one hand and adjusting his earpiece with the other. He glanced down the block at the swarm of patrol cars, then back at his friend, a grin already forming.

—Please, tell me you've unpacked more than just your toothbrush, he said, his voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. Because last time I set foot in your apartment, it looked more like a storage unit with delusions of being a home.

Alexis let out a huff, tugging on her gloves with brisk efficiency. The cold didn't bother her much, not after the months she'd spent overseas, but his commentary was another story. She didn't bother looking at him as she replied.

—It's not that bad.

—It's sterile, Miles shot back, following her as they stopped near the yellow tape. I've seen hotel lobbies with more soul.

Her apartment was quiet. Purposefully. The kind of place designed to take up as little emotional space as possible. Clean counters. Neutral walls. Furniture chosen for function, not comfort. It was the only place in her life she had full control over–why clutter it?

—I unpacked my shampoo. And my socks, she said flatly. That's practically nesting.

The man shook his head, giving a faint laugh as they took the time to take in the scene. Officers were moving with careful precision, already blocking off the street and logging evidence. The smell of city grit and something coppery lingered in the air.

—You live like you're one bug-out bag away from disappearing. Champ's corner has throw pillows, Lex. Your dog lives better than you.

—He has taste.

—And you've got the aesthetic of a monk, Miles added, catching the gloves she sent his way. I'm pretty sure your place echoes when you breathe.

Alexis tilted her head toward him, not bothering to hide the smirk tugging at her lips.

—I have a shelf.

Miles paused, then straightened, narrowing his eyes at her.

—A shelf. Right. Let me guess–still the same sad little baseball sitting on it?

She didn't deny it. Instead, she stood a little taller, chin up like she was daring him to question her taste in sentimental keepsakes.

—Nolan Ryan. Rookie year. Signed. It's a damn good baseball.

Miles barked out a laugh.

—You're the only person I know who could make a legendary fastball feel like home décor.

She didn't answer. Just smirked, then turned back to the crime scene–her boots crunching softly over the pavement as they finally made their way under the yellow tape. The banter faded as the weight of their surroundings returned.

The victim, a man in his mid-thirties, lay sprawled on the concrete, partially hidden by a delivery truck that had screeched to a halt mid-block. His dress shirt was stained deep red at the collar, blood pooled around his head, seeping into the cracks between the pavement. No obvious signs of a robbery—his watch, wallet, and phone still on him.

—Single shot to the neck, one of the patrol officers briefed, his voice clipped. No casing found. Witnesses heard the pop but didn't see a shooter. Sniper's all we can guess.

Miles crouched next to the body, eyes scanning the rooftops above them.

—That's a hell of a shot. From this angle? Clean, deliberate.

—Targeted, Alexis added, her jaw tightening. He never even knew it was coming.

The street around them was chaos disguised as calm. A bus stalled a few feet down the block, passengers still inside. Uniforms were canvassing, interviewing a few lingering witnesses. A woman stood near a flower shop's shattered front window, shivering under a blanket, mascara streaked down her cheeks.

The SEAL took a slow breath and looked over at the agent.

—He was walking out of that building, right?

—Yeah. Corporate offices–security firms, I think. SVU flagged him on a joint task force yesterday, something about suspected trafficking through company assets. Name's Leo Navarro.

That got her attention.

—Navarro?

Miles nodded grimly.

—He was supposed to sit down with SVU this afternoon. Olivia's team. Word was he was about to flip–start naming names.

—Someone didn't want him talking.

Alexis exhaled slowly, her gaze scanning the windows above them. Her hand settled naturally on the grip of her weapon, not drawing in–yet–but letting the weight ground her. The tension in the air wasn't just about the murder anymore. It was instinct, and something more—a gut-deep certainty that this was only the beginning.

The soft screech of tires pulled her focus. A black unmarked SUV rolled to a stop just beyond the cordon, and the doors opened in near-perfect sync. Amanda was the first out, eyes already narrowed, her badge swinging from her belt. Olivia stepped out next, calm but charged with purpose, her expression unreadable until her gaze caught Alexis's across the street.

For a second, the commander forgot about the body. About the blood. About the open street and the dozens of eyes watching. Olivia was in slacks and a dark wool coat, her badge clipped to her hip, and something about the way she moved–steady, deliberate–made the noise around Alexis dull into background hum.

She turned toward her, arms folding across her chest, her tone dry but unmistakably warm.

—You again? Alexis called out, arms folded, the corner of her mouth tugging upward in that familiar, impossible-to-read smirk. We've really got to stop meeting like this, Lieutenant.

Olivia slowed her pace as she approached, her mouth twitching before she allowed a smile to break through.

—Believe me, she said, stepping under the crime scene tape without breaking stride. I've been trying.

Their eyes held for a beat too long—too knowing, too familiar. Alexis wasn't in uniform, but there was still something unmistakably commanding about her. Tactical vest snug against her frame, dark neck warmer tucked beneath the collar, her skin still showing the faded ghosts of bruises earned thousands of miles away. She looked like she'd never left. And like she'd never fully returned, either.

Behind them, Amanda stopped just inside the perimeter, scanning the scene with her usual sharp eye, but her gaze eventually drifted back toward Olivia and Alexis. She watched the exchange with mild amusement, then turned her head slightly to catch Miles's eye.

He didn't say anything. Just gave her a look–half smirk, half exasperated sigh–the universal expression for yep, this again.

The blonde raised her eyebrows, clearly fighting back a grin.

—So, she murmured under her breath, sliding up beside him. When were you planning on telling us she was back.

Miles shrugged, but his smile gave him away.

—Thought it'd be more fun to let the drama speak for itself.

Amanda chuckled, and the two of them watched as Olivia stepped closer to Alexis, her tone casual but lined with something quieter. Concern, maybe. Curiosity. Something harder to name.

—You weren't scheduled back until next week.

Alexis didn't answer right away. Her eyes flicked down the street, toward the rooftops where a sniper might've been. The wind pushed past them, lifting the edge of her coat and tugging at a stray strand of hair that had slipped loose from her braid. She reached up absently, tucking it behind her ear as if buying time.

Finally, she exhaled through her nose and offered Olivia a crooked half-smile.

—Yeah, well... you know me. Sitting still isn't exactly my strong suit.

The lieutenant's brow knit, just slightly. She'd heard those words before–too many times from people who used work to outrun something else. And Alexis Gray had always been good at running. From war zones. From grief. From herself, maybe.

—You were supposed to take some time, Liv said softly. Let your body catch up to the rest of you.

—My body's fine, Alexis replied quickly. Too quickly.

Olivia gave her a look, the kind that cut through defense mechanisms like they were paper. Her voice dropped lower, meant only for the brunette to hear.

—And your head?

That was harder to dodge. Alexis's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She glanced past the detective for a beat–at Amanda talking to CSU, at Miles crouched again near the body, barking something about the trajectory and the wind. Then she looked back at her, steadying herself.

—I needed to move, she said finally. To do something. Sitting at home, pretending I'm not thinking about it all anyway? That's not rest. That's hell.

Olivia didn't argue. She knew what that felt like–lying in bed with silence pressing in like a second skin. And she knew better than most that healing wasn't linear, and it sure as hell wasn't neat.

—Just promise me you'll tell someone if it gets too heavy, she said after a long beat. Doesn't have to be me.

Gray looked at her for a second too long, something flickering across her expression–gratitude, maybe. Maybe something else.

—I'll think about it, she said, which for her was practically a full-throated yes.

Before Olivia could respond, Miles stood, brushing his palms together, and called out.

—We've got something weird with the angle. CSU says the shooter must've been up high–but not in any of the windows directly facing the street. It's like he had a clear line of sight without ever stepping into view.

Amanda frowned and joined him.

—So either someone knew exactly how to avoid every camera on this block...

—Or it wasn't their first time doing this, Olivia finished grimly.

Alexis was already scanning the rooftops, instinct clicking into place. Something about the setup didn't sit right. Too clean. Too fast. The kind of kill that suggested more than just a warning.

Then her voice cut through, low and certain.

—This wasn't just about silencing a witness.

Olivia turned to her, catching the edge in her tone.

—You think it was meant for more?

The brunette nodded slowly.

—They're sending a message. And if they're watching... it means we're already behind.

The weight of her words settled over them like the clouds creeping in above.

And somewhere, from a rooftop none of them could yet see–someone watched through a scope, still waiting.

*

Leo Navarro had once worn the uniform of a U.S. Army Ranger–disciplined, sharp, and driven by the need to serve. After his honorable discharge, he'd tried to live a quieter life. He moved to New York from Wisconsin, determined to be closer to his daughter and maintain the joint custody agreement. The city was chaotic, but it offered him stability, a new start.

He took a job as a private security consultant with the Badwin family's firm–a sleek, well-connected company that promised high-end protection services to New York's elite. On paper, it seemed like a good fit. Navarro had the experience, the training, and the instincts. But it didn't take long before things started to feel wrong.

Within two months, Leo had already begun to see beneath the polished surface. Mike Baldwin, the charismatic man at the helm, didn't seem interested in preventing harm–he orchestrated it. He built threats, not barriers. Clients believed they were hiring protection, but what they were really buying was manipulation. Fear was a commodity, and Baldwin used it to control, extort, and dismantle lives from the inside out.

One of the worst cases had stayed with Leo–haunted him, really. It was the kind of thing you couldn't unsee, couldn't push out of your conscience no matter how many times you told yourself to move on.

A wealthy Manhattan father had hired the firm to 'protect' his teenage daughter. On paper, it looked like a routine assignment: threats from an obsessive ex-boyfriend, increased online harassment, and the occasional paparazzi-type lurking around their Upper East Side home. Baldwin Security stepped in with discretion and promise. Leo was one of the first agents placed on the case.

But it didn't take long before the details stopped adding up.

Baldwin twisted the narrative from the start, quietly shifting Leo off the assignment and replacing him with one of his own hand picked men–the kind who followed orders without asking questions. The girl's father, wealthy and influential, seemed more concerned about optics than his daughter's well-being. And Mike Baldwin knew how to use that.

Instead of protecting the young girl, Baldwin used her. Manipulated her isolation. Isolated her further from her friends, her school, even her mother, who had been quietly pushed out of the picture in a bitter divorce. She was vulnerable, barely sixteen, and completely dependent on the men who were supposed to keep her safe.

Leo had found out too late. He'd tried to intervene once, to bring it up discreetly inside the company, and was warned off. Threatened. Moved to another post. But the damage had already been done. He started keeping his own records after that. Dates, names, assignments. He knew there were more victims–different girls, different families, the same patterns.

And this case? This girl? She was the reason SVU had come sniffing around in the first place.

*

The information was still fresh–not yet in official reports, but whispered between agents and detectives. Olivia had pulled the file herself that morning, the case circling her desk like smoke that wouldn't clear. Leo Navarro hadn't just been a body on the street. He'd been trying to do the right thing. And someone had made damn sure he didn't.

Now, the four of them stood in the middle of Lexington Avenue, sunlight catching on the slick pavement where cleanup crews hadn't finished washing the blood away. Leo's body had already been taken, but the weight of what he left behind hung heavy. A folder of emails. Two phone calls made to Olivia's office. A third, unanswered call from the night before. They'd been this close to hearing everything.

Alexis stood near the marked circle where Leo's body had fallen, one boot just outside the yellow chalk. Her eyes were distant, mouth drawn tight behind her neck gaiter. She hadn't said much since Miles briefed them all again, but the tension in her posture spoke louder than anything else.

The blonde detective had her hands jammed into her coat pockets, rocking slightly on her heels.

—He knew too much. Knew enough to scare Baldwin into pulling the trigger.

—Or calling someone who would, her boss added grimly, her eyes on the rooftops. This wasn't just clean-up. This was a message.

—He was supposed to talk to SVU today. That's not a coincidence.

Alexis tilted her head slightly, her eyes scanning the buildings again.

—Someone didn't want him flipping, she murmured.

Then she stilled.

At first, no one noticed. She was always scanning, always a step ahead. But this time, she didn't move. Her whole body had gone sharp with focus, eyes fixed upward at a corner of one of the buildings across the street.

—Lex? Her partner asked, casually, like he didn't want to startle her.

She didn't answer.

Instead, her voice dropped low. Controlled. Urgent.

—Reflection. Third floor, left window. Everyone–get down!

She moved like lightning, shoving Olivia hard toward the sidewalk just as the crack of a rifle echoed down the narrow corridor of city buildings. The sound was sharp, violent, and sudden.

Alexis landed on top of Olivia with a heavy thud, her arms shielding the older woman's head as more officers scrambled into cover. The world turned into chaos around them–shouts, screams, the frantic burst of radios sparking to life.

A punch of pain shot through Alexis's back as her body jerked forward. The round had hit her square in the vest, driving the breath from her lungs, but it didn't go through.

—Are you hit? Olivia's voice was urgent beneath her, hands pressing at Alexis' sides, eyes wild.

—I'm fine. Vest took it.

—But you-

–Stay down, Alexis ordered, voice low but sharp. Don't move until I say.

Her hand shot up to press the comms mic clipped to her shoulder, but not before her other arm steadied Olivia, guiding her gently into a sitting position behind the cruiser they were using for cover. The chaos of the street blurred at the edges of Alexis's focus, but not Olivia—not her. She crouched close, one gloved hand briefly brushing Olivia's jaw, checking for blood, for any sign she'd been hit, even as her own back throbbed from the impact of the bullet caught in her vest. Her voice was low, urgent, but steady, her eyes scanning Olivia's face.

—You're good? she asked, her tumb momentarily resting just beneath the lieutenant's chin, tipping her face toward the light.

Only when Olivia gave a shaky nod did Alexis lean back slightly, exhale the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and press the mic on her shoulder. The steel returned to her spine as she straightened up, body shifting instinctively back into combat posture. The protector. The soldier. But even as she prepared to move, her hand lingered a second longer on Olivia's shoulder, grounding them both.

—Miles–sniper, third floor, left window. Across the street. Cover me. I'm going for the gear.

—Got you.

The agent was already moving. He dropped into a low crouch behind a patrol cruiser, drawing his weapon and zeroing in on the upper windows across the street.

—Rollins, with me. Watch the left flank.

—I'm on it, Amanda replied, sliding smoothly into place beside him. She drew her Glock and angled her body against the open door of a black-and-white. Go, Lex!

Alexis didn't need to be told twice.

She bolted from Olivia's side, boots pounding the pavement as another shot cracked through the air and splintered the windshield of a nearby parked car. Shards of glass exploded outward, but she didn't flinch, just kept running–low, fast, deliberate–toward the FBI SUV a few yards behind the police line.

Officers ducked behind barriers. Civilians were ushered behind makeshift cover. Chaos unfolded in the background, but Alexis had tunnel vision now.

She skidded to the back of the Bureau-issued vehicle, yanked the hatch open, and ducked into cover behind it. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, adrenaline buzzing under her skin. She shoved aside a sealed evidence kit and unlatched the tactical weapons case secured along the floor of the trunk.

Fingers steady despite the tension in her shoulders, she popped it open. Her rifle was nestled inside like a waiting hand. Familiar. Reliable.

She grabbed it, checked the chamber, clipped the scope into place with practiced ease, and dropped to one knee behind the rear bumper for partial concealment.

—Miles, how's my window? she asked over comms, already adjusting the dial on the scope to compensate for distance and elevation.

—Still active. Movement behind the glass, three o'clock. Amanda's suppressing fire's holding him, but not for long.

Alexis braced the butt of the rifle against her shoulder, peeking through the scope. The third floor window–dusty glass, cracked open just enough to allow a barrel through–was still there, but the glint was gone.

That didn't stop her.

—I've got him. He's moving right, probably repositioning.

Through the lens, she saw the faintest flicker of shadow shift behind the curtain. She adjusted her aim a fraction to the left.

—Come on, she murmured. Give me an angle.

Olivia, still crouched behind a patrol car near the sidewalk, pressed her comms.

—Lexi, wait–don't overcommit. We can fall back and-

—No time, Gray said, voice clipped. If he's repositioning, he'll take another shot in seconds. I'm not giving him a clean one.

The seconds dragged like hours. Wind picked up. Sirens whined distantly. And then-

Movement. A silhouette leaned too far into the window for just a breath.

—Gotcha.

Alexis squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang sharp and clean, echoing like a whip across the rooftops.

Through her scope, she saw the figure jerk backward violently, then disappear from view.

—Target down, she said into her comms, lowering the rifle. Window's clear.

Miles was the first to let out a low breath.

—Damn, Gray. You still got it.

—I never lost it, Alexis shrugged, slinging the rifle across her chest and finally standing up fully.

Amanda called over from her position, eyes still scanning the skyline.

—Scene's holding. Officers moving to secure the building now.

The SEAL exhaled sharply, her breath fogging in the cold air as she swept one last, meticulous glance across the rooftops. Her muscles remained taut beneath the weight of her vest, adrenaline still humming just beneath the surface of her skin. The silence that followed was thick and unforgiving, broken only by the distant wail of approaching sirens and the murmur of officers regrouping behind cover. No more shots. No more glints of light. Whoever had pulled the trigger was gone.

She lowered the rifle, not completely, but enough to let herself breathe again.

Her gaze snapped back to Olivia.

The lieutenant was slowly rising from behind the cruiser, her palm braced against the fender, her movements careful and deliberate. Dust clung to her coat. A scrape marked the side of her hand. But she was standing–alive. Visibly rattled, but composed in that quiet, defiant way that Olivia always was. The kind of composed that came after years of getting up, no matter how hard you were hit.

Alexis moved toward her in three brisk strides, boots crunching on scattered glass and debris.

—You okay?

Olivia nodded, but the moment her eyes met Alexis's, something in her expression flickered—gratitude, fear, anger at being caught off-guard, maybe all of it layered into a single breath.

Without hesitation, Alexis extended a hand. Olivia took it, and Alexis pulled her up in one smooth motion. For a beat too long, neither of them let go.

—You got hit, Olivia murmured, eyes narrowing as she glanced at the back of Alexis's vest. The impact mark was deep, slightly off-center–close enough to be lethal if the angle had been just a little different.

—Vest caught it.

Alexis brushed it off like she hadn't felt the wind knocked out of her when it happened. She could still feel the ache blooming across her spine like bruised thunder. But none of that mattered. Not when Olivia had been the target.

—Are you always this dramatic when you come back from deployment? Benson said, trying for levity but not quite hiding the emotion in her voice.

Alexis gave a tired, crooked smile. And for a moment, in the wreckage of spent bullets and scattered glass, the weight of what could've happened hung between them like smoke that hadn't cleared.

—Figured I'd make an entrance.

*

TAGLIST: @nciscmjunkie @makkaroni221 @thefatobsession @ginasbaby @certainlychaotic @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr @hi-i-1

[loganjameshowlett]

SAME AS IT EVER WAS

02: FACTS DON'T DO WHAT I WANT THEM TO

pairing: peter parker/muntant!reader summary: you're getting good at pretending everything is normal. peter's getting less good at the very same. word count: 3.2k+

series masterlist | previous installment | next installment

When you woke up on Thursday, the bizarre scars were still uncomfortably present on your shoulder blades, and you kind of wished the SUV had finished the job. 

It was 3:07 PM when you rolled over– an action accompanied with a certain measure of full-body agony– and squinted blearily at your phone screen. 

“Shit,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes and checking the time again. You had missed both of your classes for the day, and had to be over to the bodega in just under two hours for a shift. It was unlike you to oversleep, or to ever miss a class, and you tamped down the anxiety already bubbling in your chest about falling behind or missing something crucial. It was also unlike you to get fully run over by an SUV and live to tell the tale, you supposed. And it made for a hell of a good reason to have missed class, anyway. 

Your body felt like it belonged tucked into a bed in the ICU unit over in Bellevue. When you finally dragged it out of bed and in front of the mirror to check, the line of unsightly, discolored tire track bruises had bloated to cover most of the skin from your ribs down to your hips. The same wave of questions from the night before welled up in your mind, and just as the night before, you pushed them all away just as fast. You had enough sense to know you weren’t going to come to any meaningful answers standing on your own in the middle of your bedroom, and you had to shower and get ready for work, anyhow. Another place where you were not likely to get answers, so best not to think about the questions. 

By the time you were done with a near-scalding shower, your body was actually feeling mostly okay and you were well on your way to convincing yourself that whatever happened last night was a fluke. A one time thing. Yes, it was completely bizarre and should have been impossible by all accounts, but those were things you didn’t have to concern yourself with if it never happened again. A few decades from now, you’d probably think it had all been a particularly vivid dream, the way most people who glimpse one unexplainable thing in their lives and then nothing ever again do, and that was alright by you.  

***

“You’ll never guess what happened to me last night,” Mickey says, grinning and coming around the counter as soon as you came through the door. 

You stole my line, you wanted to say, but you were making a valiant effort at not devoting large quantities of brainpower to thinking about last night, so you didn’t. Instead, you walked behind the counter and shed your jacket on the plastic chair in the tiny storage-closet-turned-office, tossing a look Mickey’s way to show her you were listening to her story. 

“Two minutes away from my dorm, I ran into fucking Klara,” she said, punctuating her sentence with a roll of her wide brown eyes. “She has somehow gotten more fuckin’ unbearable than ever.”

“In other news, the sky is blue,” you interjected, and Mickey waved a hand dismissively. 

“That is not the point of the story,” Mickey said. “She stopped me on the path with her bullshit smalltalk for about thirty seconds before dropping that fucking Spider-Man had just swung through campus five minutes earlier!” 

“He has been known to do that,” you nodded. “Couple weeks ago he webbed up some finance frat loser who was trying to start fist fights with everyone who walked past him.” 

“Yeah, I know he’s around sometimes, but I have never seen him! And there I was last night, missing him by a matter of mere minutes.” Mickey huffed, dropping her chin onto her hand. 

“Your time will come, Mick,” you assured her. “And then you can try to flirt your way into his spandex, or whatever.”

“I will succeed in flirting my way into his spandex, thank you very much,” she responded haughtily, and despite your mood and the soreness still ebbing its way through your body, you laughed. 

Gary hopped up onto the counter, wending his way through Mickey’s arms, and then crossing over to do the same to yours. Absently, you sunk your fingers into his soft orange fur, gently scratching his little head. 

“Hey, you kinda look like shit. Did something happen?” Mickey asked, startling you out of the blank-gazed factory reset your brain was trying to accomplish. When you looked up at her, her head was tilted to the side, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. 

“If staying up most of the night doing homework counts as something happening, then yeah,” you shrugged. “This is just what a me approaching midterms looks like.” 

“Yeah… I guess that’s true,” she drawled, but you could tell by her voice that she wasn’t totally convinced. Mickey was your best friend, and years of telling each other everything without a second thought had culminated in both of you being able to easily tell when the other was, on those rare occasions, hiding something. And usually, as soon as Mickey seemed even marginally onto you, you would spill everything to her. But this time, you couldn’t say a thing. What even would you say? Nothing good could come out of telling her that you’d been run over by a car and then just… walked home. 

“Can we finally talk about how Josh McClellan is clearly coming in here several times a week just to see you?” you asked, trying to change the subject as smoothly as you were capable of. 

“Okay, so it’s not only me who was thinkin’ that?” Mickey launched into a play-by-play dissection of her interactions with the guy immediately, and you sank onto the stool behind the counter in relief of the attention no longer being on you. 

The rest of your shift passed mostly without incident. Mickey followed Gary around the bodega, harassing him with pets and occasionally fixing up or restocking a shelf or two. The after-work crowd even seemed a little less disgruntled than usual, which your hourly deteriorating people skills appreciated greatly. 

“Think we can bump off early?” Mickey asked, as the clock reached eleven. “It’s only an hour.”

“I wouldn’t do Mr. Browne like that, and neither should you,” you said, aiming  a scolding look at her over the shelves as you idly pushed a broom back and forth in front of the coolers. “And, ‘sides, this is the easiest hour of the shift. Basically nobody comes in between now and closing.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, the bell above the door chimed. Mickey shot a told ya so look at you, before turning around to see who came in. 

“Oh– hey, Peter,” you greeted, eyes widening slightly as you realized it wasn’t just some random schmuck looking for mixers for their pregame. You knew this schmuck. Kind of. 

For his part, Peter froze in the door, looking a little too much like a prey animal for someone simply being recognized when they didn’t expect it. His eyes met yours, and he forced an awkward smile onto his face. 

“Hey,” he said your name, accompanied by a small wave. “I didn’t know you worked here.” 

“Didn’t come up while we were discussing your essay?” you asked, and Peter’s smile grew into something a little more embarrassed, cheeks pinking slightly as he ducked his head. 

“Sorry, that was stupid,” he said, wending his way through the aisles and clearly searching for something specific. You brought the broom back into the office and situated yourself behind the register for when Peter was ready to check out. Mickey met your eye from across the room as she hoisted Gary into her arms, giving you a look that was clearly asking what the fuck? You shrugged almost imperceptibly and looked away, but you could still feel her eyes on you. 

A few minutes later, Peter ambled up to the counter and set three different flavors of Celsius and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos down in front of you. Fascinating snack for this time of night. 

“Still on for tomorrow afternoon?” he asked as you began scanning his items. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you said, looking up to offer him a small smile. Up close, the bags under his eyes were so pronounced they looked like true bruises, and there was a pretty fresh cut almost completely hidden in his hairline. 

“You okay?”

The words came out of both of your mouths at the same time, followed by twin looks of confusion. 

“Me?” you asked, brow furrowing as you finished ringing him up. “Total’s $13.50, by the way.” 

“Yeah– uh, sorry–” Peter said, fishing a couple of bills out of his jacket pocket. “You just… it seemed like something might be wrong.” 

You blinked at him for a few seconds, frankly dumbfounded that he– a virtual stranger– was able to pick up on the general wrongness of the current state of your existence. Realizing you’d been quiet for a weird amount of time, you sucked in a breath and responded, “Oh, yeah, no, I’m good. Just exhausted, s’all– you know, midterms coming up and everything.”

“Oh, sure,” he nodded, like it made complete sense. “Right there with you.”

“And, uh, what happened up–?” you asked, gesturing toward the cut along his hairline. You noticed then that the skin around it was starting to bruise. 

“Oh, that,” Peter said, bringing a hand up to ghost along the offending injury. “I was in the lab earlier for my, uh, my internship and there was a little accident. You know how labs are.”

“I really do not know how labs are,” you said, and the same embarrassed smile from earlier grew on his face. 

“Right. Yeah. Accidents are par for the course.”

“Well, make sure you dress that properly when you get home,” you said, fighting the urge to fuss over the wound. 

“First thing when I walk through the door,” he promised, and you nodded, satisfied, as you handed over his purchases. 

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, ‘night,” Peter said, waving as he took a few backward steps from the counter, before disappearing through the door. 

As soon as he was out on the sidewalk, Mickey materialized on the other side of the counter, red curls and freckled expression of shocked interest taking up your entire field of vision. “What the fuck was that?” 

***

You spent Friday morning valiantly trying to finish your biology work so that you actually had something for Peter to look over that afternoon. You figured that, honestly, bringing a blank lab worksheet to him would be just as useful as bringing one you filled in by yourself; it was like the synapses stopped firing in your brain when you opened up this stupid lab’s Canvas page. 

And anyway, your lack of ability to concentrate on anything that looked even remotely like STEM homework had become a hundred times worse since the Incident (you had taken to thinking of it as this: capitalized so as to be given proper weight, and named so that you never had to dwell on any of the details). Suddenly learning about plant tissue culture seemed entirely meaningless in the greater context of your increasingly bizarre life. 

Meaningless or not, you still had to pass the class. The universe worked in mysterious ways, and as you skimmed the same textbook page for the ninth time, absorbing not a single word, you thanked it for sending Peter Parker your way. 

When you reached the second floor of the library at five minutes to two, Peter was already sitting at the table the two of you had occupied the other day, general backpack detritus spread haphazardly across half the surface. He had a fresh printed copy of his edited essay in front of him, partially obscured by his arm resting on top of it, which was, in turn, supporting his head while he napped. 

You approached the table, dumping your bag in one of the empty chairs as gently as you could. Peter’s hair stuck up in all directions, and you noticed that the bruise blooming out from the cut along his hairline had matured into something nastier looking since the last time you saw him. 

For a moment, you stood awkwardly at the side of the table, waiting to see if he would wake up. You felt bad about the prospect of waking him– he clearly needed the sleep badly– and you briefly thought about just leaving and emailing him to set up a different time, but you knew he’d feel bad about it and selfishly, you needed to submit your lab by midnight. 

“Peter?” you asked, voice pitched low for the library. Hesitantly, you reached a hand toward his shoulder, unsure still of what you would do with it once it reached its destination, but just before your fingers brushed his sweatshirt, Peter’s head bolted up as if electrocuted. 

He took a few seconds to gaze, confused, about the room, before his eyes landed on you and a blush that was quickly becoming familiar pinked his cheeks. 

He said your name, half confused question and half surprised exclamation, and blinked up at you a few times as if trying to orient himself. 

“You alright?” you asked, moving to sit in the seat catty-cornered to his own. 

“Yeah, I’m all good, I– honestly, I can’t believe I  fell asleep here,” Peter answered, reassuring smile an afterthought. You watched how the smile dropped quickly and his brow furrowed, skin creasing above the bridge of his nose; he seemed far too concerned about accidentally falling asleep in the library. 

“I can’t tell you how many naps I’ve taken at this exact table, let alone the rest of the building,” you told him, tone light. You weren’t quite sure what about the situation had him so worried, but you hoped you could reassure him a bit anyway. “You wanna start with your essay, or my lab?” 

“Your lab deserves to go first,” Peter decided quickly. “What’s this one on?”

You attempted to explain the lab to the best of your ability, eventually giving up and handing over your entire biology folder so Peter could read it himself. For the next two hours, he talked you through each aspect of the lab– it felt like finding God, finally being able to understand something for this fucking class. 

Peter perked up with every question you asked him, as though getting the opportunity to explain biological concepts was literally reinvigorating him. His eyes brightened, his posture straightened– he was more confident than you’d ever seen him now that he was given the space to ramble about something he knew well. You were embarrassed to have to forcibly stop yourself from openly staring at him about half a dozen times. 

“Sorry, we got way off track at the end, there,” Peter said, suddenly cutting off a tangent about some research on chloroplasts that one of his internship colleagues was conducting. 

You waved him off, a genuine smile on your face. “Don’t be, I like listening to you. ‘Sides, I learned more from you this afternoon than I have from Dr. Katz the entire semester,” you said earnestly. 

Peter grinned, ducking his head a bit. “Well, I aim to educate and entertain, so I'm glad I hit on both of those today.”

“I really think you could have a future as Bill Nye’s successor with these skills, Parker,” you said solemnly, and Peter laughed. 

“With this kind of unwavering support, maybe I will be conducting science experiments on direct-to-videos being played in seventh grade biology classrooms all over the country very soon.”

“Maybe,” you nodded. “If you’re lucky.”

***

Three years into college, and Peter still hadn’t quite mastered balancing the student and hero halves of his life. 

Submitting work late and having no consistent social life were just, he guessed, par for the course. His entire life seemed to be made up of excuses, and he was helpless to change it. Mostly, it didn’t bother him. Being Spider-Man was just who he was; he wouldn’t give up any part of that for “the traditional college experience” or “having friends”. He shuffled his half-dead body between chem lectures and getting 18-wheelers thrown at him by the Rhino, and in the exceedingly rare moments of quiet between the two, he kept his head down. And that was that. He was good with that. 

And then he met you. 

He’d never needed a tutor before Professor Liu, and when he finally bit the bullet and asked her for help, he expected to be paired with some pretentious, Moby Dick reading, flowy blouse wearing poet who would eloquently tell him exactly how much of a dunce he was when it came to literary analysis. This probably wasn’t a fair assessment, but he didn’t know many English majors, and anyway, anyone who was held in such high esteem by Professor Liu was somebody whom, he assumed, he would never get along with in a million years. 

And then he’d shown up to tutoring, and there you were at the table in a giant sweatshirt, dog-eared book held open by one errant finger as you tapped at your keyboard, and you’d remembered his name right off the bat and smiled at him– one of those patient, encouraging smiles that could make anyone open up about anything– and somewhere between breaths the tutoring session had become the highlight of his week. 

He’d left with the guarantee of seeing you again in a few days, and then it was like his brain got the flu because all he could think about, any time he idled, was you, and how you laughed at all his stupid jokes and were so casually witty and– honestly, the torrent was never ending (not that he was trying to end it very hard) and maybe worryingly distracting (he’d only missed the broad side of a building with his webs once, and he rebounded before he became a stain on the pavement, so really, no harm no foul). 

He thought he was hallucinating when he walked into a bodega at random after a surprisingly nasty spat with a would-be car thief, spandex still on under his jacket and a pair of sweatpants, and there you were, too, name tag pinned to your sweater and broom in your hand, existing in your own right away from the library, which was, for some reason, a shock to him. He said something stupid (a curse he was sure he would never get rid of) and had to fumble his way through normalcy even when you, through what you claimed to be exhaustion but was pinging his spidey senses as something much more, noticed his little bump on the head and asked if he was okay. His heart had done a painful, spasmodic little dance at the thought that you cared enough to ask, and he didn’t really know what to do with that. 

Sitting on this rooftop was becoming frigid, and all he could think about was your hand touching his when you handed him back his change, and your voice so earnestly saying I like listening to you. 

God, but he was fucked.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ron Deibert’s “Chasing Shadows”

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

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/04/citizen-lab/#nso-group

Since 2001, Ron Deibert has led Citizen Lab, the world's foremost "counterintelligence group for civil society," where they defend human rights activists, journalists and dissidents from the digital weapons deployed by the world's worst autocrats and thugs:

https://citizenlab.ca/

Citizen Lab's work is nothing short of breathtaking. For decades, this tiny, barely resourced group at a Canadian university has gone toe to toe with the world's most powerful cyber arms dealers – and won.

Today, Simon and Schuster publishes Chasing Shadows, Deibert's pulse-pounding, sphinter-tightening true memoir of his battles with the highly secretive industry whose billionaire owners provide mercenary spyware that's used by torturers, murderers and criminals to terrorize their victims:

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Chasing-Shadows/Ronald-J-Deibert/9781668014042

Mercenary spyware companies are based all over the world, but the global leader in providing these tools is Israel, where the signals intelligence Unit 8200 serves as a breeding ground for startup founders who grow wealthy serving dictators around the world, thanks in part to Israel's lax export standards for cyberweapons.

Most notorious of these companies is the NSO Group, whose Pegasus malware has been deployed by corrupt, narco-affiliated Mexican politicians, murderous Saudi royals, and dictators in Central Asia, Latinamerica, and all around the world.

The NSO Group's founders told their customers that they were invisible, as ethereal as shadows, so their products could be deployed without fear of detection or consequence. At the same time, NSO ran a disinformation campaign for the broader public, insisting that they have the highest ethical standards and closely monitor their products' use to ensure that it is only deployed against terrorists and serious criminals. This latter strategy is backstopped by harassment and intimidation of journalists who investigate this narrative – I have personally been threatened by lawyers retained by the NSO Group.

Diebert and Citizen Lab disprove both of NSO's narratives. Their technical staff developed incredibly clever, subtle methods to detect malware infections all around the world and identify who had been targeted by NSO's products (they were greatly aided in this by farcical blunders in NSO's products).

In so doing, Citizen Lab not only showed that customers for mercenary spyware will someday be discovered – they also thoroughly disproved the company's narrative about its squeaky-clean image and high morals.

Much of Deibert's book is a true-life technothriller recounting the technology, the politics, and the human cost of a largely unregulated industry whose protectors are among the most powerful people in the world.

This book contains many never-revealed revelations from Deibert's distinguished career, like notes from a meeting where Stephen Harper's top spooks and Privy Council officials threatened and intimidated Deibert over Citizen Lab's reports on Saudi Prince Mohammed Bin Salman's use of spyware on Canadian residents.

Deibert also reveals some juicy bits of less consequence, like the fact that it was he who tipped off the BBC's Rory Cellan-Jones that Research In Motion was helping Middle Eastern autocracies and India's far right government spy on dissidents' Blackberry devices, just minutes before RIM co-founder Mike Lazardis was to sit for a televised interview with Cellan-Jones for the BBC's Click. When Cellan-Jones asked Lazaridis about the matter, Lazaridis at first denied it, then demanded that the camera be turned off before halting the interview:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6iGe7vuGeQ

But the majority of Deibert's book is a string of horrifying stories of dissidents, activists, journalists, opposition politicians and the people around them having their lives peeled open by companies like NSO Group and their competitors. They run the gamut from multiple, successive presidents of Catalonia to the US-based children of activists agitating for limits to sugary drinks in Mexico.

On the way, Deibert is hounded by all kinds of dirty-tricksters, like the bumbling ex-Mossad spook that Black Cube – whom Harvey Weinstein hired to harass his victims – hired to discredit the organization:

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/28/world/black-cube-nso-citizen-lab-intelligence.html

He's also chased by troll armies working on behalf of South American despots, the corrupt Modi government of India, and middle eastern autocrats in the UAE, Saudi Arabia and elsewhere. While most of these trolls are anonymous jerks, a few high-profile serial online harassers-for-hire are singled out by name, their deeds publicly connected for the first time.

Deibert shows the human impact of mercenary spyware: the connection between these companies' products and intimidation, arbitrary detention, punitive rape, torture, and murder – for example, he painstaking lays out the role that the NSO Group's products played in the murder and dismemberment of the US-based journalist Jamal Khashoggi.

This is a dirty business, but it's also a lucrative one. Citizen Lab goes eyeball-to-eyeball and toe-to-toe with farcically wealthy, well-resourced attackers, who've waxed fat by abetting corruption and sadistic greed.

But this isn't mere rage-bait. Deibert's story is an inspiration, both in how it shows how principled, decent, hardworking people can make a difference – Citizen Lab researchers repeatedly discover and burn the vulnerabilities exploited by mercenary spyware, a process Deibert likens to disarming them – but also in the bravery and resilience of the subjects who trust Citizen Lab to analyze their devices, risking everything to come forward and tell their stories.

Citizen Lab is enmeshed in a global, digital community of human rights defenders – a community that wouldn't exist without the internet. Deibert's life's work is to create an internet that is fit for human thriving – and to wrestle control of technology away from the monsters who project their greed and sadism around the world through our devices.

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 07.

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. | part 05.| part 06. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, kinda graphic description of the next crime, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, if there are other warnings or tags i should add let me know ꕥ small author's note: hey guys, i'm back from the nine hells! i'm honestly really, really sorry that i disappeared for such a long time but i discovered that the ao3 writer's curse is, in fact, real as fuck. i've been sick for 2 months on and off, which resulted in me, ending up in the hospital and even spending my birthday there lmao. anyway, i think i lowkey reached the end of my recovery and i am back!! hope you'll enjoy this chapter and thank you so much if you're still here after so much waiting, i love you with all of my heart <3 ꕥ small author's note 2: i'll be describing a rather weird(?) crime this time that was inspired by a song (i'll attach it at the end of the chapter, i heavily recommend it - check it out on youtube too, it has a nice mv). i was very hesitant at first about whether i should write this or stick to the good old, bit more basic plots but then i was like fuck it, i have creative freedom for a reason and this series is already filled with weird crimes so why not ꕥ small author's note 3: i am also working on the sapphic knight!Emily × princess!reader, so you can expect that very soon ^-^ let me know if you're interested in it and would like to be notified when it's published ꕥ word count: ~2.6k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

wednesday

“We got a case. A bad one. Like really, really bad.” The word ‘anxious’ couldn’t even describe exactly how Garcia speedwalked through the bullpen in her neon pink high heels with her rhinestoned tablet in hand. The rest of the team—except for Hotch, were all gathered around Rossi’s desk since he was showing pictures of his grandson with a puppy that he got for his birthday.

“Dare I say Florida?” you murmured audibly enough for some of them to snort at your comment, which was only half a joke. With the amount of utter bullshit that went down there and resulted in the ‘Florida man’ news nothing was surprising anymore. Let’s just say, you accidentally hit the bull’s eye.

“Brace yourselves, my sweet, sweet crimefighters, because what I’m about to show you is very gory.”

You lowered your gaze to the bright screen of your tablet, where photos of the crime scene popped up. Well… Garcia was right. It was gory.

Not even half an hour ago divers found the second dead woman on one of the beaches in Florida. It looked like she got sewn into a seal’s skin and laid down there, making it look like it was a deceased animal, swept to the land by the stronger waves. Lucky for you, since this exact thing happened a few days ago, people were more cautious and thus, the scene remained in its original, uncompromised state.

“Sarah Moore is the second victim in three days. Today, the Florida Police Force has invited us in officially.” took over the word your unit chief, shifting everyone’s glance from the tablets —and printed out files in a particular doctor’s case—towards him.

“What, they didn’t find this” Derek pointed at the device still displaying the graphic photos of the scene in front of him, “freaky at the first time!?”

“There has been a rather public scandal involving the police in Florida, which resulted in replacing almost every person at command there. I think the new chief wanted to show that he can handle things by himself, since many eyes are on him and his work.” explained the man on your right, gesticulating with his big, slender hands. As your eyes unintentionally traced the line of his fingers, you wondered if he ever played the piano. He had the hands of an artist.

“Great. I wonder how much of an asshole he will be to us. I bet he’ll try to demonstrate his superiority.” your let out a groan at the thought of having to handle a grown man who acts like a demanding child, thinking that he is better and smarter than everyone else there. You had problems with people like him. Swallowing your pride when you knew that you were right was challenging for you.

“I wouldn’t exactly use this wording, but Y/N is right. Chief Miller will do everything to make himself look good in the eye of the public, even if it means undermining us. We will have to be exceptionally careful. Wheels up in 30.”

You sat at the window in one of the lounge seating areas of the jet. Next to you was Emily, Reid sat in front of you, Derek next to him. The laptop—making it possible for Penelope to join in the briefing that took place on the plane—was set up on the table between the four of you. Hotchner, JJ and Rossi gathered around your seats with tablets and case folders in hand.

All of you were reading the detailed police reports, that seemed more like a plot of some series than an actual crime committed by actual humans. None of you have met with things like this before.

Both victims got partially skinned ante-mortem, then sewn into a seal that was cut open from its jaw to its belly. The only skin remaining on Sarah and the other poor woman, named Ruby, were on those parts of their bodies that didn’t get covered by the animal. This meant the area of their stomach, chest and face. Even their scalps got removed.

“Garcia, do we know if the seals were real or a costume?” asked the doctor after looking up from the files.

“What am I, if not the queen of supplying you with all kinds of unsettling information? I already checked, however, and couldn’t find anything on this.”

“They didn’t check?” asked Emily in a dumbfounded tone.

“Well, if they did, there are no records about it anywhere.”

“Wanna bet that Chief Whatever-the-hell-his-name-is—” you started but got interrupted by Reid, chiming in, correcting you with a slight smile on his annoying face, as usual.

“Miller.”

“Yea, that. So, wanna bet that Chief Miller wanted to wrap this case up as quickly as possible by finding a fitting culprit and putting them away, whether they’re the real killer or not? Wouldn’t surprise me if he simply forgot to check this detail.”

The briefing went on for a long time. Ideas from everyone kept popping up the more you thought about the crime, its meaning, what it tells about the UnSub, the mode of display and basically everything regarding to the case. You even debated against each other if you found some holes in the other’s logic, but everything remained civil. Even between the doctor and you. Which was rare, but not impossible. It just so happened that none of your ideas went directly against the other’s so there was no use of wasting your time with bantering.

“We are landing in 15 minutes. JJ, Prentiss and I will set up at the station. Morgan, Rossi, go to the M.E., find out what you can about the victims, C.O.D., and ask for an exam on the seal. Reid, L/N, go to the latest crime scene. We have to find out if this is a ritual or some sort of radical activist statement.”

The warm weather and the smell and sound of the sea would’ve been calming in any other situation, just not when you were squatting next to a blood soaked, dead victim. It was impossible to tell whether the animal that looked like it’s consuming Sarah was real or not. Its size, texture and smell were very lifelike. You couldn’t see the insides, not until the M.E. cuts the poor woman out of the mammal.

“It’s obvious that the UnSub was careful with the sewing, it’s very precise. Can you see the thread from where you stand?” you looked back at the man who was standing a few steps behind you, taking in and analysing the bigger picture. He slightly furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes, trying to spot even a tiny amount of straying yarn with little to no success. From where he stood, it looked like the human and animal were one and the same. Like they were meant to be this way. He shook his head as an answer, then walked right behind you and leaned down, so that your heads could be at the same level.

You felt the warm air leaving his nose as he breathed out near the small of your neck, causing goosebumps to run across your covered skin. Thank fucking God for the long sleeves, I’d look like a fool.

These past few weeks moments like this became a common occurrence. You were convinced he pulled these antics to make you flustered, to make you look like a fool, for his own amusement. You caught him staring, more often than not, but he never looked away, just slightly raised his eyebrows and challenged you to a silent staring contest. His comments or arguments became vague or had double meanings, trying to catch you off guard. He also became more physical, which baffled you the most. Dr Spencer ‘Germaphobe-and-Social-Distancing’ Reid, who he himself said that kissing would be more sanitary and safer than a handshake, was initiating physical contact with you. You didn’t understand this at all. Things were rough between the two of you ever since you started working at the BAU, so you were careful, so fucking careful not to touch him accidentally whenever you handed him anything, since you didn’t want to worsen anything. But now… Now he made a habit of standing closer to you than to anyone else, making his fingertips brush your skin whenever you gave each other something, and so on. These would’ve been small things with anyone else but not with him. You were silently fuming whenever he did something like this. You worked so hard trying to make him comfortable. Yes, you were arguing all the time, but that was strictly professional, you never crossed any personal lines. And now he seemed to take a 180°.

Of course, you saw this as a challenge. You weren’t kidding when you said, “Game on, doctor.” in that hotel room a few weeks ago, when you first noticed how strange he behaved. Did he want to make you less competent than him by making you look like some silly girl that blushes at every small thing a man does? Well yeah, you would never let that happen. Two can play this game, and you held yourself true to your word. You fought fire by fire, acting like he did. You’d never shy away from some teasing, especially when your honour was on the line.

You turned your head towards him. He was so close, your nose almost touched his left cheek. “What are your thoughts, doctor?”

He faced you, so his eyes could find yours. What he foolishly didn’t calculate is how awfully close you two would be. His breath hitched as his gaze flickered between your irises for a few seconds, taking in all the variations of colours that danced around your pupils, then he lowered his eyes to the tip of your nose that almost touched his, finally, he stopped at your lips, barely out of reach, before finding his way back to your eyes. All of this happened in split seconds, but you noticed it all. You would’ve been a hideous profiler if you didn’t. A victorious smirk formed on your face and your confidence was through the roof as the not so collected doctor’s cheeks took up a light shade of pink, barely visible to anyone else. You won this round.

The team got set up at the conference room of the modern police station. A few hours after landing, everyone gathered there. Dave and Derek arrived with crucial information regarding the first and second victim and the seals, while you shared details about the latest scene.

“According to the M.E., the cause of death was exsanguination in both cases.” said Morgan, who was fidgeting with a mustard-coloured pencil.

“Isn’t surprising in cases involving being skinned alive.” Emily’s monotone tone came as a response as she read through the tox screen. “They found a high dosage of ketamine in their system, meaning that they were possibly paralysed and awake during the skinning and sewing, making our UnSub a sadist.”

“Yes, most definitely.” agreed Reid, who was standing in front of the huge screen on the wall of the spacious room. On the screen, an anatomical drawing of the human body was displayed. “And the UnSub must have some degree of medical knowledge, because they avoided all the main arteries during skinning, making the victims suffer much longer.” during his explanation, the doctor pointed at all the pressure points of the body to show where the two women weren’t cut.

“The way of stitching further proves this; it was really precise.” you added with a slight nodding.

“So, are we looking at a doctor maybe? But then what do the scenes mean? This is one hell of an M.O., and way too specific to have no deeper meaning to it.” next to Emily, JJ was swiping between all the photos from both scenes, zooming in on the gory details, hoping she can find something, anything.

“Well, we still can’t rule out radical climate change or animal rights activists, especially since the Caribbean monk seals that were once native to this region gone extinct because of humans. They were overhunted and due to overfishing, the remaining starved to death.” Reid said this as if he was reading it out of a book.

While the others shared their ideas back and forth, your mind wandered to a different direction. Ever since morning, when you first got introduced to this case, you couldn’t shake a thought and after seeing the scenes and becoming more familiar with the details, it just got solidified, but it was a bit too out of reach. That’s why you excused yourself and quickly left the conference room. You didn’t stop until the parking lot, which was empty, to your relief. You quickly dialled the only person who was able to help you out with your dilemma, the one and only Penelope Garcia.

Your conversation was quick, but you got everything you needed and were ready to head back to the team, now confident in your theory, however, as soon as you turned on your heels, you slammed into something rather… familiar. Reid.

“Ah, for fucks sake.” you murmured as you stumbled backwards. “Do you crave physical contact this much, dear doctor? Next time just ask.”

“Why, would you comply?” he raised an eyebrow, his lips formed a somewhat cocky smile, but it was tamed enough to get missed.

“Maybe. If you beg for it.”

“Oh, between the two of us, I’m more than certain that you’d be the one that begs.” he stated confidently, as if his awkward self never existed. “But feel free to try and prove me wrong.”

“I- khm…” no matter how much you fought against the red hotness crawling up on your neck towards your face and ears, you couldn’t shake feeling weird. “You’ll have to do a lot more work to make me want to prove anything to you.” your comeback, if one can call it that, came out weaker than it sounded in your head, so before things could’ve gotten even more embarrassing for you, you decided to change the topic, silently noting that you lost this battle. “Anyway, why did you come after me?”

“For one, to check on you. For two, the others are ordering lunch and wanted to know what you would like to eat.”

“As you can see, I’m perfectly well.” you nodded, trying to solidify your statement after your previous banter, partially for him, partially for yourself.

Before he could ask or say anything else, you decided to head back to the rest of the team, with Reid, sticking close to your back.

“Mmh, I can see. No erubescence at all.” he said in a playful tone as effortlessly caught up with you, thanks to his long legs. You ignored his comment as you pushed the glass doors in and shifted your attention towards the other five people.

“Is everything alright, pretty girl?”

“Yes, I just had to confirm something real quick before presenting my groundbreaking theory to you, guys. So,” you said as you sat down in front of the laptop that was connected to the huge screen, opened Google and typed in one single word to the search bar: selkie.

thank you again for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! i hope it isn't a problem that this fic is getting longer, i'm just taking slow burn seriously (only thing i can do lmao) taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 @maisyyyyyy @theseerbetweenus @throwaway-things @pleasantwitchgarden divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ THE FUCKING DEAD ⦒ RESOLUTION [PART 5]

➠ series masterlist | ⏪part 4 | ⏩part 6 |

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓┇𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑┇𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐅𝐈𝐂┇𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 LEON S. KENNEDY / CARLOS OLIVEIRA / JILL VALENTINE / ADA WONG X AFAB GN! READER As the rescue team retraces footsteps of their MIA agents, they find out the virus is more than what it appears. Waiting to be opened like a pandora's box inside this eerie mansion. NOTES: 🔞18+ READERS ONLY - NO MINORS🔞 descriptions of blood, zombies, injuries, death, realistic dolls, virus, fire weapons, rotten food, and mould. mentioned pegging. many action elements, a little closer to the plot reveal. includes two minor oc's in the unit. written in chris and rebecca's pov (reader is mentioned, not present). 8.7 k words | reblogs appreciated!

EMPLOYEE QUARTERS – 3:02 AM.

Who knows since when, the front door entered by the last squad is bolted shut, windows on the first and second floor barred. Inspection around the perimeter reports none of the side doors can be budged. Except one, secretly veiled away through a narrow, overgrown path only accessible from the backstreet.

An inconspicuous door can be found at the end of the passage, made of the same stone brick wall attached onto the thick mahogany door, vines enshrouding the exterior.

Presumably, this is the employee’s entrance. Much less glorious than the fountain driveway view where an imaginary doorman invites you into the residence by the ten-feet-tall double doors. This entry desperately needs weeding; the door is worn, rusted metal handles and weak hinges signal negligence in maintenance for years.

Chris, leading in first with his impromptu rescue squad of six, pushes down the copper handle, and lets it swing out. Wood squeaks slowly until the hinges fully extend, thudding serenely to a stop.

From within, a hollow void. Not a sound, nor a creak to be heard from the blackness of the echo chamber besides the six footsteps. A cold chill like a woman’s breath blows onto their necks from the outside, slowly swallowed by the thick odour of mildew and mould.

Someone rummages for a light switch, clicks it, and clicks it the other way again. Power’s out, of course. Chris presses on his earpiece, and just as he thought, communication to the outside is already fizzing into distortions. There will be no one from the outside to rescue them once they venture into the thick of this freak house.

They turn on the flashlight attachment on their rifles for convenience. It’s going to be difficult navigating through the dark, and vital for the unit to err on the side of caution. Who knows what ambushes Arias had conjured for an unwelcomed surprise, knowing his guarded nature.

“Agent Chambers. Do we have location?” Chris asks.

“I can’t track our exact location until the GPS is fixed. But I can tell you that the unit should be around south-east of the mansion according to their last known coordinates, which is approximately… that way.” Rebecca draws out an old-school compass from her pouch and points towards the left side of the hallway according to her device.

“Thank you, Chambers.” Chris states blankly. Rebecca taps her head down to acknowledge once. The air is damp with bitterness, only felt between them.

The front of the entrance invites them to a mudroom with a wide nook sweeping along the broads of the wall. The inner wood panel is enveloped by speckles of mould; more than half of the hangers are still occupied. Chris traces a thin sheet of dust along a puffer jacket.

“Captain, take a look at this.” A thick Hispanic accent gravels out. The figure behind Chris is almost as tall as himself. His face concealed but his personality undeniable focused and direct. Chris vaguely remembers the man’s name through a rushed introduction, Gabriel, sent by B.S.A.A.’s South American branch as a gesture of goodwill.

Gabriel points to the vague darkness behind himself. Chris turns away from the racks, directed into the lounge room around the corner. It is adorned with modest furniture: a few couches, a television, openly connected to the kitchen, and long dining table.

Above the table, there lies a bitten sandwich with splotches of green mould, mugs drank only halfway and meals abandoned before they were done. Leaving the uncut vegetables, dairy, raw beef, as they were for the inhabitation of fungi.

Everyone in the room right now is grateful for Rebecca’s last-minute idea for the masks to give them some coverage for the stench.

“November 19. Tch, all the food had expired five months ago. What a waste, tch.” This voice is deeper in timbre than Gabriel’s with a tendency to click his tongue at any inconvenience. He must be the other assigned unit, Miguel.

“That week was the first A-Virus attack in the world.” Rebecca comments solemnly. Can there be such a coincidence?

“Whatever they had to do, they left in a hurry.” Chris glances around the room once more. What business could they have to evacuate so suddenly?

“A-Are they going to be o-okay?” Nerves are getting a hold of the rookie; the flashlight circle from Johnny’s rifle is visibly shuddering. “What if those m-m-monsters got to them?”

“Can’t be since there’s no struggle. Like they’d blipped in time.” Mike suggests the possibility by recreating the events with his free hand, even uttering a fainted pooof! drifting into the silence for sound effect.

“Nothing had been in and out of this place for a week. Whoever’s left might be starving.” Unless all the employees had left way earlier. But there is an aching dread in Chris’ gut that fears this may not be the case. Just like the other MIA agents who are somewhere in this lodging. There must be more to this story.

“Search for any survivors in the area and stay in line of sight. Don’t ever split up.” Chris orders, looking directly into the darkness of the narrow hallway beyond.

“Yes, Captain!” Five voices bark in response.

- - -

It feels like they had walked for an eternity, through a series of sharp turns, with no visual signs of the end, only mould growing thicker and thicker the further they venture. It was the same portrait, same console table, decorated by the same damned tablecloth over and over again.

On top of the white laced cloth, there is always a baby, barely three months old.

It shook Rebecca in the beginning until she notices the infant is completely still. It’s only a doll. A very realistic one at that, dressed from head to toe in pink and frills.

After what seems like the tenth doll, the discomfort in her brews whenever Rebecca passes by. She can’t help but notice how glassy their eyes, how those irises and pupils look too damn realistic. Like real human eyes, staring. Like it can cry. Every time light hits those pearly beads, whatever light the darkness can spare anyway, Rebecca swears the doll is looking directly at her each time. She wonders if she had gone crazy.

Perhaps it was one of Arias’ secret hobbies… like Arias’ pegging fetish she unfortunately discovered in the depths of a gossip forum. Hey, it’s not her place to say what a billionaire can or can’t do for recreation if it isn’t harming anyone… besides his own crack, maybe.

That took her mind off the creepy temporarily. Nobody else seem to mind, or if they did, they didn’t say a thing. Chris in particular—his mind never left the objective.

“Anyone home? This is B.S.A.A. We’re looking for survivors. Any survivors? Survivors, please show yourself.” Chris announces their presence at every door that meets him along the corridor, bellowing out to make survivors known of their rescue.

But only the echo of himself returns his call, corridor after corridor, room after room, in the humble living quarters that is nothing more than a bunk bed and two desks. Not a soul nor a zombie in sight. But they haven’t given up yet. There is still plenty of the mansion unexplored.

The next door they encounter is different, standing out prominently against the rest with its steel surface, while the rest mahogany wood. And despite this whole area already zoned off from general access, a sinister sign on top warns that this place is off limits to even most employees.

The six of them look at each other and decide silently in unison to investigate inside.

LABORATORY – 3:17 AM

Chris is the first to enter the laboratory, stepping inside the darkness without hesitation to encourage his subordinates to follow suit without fear. Some sticky sensation is caught between their soles, leaving their every footstep. Mike notices first, and he aims his flashlight onto the ground.

Blood red pools, splattered across the bleached tiles in trails like spider lilies, painted across white coats of motionless bodies only several feet away from them… fifty of them. Beyond that, a daring splash of struggle across the mighty propane tank hulking over the centre of the laboratory.

Rebecca winces at the sight; her first time witnessing such a bloodshed. Chris notices, bringing a step forward to shield her from the sight.

“What the fuck happened here…” Chris growls. Before he can take another bloodied step, he hears someone making a retched groan.

It was Johnny, tightening his vocals to hold back a scream, but instead, it erupts into a high pitch shriek of fear instead.

The bodies react to the sound, starting to move. At first, only slight like the trick of an eye. Then, the torsos rise in isolation, head turning slow almost 180 degrees, eyes affixed on the intruders. Their skin ashen grey, veins and arteries pop out freshly, where the stench is the most putrid here.

All six soldiers ready their rifles. Avoiding big movements, slowing their limbs backwards to the way out. The zombie hoard of many dozens in front of them matches their pace, unsure whether friend or enemy.

Something falls. Slipping away from Rebecca’s back pocket, a metallic cylinder case—long and thin, that a ballpoint pen will fit perfectly inside. It crashes onto the floor, a light thud. But in the quiet room with nothing but hostile hisses and crackling of bones, the zombies pounce at the same time at the sign of confirmation.

Gunshots fire, without restraint, bullets whizzing across the room, taking aim. Shots pierce into the desaturated skin, but no blood manifests from those wounds. The water source that pumps into their hearts had dried up a long time ago. Even bullets hitting directly into the skull merely stuns them temporarily, and they rise back onto their feet in no time.

The unit is very effective and spares little ammunition for the unnecessary—but they are solely six humans in an army of undead. They can’t hold them off forever. If they are cornered, that’s it.

Rebecca, however, has her eyes set on something else instead of the massacre in front of her.

My case…. Where is my case! She thinks as her eyes dart around the ground in desperation, between legs and fallen bodies. Something shiny under a chair peeks out in the corner of her eye.

There it is! Despite every fibre of her gut opposing her, Rebecca advances further inside to retrieve it at all costs. She doesn’t dare to stray her eyes away from the container, fearing it will escape her again. Someone kicks it; the metal leaps and rolls near the lab console next to the large cylinder tank.

She makes her way over and tries to lay her rifle on top of the console. It slides due to its slanted surface, so she leans her rifle against the tank for support.

Some of Rebecca’s right palm brushes the metal sheet, and immediately, a stinging heat like a million thorns set her hand ablaze. She flings her arm away, winces, and notes the parts of skin that contacted the tank is patched red with small cysts forming.

The propane tank can easily fit 200 gallons inside. With closer observation, she can hear the flow of water bubbling, churning in its mechanism, pushing out steaming sounds. Rebecca notes that the tank is connected by ductwork.

“What’re you doing, Rebecca!?” Chris explodes, and Rebecca jolts in place, bringing her consciousness back to the present where she remembers they are amid a zombie attack.

She plants her entire body flat onto the ground, detecting the cylinder stuck under the console through a thin gap. The console isn’t secured to the floor, so Rebecca tries budging it to no avail. It’s too heavy.

Rebecca shoves her arm into the gap; her fingers slid in successfully, but it’s stuck on the protruding bone of her wrist. She outstretches her fingers, the tip of it almost reaching the roundness she is seeking. She just needs a bit more distance.

“Rebecca! Out, now!” She can hear Chris warn from afar. “This is an order!”

“One second!” Rebecca thrusts in a bit harder, and a bit more of her wrist enters at the cost of rough friction scratching her wrist bone. Her nail catches it, and she rolls it underneath the pads of her fingers. Now she just needs to lea…

……Wait. Wait, wait, wait. She can’t leave. Her wrist is jammed. Rebecca can’t take it out even if she uses her entire body weight to lean against the pull. Her face is still planted and vulnerable.

Danger is advancing ever the closer. She can hear it even if she can’t see it. The irregular beats of staggering footsteps increase in volume, snarls getting curious. It won’t be long before she is discovered. But what other choice does Rebecca have now?

As if a sign from above, dim light starts to creep under the table as it lifts, freeing her wrist. Rebecca grabs the case securely into her hand and pulls it back.

Right behind her is Chris, forearm muscles pulsing in tension as he hoists the entire console, slamming it face first onto the two zombies eyeing at them both. They tumble backwards and groans.

Chris’ face darkens with rage, grabbing Rebecca’s shoulder around his arm as if to caution her reckless behaviours, and commands: “You. With me. Now.”

Rebecca, simply glad that she is still alive, nods and lets Chris pull her up in one forceful motion. As soon as Rebecca’s weight is back on her feet, he pushes her along with both arms, propping the rifle under his right arm, tunnelling his vision to the exit. But zombies are visible from all four corners. They are surrounded.

Abruptly, a cold arm wraps Chris from behind, ensnaring the captain in place to serve him on a platter to its zombie friends. Chris squeezes the rifle closer to his sides, and with the strength of his entire triceps, thrust the blunt edge of his bump stock into his assaulter’s torso. He can hear bones cracking, weakening, enough to free Chris of its tight grasp.

With practised ease, Chris adjusts his finger swiftly to the trigger; other hand over the handle in under a full second and fires at the next target leaping his way.

Rebecca wants to help Chris too. She presses down an empty space on her back. She had left her rifle next to the tank still. And now, the HK416 is idly resting behind five limping enemies with no intentions of letting her pass by.

That rifle is practically gone as far as she knows, so she unholsters her back-up pistol, her trusty Samurai’s Edge, tailored to her own needs and got her through thick and thin.

Rebecca knows she isn’t as much of a good shot as Chris is, lacking in almost a decade of combat experience behind Chris, but she kept up a fair deal of gun training and hand to hand combat during her research years for emergency purposes. And now, those skills are coming in handy.

Her shots are careful, only decisive ones of enemies that come between her way to the exit. Always looking over her blind spots in wariness because Rebecca knows one bite from a zombie is all it needs to take her out. She can’t be messing around here.

A zombie leaps directly into Rebecca as she heads checks, baring its fangs and curling its squirming fingers. Too close for a shot, she raises her arms to a block, tossing them aside when the pale hands advance closer to her neck. The nails are sharp, clawing into Rebecca’s skin as she shoves them away. Rebecca front kicks the thing away, and while it stumbles, gave her the perfect opportunity to take out its head in a burst shot.

But no matter how many enemies the two fended off, the path becomes more and more obscured by zombie heads and limbs, leaving no room for breath besides defending their own.

Gunshots other than their own starts firing around them. The other four comrades are clearing the way while guarding the exits.

“Captain! Rebecca!” Mike cries out.  

For a brief second, a window of opportunity surfaces, and their eyes catch sight of the clear line of exit between them and the zombies.

“Run! Just run!” Chris’ voice thunders over the gnarly crew of zombies.

But Rebecca didn’t need instructions for this one. They dash straight for the door, and when they passed, they didn’t stop either.

The others did a head start, already racing away; Chris and Rebecca eventually joining them at the end of the line, with Chris slamming the steel door in their enemies’ faces before he leaves. It will slow them briefly, but that won’t last forever.

The six of them sprint along the corridor, and a loud clang penetrates the air. Zombies had destroyed the entire metal door itself, following right behind, trying to overtake each other, despite the narrow width of the hallway that fits only two people side by side.

The hoard collides and tramples on each other, but their chase is relentless, showing no mercy until each and every one of their prey is devoured. Closing in distance, an inch at a time, but slowly and surely catching up to inevitable fatigued limbs of humans.

“W-We’re not going to make it, Ca-” Johnny, coming first in the sprint, sobs, but he isn’t allowed to slow down no matter even if his heavy backpack weighs him down, no matter how deep his leg sores. The sudden brake will trip everyone behind him, toppling his captain and colleagues together. And it will be all because of him. He can’t stop.

Chris can hear the stomping footsteps grow louder; he can feel it on the floor too, the wooden boards quaking in fury from withholding such strength and speed in the tight path. He turns his head, and the outreached arms of the zombies are within a few feet away from his own neck.

Chris had to think fast—no, don’t think. More time thinking means less action. They’re quickly approaching the end of the hallway several yards away, and beyond that darkness. It can be a dead end too, what then?

Till he hears a chime.

Tick, tick, tick.

He sees it. A grandfather clock propping up on the side of the wall, right before the cloud of darkness. Chris can use that.

First, it was Johnny who made it to the other side of the clock. Then Miguel, Gabriel. Then Rebecca. Then Mike. And when it was Chris turn, he spins his body 180 degrees, meeting the hoard eye to eye.

He claws all ten of his fingernails onto the intricate engravings into the heavy wood. With a heavy shove, pulls the entire seven feet tall clock sideways to barricade the corridor.

All can hear the break of the bell when it crashes and the mechanism within fails. The hourly melody starts playing abruptly in malfunction, failing its fundamental ability to read the current time. Only the crooked and solemn tone resonates throughout the hollow vicinity.

That won’t be enough. They can still crawl underneath, between and over the gaps of the wood. Chris readies aim between the gaps, waiting for the zombies to peek through.

But Chris can’t see any heads. Or any movement, matter of fact. They freeze at the call of the chimes, and after a few seconds, their bodies retreat. Over the gap, Chris can see zombies with their backs turned, returning into the darkness of the hallway once more like they were never there in the first place.

There is a moment of silence, first. A moment to catch their breath. But this moment doesn’t last when Chris storms towards Rebecca, grabbing her forearm, forcing her to take a backwards a step.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You coulda died!” Chris seethes with a face of pure rage; everyone clenches their fists in fear.

“C’mon now, Capt. Go easy on her.” Mike tries to stand between Chris and Rebecca, a valiant attempt to diffuse Chris’ temper, but is unsuccessful.

“No. There’s no need.” Rebecca assures him. This is something between her and her captain. Her own accountability she had decided to take on herself.

“Would you like to explain yourself?” Chris asks, his tone abrasive.

“It was important.” She tries to brush aside the issue. Rebecca can’t tell her about the metal case, not yet. He will be too protective about it.

Chris takes one big step to close the gap, she can feel the heat from his eyes scorching her.

“Chris! I need you to trust me on this!” Rebecca pleads, though it doesn’t provide the clarification Chris wanted at all.

“That’s Captain Redfield to you!” Chris roars, and all sounds turn still.

He pauses, immediately regretting his words and tone. Once again, Chris gazes directly into her eyes that displayed only sincerity. This isn’t like the open book personality Chris knows of her. Something is up. Something Rebecca doesn’t want to share. He can’t push her—what kind of person will that make him?

Only his final thought reaches her ears. “More important than your own life?”

The room turns silent. Rebecca’s answer says a lot without saying anything at all.

The grip tightens on her arm, and Rebecca flinches. This is when Chris sees the state of the arm he is grabbing—secondary burns, bruised wrist, and strips of fresh blood free-flowing from both arms.

“…Get her fixed up.” Chris releases the arm gently, so it doesn’t fall too hard, releasing out a heavy sigh that sounds older than his years.

“Roger, Captain.” Johnny lets down the backpack of supplies with relief.

“Anyone else injured?” Chris queries the group, significantly calmer since his reflection. He casts his eyes over everyone, deliberately avoiding Rebecca’s.

“I think I broke my foot.” Gabriel was running fine before, but after the adrenaline had died down, he begins to feel every pain on his leg. He now staggers and the injured foot is hovered slightly.

“Let me have a look.” Rebecca gets down onto her knees to examine the foot. She advises him to roll up his pant leg. The spot is swollen red and soft, and it flinches when touched. Rebecca asks him to move his ankle: he can’t.

“It’s a fracture. You might not be able to move your leg for a while.” Rebecca pats herself up. “Ice would be ideal here but nothing we can do now. There are some bandages in the first aid. That should help with the swelling.”

“Alrighty, I needa resupply anyway! Those zombies took quite a few mags.” Mike is already three magazines down in his front pouch.

Rebecca needs a resupply too; there should be spare rifle in there for emergencies. Her Samurai’s Edge is reliable, but she needs something stronger if she wants to survive the rest of this journey. She can’t risk turning back and aggravating the zombie hoard once more.

The fresh face unzips the backpack, reaching in. Initially, puzzled, then slowly morphs into the face of horror. His calm searching turns into frustrated shuffling, emptying out the contents of the bag one by one.

Lying on the ground are bags after bags of military rations, counting to fifty bags. After a while, he gives up. Everyone is fully aware now of his royal fuck up. Johnny had picked up the wrong backpack on his way in.

“Come on, rookie! You had one job!” Gabriel starts yelling, losing whatever composure he had just a moment ago.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry, sir!” repeats Johnny’s brittle apologies, fists trembling.

“Qué pinche pendejo eres… tch.” Miguel grumbles to himself, and as an act of self-comfort, massages his hand with each other and feeling the wedding ring on his hand.

“You motherfucker!” Gabriel tries to rise, and almost trips over his broken ankle when he finds it unsteady. Johnny rushes in to support him.

“Mind ya business!” Gabriel flails his arms at the poor child, before lowering himself down slowly through a strained grunt. “I’ve got a fucking broken leg here ‘cause of you! You shoulda be glad I can’t whoop your ass right now! Once this foot is working again, you’ll be sorry!”

“It’s not that bad, really…” Mike tries to console, but this time, it’s more a desperate attempt for self-reassurance.

“Stay out of this, American.” Gabriel snaps back.

“Enough. Both of you. We’ll find a way out of this.” Chris interrupts before things escalate too far.

“Tch. And what do you suggest, Captain?” Miguel scoffs.

There’s no point in changing what can’t be changed. They can only adapt to what they have not. Be it without supplies or ammo. There is always a way around, if it means taking things slow or conserving ammo for their future fights. However…

Chris peeks at Rebecca’s arm. Her skin is turning white from blood loss. She needs first aid, ASAP.

“Let’s look around. Maybe there are supplies.” Chris says.

“There better be. This leg’s not gonna fix itself.”

KITCHEN / LAUNDRY – 3:39 AM.

Johnny had offered to carry Gabriel, but he refused without sparing a glance at the rookie’s face. But he didn’t complain when Miguel haul him instead, all whilst announcing their passive aggression about incompetent American soldiers and how they can only trust each other.

Meanwhile, Chris is focused on getting problems solved than whining about them. There must be a weaponry, maybe medical supplies somewhere in this damn fancy house. If only he can figure out how this foreign layout works.

The end of the corridor spreads out into a large open space, giving them much needed room to explore and not bump into each other shoulder to shoulder. There is a kitchen if they continue straight, enough to fit an army of private chefs with a glass room of wine display proudly to the side.

And towards the right, there is a laundry room. Beside it, a door that hangs a sign: [STORAGE AREA]

Hopefully they will find what they need here.

STORAGE ROOM – 3:41 AM.

For a storage room, it is quite spacious. Cardboard boxes stack high to the ceiling around the room, labelled with its contained items: [CLEANING], [MEDICAL], [AMMUNITION]. They look around potential hiding spots for zombies: there is none. It seems like they are safe for now. And for that, the unit is relieved.

“Alright. Let’s get you fixed up.” Rebecca immediately starts rummaging through the medical drawer. Miguel carries and rests the injured onto a large cardboard box for his treatment, then finds himself in the ammunition box.

This detour is much welcomed by everyone. After restocking what they need, hope has returned—whatever they can afford in the present state of things—uncoiling the tension brewing inside each of the soldiers. Chris can even hear Mike’s good-humoured banter ripples a warm laugh through Gabriel and Miguel. And Johnny is chattering next to them.

Chris relaxes his guard too, finally, for the first time today. As captain, he is always expected to be one to straighten his subordinates. And he does. Sometimes even at the cost of having his emotions get to him. Like just now, with Rebecca.

Sometimes, what the team needs is not just a guy yelling at their faces, but rather someone with Mike’s charm, or Rebecca’s friendliness to light up the room and boost squad morale.

Which Chris appreciated them for—doing the things he can’t do as captain. As captain, he must always remain a respectful distance from his team. He is the most senior member of the squad and must act that way even when situations are dire.

That got him thinking about his old team, still nowhere to be found, where their long history of acquaintance allows the lines of authority to blur. Many of those missions with them are often exchanged with laughs…

Chris bumps his arm onto a table beside him. Atop lays a vintage typewriter, a piece of paper is stuck to it.

It has been an unspoken protocol between S.T.A.R.S to document their adventures on the go, in case an accident occurs, so their stories are remembered and not forgotten. That ritual followed Chris and his team into B.S.A.A. He picks up the note; the ink is still very faintly lukewarm.

To whoever is reading this,

There is something really creepy about this mansion. It’s just too dang quiet. Where on earth is everyone? I know that Arias should be on a plane to a different continent now, so nobody’s home but—

“…Ch-.” A voice can be heard in the air while he reads; he pushes the sound out to focus.

…But I feel a chill down my back. If you’re in this room now, ge—

A heavy hand slams onto the table, winces, then goes back on the table again. The entire forearm is bandaged, and the palm is wrapped in some translucent cling film.

“Chris! I’m talking to you.” Rebecca taps her foot impatiently.

“And I heard you. You don’t have to say my name twice.” Chris looks at her for a second and brings his eyes down back to paper, reading between the blurred lines. “I saw you were tending to Gabriel when you were in a much worse state. You should prioritise yourself first.”

“I actually called you three times!” Rebecca clicks her tongue, crossing her arms now.

Chris shrugs. Rebecca continues when she realises he isn’t going to say anything else.

“I can take care of myself, don’t worry, captain.” She utters the word captain with much disdain that it irks his eyebrow slightly.

“Suit yourself.” Chris pretends to read, but Rebecca is still staring intently, so he asks: “How can I help you, Chambers?”

She picks the paper out of his hands, and declares: “Maybe we should address the elephant in the room.”

“There is nothing to discuss.” Chrisfolds his arms to match hers.

“Clearly there is. Or you wouldn’t be ignoring me.” Rebecca’s voice comes out a little louder than it should, sounding throughout the room as everyone peeks at the duo. Chris doesn’t need an audience for their petty drama, lest appearing unprofessional to his own personnel.

“Let’s talk outside.”

The two promptly walk to the exit, with Rebecca behind Chris so he can’t escape. They leave the room, facing the wet laundry, as Chris closes the door behind him to avoid prying ears.

“Alright, talk then.” He begins, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.For a man like Chris, he can be cold when he is upset. Even among his close ones. But there is still a bit of warmth in his voice, a bit of unspoken openness to listen. But for Chris to be convinced, it is still highly dependent on what Rebecca says next.

“Hey- I just want to say.” All of a sudden not knowing where to start, or when. After trying to get Chris to make peace with her all day, she finally has his attention. But when the moment comes, Rebecca is lost for words. Stuck behind her throat and tongue ice frozen.

“I know you don’t want me here. Putting my life in danger.” says Rebecca quietly.

“Like I said, you are free to do what you want.” Chris deadpans. “…And you did. What’s done is done.”

“Hey, don’t give me that. C’mon, Chris. You know it would be better if I was here. I know this virus better than you do. I’ve been researching this for months, and- and- you know my radio won’t reach you in here with the signal jammed.”

“Everything beyond these doors are unknown territory. Did you forget five of our best agents went MIA here?” Chris releases one long, arduous breath.

Rebecca is silent. She hasn’t forgotten, will never forget if the agents are dead—but doing anything is better than doing nothing. She will rather put her life at risk than the waiting game just to be told her friends are dead. “Yes. I know that. But you need me here.”

“And what I need most, is for you to be safe.” Chris places both hands firmly on her shoulders, sighs, and lets go.

Chris admits; there is truth in her words. The virus is alive, a living subject. They must tread carefully. And who else knows about this virus better than Rebecca? She may be the means of life or death.

“We are still a team. We watch each other’s back. We trust each other.” Rebecca hesitates for a moment, then continues. “…Just like S.T.A.R.S, the good old days.”

Chris tries to push away the betrayal from the back of his mind and focus only on the good parts of the memories. But it didn’t work. The clockwork of life kept running, wondering if the same fate will happen to him once more.

Trust? How long has Chris trusted someone? Put his life on the line of other people’s desires, capabilities? How many people have died trying? When has that ever worked out for Chris? He knows that the only person he can rely on saving himself and others is his own self.

Abruptly, his thought process is interrupted by cheers cascading from the other side of the door. Chris opens the door, and Rebecca’s curiosity peeks inside.

The crowd is cheering at Miguel, passing around bottled water around the circle. In this house trapped with years’ worth of heat, rotted smell preserved in humidity, water is a found treasure to these men. Especially after the laborious sprint earlier, they can feel half of their bodies’ liquid lost, throat turning dry and lips crackling.

Rebecca recalls her discovery about the water supply. She remembers warning the crew about this. Yet through the corner of her eyes, she sees Gabriel cracking open the bottle seal, shimmying his mask out the way, his lips touching the lip of the plastic bottle.

“DON’T DRINK THAT!” She yelps, as loud as she can possibly muster.

And everything happened all at once.

STORAGE ROOM – 3:57 AM

Gas starts to sizzle into the room through tightened air pressure, escaping rapidly into the space. Engulfed in smoke, Rebecca clutches onto her mask, hoping that the cheap material will be sufficient. At the minimum providing a bit of resistance before they remove themselves from the smoke-filled room.  

“Squad! Make your way to the exit!” Chris orders.

Chris and Rebecca guide the team out one by one. Individuals start shuffling out of the mist from within. Johnny comes through first, then Mike, Miguel, and Johnny.

“Captain!” Johnny cries, pointing a wobbly finger into the puffs of smoke. “He’s still…”

Faintly from the haze, a figure manifests, sprawling on the floor. It grunts in fear, choking and coughing with arms extended.

“I… I can’t move! My… my leg…” His facial features slowly uncover from the smoke, and there is Gabriel desperately dragging along his broken foot towards the door. The injured had completely slipped Chris’ mind. He needs to get him out of there, now.

Chris pushes himself inside, but Mike grabs him before his foot makes its way in. Mike utters in grave realisation: “He’s unmasked.”

“I swear to god I’m alright! I swear on my life!” Gabriel cries even louder, swallowing a lump of smoke into his chest, and he chokes. “I didn’t drink the water!”

“Captain… what do we do?” asks Miguel, voice softening in desperation. He knows the answer to that question, but Miguel refutes that option, denying it like a child in the face of loss. “Captain! What do I do?”

Chris does not say a thing, nor it is his place. This farewell is reserved between him and his friend. Then afterwards, Chris must do what must be done.

“Miguel… ¡No me dejes aquí!” They can barely hear Gabriel’s sobs over the continuous hissing, louder through time, breaking free of the closed room to contaminate the air outside too.

That is, until Rebecca cuts in: “It’s not too late. The gas is useless by itself, as long as he didn’t drink the water. He’s going to be fine. But we shouldn’t risk it… Just in case.”

“Fuck this, I’m not leaving him there.” Miguel sprints past Chris and Mike into the white without looking back. They try to grab hold of him before he does anything reckless, but Miguel flings them away. “I’m not leaving him behind. We grew up in the same town. Enlisted together. Same squad for years. I’m not letting him go now.”  

Miguel searches inside the fog, and finding the lightly conscioused Gabriel quivering with his chest on the floor. Miguel hauls Gabriel’s body weight onto his own.

“We’re getting out of here alive, Gabito.” Miguel swings an arm around his friend’s shoulder, pulling Gabriel’s feeble foot upwards and lets his torso limp over himself.

“Tch c’mon, haven’t we been through everything already? I’ve seen you worse when you broke your arm and ribs.”

“I remember that. You carried me all the way back to camp just like this.” Gabriel speaks with a mellow voice in reminiscence. Miguel can hear something clicking its throat, sinisterly gargling the air. Miguel pauses to look around, there is no other presence. Right, he already checked the room. It’s safe. So, he continues forward.

“And we will get through this one too. Your abuelita will be heartbroken if you’re gone. I can’t do that to her.” They are approaching closer to the ray of light at the end of the door. Gabriel falls to his side.  

“Hang on, man! I’ll get you out of here. You can trus—”

Rebecca hears a clack, the sound she recognises to be bones snapping in half. She can’t see where Gabriel and Miguel are, with the fog blurring her sight. The vague silhouettes that can be seen before are now gone.

She leans in, peeking into fuzziness, but Chris’ arm moves in front of her, blocking her from getting any closer. He, too, is cautious of the sound.

“What’s taking them so long?” Mike calls out their names but there is no response from the other end. “That’s it, I’m heading in.”

“Mike, wait!” cries Chris.

Mike steps inside, warily inspecting. When he lifts the other foot, he almost trips. “What the—?” He shifts his leg around some more.

“I can’t move my foot!!” Mike’s shrieks are like little girl squeals throwing a tantrum. He wiggles back and forth to readjust balance with all his might. “Eek! Some slimy shit’s holding me down!!”

“Get it off me, get it off me!” The three of them attempt to pull Mike out and the foot lifts into the air. As if noticing the traction, the mist yanks Mike’s leg backwards. “Fuck shit fuck fuck!! Lord have mercy!!”

What is this power? How can it be this strong? There shouldn’t be anyone else in the room, Chris had already done all the check spots. The only people still in the room are just Gabriel and Miguel. What happened to the two of them anyway?

Mike had enough; he pulls out his handgun and shoots at the general direction of the force. The strength loosens, and they can see the whole foot now and the mysterious force dragging him back.

A bloody hand fastens around Mike’s ankle, fingers tightening sturdily around the soft skin. Another hand appears abruptly and secures right above the other hand. It has a different complexion, a silver coated wedding band over its ring finger. This is Miguel’s ring.

Something can be heard from within the fog, distinctly Gabriel’s voice.

“Mike… we’re having a party in here. Come join us!” The cheerful tone sends goosebumps rushing down Mike’s back.

“Shit! It can talk!?” Chris tries to pull the leg again, but it’s planted to the floor.

“It’s okay, Mike. Let’s have a lot of fun!” This doesn’t even sound like Miguel, but it is his voice.

There’s a bullet hole through its palm from Mike’s shot. It bleeds all over the other hand, still able to grab persistently despite suffering from such a wound.

“No, no, no! This… This isn’t supposed to happen!!” It shouldn’t be possible for the virus to activate only on gas alone, Rebecca was confident about this. It was one of the key implementations of this virus for its remote activation.  

Yet the impossible is right there in front of her, the evidence of the vein-popping, skin-crackling bloody hand lay bare contradicting her every hypothesis.

Mike’s foot stumble further backwards, his hamstring swallowed now. The shrieks are turning into despair, losing his childish tone, becoming more pleading, demanding.

Chris draws his dagger from his holster and stabs straight down into the mist, briefly missing Mike’s foot and directly into both palms, skewering the two hands together. Both hands let go simultaneously, withdrawing into the white once more.

“Now!” Chris orders, and the four of them backs away from the entrance, with Chris slamming the door shut behind. He secures the door with his entire back, feeling the full force of banging. He growls out: “Barricade!”

Rebecca, Mike and Johnny shuffle around, dragging a table, cabinets, chairs—anything heavy to prop in front of the door. Chris stuffs the tiny door gap with vintage draperies to confine the poisonous air, taken directly from the curtain racks itself.

Whatever that is left of Gabriel and Miguel can still be heard snarling, clicking their throats, gargling air beyond the closed door. Occasionally muttering to themselves, pleading the rest on the other side to open the door ever so slightly with their gentle persuasion.

LAUNDRY – 4:06 AM

“I thought I was dead meat for sure.” Mike leans against the other side of the wall, checking his own foot. There is a purple bruise on his skin, but his ankle moves freely. All his joints are fine; nothing is twisted. “Thanks, you guys.”

Rebecca and Chris nods.

“So we lost two, huh…” Mike dry laughs at the situation, even when there is nothing funny going on right now.

There is another moment of silence as each of them thinks about their own fate in this mansion. With their numbers dropped by a third, their chance of survival is looking rather slim.

“Hey, if it helps, I never like those two anyway.” Mike tries to break the suffocating atmosphere with some humour, before a voice that had been quiet for a while suddenly speaks up.

“Gabriel and Miguel wouldn’t have died if he didn’t get false info.” utters Johnny.

“You, rookie?” Mike stops to eye Johnny up and down, who is currently sitting right next to him, with his hands and definitely his ass clenched too. “Defending the guys who yelled at your face?”

“It was ‘cause of my own fuck-up.” Johnny clenches his own fist, guilt dripping through every word. “They shouldn’t have died regardless.”

“In this line of work, people die.” Chris states. It’s a matter of fact. They all knew what they signed up for. “Don’t take it personally.”

“Even so… If they did know about the gas, they would have been alive. At least, Miguel would have been!” Johnny stares directly at Rebecca for responsibility.

When confronted directly, Rebecca hesitates, she knows the blood is in her hands. “This… This is also news to me too… I have read the reports multiple times, there is no mention that A-Virus is capable of such transmission. It doesn’t match up to the research.”

“What if the report was a plant?” Johnny asks. “Arias sent fake data to your email.”

“It can’t be. Each transaction requires a single use security token to grant access to my private cloud storage. This token can only be authenticated via fingerprint recognition. So Leon must have sent the files himself.” Rebecca clarifies. In her mind, her system is impenetrable, mostly…

“And what if he’s dead? Or held hostage? Arias could force his thumb to send whatever he wants.”

Rebecca pauses, then she speaks: “That is a possibility.”

“Clearly, you have not thought of everything.” Johnny leans back.

If Johnny’s theories are right... Rebecca instinctually pats down her back pocket, feeling the cylinder case she tried so hard to save in the laboratory room... then this would have been a waste.

“You—” Chris grabs Johnny on the arm in an uncomfortable angle, squeezing it hard for a lesson. “Enough, kid. I don’t need you going around insulting the best B.O.W. tech I know. She’s doing everything she can. So zip it, focus on your own shit, and follow my orders as I tell you. And I’m ordering you to be quiet.”

“Fine, fine. I got it.” Johnny shrugs off Chris’ hand and rises. “Where’s that same energy to the doctor, huh?” He walks towards a pillar far from the three of them but still within sight.

Chris considered raising his voice, but he drops the idea. Instead, he plops down onto the ground next to Rebecca, patting on her head like he would to his own sister. “Never mind that guy. He’ll lose that attitude real soon. I remember I used to be the same rookie who would talk back to my captain too. Got my ass whooped. Never did that again. At least, not in front of their faces. Maybe I’m going too easy on these fresh ones, who knows…”

A rare moment of gratitude flashes across Rebecca’s eyes; Chris simply dismisses it with a wave. It’s his job to ensure they focus on the present of objective. Not their past, nor their failures. Moreover, B.O.W. techs are more valuable than brawny field soldiers like himself by the hundreds.

Rebecca reaches for something in her bag, and a paper floats to the floor, crumpled from action.

“It’s the letter I took from you.” She should give this back.

He refuses, instead says: “Let’s read it together.”

Trust is rebuilding again, brick by brick.

Chris whistles at the other two and Mike carries himself towards them. Johnny does not move, hand on cheek looking at everything but them even if he did hear the captain. Mike and Rebecca exchange a ‘just let him be’ glance with Chris.

So, Chris unfolds the paper, and reads it out loud, from the part he left off in the storage room.

Get out of there this instant. We think the storage room is booby trapped. I thought the gas was going to turn all of us, but I feel fine. Carlos and Jill though…are off. I accidentally brushed against them, and they felt… cold. When I try talking to them, they seem distracted for a split second. Far off.

Or it could be a false alarm. We don’t know yet. We decided to split into teams for efficiency: Jill and Ada to retrieve the sample while Leon, Carlos shall investigate the pipes. And for me… we’ll see. Once we’re done, we will meet up and get the fuck out of here. I trust Rebecca and the team; we would get through this. We always find a way.

If this is you reading, Arias, get shit on, sucker! The sample will be ours, good riddance to your little game! Justice prevails once more!

There is a hand drawn winky face next to it. Chris and Rebecca scoffs, that optimistic trusting behaviour. So typical of you. And oh, so wrong you were about everything.

“So, the lab, huh? That’s the one by the corridor?” asks Mike.

“Most likely. I know three people was last seen on the ground floor, the others on the top floor. And it’s likely Carlos and Jill to be turned first, according to Leon.” answers Rebecca.

“Could they have split up to divide numbers so they can infect them?” asks Chris.

“That explains why they went MIA. Either infected, or worse, dead.” Mike comments, but none of this is looking too favourable on their side right now.

Chris shakes his head. “I don’t think it’ll be so easy. I know these guys. They’re not the kind to give up without a fight. And these guys are some great fighters.”

Rebecca nods reluctantly. “True—That is, if they know a zombie is among them. These zombies can fucking talk. They wouldn’t have seen it coming. And from what we saw today, they can blend in and entice with their human speech. We have to be very careful.”

What’s to say one of them is not between them now? But she seals her tongue from making such bold statement. Rebecca eyes over a suspicious glance at everyone, including Johnny, checking for any irregularities. None she can notice from a fair distance away.

“But how does the infection work then? Was Gabriel bitten?” Mike asks.

“No, it was only a fracture. The bite marks would be distinct. He only made contact with the ga—” Rebecca pauses.

Her brain starts chugging, like a cogwheel in a complicated mechanism with fragments of facts. Neither of the boys dare to interrupt Rebecca from her thoughts. When she is in the zone, nothing anyone say will get into her head. And it clicks.

“Arias, you sneaky bastard…” She grins. She would kiss her brain right now if she could.

Chris and Mike look at each other in confusion.

“The poisoned water is all around us. It’s the air.” Rebecca elaborates, smiling wide the entire time after her newfound discovery. 

“The air?” Chris and Mike gasps in unison.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that when you stepped inside the house, it’s musty?” She pauses to let the boys think. “But the outside, it’s cool.”  

“Well, there must have been residual heat from the day still trapped in the house.” Mike comments. It seems abandoned for a long time after all.

“What residual heat during April? It should still be dry season in Querétaro. It’s the humidity! Arias had been pumping up the humidity in the house, that’s why mould is everywhere.”

“And how does that tie to—” Halfway through Mike’s sentence, he snaps his fingers. “Oh.”

“The water supply in the humidifier, of course.” Chris grins, nodding his head in approval.

“The bottled water in the storage is bait. It never had anything to do with the virus.” Rebecca points at Chris and does an a-ha! sound. “The tank in the laboratory is actually just a large-scale humidifier, sending the virus through water vapours in the air. All around us. That’s what those employees were guarding.”

“Gabriel was the only one who took off his mask.” Mike hits his palm with a fist. “And Miguel was infected by being bitten. Then why was Carlos and Jill the ones infected?”

“They had all been infected since the beginning.” Rebecca says, which is the scariest part about this whole operation. What would have happened if Rebecca never suggested the masks?

She continues: “How it activates, I have no clue. The speed of activation drastically varies from person to person so far. The A-Virus attacks always happen either immediately, or up to an hour. I wonder if it’s individual resistance to the virus.”

“Regardless! That’s a major discovery!” Mike launches himself up in joy. “My lord, you’re a genius, Rebecca!”

“As long as we keep our masks on, we should be fine.” Rebecca states, for real this time.

“I’ll let Johnny know the good news.” Mike scoots off. It’s just Rebecca and Chris alone now.

Rebecca takes in a nervous gulp now they are alone. She had forgotten to tell him the most important thing. Rebecca owes him that at least. “Hey, Chris… About the metal case…”

“It’s okay, Becca.” Chris shakes his head understandingly. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Only if you want to. Only when you’re ready. Because we’re going to see this to the end.”

“The both of us?” Rebecca suggests with much confidence.

“With everyone. I’ll make sure we all get back home.” Chris reassures, and this time, he can see clearly what lies at the end of the rainbow.

But what they didn’t know, is that during their heartfelt revelation, Johnny had let a tear fall in private, lifting his mask ever so slightly to wipe the wateriness from his cheek.

TFD SERIES MASTERLIST // RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST

MY BELOVED BETAS: @scar-crossedlvrs @jellybonbons the plot really boggle my brain i made so many changes last min. my first longfic so forgive me. on the bright side, we're so close to the finale omg!! the next chapter will take me a while, just a heads up! whoever is still reading this, i appreciate you guys for still staying tuned and from the bottom of my heart, thank you for still believing in me. i love you all sm.

TAGLIST:

@jellybonbons @ovaryacted @daydreamrot @madcap-riflette @access--granted

@obsolescent @briermelli @secretiveauthor @ghosty-frog @navstuffs

@slowcryinginthedark @rentaldarling @lesbntired @redvleanli @vinsiliors

@whoisgami @gaylorvader @wxwieeee @eddsthemunson

[mithliya]

"allowing 15-17 year olds to marry is totally the same as having 7 yo girls getting raped by 40 yo moids as a cultural practice im very smart"

and no i dont think marrying 15 year olds should be allowed either but like come the fuck on those arent even remotely the same

“as a cultural practice” 😐 u know the wild thing is some of u genuinely think that children aren’t getting married off in the west and that every eastern child is getting married off. the black & white thinking just makes u look dumb. despite living in a muslim & middle eastern nation, i have not met a single person in my generation who was married off as a child to an older man. not one. bc statistically child marriage in the middle east (especially under 15 years old) does not have the rates u imagine it to have:

but bc of where my country is geographically located, yall assume this is some common normal “cultural practice” that we are all too dumb to ever criticise ourselves. u see brown skin and assume “surely this person believes pedophilia is ok”. meanwhile statistically, while no child should go through it, it is far from being the norm and the vast majority of us are very aware it is wrong & pedophilic. statistically, most child marriages worldwide occurred when the girls were over 15 also which apparently is somehow justifiable to u, which says a lot about u here.

but i guess it’s ok pedophilia is happening in the west bc if it’s a 12 year old being married off then it’s not as bad all of a sudden, bc u imagine child marriages everywhere else typically involve seven year olds (which even in regions where child marriage is more common like south asia, is usually not the case at all). we will have to disagree there bc i think no matter the frequency and the race and the age in which child marriage occurs, it’s not ok, but clearly ur priorities lie more with arguing white men are superior so u would rather downplay their pedophilia.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2017/02/10/why-does-the-united-states-still-let-12-year-old-girls-get-married/

this is exactly what i mean when i say y’all don’t care about issues like fgm and child marriage bc u clearly don’t know shit about it, u just use it to make racist generalisations & assumptions to justify why u look down on anyone who isn’t white

so much for ur superior culture, seems ur mindset isn’t that different to other pedos.

[linkons-most-wanted]

Decoherence reaction 💫🍎

I had my gems and stamina saved, so of course I had to get both memories immediately and watch them today 🥺 There will be spoilers below but Tumblr mobile doesn't respect the "keep reading" content break so I'm gonna try to make sure this is long enough and spoiler-free before the break. 😅

While I kinda wish the event had a mini game, I love how beautiful and thematic it is. Having moments in the main timeline that sort of quietly mirror the myth timeline is always just, yes, yum.

Alright, from this point, DECOHERENCE SPOILERS BELOW.

Okay, first off, this myth is so sci-fi and I LOVE that we're getting something futurey! I also love the medieval and fairy tale vibes, it's just great to get the variety and I think Caleb's such a good character for it.

Science!

First off, the name of the myth Decoherence, specifically references the concept from Quantum Mechanics. I'll dig deeper into it and get the verbatim quotes as I add the myth to my lore database, but for now, recall how the experiment summaries mention issues of quantum entanglement between them and planet-ending consequences if their energy is allowed to resonate too much. Caleb mentions an "interference module", and in quantum physics, Decoherence describes when "interference effects are artificially or spontaneously suppressed". Note here that "interference" in quantum mechanics means that one particle can affect the other. So, poetically, decoherence describes the way that the modifications are preventing MC and Caleb from being together.

Creation and destruction

But it goes a layer deeper. MC and Caleb's power is "from the same source" and their powers are Destruction (destructio) and Creation (creatio) respectively. Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin, and many religions and belief systems venerate both gods/concepts of creation and destruction. For example, part of what Yin & Yang represents is creation and destruction.

Notably, the "energy signature" of Caleb in CN is 新生 which is more directly translated as "rebirth". I think this is a notable nuance because then both A-01 and X-02 have had "rebirth" energy, which foreshadows their rebirth into the main timeline. I trust the localization in tha I agree that "Creation" is clearest in setting up these themes, but I think it's worth noting that it can also be understood as "rebirth", especially since MC specifically mentions feeling a "sense of rebirth" (iirc during her vision at the end, but I'll have to double check).

Primordial chaos

So, what is the shared source of creation and destruction? Primordial Chaos itself. Creation and Destruction cycle around each other, sustaining life as we know it, and whenever they are truly combined, all that can exist is the infinite void but also infinite potential. I'm pretty sure it's early in this myth that MC/A-02 mentions thinking that she and Caleb are perhaps destined to always orbit around each other--this is a reference to the cycle of creation/destruction, which is also explicitly mentioned in the excerpts from the Philosian history book.

And not only that, but when MC and Caleb have their shared fate of destruction at the end of the Loneroad Together kindled scene, we see a celestial phenomenon begin at their location--something akin to a star exploding. But then MC has a vision right after of new stars being born, and a voice saying "let's go home". So, we see that when Creation and Destruction are united, the world ceases to exist--but the cycle still continues and the world is reborn from the chaos/void again.

It's subtle, but I think this supports the idea that the writers are setting us up to see Philos and Earth as a time loop. By having the events of Philos be in the "future" but also happen "before" the main timeline, you set up the idea of a loop/ouroborus. Caleb/X-02 "remembers" earth but is also heading to earth. The main story also has specific mentions of the Traceback II being caught in an "endless loop" as it attempts to get to Earth.

Power exchange

What I also think is so beautiful about this story is that both MC and Caleb here are vessels for that power. Either can hold the power of creation or destruction--it's not specifically gendered. Though Caleb ends up carrying the more "taboo" power of destruction, he started with the power of creation, and it's specifically because he had that creative, compassionate power that he decided to take on MC's fate of carrying the power of destruction.

We're in this together

On a very personal level, I love that this iteration of MC refuses to let him die by himself. She understands that their fates and their powers are fundamentally interconnected. It's absolutely no criticism of the story, but both of Zayne's myths and Xavier's Shooting Star myth have this theme of the LI abandoning/leaving MC in order to save her, and ugh, it kills me. (They made me cry, they're such good stories, but whyyyyyy) So I loved that MC here was like "absolutely not, what kind of life will I have if I lose my only friend?"

Comparing to other myths

Overall, I think this myth was exactly what we saw on the wrapper. Especially with one of the Kindled moments being pretty clearly the end of the story and them dying together (I say this as someone who's very familiar with the tropes here, not that it should have been obvious to everyone) I got the setup and the arc that I'd expect.

It's an interesting contrast to the other myths, which I felt like kept me guessing more. It may just be the bias of tropes I'm familiar with, or that they kept the story more straightforward here (but it's still very impactful, don't get me wrong).

Notably, we now also have both Sylus's and Caleb's myths seeming to depict Philos's end-of-days, which hints at parallel timelines and perhaps that the 6th LI's Philos myth will also be apocalyptic.

What's in a name?

I immediatley had the sense that something was getting lost in translation when MC names Caleb in the first part of the myth. In EN, they decided to have her basically come up with an anagram that took me like, waaaay too long to figure out: "Calming, encouraging, bright... Caleb".

In CN she just says the name, 夏以書, Xia Yishu. (In simplified CN it's 以昼, Yizhou, per the wiki.) Notably, 夏 (Xia) is the character for the adjective form of summer (!!!) which relates to that being such a key theme for them.

以昼, the simplified CN name, translates as "daytime", literally "by day". (書 can also mean "day" but it has more alternate translations so the machine translation struggles with it)

So, as she stands out in the daytime summer sun for the first time, she names him, "Summer Day" 🥹 Just.... MY HEART.

Brother, where art thou

Saving the best for last--when I first finished the myth, I was surprised there weren't any brother/sibling references. Then I went "hmmm I bet there" and sure enough, here's how Caleb introduces himself to MC the very first time he talks to her:

CN: 我是X-02,你的哥哥。 MTL: I am X-02, your brother.

哥哥 of course being gēgē, i.e. "older brother".

When they're talking about why he wants to take her places, he says this:

CN: 哥哥就是要帶妹妹去她想去的所有地方。

MTL: The brother wants to take his sister to all the places she wants to go.

妹妹 being mèimei, i.e. "younger sister"

Notably, the CN also mentions the AI can only "strip keywords" it knows about--the EN is a little more vague, I think Caleb says it can only "erase memories" it knows about. So, the CN sets it up more clearly that the AI system gives her the two keywords to erase. And those are X-02 and... you guessed it... gege. Brother.

So towards the end when in EN he asks "what does 'friend' mean to you?" yeah, he's asking "what does 'brother' mean to you" 🥺

What I especially like about the brother/sister titles in this myth is that they're clearly symbolic--they're from the 'same source' but they weren't raised as 'siblings' in any meaningful way. (neither of them really had a childhood to speak of.) There's instead this more interesting question of, "with this intensity of love/bond, are we family? what does that mean to us?" and that's a theme that runs throughout their relationship. Notably, I'm of the opinion that couple is a family--so I love the way this theme explores naivety, love, devotion, etc.

Final thoughts (for now)

I'll be eagerly awaiting Farewell Dreamscape as we progress through the event, and will probably have more thoughts when that's out!

For now, I'm looking forward to diving deep into Homecoming Wings as I add it to the lore resource and looking for all the connections there.

Until then...

...Let's go home. 💫💕