#it's unknown how many fugitives were still on the run after 3 years but the number has to be incredibly small i would think. on average

[numbuh]

Do you think the decommissioning squad has a way to make sure people don’t just. Write down somewhere that they were in the KND

great question! i think, even if an operative did that, they wouldn't understand it? like, if you just wrote "you were in the knd. you were numbuh [#]" it would read like gibberish. in operation end, the way post-decom numbuhs 2 to 5 reacted to nigel claiming they were kids next door was disastrous. even if you wrote a long, elaborate explanation of what the knd is/does and claimed they wiped your memories... would you believe it? would you leave some kind of evidence to convince yourself?

if yes, what would you do with that information? the memories aren't coming back. you can't interact with your old sector/knd friends because it's not allowed. if there's no other evidence, you'd have to rely on what little your parents and other friends knew to confirm you were really an operative. you don't even remember how to fight (sure, maybe some reflex stuff or only if provoked a certain way, ie. numbuh 4 punching chad right in the face) so it'd be setting yourself up for failure/missing a life you can't get back to. snooping around for secrets or trying to play rogue tnd (without even knowing about it) will only put you and other operatives at risk.

on the other hand, it could backfire from the very start: you believe it, but you don't care. you're a teenager now. why should you care? those little kids fighting supervillains aren't your problem. the squad may consider that outcome more often than not because that's how it's supposed to be. being indifferent or cynical about kids and just living your life as if nothing happened. you also might join the evil teens despite any indifference. that, and you betrayed the knd by purposely writing down all that info for your post-decom self to begin with. what if someone else finds it? if you're quiet about it, no one has to find out. good or bad.

regardless, i feel there would be some sort of effort to get rid of knd stuff at home before getting decommissioned. maybe it's another honesty/loyalty thing and you would hand over all your 2x4 tech and such to your sector leader the night before (if you're not the leader, that is)... traitors would hide things and lie that they've given everything they've got. majority of stuff should be in the treehouse anyway. or maybe the squad checks the house when they bring the operative back (or while someone else brings them back, like 5 did for maurice,) which is really jarring if they're aware of it. these weird kids are going through their stuff LOL. most parents would be oblivious. the squad could miss anything hidden super well like a paper. they're not there to waste time looking through every nook and cranny of your home unless it's urgent, if they go through it at all. certain things can stay. anything with your numbuh on it that's not gear will just look like a random favorite number after decom. really depends on what you think: would they even bother to check houses for things like that? is it the standard or is it just something they do at random/when an operative is suspicious or important?

i have the belief that it's surprisingly easy to become a fugitive and stay one for a short while— as long as you know what you're doing. most kids wouldn't have the idea to pull wires out of a g.o.g.e.t.t.e.r. (in space no less??) or chad's idea to attach his mp3 player to the speaker in one to cause a crash, even if those were both arguably reckless examples (nigel was 100% correct that he and chad could've died.) i would imagine that mayyybe some things get overlooked by 86 and the squad and, in retrospect, really shouldn't have been. things that might get them an earful from their supreme leader later.

[mikrowrites]

andromeda

(vignettes cut from cottages of constellations; can be read as a one-shot)

c!wilbur x reader

summary: a series of memories from y/n’s perspective; the war, the death, the stars, the secret, and the meeting.

warnings: fluff, angst, violence, war themes, bad mental health situations, death, language, manipulation

a/n: this is basically a bunch of scrapped ideas from cottages of constellations that i shoved together bc i already had them written and have been hitting a writer’s block with pt 3. the only part of this you should regard as “canon” is the syndicate vignette, that will be in pt 3. enjoy!!

Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets.

That was not something unknown by any, not a surprise to some. The two seemed to have words unspoken, existing between the glance of an eye or a brush of a hand, a nod of a head and a ever so soft sigh. Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets to themselves and themselves only.

The cottage was one. A secret kept along a peaceful riverbank, until the price of TNT seemed higher than that forgotten paradise. There were some other secrets too. Some inconsequential, some almost burdening.

Y/n and Wilbur kept a secret they chose to not share with anyone. A secret that would be for the best if left unsaid.

But the price of freedom would prove higher and more demanding. The price for a tall brunette man to whisper the words into an enemy’s ear, for the enemy to relay it to someone who was once deemed an old friend.

The moment Schlatt spoke the secret out loud to Y/n with threatening intent, everything came crashing to the ground.

It was a secret Schlatt would die with.

—

The War…

Y/n arrived as the sun rose at dawn.

Wilbur was there to meet her, his uniform jacket unbuttoned messily and his cravat askew. As she approached him closer he smiled softly, but the smile was tired, aching, the light in his eyes dimmed by the bags beneath them.

What was the saying, “winning is easy, governing is harder”?

Y/n feared both feats were insurmountably difficult.

“Hello, love.” Wilbur sighed, striding the distance of Y/n’s approach and pulling her into his arms, holding her like a lifeline.

“Hey Wil, it’s okay, I’m here.” Y/n reassured.

He pulled away with a less tight smile, wrapping his fingers around her own, pulling her towards the majestic walls.

“Y/n L/n, welcome to L’manburg.”

And L’manburg was small, and undeveloped, and nothing quite impressive really. But it was her lover’s nation, and to Y/n it looked like a spectacle of heaven. “It’s wonderful.”

Wilbur led her into the camaravan, where battle plans and declarations had been hung and placed about, with an occasional empty bottle or a misplaced piece of weaponry.

Y/n had fought in wars before, in another life, far from this server. She had played the part of diplomat, of ally, of enemy. It was all a language familiar to her like breathing, and she suspected Wilbur was well aware, why else would he write begging her to join the front lines?

She hummed in thought, running her hands over a tabletop. “When’s the next battle, then?”

“Tomorrow.” Wilbur replied simply.

Y/n nodded. “Okay. Where do we start?”

Wilbur smiled once more.

—

The Death…

Y/n struggled against Quackity’s hold, screaming her throat raw. “YOU KILLED HIM!”

Smoke from the firework barrage still lingered on the execution box, Schlatt turning from his podium to Y/n. He smirked. “Y/n, my dear, he was a traitor. You know what happens to traitors.”

Y/n spat at his feet, the man laughing. “That’s cute. Remember Y/n, I hold all the cards in my hands. You don’t want to step out of line, remember? Who knows what secrets could get spilled.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Y/n glared, her eyes like fire as the two stood off against each other on the podium under Manberg’s watching eyes. “Because I am going to fucking kill you before you even think about it.”

Schlatt laughed loudly again, facing the crowd. “Do you hear that, folks? Miss Y/n is going to kill me!” He lowered his voice, leaning so he was face to face with her. “That’s treason, my friends.”

Y/n hardened her eyes, as Quackity let her arms go. She stepped forwards, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Everything was quiet, not the crowd’s jabs or cries were heard by her, not even Niki’s protests to spare her best friend.

Schlatt smiled, unsheathing his own sword as Y/n stood her ground, preparing to produce her own in hopes of taking down the tyrannical man once and for all.

“These were not the ideals of L’manberg.” Y/n shouted so the audience could hear her. “And Manberg should be no different. And I’m getting really fucking tired of you hurting everyone and everything I love. So yeah, I’m a traitor, because I value people over a country.”

“People you’d be willing to lose a life for?” Schlatt jeered.

“Time and time again, yes.” She verified.

Schlatt shook his head in amusement. “Y/n, the patron saint of L’manberg. You’ll fall as easily as any man.”

Y/n smirked, drawing her own sword. “Good thing I’m not a man then, yes?”

“STOP! Stop!”

The two adversaries’ heads whipped over, catching the glimpse of a tall brunette in a brown trench coat walking down the aisle of seats, hands out in a preventative gesture. “Stop.”

“Wil…?” The man who left her behind. The man who promised safety. The man who most importantly, loves her. The former President, to protect his former First Lady.

Schlatt’s sword ran through Y/n’s body. Wilbur screamed.

The girl gasped, grasping Schlatt’s shoulder’s with tight fingers, looking at him in shock. He had gotten the upper hand. Y/n had never lost a duel, yet this one was over before it had even started because she did the one thing she had been trained to never do in battle.

Y/n found distraction in a lover.

Wilbur would always be her hubris.

Schlatt leaned over with booze-tainted breath to whisper in her ear. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He then ripped the sword out of her, and everything went black. The last thing Y/n heard before waking up laying in the soft grass of a forest was the sound of Wilbur shouting her name.

Y/n was killed by JSchlatt

—

The Stars…

Long ago, in a world different from where she was now, Y/n’s mother had taught her every constellation strewn across the night sky. The young girl would marvel at her mother, eyes shining with curiosity and awe as the soft-spoken woman would point to each cluster of stars.

Life was simple then, before war after war Y/n was forced to fight and win. Before aching loss and hurt.

Y/n laid on the angled roof of Philza’s house, her lips parted slightly as her eyes traced designs of warriors and beasts and lovers. Her breath fogged into the night sky, the girl indifferent to the cold surrounding her.

“Kid, what’re ya doin’?”

She flicked her eyes down to where Technoblade stood beneath her, staring up at her form with disinterest but yet a glint of confusion or curiosity.

Y/n smirked, her eyes traveling back up to the sky. “Chasing constellations.”

Technoblade definitely had the right idea to be a tint worried at the sight of Y/n on a roof, staring off into nothing. It had been a week and a half since they had both blown up New L’manberg, and her mind was undoubtedly conflicted. Techno supposed if he were in the same situation, he’d feel the same perhaps. But now (though he’d never show it) he was just concerned of the well-being of his old friend.

So Technoblade was immensely surprised when Y/n patted a spot on the roof next to her and said: “cmon”.

The blood god was silent and still for a moment before pulling out his trident, using it to launch himself up and land gracefully onto the roof next to her. The girl didn’t flinch a bit, just turned back to the night sky.

Y/n looked tired, Techno noticed, but yet relieved. He hadn’t seen her this relaxed since their last war fought together away from this server, where she had spoken of a kindhearted brunette she was running away with after the battle’s conclusion.

Technoblade sat next to her, the girl sighing. “No more wars, Techno. I’ve fought my last one. I’m tired of being a pawn in someone’s game, of breaking myself for others.” Y/n huffed out a laugh. “I think I might try that retirement plan.”

“Retirement is overrated.” Technoblade groaned. “So if I made you an offer, you’d refuse?”

Y/n shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her kneecaps. “Depends on the offer. I’m pretty done being taken advantage of.”

Techno turned to look at her. “All these years and you don’t trust the proof I wouldn’t.”

“Can’t blame a girl for having trust issues.” She grumbled. “What’s the offer?”

“I’m putting together a group of people with common ideals. Anarchy, we’d be there to abolish these kingdoms’ governments before they can cause more death and destruction, cause more Wilburs.” Techno explained, the girl turning to him at the sound of her ex-lover’s name. “We’re called the Syndicate.”

Y/n murmured the name to herself, furrowing her eyebrows. “Who’s we?”

“Philza and I. Zephyrus and Prostileus. And, potentially, you.” He stated. “Codenames.”

She turned back to the stars, silent for a few minutes. Technoblade patiently sat in the quiet, letting the girl mull over her thoughts. It had been about five minutes when he spoke up. “So? What’ll it be?”

Y/n pursed her lips, before parting them with a soft exhale. “Andromeda… call me Andromeda.”

Technoblade smiled at his old comrade in battle, now considered an ally and friend.

“Welcome to the Syndicate, Andromeda.”

—

The Secret…

Y/n wasn’t sure how long she had sat in the makeshift cell. Had it been days? Weeks? She didn’t know. All she knew was locked away to stand trial for “aiding fugitives in escaping”.

Her thoughts drifted to Wilbur, as they usually did in moments like these, where she fought desperately to remember the sound of his laughter or his loving assurances. Y/n hoped he and Tommy were safe, and she knew they were smart so they would be.

But she feared for Fundy as well. They had spoken on the night he announced his campaign for president, their hushed voices behind the podium as the rest of the server were asleep.

Y/n met the boy in the shadows of the podium, Fundy looking at her for some kind of reaction. Would she shout in anger? Cry in sadness? Running against his father was a betrayal, he should be reprimanded by the closest thing to a mother he had.

Instead, she smiled, and hugged him.

Fundy tensed in surprise before wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder as his hands clutched the back of her jacket.

“You know I have to support and stand by your father,” she started, softly rubbing small circles into Fundy’s back. “but it will never overshadow how proud I am of you.”

“Thank you, mama.” He sighed out, Y/n smiling kindly.

“You are my pride and you are my joy, Fundy. There’s nothing you could do that could make me love you less. Don’t forget that, okay?” Y/n asked.

Fundy nodded his head against his mother figure’s shoulder, still embracing her.

He missed the tears in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep her walls up. Indulging in this moment wasn’t something she was deserving of, and she knew that.

She had chosen to forego this path, it would be unfair of her to try and act as though she hadn’t changed everything.

The door to empty room creaked open, Y/n looking up to meet the eyes of a man she had once thought of as an old friend, but now some who repulsed her more than anything on this server. The man smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Y/n. Long time, no see.”

“Schlatt.” The name sounded like venom on her tongue, Y/n glaring at the man with dark eyes.

“How are you, hm?” Schlatt pulled a chair over for him to sit on, Y/n scoffing in disbelief.

“I don’t know Schlatt, you tell me. What the fuck is wrong with you, you were our friend!” She shouted.

Schlatt sat back in his hair. “I’m no one’s friend here. I’m a president here to run this country.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall, the man smirking.

“I want you to join me.”

That made the girl start to laugh, shaking her head. “You are something else, Schlatt.”

“I’m serious, I want you to join me and Manberg.” Schlatt deadpanned.

“Fuck off.” was Y/n’s reply.

Schlatt sighed, standing from where he sat, and paced to another side of the room. “Tell me, does your little lover boy have an infatuation with TNT?”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “Not that I’m aware, and if I was I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair enough.” Schlatt said, his footsteps clacking against stone as he further paced. “Well, he recently made some deals with the devil and came into possession of a lot of fucking TNT. You wanna know what he traded for that much power? Secrets.”

She stiffened, eyeing Schlatt warily, her voice barely above a whisper. “Secrets?”

Schlatt hummed, grinning. “Oh yeah. Loads of ‘em. I’m a chronic eavesdropper, so I had to get the scoop. And you’ll never guess what I heard.”

Y/n stood slowly, like an animal bracing for a fight, her fists shaking. She uttered the man’s name in warning, Schlatt stopping and turning to her with a wicked grin.

“You have a child.”

It felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Y/n momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Her mouth felt dry, her body numb. Schlatt laughed, knowing he had her right where he wanted her.

“Fundy’s actually your son! Biologically and everything! And you never told him, you just left!” Schlatt exclaimed.

Y/n burst forwards, slamming Schlatt against the wall and lodging her forearm across his throat. She spoke with a low, dangerous voice. “I was young. I was stupid. And I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I couldn’t be the mother he needed.”

“So you left. And then you come back and you play the part of his mother, while the poor boy thinks your lover fucked a fish? That’s fucked up, Y/n.” He chuckled lowly.

Y/n pursed her lips, glaring into Schlatt’s eyes. “What do you want?”

Schlatt slowly removed Y/n’s forearm from his throat. “I want you to join me as one of my officials. I want you to betray Wilbur and Tommy. And if you don’t…”

“… I tell Fundy your big secret… and then I personally kill him until he’s dead.”

Y/n felt completely and absolutely defeated. She had never let someone have the upper hand on her. Not like this. She remained distraughtly silent, Schlatt nodding Ashe received his answer.

He reached into his pocket, throwing her comm device onto the floor. “Lover boy’s been trying to call you for weeks. You should call him back one last time and tell him to never call again. You know what’s at stake.” Schlatt then turned and walked towards the door. “I’ll have a fine pressed suit for you tomorrow morning and a more comfortable room, then the real work begins. Goodnight, Y/n.”

And he was gone.

Y/n fell to her knees, her body shaking with fear and guilt. Why did she have to be so stupid why did she have to create such deep-sewn weaknesses, why did she leave her son?

She reached for the comms device, her trembling fingers clicking a button as she spoke out in a terrified whisper. “Wilbur?”

—

The meeting…

Y/n hated parties with a passion she could not fathom. The celebration of another war won, a country saved. She was just a wandering soldier, moving from one battle to the next, finding celebration a little tone-deaf.

But nonetheless she stood in the banquet hall, her sash of medals and patches detailing her great accomplishments hung on her frame, with the world’s most uncomfortable dress covering her. Technoblade had told Y/n to liven up, drink and dance a little, though what a fucking hypocrite because he didn’t show up.

Y/n sipped her champagne, leaning against the bar top, a bored expression laid across her face as she traced circles into the wood with her finger. She didn’t register the boy standing next to her, eying her with curiosity before he spoke up. “One vodka neat, please.”

She finally indulged to meet his gaze, the tall brunette smiling and offering his hand. “Wilbur Soot.”

Y/n knocked back the rest of her champagne, before shaking his hand. “Y/n L/n.”

“You seem bored, Y/n L/n.” Wilbur observed.

She scoffed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“So I can tell.” He quipped, Y/n beginning to question the audacity of this kid. But he just smiled widely, pulling a stool and sitting next to her.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but if it’s getting in my pants tonight it’s definitely not happening.” Y/n bluntly responded.

“Woah there! Take me out to dinner before we discuss that.” Wilbur defended, retrieving his drink from the bartender.

Y/n couldn’t even tell if the man was joking, but she rolled her eyes anyways. He was silent, she could tell he was trying to size her up. Figure out what made her brain tick, how to read her.

Must be frustrating for him to know he can’t.

She sighed, pulling away from the bar top, smoothing out her despised dress. “Well, thanks for the chat Wilbur, but I’d best be going.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Y/n.” Wilbur raised his drink and tipped it towards her in a kind of toasting or saluting gesture. She was a high ranked militia official anyways.

Y/n nodded and walked away, Wilbur watching her as she left. What she didn’t know, was he could read her like an open book. He saw her pain, her guilt, her stone disposition. But he saw her kindness, her generosity, her beauty. Wilbur was intoxicated by the mere presence of her, and her mystery.

Wilbur just had a gut feeling they’d cross paths again. And when they did, maybe in a space she was more comfortable than the loud and cheering party, maybe he’d offer her a drink, or even a dance. The boy slammed his drink on the table before standing, and rushing across the room.

Why wait when you know?

Y/n felt a gentle hand on her wrist, the girl turning to see Wilbur. She raised an eyebrow in question as he released his soft grip, and held his palm flat out in front of her. “May I have this dance.”

She had seen years of pretty boys offering her drinks and dances and the world. Each disappointed, each never following through. But Y/n looked up at Wilbur, and she could see the world in his brown eyes, she could see hope and chivalry and mirth. She pursed her lips, the boy seeming to deflate at her monotone and silent response.

Y/n took his hand, to the boy’s surprise. “One dance. That’s all.”

They danced all night. And laughed all night, more than Y/n had in years.

Y/n had never felt more alive than the night she met Wilbur Soot.

[phantompsychic]

((Finished a Castlevania verse I’ve been working on for Will (hype is a wonderful thing). All posts relating to this verse will be tagged with [`mask: stolen humanity`] . Info below the cut (which I will also add to his About later).))

Name: Will

Species: Werewolf

Gender: Male

Age: ???

Height: 5′11 (untransformed)/9′3 (transformed, standing straight up)/8′7 (transformed, hunched)

Weight: 130 (untransformed)/310 (transformed)

Hair: Black

Voice claim: Undecided

Current Residence: Wandering

Occupation: Researcher, occasional monster hunter, fugitive

Backstory: Both of Will’s parents were werewolves, his father having infected his mother when she conceived him, but it wasn’t on purpose. Will’s father wasn’t even a full werewolf yet. Instead, he’d been attacked while out hunting, not realizing the thing that he’d narrowly escaped from with only a minor bite to his hand was a werewolf. They only realized what had happened a couple months later, when Will’s mother’s pregnancy was well underway.

They were quite concerned about how they were possibly going to continue to stay in their village and lead normal lives, but they were in no condition to move somewhere secluded, nor did they want to. So, for the next roughly 7 years, they were very careful to hide their family secret, making sure they were far away from people any time they felt close to transforming. Will, luckily, was somebody they didn’t need to worry about too much at first; he somehow showed no symptoms of lycanthropy, which even made Will’s parents think he was maybe lucky enough to have not inherited their curse.

Unfortunately, they would have no such luck. Will’s body was simply too young for his lycanthropy to have fully developed yet. A year later, he’d transform for the first time when a group of local children were pulling a mean prank on him by trapping him inside a closet. Being so young, Will entered a genuine panic where he thought he was being left for dead. The deep panic and fear for his life he felt caused him to trigger his transformation, break out, and slaughter anyone who was near.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the townspeople to now figure out Will’s family’s secret, and they were prepared to burn them all. They were only saved by the village’s priest, who would let them leave the town with their lives in exchange for relocating to where the priest told them to. They didn’t have much choice in the matter if they wanted Will to live, so they agreed.

By next week, the family was dropped into a decrepit village in the middle of some deep woods, a village that was filled with all kinds of cursed folk. Though the village was a dumping ground for people with any kind of curse, it was really the werewolves that had become the main population of the village. Anyone else who came usually only lasted as long as the werewolves were able to stay in human form.

Despite this, none of the werewolves wanted to work together as a community. Resources were scarce, conditions were squalid, and land was limited. Anyone who tried to venture out of the perimeter of the village was promptly killed by hunters that patrolled it. So, with no way out Will’s parents were forced to play along with the savage nature of the village, having to make extensive use of their werewolf forms to keep up. They tried to keep Will out of harm’s way as much as possible, but there was only so much they could do. With new cursed people showing up each week, there were always new and unknown threats they had to account for.

Unfortunately, over time, Will’s parents started to give more and more into the dark nature of their curse in their attempts to survive the village, which was only degrading every year. The other villagers were no different. Even Will, after much resistance and enduring countless hardships, had also let his lycanthropy take the wheel once his parents had become too lost to remember to protect him anymore.

For Will’s last few years in the village, they were marked by some of the most absolute desperation he’d seen out of another living being. Instead of simply ceasing to fight once resources were won, villagers either tried to actively kill each other to curb competition or make a suicidal run for the village border. Many new arrivals, which had been steadily increasing in the area of the years, were in the latter category, even once overwhelming the hunters and causing a breach in the perimeter when they all rushed it at once. When word of these escapees (and what they subsequently did to nearby villages) reached some higher levels of the local church diocese, they concluded it was no longer safe to keep the village around. They gave the order to have the village and all its cursed inhabitants burned by the next morning.

When they arrived to burn the place down, though, they found that a lot of the rest of the inhabitants had already been killed. Before they could even search the rest of the village for the cause, they were also promptly killed. In reality, it’d been Will who’d been on the rampage in the village. Now a teen, Will had become one of the strongest werewolves in the village; the other inhabitants, who’d also become very efficient survivors, proved to be great ‘teachers’ for him. Unfortunately it had come at the cost of a large part of his humanity, now spending a large part of his time stuck in beast form as a way to deal with the trauma he received in the village while in human form.

Though Will had killed the people who’d come to burn the town, they dropped their fresh torches on the thick forest floor. The blaze evolved into a huge wildfire, engulfing several settlements as it spread. In werewolf form, all Will knew to do was run, and he ran nonstop until he finally collapsed from exhaustion.

When he woke, he found himself inside a dilapidated church. For a moment, he thought he was still stuck in the village like normal, but he quickly realized that it was not the same when he spotted an old curate praying at the altar.

Though wary of the curate at first, the man explained to Will he is aware of his condition and has no intention of harming him. He deduces correctly Will is an escapee from the cursed village, though Will himself remembers little about what had been happening recently. The curate thus filled him in on the order that was given by the Church to burn it down over safety concerns, which he says he personally opposed and was cast out for. At this point Will begins to have memories of his killing the torchers, as well as snippets of many of the other horrible things he did while transformed. In fact, he realizes he’s spent the majority of the last year in beast form. He couldn’t even remember if it was his choice to do so, nor could he remember many significant events in the past few years, or even what happened when. Consumed with grief and regret, he worried if he had given too much into his beast side.

The curate, unsurprised based on what Will was able to recall, explains that he had indeed let his beast side overdevelop at the cost of his humanity, but he was not lost. While he couldn’t reverse the amount of power his beast side had amassed, he could help Will restrengthen his human side. His method included meditation and a rather rigid daily routine, amongst other things, which were all meant to increase his moral core that had eroded in such a lawless environment. It helped Will no longer so predisposed to transform, but when he did, it was still as violent and dangerous as it was when he was trapped in the village.

Inevitably, Will eventually asked the curate if there was any hope of some cure for him, and the old man sadly informed him the only one he knew of was killing them. He added, however, that he personally believed there had to be a cure out there somewhere. He had even started doing some research into the subject, focusing on alchemical solutions. So far, though, he only had created a sort of ‘emergency’ potion that slows the transformation process once it’s begun so as to let people give the werewolf a wide berth. The curate offered the recipe for this potion, along with the rest of his notes, suggesting to Will that he should spend his time researching possible cures. The strong purpose it would create would help strengthen his humanity as well.

Will liked the idea, and after several months, he finally departed the curate’s church, feeling he would get more results if he travelled. Nowadays, Will wanders wherever he hears of knowledge to be gleaned, anything that might help him. Even if it were in Dracula’s castle (should it appear), he’d go there if it was rumored to have any valuable clues. He avoids villages and civilization as much as possible and tries his hardest to not rely on any part of his lycanthropy when he can. Naturally, most people he comes across would want him dead if they saw him as well, especially the Church for what he did to some of their men.

Personality: Due to the circumstances he grew up in, Will can often look and act a lot more somber than his main verse self, and this is coupled with the many layers of guilt and fear he has over his choices regarding his lycanthropy. Besides that though, the curate did help instill in Will the kind of wit and teasing he has in his main verse. So, while he may be more quiet/hesitant to talk to people, he’ll still be able to smile and crack a (albeit way more bittersweet) joke. He doesn’t have much interest in fighting in this verse, fearing it may increase his beastly urges, but he will fight when he has to, be it to protect others or himself. His lycanthropy can interfere with his personality at times, though, sometimes making him more prone to snap.

Powers: Will has a lot of powers derived from being a werewolf, including:

enhanced speed

enhanced reflexes

enhanced strength

enhanced endurance

enhanced regeneration

enhanced senses (specifically smell and hearing)

infection (spread the curse via exposure to his bodily fluids, be it through biting, kissing, even sex)

immunity to most other curses and resistance to most poisons (eg anything that must enter his body to work, such as vampirism)

He has most of these even in human form (but to a much lesser degree than his werewolf form). In werewolf form, he is nigh indestructible outside sustaining HEAVY damage or being stabbed with a silver weapon/swallowing silver. If not using silver, you’d need to hurt him enough to outrun his regeneration and swift attacks. If you fail before his claws reach you, you’re certainly dead.

In addition, Will may be able to resist his transformation, especially with the help of his potions, but he can’t stop them. They do not strictly respond to the lunar cycle, though a fuller moon can increase his urges and perhaps lead to him to be able to more easily transform. Instead, they are brought on whenever he indulges too much in any of his beastly urges or panics. Anger and sadness, etc. can affect his mental state such that he is more prone to transforming (especially if he caves and lashes out/harms someone), but only straight-up fight-or-flight, full-blown panic instantly triggers it. He has to at least think his life is in danger or is about to be killed etc. Staying calm and isolated does not stop his transformations, though. Even when staying perfectly calm and resisting all his urges, his lycanthropy naturally builds within him. Resisting his urges/staying calm just slows the buildup. Once he reaches critical mass, he WILL transform, and nothing can stop it.

In wolf form, he has no control and barely any recollection of what he does. He doesn’t remember who he is and acts on the basest of instincts. He also tends to hunt and attack things that make a lot of noise or movement first, but he will run right past everything if he’s locked onto any specific prey. He changes back once he is exhausted, which, if he keeps a source of food handy, can take a long time.

In human form, Will has several base traits that, when they begin to change, can help signal to him that he is nearing a transformation. For one, the frequency of cravings and urges, etc. is a sign. More frequent=closer. Also, he has naturally sharper canines that will start to elongate even more as he nears the threshold. The same is true for his fingernails. At first they look mostly human, but quickly start to grow more to resemble short claws as he gets closer to transforming.

[shirtlesssammy]

13x11: Breakdown

Then:

You Betcha, Donna is the best! And you betcha, Sam watching Dean getting turned into a vampire is the worst!

Now:

Cue creepy oldies music, jars of liquids of unknown origin, murder board, chains!, and one gnawed on tasty arm. What?

In Oshkosh, Nebraska (real place, they don’t make cute kids’ dungarees though) at Manny’s Truck Stop, a socially conscience young woman pulls up to get gas. Her card is declined so she heads into the diner to find out what’s what.

(omg, her card wasn’t really declined!) Creepy register guy wants Ms. Hanscum to smile more and we all want him to die more. (I am 1000% behind making creepy white men the ultimate villains this season. Who are you Supernatural?) Ms. Hanscum gets her gas, and notices a ‘Jesus Saves’ van and a semi-truck in the parking lot. She’s suddenly accosted by a window washer dude but declines his creepy offer and takes off in her car.

Breakdown!

Some time later, her car gets a flat tire. Boris is screaming for her to just change the tire herself (didn’t everyone’s father make them change their car’s tires for funsies when they first got a car?) She watches as a semi-truck barrels past and then is brutally attacked and kidnapped by an unknown assailant (cough MAN cough) in a mask.

Sam is Depressed and I Need all the Details and Meta and well Developed Storylines on This Situation

At the bunker, it’s 6:00 am and Sam is wide awake. It’s 8:22 am and Sam is STILL wide awake. Dean’s making pancakes but Sam ignores him. It’s 10:00 am and his phone rings. It’s Donna. He heads to the kitchen to take a bit of shit from Dean before they’re both informed by Donna that her niece is missing and she could really use their help. “Text us the address, we’re on our way.” DONNA. DEAN.

The boys meet up with Donna --and I LOVE how they visually show Donna’s headspace here. She’s waiting for the Winchesters and the camera pans over to the Impala pulling up, but we can’t hear the familiar rumble. SO great. She’s panicked, and in her head completely.

She fills the boys in on what’s happened. Dean heads into talk with the locals and Doug.

While looking over Donna’s niece’s car, Dean is accosted by FBI dude. He calls Dean “son” in the most condescending way. Dean’s too old to be “son” and Dean is confident in himself enough to not take that shit. Good job, Dean! Doug interrupts the potential smackdown and tells Agent Clegg that Dean is FBI too. He’s here on personal reasons though; relative to the missing woman. (Boris, and countless other people on Tumblr, called Agent Clegg as The Monster right here. Creepy White Man.) Doug is shocked to learn that Donna and Dean are related. “So you were in Sioux Falls a couple weeks ago, at the family reunion?” Yes. Yes they were. Family reunion. Yes.

Clegg fills the gang in on the case, and the series of connected cases he’s been working for 12 years. *Kill Bill Siren*

Depressed!Sam doesn’t want to help. Dean says, “We’re in.” Sam Bean!!!

At their motel, Dean puts out a call of local truckers for info on Donna’s niece, Wendy. Sam wants to back down. They are fugitives after all. Aggghhh. I’m SO HERE FOR SAM’S GRIEF. Like, I can’t articulate well enough what’s actually happening, but it’s so nice to FINALLY see him expressing the pain that he’s going through. He’s a perpetual fountain of optimism to Dean’s downer attitude. Or he’s just countering how Dean feels (see: Tombstone where he was meh towards Dean’s Very Enthusiastic Attitude to Cas’s return). He expresses this later but his hope is gone now. No Jack, no Kaia --no getting his mom back. As much as we wanted and needed (and got) a cathartic scene between Dean and Mary, we need Sam to come to terms with never having a mother at all. AGGGGHHHH. Dean tough talks his point of the situation before they get a lead from a CB radio trucker. Dean makes a date with ‘Felix’ to learn more about the case.

Cue oldies music, Wendy blindfolded and tied to a chair, and creepy masked man. He unmasks her and she begs “Why are you doing this?” while he sets up a camera.

At the police station, Agent Clegg fills Sam and Donna in on the ‘Butterfly’ case, and his main suspect: Pastor ‘Diamond’ Don Hankey. Creepo had Wendy’s bloodied t-shirt in his van.

Dean talks to the trucker about the night Wendy disappeared.

Felix remembers seeing Wendy, and really regrets not helping her, but she was running behind.

Sam and Agent Clegg interview the pastor. The smug fucker gives them nothing. Oh, and he’s an implied racist. Donna comes in to lend a hand.

At Manny’s Trunk Stop, Dean and Doug have a heart to heart. Dean’s giving relationship advice? Waaaahhhh.

Donna continues to lay the smackdown on dirty pastor man.

At the truck stop, window washer man fills Dean and Doug in on Marlon, the cashier, and how he closed up shop and followed Wendy that night.

Ugh, the pastor is married with two kids? Ugh. Donna breaks the pastor, but it turns out he’s just a regular creepy man. (So many layers of creepy men these days, ugh) Sam, Donna, and Agent Clegg wonder, if not the pastor, then who?

Cut to Dean entering the diner and asking Marlon where Wendy is.

Marlon’s being difficult, but Dean’s insistent. Marlon caves and shows them a website. A website where monsters bid on human body parts. Lovely!

A little while later the team's assembled to rewatch the video for clues. The creepy clerk shows Donna and Sam the recording of the feed and they try to twist their minds around what's happening. They realize that body parts are getting auctioned off to monsters. MONSTERS? Doug's taken aback by the theory – particularly the monsters part.

The clerk reveals that he flags people he thinks won't be missed, notifies the sellers, and then gets paid. While he's chatting a new bid flashes on screen. It's Wendy! She begs for help. Dean asks Sam if he can hack into the streaming server and find their location but Sam explains that the signal's bounced around the TOR network and he can't track it. However, the FBI can so they contact Clegg for help. We shed a silent tear thinking about Charlie, who could probably hack it with her eyes closed. They've got a timer, anyway. In 58 minutes Wendy dies.

Off to the side Donna has “The Talk” with Doug and he's...rattled. She explains that Sam and Dean are hunters...and so is she. Doug struggles to process the news. Their talk's interrupted by the news that Clegg's tracked the video feed.

They spread out to tackle the winding layout of the warehouse. Doug stays behind with the clerk while Dean and Donna advance. In the back, Sam gets surprised by Clegg who has shown up to investigate this tale of a body-parts-selling website.

Wendy's strung up with the feed still on her. The killer slowly sharpens his blade while she screams.

Dean and Donna hear music playing and track it to a room that's empty other than a radio on the floor. Uh oh. Back with Doug, the clerk asks him about monsters. “Fun fact,” he says. “I am one.” He vamps out, busts out of his cuffs, and starts to attack Doug. He tears open his wrist with his teeth and drips the blood into Doug's mouth.

Sam overhears the attack and signals to Clegg to advance on the room when... Clegg knocks him out! Boris was right, y'all. Boris was right all along. Clegg is evil.

Dean and Donna bust into the room where Doug's lying on the floor. He turns to Donna. He's feeling...kinda strange. He vamps out in front of her. “I'm so hungry,” he whimpers before trying to bite her. Dean pulls some dead man's blood from his duffle and injects Doug with it, knocking him out. Dean tells Donna that he'll be okay. There's a cure. “Huh?” Donna asks and I'm knocking my palm against my hand. The woman specializes in vampire kills and you never bothered to tell her about dead man's blood or the CURE? What the heck, Deano?

Anyway, “Mix up some sage, a little bit of garlic...” And the bloodsucker who turned Doug. The clerk swans in and brags about the attack and reveals that Clegg is behind the kidnapping!

Dean unsheaths his machete with a “bring it, Twilight” when Donna shoots the clerk in the knee. He collapses to the floor. Donna orders Dean to start mixing the cure for Doug and tells the clerk that she's gonna kill him no matter what. “You just gotta decide if you want it fast...or slow.” Donna <3 <3 <3

Sam wakes up tied to an operating table and realizes that Clegg's The Butterfly killer. Clegg tells Sam that there are monsters all over who take advantage of his people-chopping services. Clegg's of the mind that Sam should be grateful for his services...keeping monsters off the streets and all.

Sam's not buying it, but it's time for their next video feed. (Wendy's been put on hold in favor of their BIG catch.)

Dean, Donna, and Doug race to save Sam. Donna pours the vamp cure into Doug. Meanwhile, they start auctioning off Sam piece by piece. Clegg starts off the auction for Sam Winchester's heart in a not-at-all symbolic move.

Dean and Donna leave Doug behind in the car to infiltrate the warehouse. Donna finds Wendy still tied up. One of the killers attacks Donna from behind but Donna kicks his ass and kills him quickly. She frees Wendy.

Clegg's finished the auction for Sam's heart netting $500K (aw Sammy) for it so now it's time to chop him up. He points a gun at Sam to kill him quick since Dean's still in the wind. The camera pans away and there's a gunshot.

EEK

Red spreads along Clegg's chest. It's Dean here to save the day! He's killed Clegg and saved Sam. “Show's over.”

A little while later Dougie Bear wakes up. He's cured! Donna tells him that Wendy's safe...and so is Doug. But Doug's ultra freaked out about being a vampire. Donna smiles at him and tries to talk it down. Dean's been in Donna's shoes before and he recognizes the look on Doug's face. Doug tells Donna that she's a hero for killing monsters but he can't have any part of it. He walks out. (UGH don't mind me I'm just crying over here.)

Sam tells Donna that anyone who gets too close to a hunter gets hurt – or worse. Essentially, Donna should look at this as a good thing since Doug will be safer without her. Dean shoots Sam a LOOK.

Later in the car Dean tells Sam he was a little harsh. Sam explains that it’s just a fact that they get people killed. Kaia most recently, for one. Sam tells Dean he's not in “a mood” and that he's just being realistic. The hunting life ends one way for them – bloody.

You Betcha These Are Quotes:

I'm not your son.

And then you turn down pancakes!

This is how we do things in the FBI.

I'm not hurt but I don't think I'm okay.

There are many pieces of Sam Winchester, but only one heart. 

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[shirlleycoyle]

The Most Critical Fight Against Trump’s Border Wall You’ve Never Heard Of

“We’ve been here thousands of years,” said Isidro Leal, a member of the Carrizo/Comecrudo Tribe of Texas, or Esto’k Gna, as he surveyed the Rio Grande River atop a high bank fortified over the years by piles of concrete and rebar. From this rise, it is more than 70 miles downstream to the Gulf of Mexico, but double or triple that distance if you follow the wild meanderings of the river itself.

It is in these accordion-like bends and folds of the water’s course that the Esto’k Gna, whose ancestral homelands straddle both sides of the river, identify innumerable sacred sites. “A lot of our artifacts are there,” said Leal, “and old village sites.”

Only a few hundred yards to the north is Yalui Village, a resistance camp set up by the Esto’k Gna at the historic Eli Jackson Cemetery. Esto’k Gna tribal members are buried here, as are the descendents of freed slaves, white abolitionists, and veterans of multiple wars. And long before that, “this spot in particular was always a burial ground for us, always sacred land,” Leal said.

An old irrigation pump sits idle beside the winding Rio Grande less than a mile from Yalui Village.

Yet by siting 25 miles of border wall on top of the river levee abutting the cemetery, the government threatened to “completely destroy” Eli Jackson, said Ramiro Ramirez, a descendant of the cemetery’s original founders. It would also destroy another cemetery and chapel a short walk up the road.

After a few years of dormancy, wall construction is reviving with a privately funded wall near Mission, Texas and a new federal contract for 3 miles of new wall at Rio Grande City.

While the Department of Homeland Security Appropriations Act of 2020 recently exempted certain natural areas and “historic cemeteries” from wall construction for another fiscal year, Indigenous sites remain threatened in Texas. To “ensure the expeditious construction” of the wall in the Rio Grande Valley, the U.S. Department of Homeland Security last fall waived dozens of federal laws, including the American Indian Religious Freedom Act and the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act.

In opposition, the Esto’k Gna tribe has joined forces with the Ramirezes and other local landowners, reviving ancestral villages along the length of the Rio Grande. Part resistance camps and part decolonial education sites, these villages stand squarely in the pathway of President Donald Trump’s proposed border wall expansion.

'People came and raided us, invaded us. Occupied us. And now we're learning to take all of that back'

Unlike Standing Rock or Wet’suwet’en, the names of Yalui Village, Lehai Village, Mariposa Village, and Camp Toyahvale are largely unknown. And yet these villages are some of the most critical resistance work undertaken in response to the manifold crises converging on South Texas—the border wall, to be sure, but also the fracking, flaring, mining, and pipelining accelerating climate change, and the criminalization of largely Indigenous Central American asylum-seekers and the theft and internment of their children.

“This is the head of the snake,” Carrizo/Comecrudo tribal chairman Juan Mancias said of the region. “Everything is coming this way. If we don't cut the head of the snake off and just continue to break its back every once in a while, it'll heal itself.”

In the shadow of the wall

The Esto’k Gna started setting up villages along the Texas/Mexico border in 2016, amid the thick of the resistance at Standing Rock and during the season of Trump’s election. Starting with a base camp just south of San Antonio called Somi Se’k, the tribe established Camp Toyahvale in far West Texas, where intensive fracking had caused sacred springs to run dry. Cotoname Village followed in 2017 on the Gulf Coast to resist the siting of liquefied natural gas (LNG) infrastructure on Esto’k Gna fishing grounds.

Camp rules at Yalui Village, where roughly 50 tribal members and allies gathered last summer.

In 2019, three more camps were established along the proposed route for the wall: Mariposa Village on the grounds of the National Butterfly Center, Yalui Village at Eli Jackson Cemetery, and Lehai Village on land adjacent to the privately funded border wall. Others are planned to protect sacred peyote gardens and fight planned LNG pipelines and export terminals in Brownsville.

While the Esto’k Gna maintains the land at all camps year-round, the number of villagers varies. At Yalui, presently in watch-and-wait mode, at least one person is always there tending sacred fire, though the camp can fill on weekends and for specific actions to include dozens of villagers.

Yalui (meaning “butterfly” in Hokom) Village has attracted the most attention for its location at Eli Jackson Cemetery, where the tribe has maintained a constant presence since January 2019. This cemetery is of ancestral significance not only to the Esto’k Gna but to multiple traditions of liberation and resistance. Established by a white former slaveholder from Alabama who married an emancipated slave, the chapel and two family cemeteries were founded after Nathaniel Jackson, Matilda Hicks, and 11 other freed slaves fled Alabama’s Fugitive Slave Act in the 1850s. “Most people were going North,” says Ramiro Ramirez, great-great-grandson of Nathaniel, who founded Eli Jackson Cemetery. “They decided to come South,” where slavery was illegal in Mexico.

Jackson Ranch Chapel, the oldest Protestant church in the Rio Grande Valley, is threatened by border wall construction.

After arriving in the Rio Grande Valley, however, the group decided not to cross into Mexico, deterred by the prospect of language barriers and that country’s Catholic majority. Instead, they purchased land and in 1874 established the Jackson Ranch Chapel, the first (and now oldest) Protestant church in the Rio Grande Valley. Eventually the area became, according to Ramirez’s wife Melinda, “a really mixed-race community” and ultimately a stop on the Underground Railroad. “There was a cotton trade that would come down,” Melinda explained. “Who was driving the wagons? The slaves. And so they knew exactly how to get through the monte (brush country) and the rattlesnakes and no water, and that was the trail.”

For the Esto’k Gna, the villages resist not only the wall, but the official narrative about Native people in Texas—which too often is that there aren’t any. “People don’t think there’s Natives in Texas,” said Mancias. “That it’s only the federally recognized tribes that need to be dealt with.”

These erasures of Native presence in Texas are rooted in centuries of massacres and missionization at the hands of the Spanish. Starting in the early 16th century, missionaries enslaved Native people for purposes of building Texas’s numerous colonial missions, including those celebrated today in San Antonio as UN World Heritage sites. But the missions also initiated a more insidious form of genocide. As Native people entered the missions, conversion to Catholicism and Spanish names and language fractured tribal identities, hiding original peoples in plain sight.

“It created a rift among our people, because of the missions,” Mancias said.

Juan Mancias, chair of the Carrizo/Comecrudo tribe in Texas.

Today the Esto’k Gna tribe has 1,600 enrolled members and another 2,000 registered, with many more throughout South Texas as descendants. But “if you talk to present day people,” Mancias said, “a lot of them don't even recognize the fact that they're Native anymore.”

If the threat posed by the border wall to Texas Natives has received far less attention than elsewhere, it’s because “a lot of the tribes (here) have been disenfranchised,” said Leal. “A lot of us didn’t sign treaties, for obvious reasons. Just went into hiding or eventually just sort of disbanded out of the need to survive. Carrizo/Comecrudo is one of them.”

But although the Esto’k Gna lacks either federal or state recognition, this can be an advantage. As Mancias observed, the lure of contracts has led some federally recognized tribes in Texas, such as the Ysleta del Sur Pueblo in El Paso, to bid on contracts to build the border wall. “We’re more sovereign right now,” said Mancias. “We got nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

Eventually, Mancias hopes the villages can be developed into centers for decolonial education, even building a university with an Indigenous curriculum. “We’ll teach math, reading, writing and stuff, but at the same time, we want to talk about colonization… that we’re on the verge of destroying the only planet that can hold our life forms. And talk about that kind of science, rather than the science they want to proclaim about controlling the petroleum and pushing their racism on us.”

These are villages

Both the Esto’k Gna and the Ramirez family at Eli Jackson Cemetery are watching to see what develops next. Last March, the legal firm Earthjustice filed suit against the federal government on behalf of six plaintiffs affected by the government’s plans, including the Ramirezes and the Carrizo/Comecrudo Tribe of Texas. Currently in federal court, the suit alleges that Trump’s attempt to divert funds to the border wall without Congressional authorization, on the pretext of a national emergency, is unconstitutional.

Melinda and Ramiro Roberto Ramirez, owners of historic cemeteries and a chapel in the path of the border wall.

In the meantime, the Ramirezes won a small concession after two lobbying trips to D.C. that resulted in all “historic cemeteries” being exempted from wall construction. So, Melinda, said, “we’re safe for a year.”

After that, Simmons said, “We gotta go through it all over again in September, when they’re ready to submit the new budget.”

Meanwhile, an anti-migrant group operating as We Build the Wall has started construction on a crowdfunded border wall nearby, right next to the National Butterfly Center. “So we’re still occupying out there,” Simmons said. “We’re still watching and monitoring everything out there. And we’re making sure that things don’t happen because they think we all went home and we’re not paying attention.”

Isidro Leal overlooking the Rio Grande.

For many at Yalui Village, the issue is deeper than the wall’s route and the wall; it’s the border itself. “The idea of borders is a colonizer idea,” said Leal. “That's something that came from Spain. For us that wasn't really a thing. We mostly traveled wherever we wanted.”

For that reason, the Esto’k Gna is forming alliances with the Tohono O'odham Nation in Arizona, another binational, borderlands tribe 1,200 miles upriver who recently decried the wall’s blasting of burial sites at a Washington, D.C. hearing. The Tohono O’odham is “fighting (the wall) really strong,” said Mancias. “We’re working on setting up a coalition of tribes along the Rio Grande.”

Above all, Mancias wants people to recognize “that there’s camps here. There are villages. This is where the creator put us at this time, to protect that. And we were overcome, we were raided, completely. People came and raided us, invaded us. Occupied us. And now we’re learning to take all of that back. And say, ‘Hey, you gotta grow up. There’s an injustice and you have been a part of it.’ Especially in Texas.”

Marisol Cortez is a writer, scholar, and organizer around a variety of environmental justice issues in her home community of San Antonio, Texas.

Greg Harman is a San Antonio-based environmental organizer. Follow him on Twitter.

Both are co-editors of the online journal Deceleration.news.

Have a story for Tipping Point? Email TippingPoint@vice.com

The Most Critical Fight Against Trump’s Border Wall You’ve Never Heard Of syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[insatiabletc]

Ventura County Jane Doe

02/12/2020 Update: 

The DNA Doe Project is getting closer to Identifying who the Ventura County Jane Doe is! Read their update here: https://www.facebook.com/DNADoeProject/posts/2521508688107901?__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARB9Tw8eqm8dLenGCd9E14eZNdABw5ehCO0zv8hAQ_oQW73h3Y_IMbUAui8_Z5qJo7UEHGcFRrxRcXiNBhJXdToLgg8Orest9rF3erffvRaNrACMy1ZLp38OkKeo2hL83VXrzqtTkMOk6yGZtb_wN1onSz5g1dChbtA7pWnLzBFc3NS8MufsjlN52X4WZ53X1Ze4j5CZURhc8v0SjIn6hYKQotGPn404LAz9CT5hU0gKVzVwjxie6YEBN-TME7F3fn6WPYMw2GJ2PChW40WZ6vHvb3YZkKO4mefIP4AJKfvB1f9UvOKan86-8_ha1JmA97CS30eViGHoIvzAODf6Ug5ujdYY&__tn__=K-R

IMPORTANT NOTE: If you google image search the Ventura County Jane Doe, you will see autopsy photos. If this is too disturbing for you, we have pulled together a couple of different artist renditions so you can still see what she looked like.

On July 18, 1980 Jane was found in the Westlake High School parking lot, stabbed to death. While we know who her killer is we don't know who she was.*

We have also included another artist's portrait of her as we want her to be recognizable to anyone who may have known her.

Here's the run-down on a physical description:

- She was vaccinated and had scars from it

- She was 4 -5 months pregnant when she passed away

- She is indigenous or Latina

- She had given birth before and had evidence of an episiotomy incision

- She had black hair with bleached tips

- She had a large amount of dental maintenance done

- Her height is between 5'1" and 5'3"

- She weighed about 110 lbs

- The generally accepted age range is 15 - 30 years old

Investigators put out more than 500 information requests to different counties, but were unable to turn up a matching missing persons report.  

Some investigative discoveries and inferences:

- Due to the lack of blood where she was discovered, police believe she was murdered somewhere else and brought to the parking lot.

- It is accepted that she passed away within 12 hours of being discovered, which narrows down where she may have been from and killed.

- Investigators believe she could be from Tulare, Kern, Ventura, or Los Angeles counties.

- Her fingerprints were intact, but she did not have a criminal record.

- DNA was extracted from her unborn son, but his DNA did not match anyone in the criminal justice system.

- Her dental work was determined to be of American origin, so investigators believe her to have lived in the United States.

Now, we have some questions (that we aren't exactly sure how to Google, so bear with us as we work on this profile):

- Were any of the 500+ inquiries to tribal police? Looking at a map (included here) there are quite a few tribal communities in southern California. We are wondering how communication worked between county police and tribal officers in the 1980's.

It just seems crazy that a woman who was pregnant and potentially had a child/partner/family waiting for her at home hasn't been identified yet. This makes us think that perhaps she was part of a community that was either remote, insular, or didn't speak English as a majority language.

- Considering her dental work being American, we do wonder if investigators were able to determine the age of the hardware. For example, were there changes in dental work and practices between 1950 (the earliest she could have been born according to the age range) and 1980. Even if it's something as small as a screw! That could narrow down when exactly she got her dental work done.

Then, was there a huge difference between dental practices and hardware between Mexican border towns and American dentists? Tijuana is only 3 hours from Ventura county, for example. Did dentists and orthodontists have any kind of conventions or technique exchanges in the 1980s between the United States and Mexico? Investigators have ruled out the possibility of being a migrant worker based on the dental work.

- The  episiotomy incision. From the ACLU Website**:

"Q: Can the police get my medical information without a warrant?

A: Yes. The HIPAA rules provide a wide variety of circumstances under which medical information can be disclosed for law enforcement-related purposes without explicitly requiring a warrant.[iii] These circumstances include (1) law enforcement requests for information to identify or locate a suspect, fugitive, witness, or missing person (2) instances where there has been a crime committed on the premises of the covered entity, and (3) in a medical emergency in connection with a crime.[iv]"

Ok, so did police request medical records on women who have had this incision done between 1964 (the year she would have been 14 had she been born in 1950, not ruling out a teen pregnancy) 1975? We aren't sure if they would be able to do a blanket ask for this information, rather than pulling individual medical records.

- Did she live on tribal land? We started looking at reservations in the counties indicated by investigators and found that there is a Yokut reservation named Tule River in Tulare county. It has a population of 556, and more importantly it has a community health center,  Tule River Indian Health Center, that was opened in 1973 and offers dental services. We called to find out when they first introduced their dental services, but unsurprisingly we weren't able to get an answer.

- DNA! The DNA Doe Project*** has taken available DNA from Jane and have confirmed that they are currently working on a genetic family tree for her. They have already found a 3rd cousin and are still working on finding more relatives.

- This article  https://www.kget.com/news/kern-county-and-ventura-county-jane-doe-may-be-closer-than-ever-to-being-identified/  indicates that police now believe that Jane was abducted from Visalia close to  the College of the Sequoias after hitchhiking, similar to one of the killer's living victims. Where this information came from is not specified, but we wonder if it was from Chouest? If anyone has any additional information on this, please feel free to message us! We would love to include an update if there are sources.  It is still unknown if she was a student or a resident. We wonder if any students from that time (or living victims) ever saw Jane?

There are SO MANY QUESTIONS, but we are immensely hopeful that the DNA Doe Project will return her name to her and allow her to return home to rest.

* A man named Wilson Chouest. We're not going to waste anyone's time talking about him and his other crimes -- he's already stated he didn't know who Jane was when he killed her and thus is worthless  in determining who she was. We'll talk more about him if he decides to provide helpful information.

** https://www.aclu.org/other/faq-government-access-medical-records#_edn3

*** http://dnadoeproject.org/  

[kamuwrites]

In the Bag, Ch 6/10 (a One Piece gen cat fanfic)

Fic Summary: All pirates have hordes of treasure. It just so happens in this life, cats are the treasure in Luffy’s.

Chapter Title: Merry Whatsit Things

Words: 2048 (Not the game)

read on ao3

Buggy used to live in a lot of shitty places while on the run from the cops when he was a sprouting young criminal. He liked to think he escaped that life once he established a rule of terror in an unknown East Blue town with a name not worth remembering anymore.

A few years of living as boss gave him a shady construction business in which he was rolling in dough. The whole shindig had illegally imported explosives and everything. Hell, he even provided dental to his workers slash underlings. His life was great.

Straw Hat ruined that window of bliss with his literal homewrecking.

When did the kid even have TIME to hotwire a bulldozer and level his entire base? He had to have stayed in town for two hours at most!

Buggy almost forgave Straw Hat. It took a country bumpkin maniac with a destructive streak to make him realize just how small his worldview had become. Sheesh, he used to have big dreams and shit. The kid reminded him by smacking him in the face like they were basic punks duking it out on the streets.

The kid packed a hefty punch, but Buggy knew he could take it. Later. After the bruise healed.

So yeah, Buggy tried to slash the kid’s tires after finding out where he worked. ‘Tried’ because motherfucking Benn Beckman caught him in the act. He was one man he did not want to cross. Anywhere Beckman was at, Red Hair certainly would be hovering around nearby. The pair were mushy and together like that, reminding single people everywhere that they were SAD, ALONE, and in his case ANGRY. Bastards.

“What about that fling with Alvida?” Luffy asked, interrupting the beautiful monologue of his worthwhile career in crime.

“Work buddies. Don’t shit where you eat,” Buggy sniffed.

Alvida told him the things Luffy did when he disbanded her gang. Frankly, he thought they didn’t measure up to the deeds Straw Hat did to him. It looked like Luffy turned her life around for the better, if the kid couldn’t recognize her from the pig she once was. He avoided a kick to the crotch after that.

Now that he thought about it, Buggy himself was profiting from the waves that kid brought to his nowhere nook town. He’d never tell the brat, but Luffy had punched the idle satisfaction from his body that day.

“Hm,” Luffy said, watching a fly buzz by as he ate.

Buggy could see his reply fazed through him. Anything not concerning meat and cats were filtered out of his brain.

“Speaking of places to eat,” Buggy said, watching Luffy perk up immediately. “You need to get out of this place. I killed like five roaches on my way to kitchen.”

Luffy let Robin, one of the newer additions, settle into his lap. “Whaddya mean? Here is fine,” he said.

“Uh, kid?” Buggy said. He gestured to the peeling walls and the paper panels lined with cat sized holes. Half of them were repaired with index cards and duck tape. “Your house is falling apart. You have a bug problem. I think a freaking rat scuttled past my ankle when I was taking a shit in the toilet. Not a mouse. A RAT.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Robin and Sanji can take care of them. They’re both former barn cats,” he replied.

“Your water doesn’t spit out hot anymore,” Buggy said.

“I can go to the public baths,” Luffy returned easily.

“There’s no AC,” Buggy tried.

“We can open the doors and hang up the mosquito net,” Luffy put forth.

“Kid!” Buggy shouted. “There is MOLD infesting the kitchen ceiling.”

Buggy took brief satisfaction at the way Luffy hesitated. The feeling was short lived, however. He had to break the bad news to Luffy, which was as unpredictable of a situation as predicting a storm. The guy would either take it like a champ or refuse to budge.

...Or, Luffy would make this godawful devastated face like someone had told him one of his cats had died. Buggy HATED the possibility of that outcome. He always knew to avoid it whenever he brushed the topic of family. Despite being unfazed even in the face of death and the muzzle of a gun, Luffy still had hang ups like anyone else.

And Buggy would completely take full advantage of that, if only the threats of an internationally wanted fugitive and the hellstorm that be a retired ATTORNEY GENERAL weren’t breathing down his neck…

Oh, and Shanks could go fuck himself. Those crow’s feet and bleached gray hair all the way down to Beckman’s roots? Nuh-uh. Buggy ain’t taking a part of that circus, not yet.

“That’s not good for you or the cats,” Buggy continued, pushing the Monkey D. elders and the inevitable forthcoming of old age to the back of his mind. “The kitchen is where everyone eats. Not all of the furry things have strong immune systems, not like you.”

Luffy’s face was doing that thing where he was thinking. All signs pointed to this being a herald for bad ideas.

Buggy already made it this far. He might as well finish his guilt trip to the end of its bittersweet journey.

“Straw Hat Luffy,” Buggy said, standing up and heading toward the front door. “You can do better.”

Of course, that was where the metaphorical bad weather ended for a while.

Buggy assumed, with the radio silence, maybe Luffy decided to be sensible for once. Hey, he might even listen to Buggy’s advice and Buggy could rein it over his head forever!

Nope. Someone chose the absolute WORST outcome to come to fruition.

Monkey D. Luffy made his choice, on his own terms.

“Call on line 3 for you…” Mohji said to him one day.

Buggy, like the inattentive fucker he was, didn’t notice how pale his underling looked. He had to go ahead and take the call like an ignorant fool.

“I’ll give back the bulldozer in two days,” Luffy started.

Buggy hurled the entire phone set against the wall.

***

The village mayor had to be certain.

“Are you absolutely sure this is a cat?” Dalton asked the young man.

“Yeah! Geez, I know what’s a cat and what isn’t!” Luffy said.

Dalton looked over at the pudgy hooved animal. It watched him with clear wide eyes from its place in Luffy’s lap, as if daring him to contradict its adopted human.

“It has hooves,” Dalton said.

“He’s self-conscious about that.” Luffy nodded. “He’s not as polycrocodile as Nami and Robin are.”

“No tail?” he asked.

“Chopper is the opposite of Usopp!” Luffy exclaimed with a laugh.

Dalton frowned. “He’s a baby now, but he’ll probably grow horns in the future when he turns into an adult,” he persisted. How would this kid explain that?

“Horns?” Luffy lifted Chopper to look him in the eye. “Are you going to grow horns, Chopper?”

The goat-cat blinked slowly at Luffy. He turned his head to look at Dalton and then turned back to Luffy.

Chopper bleeped.

“He says sure, but they’ll fall off on their own,” Luffy said.

Dalton was at an impasse. He had troubles accepting that someone could be so stubborn about an animal’s presumed classification. Was it against certain animal laws if he just let this boy take a wild deer-goat-cat as a pet?

“No worries, Bull-guy,” Luffy assured, stretching to pat him on the shoulder. “Doctor-lady told me Chopper is a cat. I’ve never seen a cat like him before, so I guess I haven’t seen ‘em all!”

Their resident doctor and veterinarian told Luffy this? Dalton had never questioned her expertise in animal care before, but what would she gain from teasing a young boy from out of town?

“She approves of you taking him with you?” Dalton sighed.

“Mm! I told her my new place is near the sea and mountains, so she Hail Mary-ed Chopper into my arms and told me to get out! You should visit once we’re done building,” Luffy said.

Luffy placed a creased card onto Dalton’s palm. The paper shone in laminated purples, yellows, and reds with a splash of brown. It was all backdrop to a cheery lion shaped cleverly like a sun or a flower.

“The ‘Thousand Sunny’,” Dalton read on the other side.

“For the thousands of sunny days ahead of us,” Luffy followed up, swinging Chopper around in a circle.

It made sense with what Luffy wanted to do with the animal sanctuary. He briefly thought maybe he caught onto what Dr Kureha had intended in leaving the goat-cat-dog-deer to Luffy. Their small suburban town in the cold north was no place for an active animal that belonged in the wild. In an animal sanctuary, Chopper would have a better and longer life than the one he had with his herd, or so the Doctor had bitterly told him while drunk.

“Will Chopper have a lot of friends?” Dalton asked.

Luffy stopped and set down Chopper, who wobbled on shaky legs before collapsing onto a nearby pillow. The goat-cat-dog’s tongue stuck out as he tried to regain his sense of balance.

“You bet! There’s Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji—”

Dalton listened as Luffy told him of their happy and growing family.

“It sounds fun wherever you guys are,” he said once he found a gap in one-sided conversation.

Luffy beamed. “That’s right!” he agreed.

Dalton stepped up and patted the young man on the back. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the approaching people, more particularly the grumpy doctor refusing help from the younger veterinarians around her.

“Take care of him. I know Chopper has dealt with plenty of coldness in his life. He could use a lot of warmth from now on,” he said as he turned Luffy to the arrivals.

“Nami! Sanji!” Luffy took off toward the sleeping cats being rolled into the waiting room. He barrelled into the hovering veterinarians in his haste. The room quickly filled with many protests.

“You brats! Don’t wake them! They just came out of surgery and need rest!” Dr. Kureha whipped out a pair of latex gloves and whacked the jumpy young man with them.

“They’re okay now?” Luffy peered at the cats on the cart, taking care to keep his voice significantly lower.

“Yes, you impatient buffoon. Sit with Chopper, I need to pack and write up the basics for his care and the cats’ aftercare for you before you take off.” She waved the boy away and glared at the surrounding vets. “You bunch need to leave me be before I bring out the meter stick.”

Taking heed to the woman’s hand inching toward her hip where she kept the retractable not-weapon, the vets scattered.

Dalton felt he had overstayed his welcome. He headed toward the glass doors of the clinic, before someone cleared their throat behind him.

“You must’ve distracted the brat well enough, if he managed to stay in this room for four hours straight without interrupting me,” the doctor said, one hip and an eyebrow cocked.

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I think it’s the other way around,” he admitted.

She snorted. “I’m a creature of solitude, so I know when someone isn’t. That boy,” she jutted her chin at Luffy attempting to imitate Chopper’s hops, “is someone who loves and needs love. I’d almost think he’s more animal in that aspect, but most humans need others to live fully. Otherwise, we’d die before our time.”

“Is that so?” Dalton took vague amusement as Chopper perched on Luffy’s shoulder like he was a mountain face, accidentally knocking over his hat.

“Of course. I’m an old woman who has found the secret to longevity. However, I haven’t found the right way to love Chopper in the way he needs. That’s why I’m allowing Straw Hat to steal my cute apprentice.” Dr. Kureha chuckled at Dalton’s baffled expression. “He’s very good at fetch, that Chopper.”

As if to demonstrate, Chopper jumped down and presented Luffy the hat in between his teeth.

“Cats don’t do fetch,” Dalton reminded with a twinge of his lips.

“Oh, shut it, brat,” Dr. Kureha said to the noises of amazement and praise filling up the small clinic waiting room.

TBC