#that allows them to reach untold numbers of people

[the-alice-of-hearts]

Okay, so I just had a post blazed to me about suicide. Well that is kinda what the post is about. The poster is recounting an issue they faced recently and mentioned that they had been searched and found to be in the possession of sodium nitrate which is apparently the new method for these things. They are complaining about the way that they were found out and that their SN was taken away.

I didn’t understand the post at first. Because they only referred to the SN using its abbreviation and referred to assisted suicide as “helping self-checkout”. The whole post left a bad taste in my mouth and I clicked on the comments to see what was going on. Once I saw that SN meant sodium nitrate I realised that “self-checkout” was their way to say suicide.

This was a BLAZED post! They used this way to say these things so that their post could be blazed! And I can only partially blame tumblr for accepting this because it took me a moment to figure out what the hell they were talking about.

But also Tumblr, you have got to have someone checking the content of posts better. Because there is no reason that a post about suicide should be blazed.

[beardedmrbean]

WARSAW, Poland (AP) — Stanislawa Wasilewska was 42 when she was captured by Nazi German troops on Aug. 31, 1944, in Warsaw and sent to the women’s concentration camp at Ravensbrück, Germany. From there, she was sent to the Neuengamme forced labor camp, where she was given prisoner number 7257 and had her valuables seized.

Eighty years later, Germany's Arolsen Archives returned Wasilewska's jewelry to her grandson and great-granddaughter at an emotional ceremony in Warsaw late Tuesday during which families of 12 Polish inmates of World War II Nazi German concentration camps were given back their confiscated belongings.

Some relatives had tears in their eyes as they received the mementoes of their long-gone, often unknown family members. More such ceremonies are planned.

Wasilewska's family was given back her two amber crucifixes, part of a golden bracelet and a gold wristwatch engraved with the initials KW and the date 7-3-1938, probably marking her wedding to Konstanty Wasilewski.

“This is an important moment in our lives, because this is a story that we did not fully know about and it came to light,” Wasilewska's great-granddaughter, Malgorzata Koryś, 35, told The Associated Press.

When Nazi Germany was defeated in 1945, Wasilewska was taken by the Red Cross from Neuengamme to Sweden, but later returned to Poland. She is buried in her native Grodzisk Mazowiecki, near Warsaw.

From another family, Adam Wierzbicki, 29, was given two rings which belonged to Zofia Strusińska and a golden chain and tooth filling of Józefa Skórka, two married sisters of his great-grandfather, Stanislaw Wierzbicki. Captured together on Aug. 4, like Wasilewska, the sisters also went through Ravensbrück and Neuengamme before the Red Cross took them to Sweden.

A family story has it that a Swedish man fell in love with one of the sisters and wanted them both to stay, promising to take care of them, but they decided to go back to Poland, Wierzbicki said.

The return of their jewelry is “important for sentimental reasons but also for historical reasons,” Wierzbicki told the AP.

The items were returned by the Arolsen Archives, the international center on Nazi persecution, which holds information on about 17.5 million people. It stores some 2,000 items which were seized by the Nazis from concentration camp inmates from more than 30 countries, and are intended to be returned to their relatives.

When the prisoners were sent to concentration camps, their valuables — wedding rings, watches, gold chains, earrings and other items — were confiscated and put in envelopes marked with their owners’ names. That allowed for the items’ return to the families, 80 years later.

It was an uplifting moment when the archives volunteers contacted him, Wierzbicki said, but there was also the thought that “history will catch up with you. It was like my aunts were looking at me from the past."

The archives launched its restitution campaign, “Warsaw Uprising: 100 Untold Stories,” to mark 80 years since the city rose up against the Nazi invaders on Aug. 1, 1944, with the goal of reaching the families of 100 victims and reviving the memory of them through their belongings.

Archive director Floriane Azoulay said they are only custodians of the belongings, which should be returned to the families.

“Every object that we return is personal,” Azoulay said. "And it’s the last personal thing a person had on them before they became a prisoner, before they became a number. So it is a very important object for a family.”

Volunteer Manuela Golc has found more than 100 Polish families and each time it's an emotional moment.

“It is often the case that we pass on information that the family was not aware of at all," Golc said. "So this conversation on the phone ... is also very difficult. But in the end we are very happy that the memento is returning to the family.”

If she was unable to trace a family online or through official records, she traveled to cemeteries, leaving notes waterproofed against the rain for the families on the graves of people whose data matched those in the archives, asking them to get in touch.

The Warsaw Uprising was launched by the underground resistance Home Army with the goal of taking control of the capital city ahead of the advancing Soviet troops. It fell after 63 days of heroic struggle that cost the lives of some 200,000 fighters and civilians. In revenge, the Germans expelled the surviving residents and reduced Warsaw to ruins.

During German occupation in 1939-45, Poland lost some 6 million residents, half of them Jewish, and suffered huge material losses.

[mundanemiseries]

imagine Koko realizing he legit has romantic feelings for someone and just...mentally shutting down on himself once he recognizes what those feelings are.

He's spent hundreds, thousands of years as an accursed demon of the void, then a weapon of one war or another. For so much of his life he has been the blade who by the orders of another has and would kill untold numbers.

He'll say he killed the last remnants of the child he was when he killed his void-madded father. He'll say the last of his humanity was executed in by the jade light alongside Margulis. Sure, to the people he reached out to, like Calla he was kind and understanding and always did what he could to be there for someone.

But frankly, he simply hasn't considering himself anything more than a weapon or a tool to be used since he was twelve.

In recent years he's let go of small, tiny pieces of that, allowing himself the hobbies and more social interactions he's seen people have. Allowed himself the space to see the people around him as and care for them like the family he's gone without for so, so long.

But he's long since stopped seeing himself as someone who could be hurt. Who could feel things like pain or fear or love. Something he associated so deeply with the personhood he wasn't allowed.

So to know, to recognize that he's feeling such a way. It terrifies him. It feels like he's spit in the face of everything he's had to be, allowed himself something a thing like him isn't supposed to have.

And under the weight of emotions he feels he's not allowed to have, he crumbles. Attempting to cut his world down to himself (and Calla), afraid and trying to bury what he sees as the ghosts of his personhood long, long dead.

[pinejay]

wow i actually received a response from lori trahan, the MA rep of my district. and surprise surprise, it's disgustingly liberal and pro all of biden's policies. here's the full email under the cut:

Thank you for reaching out to my office with your concerns regarding the ongoing Israel-Palestine conflict.

As your Representative in Congress, I am adamantly pro-peace and want to do everything possible to achieve a lasting peaceful resolution to this conflict. The sheer volume of death and destruction is heartbreaking, and I mourn with all families who will have empty seats at their table. 

I am appalled by the heinous and unprecedented terror attack perpetrated by Hamas, an internationally recognized terrorist organization, on October 7th. Hamas raped, murdered, and kidnapped innocent Israeli citizens. Hundreds were gunned down at the Nova Festival in Re’im. Terrorists infiltrated local communities on Israel’s border with Gaza and went house to house hunting their victims. They burned down homes with families inside and slaughtered civilians at point blank range. They mutilated babies and children, and committed countless unspeakable crimes. In total, Hamas murdered more than 1,400 people, including at least 32 American citizens, and kidnapped hundreds more who are still being held in Gaza. As President Biden explained, October 7th was the deadliest day for the Jewish people since the Holocaust. Furthermore, I am disgusted by the blatant anti-Semitism and Islamophobia we have seen in response to this conflict. I firmly condemn the dehumanization of and violence towards civilian groups in the United States that is being levied due to this conflict. 

The stated purpose of Hamas as a terrorist organization is the complete destruction of Israel, and that was the motivation behind the atrocities we saw carried out on October 7th. These attacks are the latest action by Hamas to fulfill their mission of destroying the state of Israel no matter the cost. In recent days, Hamas leaders have made clear that in addition to the murder of innocent Israelis, the cost of their aggression also includes an untold number of Palestinian civilians, including young children, who they routinely use as human shields to launch rocket barrages and attacks. The goal, according to Hamas leaders, is to force a terrible human toll and to continue its terrorist acts until Israel is destroyed. 

When we talk about a pause in fighting, whether that means a ceasefire or humanitarian pause, we need to be clear about what that means. Specifically, a ceasefire requires the two sides - Israel and Hamas - to agree. Without absolute and total agreement, one concedes that peace will continue to be unachievable – and right now, Hamas has stood firm in its intent to continue repeating the October 7th attacks until Israel ceases to exist as a nation. This is unacceptable.

Will Hamas agree to release innocent civilian hostages, which include young children and Americans? Will they permit safe zones without attempting to hide inside or below them, as they have done with hospitals in Gaza? Will they agree to transit corridors and actually permit innocent civilians to leave through them? Will they allow additional humanitarian aid and resist the temptation to take it for themselves? Will they allow Palestinians civilians and hospitals access to the stockpile of fuel it has kept hidden? Will Hamas end its rocket attacks and incursions into Israel during a ceasefire? These questions must be part of the conversation as we discuss a potential pause to this conflict.

Let me clear, Hamas does not represent Palestinians, and the majority of Palestinians are not Hamas. It is heartbreaking to see the absolute horror of more innocent lives lost in this conflict. I have repeatedly urged my colleagues and the Biden administration to continue pushing for a path forward that can both put an end to the loss of more lives and ensure that there will be no future conflict or massacre like October 7th. I will continue working with my Democratic colleagues to ensure that the innocent Palestinian citizens living in Gaza have access to critical humanitarian assistance, including food, water, and medicine, and that those resources do not fall into Hamas’ hands. Of course, I recognize the quantity and accessibility of this aid must improve, and I will continue working to help make this happen. Furthermore, I am supportive of President Biden’s efforts to ensure the trucks carrying these supplies are able to safely pass the Rafah border crossing between Egypt and Gaza, to open the Rafah border for medical evacuees, and to start daily humanitarian pauses.

Finally, I urge everyone who speaks about this conflict to consider the gravity of your words and actions. This is an extremely tense moment, and both Palestinian and Jewish Americans feel like they have targets on their backs as Islamophobic and anti-Semitic hate crimes rise. As Americans, we each have the treasured right to share our values and debate our views, but we also have the responsibility to our neighbors and our community to do so respectfully and peacefully. Hate has no place here, and we must unequivocally condemn it in all its forms and wherever it arises.

Again, thank you for contacting our office. I always appreciate hearing from you and hope you will continue to share your views with my office. If I can ever be of future assistance to you, please do not hesitate to call my Lowell office at (978) 459-0101. To receive regular updates on this and other congressional issues, visit my website and follow me on Facebook and Twitter.

[its-just-luci]

Children of Apollo Part III: The Birth of an Icon.

“In the past ten thousand years- an instant in our long history- we’ve abandoned the nomadic life; We’ve domesticated the plants and animals; Why chase the food when you could make it come to you? For all its material advantages, the sedentary life has left us… edgy, unfulfilled; Even after four hundred generations in villages and cities, we haven’t forgotten. There are now people on every continent and the remotest islands, from pole to pole, from Mount Everest to the Dead Sea, on the ocean bottoms and even, occasionally, in residence 200 miles up: Humans, like the gods of old, living in the sky. These days, there seems to be nowhere left to explore. Victims of their own success, the explorers now, pretty much, stay home. Maybe it’s a little early, maybe the time is not quite yet, but those other worlds, promising untold opportunities, beckon.  - Carl Sagan

Interlude 1: Those Untold Worlds…

(Pink Floyd, Is There Anybody Out There?)

As spring came to an end, Voyager 1 and 2 reached the most massive and ever present planet in our solar system, Jupiter. As they arrived, they brought with them a new pair of eyes, able to see the planet in new levels of detail. When Pioneer 10 flew by Jupiter over half a decade prior, the small probe screamed by, transmitting  a small number of photographs from the giant before disappearing into the interplanetary void once more. However, as with most space missions, this left scientists with far more questions than answers, and this time, the voyager spacecraft were making a more targeted approach.

As the Voyagers approached, they began targeting specific flybys of the Jovian moons. Of interest to Voyagers 1 and 3 would be Europa and, assuming sufficient data had been collected, Voyagers 2 and 4 would target Io. The moons were special in the solar system, marking the only real evidence that scientists had for both liquid water, and geological activity present in the modern solar system outside of Earth. This made the two moons ideal for scientific observation, allowing the scientists at NASA to gain a greater understanding of these untold worlds.

(Jupiter loomed as the Voyagers approached.)

As Voyager 1 screamed by Europa, the probe began capturing photographs and taking measurements of the moon's properties. The eerie, veiny surface could be seen. Covered in scars and brownish-orange deposits, the moon looked unique, alien even. These deposits were theorized to be salt deposits, later confirmed by Voyager 1, underneath the icy crust and perhaps atop a subsurface ocean of liquid water. This promised the potential for life, an elusive potential to say the least. Scientists waited with bated breath as the remaining images from Voyager 1’s encounter rolled in.

(Voyager 1 imagery of the Europan Surface.)

Months later, Voyager 2 would reach the giant, flying by the gaseous world and approaching its moon, Io. Io was found to have far more actively volcanic sites than previously theorized, and as voyager 2 was flying away from the molten moon, it turned to catch one final glimpse of the planetoid beneath it. Voyager 2 was already facing difficulties, having a number of communications problems that threatened to plague the entire mission. With this a known issue, mission planners uploaded an automated sequence that would capture less scientific data, but ensure the probe would reach Saturn, and gather observations as long as it could. From Saturn, the first two voyager probes were to part ways, and if funding was received as predicted, they would reach planets even further than that of the Pioneer probes in the coming years. 

(Active Volcanism as captured by Voyager 2.)

As Voyagers 3 and 4 approached Jupiter, they too received special commands. These sent Voyager 3 on a close flyby of Titan in just under 2 years, and Voyager 4 to a flyby of Enceladus, both trajectories ending the two latter probes missions in the solar system. All the while, Pioneer 11 had reached Saturn, and the images it transmitted back on its slow antenna were that of a quiet, almost featureless world surrounded by moons, and a number of rings and bands. Pioneer 11 flew a dangerous trajectory, but one that must have been tested before the Voyager probes could safely reproduce the maneuver. This trajectory sent the probe screaming by Saturn’s upper atmosphere and through its ring-plane. NASA initially gave the probe a 50/50 chance of survival, and many on the Pioneer team breathed a sigh of relief as the probe slowly began transmitting after its dive of faith.

(Pioneer imagery from Saturn.)

By 1974, following the announcement and early development of the American STS rocket, Soviet military officials began fearing that the US shuttle may be more than it seemed. Potentially used as a weapon of war, the Shuttle could lay in wait, sitting overhead the Soviet Union, ready to deliver nuclear weapons in but a moment's notice. This terrified many in the Soviet government, and almost immediately upon making this realization, a decree into the development of a high-cadence response to the American shuttle was delivered to the Supreme Soviet of the USSR. 

It passed with flying colors, and before long, work on a soviet shuttle was underway. As American documents regarding the shuttle’s design had been made public upon their creation, much of the shuttle’s design was stolen directly from the American shuttle. This allowed the soviets to rapidly prototype, implementing features they needed in their orbiters, as well as focus development on the N1-M. The N1-M was to be able to launch as many as 6 times a year by 1985, allowing the soviets to launch a counter-response in the event of a nuclear skirmish in space. Getting the massive N1 to be flyable at this pace proved an immense challenge however, and many in the OKB design bureaus saw it as a near impossibility. Nevertheless development marched on, regardless of the engineers’ pleas, as always.

[mariacallous]

It is 3.30pm and Suna Hamanawa, 25, is doing what she and dozens of other Afghan mothers do most days: whiling her time away on a park bench in Viktoria Square, a scruffy plaza in central Athens, as her children play around her. Like almost every other asylum seeker, she is relieved to be in Greece.

“We’re better here, we’re safer here even though me and my husband and our first little one [initially] spent 10 months in Moria,” she says, screwing up her face at the memory of the notoriously overcrowded and fire-ravaged refugee camp on Lesbos.

“But every day, in its own way, is a fresh hell. The Greek government does nothing. It just keeps saying ‘wait, wait, wait’. And that’s what we do all day, every day. Wait for our papers, wait for our travel documents. Wait for freedom.”

A year after Afghanistan’s fall to the Taliban, Greece continues to be the first port of call for thousands of people fleeing the country’s worsening humanitarian crisis. After Ukrainians, Afghans account for the second-largest group of asylum applicants in the EU and by far the biggest in Greece, where more than 37,000 – more than a third of the total number registered nationwide – have filed asylum claims.

Hamanawa, who arrived in Lesbos with her husband, Mohammed, in a dinghy from Turkey in 2018, waited four years to become one of the estimated 28,500 Afghans to secure refugee status – a protracted period of legal limbo that is vastly at odds with other refugees, not least those from Ukraine.

In a recent report, the International Rescue Committee (IRC) chronicled Afghan refugees’ difficulties in Greece and the serious impact on their physical and mental health.

Of the 192 Afghans monitored by the organisation’s mental health teams between April 2021 and March 2022, about 97% had reported symptoms of depression, while 50% had considered suicide, the IRC report said.

“Many Afghans fleeing conflict and persecution in their own country think their troubles will be over once they reach Europe … This is simply not the case,” says Dimitra Kalogeropoulou, the IRC’s Greece director.

“Instead, people face the stark reality of violent pushbacks from Greek borders, months or years living in fear of being sent back to Turkey or Afghanistan, where they could face untold horrors, extended periods trapped in prison-like reception conditions, far from towns and cities and an alarming lack of support to begin rebuilding their lives,” she says.

For the estimated 70,000 Ukrainians who have sought refuge in Greece, it has been a different story. After Russia’s invasion on 24 February, the EU moved quickly to issue a temporary protection directive to safeguard the rights of people desperate to leave the war-torn country.

Although relatively few Ukrainians have headed to Greece, the reception they have received there has been unusually warm, with senior officials often referring to the newcomers as “real refugees”.

It was vital, said the IRC report, that Afghans were also guaranteed access to full and fair asylum procedures and given “dignified” support with accommodation and integration.

“While the Greek government has welcomed refugees from Ukraine, by efficiently registering them, issuing legal documents and allowing immediate access to employment, Afghans in Greece, alongside other asylum seekers and refugees, continue to be isolated from the Greek society in which they seek to rebuild their lives,” the report’s authors wrote. “Even after receiving status, refugees have limited integration support.”

The biggest barrier for Afghans claiming asylum is the Greek government’s controversial decision to label Turkey a “safe third country” for people not only from Afghanistan but also from Bangladesh, Pakistan, Somalia and Syria. The decision has prevented thousands of people from being able to explain why they need international protection.

“We’ve been here for four years,” says Khorshid Ahmadi, 26, as she plays with her children in Viktoria Square. “My family’s request for asylum has been rejected three times. They keep saying we should return to Turkey, even if Turkey doesn’t take anyone back from Greece.”

As a result, she says, neither she, her husband nor their five children have legal status or any right to housing or cash assistance.

Greece’s centre-right government insists it pursues a “tough but fair” migration and asylum policy. Accusations of pushbacks – despite overwhelming evidence – have been strongly denied. But keeping asylum seekers at bay remains a priority. In September, the migration minister, Notis Mitarachi, noted that the country had blocked about 50,000 migrants from entering Greece in August alone.

Amid renewed tensions with Turkey, the public order minister in Athens claimed last month that every night about 1,500 people gathered at the land border with Turkey were attempting to cross as a result of Ankara’s policy to “weaponise” migration and push asylum seekers into Greek territory.

As one of Europe’s most southerly states, Greece was the main entry point for more than 800,000 Syrians when the refugee crisis first engulfed the continent in 2015. After the adoption of a controversial pact aimed at stemming flows between the EU and Turkey in March 2016, the influx dropped steeply.

As patrols have been reinforced, with the help of the EU’s border agency Frontex, the number has fallen further in recent years, particularly arrivals on the north Aegean islands facing the Turkish coast, where most asylum seekers at the height of the crisis were located. The decline prompted the Greek prime minister, Kyriakos Mitsotakis, to boast last week that smuggling networks had been largely cracked.

International bodies have echoed the IRC in rebuking Athens for resorting to tactics of brute force to keep asylum seekers out.

Concluding a 10-day fact-finding tour of Greece in June, Mary Lawlor, the UN special rapporteur for human rights defenders, accused the Mitsotakis government of creating a “climate of fear”, not only for refugees and asylum seekers fleeing poverty and persecution but also for groups defending migrants’ rights on the ground. Illegal evictions of asylum seekers at land and sea borders had become a general policy in Greece, she said.

Last week, Mitarachi insisted the government would continue to replace open-air camps on frontline islands, such as Lesbos, with barbed-wire encircled “closed controlled” access centres, and would push ahead with plans to extend a border fence along the Evros land frontier with Turkey.

Mohamad Mirzay, Greece’s Afghan community spokesperson, who arrived in the country in 2006 at the age of 14, says: “Every day, we hear from families back home of Afghans being lost at the border.

“One of our biggest problems is that a lot of young Afghans whose asylum claims are rejected get into drugs, a problem we are now trying to address as a community. It’s all so very hard. Very few want to stay here, they don’t want to endanger their future. For sure, you could say, Ukrainians get very different treatment.”

Sofia Kouvelaki, who heads the Home project, an NGO that supports unaccompanied minors, said: “Ukrainian refugees have proved a point. In Greece, and in the EU, they have shown that if we want to integrate we can, and if we want to welcome people with a human face we can do that too.”

[myfrenzi]

Exploring the World of Documentaries on OTT

Documentaries have the power to captivate, educate, and immerse audiences in real stories that often go unnoticed. With the advent of Over-the-top (OTT) platforms, the world of documentaries has found a new and vibrant avenue for reaching viewers. In this article, we embark on a journey through the realm of documentaries available on OTT platforms, exploring their diverse topics, emotional depth, and the convenience of where to watch web series online.

The Documentary Renaissance

In recent years, documentaries have experienced a renaissance, emerging as a powerful form of storytelling that delves deep into real-life narratives. OTT platforms have played a pivotal role in this renaissance by providing a platform for both established and emerging filmmakers to share their unique perspectives with a global audience.

The Diversity of Topics and Stories

Documentaries on OTT platforms span a wide spectrum of topics, from social issues and environmental concerns to biographical accounts and historical events. This diversity ensures that there’s something for everyone, allowing viewers to explore and learn about subjects they may not have encountered otherwise.

A Window into Real Lives

Unlike fictional narratives, documentaries offer a direct window into real lives, cultures, and experiences. They often bring to light untold stories and shed light on the struggles, triumphs, and everyday lives of people around the world.

Convenience of Streaming Documentaries

OTT platforms have made it incredibly convenient to access and stream documentaries. Gone are the days of waiting for a documentary to air on television or be screened in a limited number of theaters. Now, viewers can simply log on to their favorite OTT platform and dive into a world of captivating real stories.

Where to Watch Web Series Online: Finding Documentaries on OTT

For those wondering where to watch web series online, OTT platforms offer a treasure trove of documentaries waiting to be explored. Platforms like Netflix, Amazon Prime Video, and others have dedicated sections for documentaries, making it easy for viewers to discover and enjoy a wide range of factual narratives.

The Emotional Impact

Documentaries have a unique way of evoking emotions and sparking conversations. Whether it’s a heartwarming tale of resilience or a thought-provoking exploration of societal issues, documentaries have the power to leave a lasting impact on viewers, inspiring them to reflect and engage with the world around them.

The Art of Storytelling through Documentaries

Just like fictional films, documentaries are crafted with care and precision. Filmmakers use a variety of storytelling techniques, such as interviews, archival footage, animations, and more, to bring their narratives to life and engage the audience on a personal and emotional level.

How Documentaries Inspire Change

Documentaries often shed light on pressing issues and ignite conversations that lead to positive change. They can raise awareness about environmental conservation, social justice, healthcare disparities, and more, inspiring viewers to take action and contribute to a better world.

Engaging Audiences of All Ages

Documentaries are not limited by age; they have the power to engage audiences of all generations. From young students eager to learn to older individuals seeking to broaden their horizons, documentaries offer valuable insights and perspectives to everyone.

Conclusion: Unveiling the World of Real Stories

In a world saturated with fictional narratives, documentaries stand as a beacon of truth and authenticity. The documentaries available on OTT platforms enrich our understanding of the world, open our eyes to different realities, and connect us emotionally to the stories of people from all walks of life. So, the next time you wonder where to watch web series online, remember that the world of documentaries awaits you, offering a journey of discovery, empathy, and inspiration.

FAQs

1. Can I find documentaries on OTT platforms?

Yes, many OTT platforms offer a diverse collection of documentaries spanning various topics and genres.

2. Do documentaries provide accurate information?

Documentaries strive to present accurate information, often supported by extensive research and expert interviews.

3. Are documentaries only for educational purposes?

While documentaries can be educational, they also aim to entertain and engage audiences emotionally.

4. Can documentaries inspire change?

Absolutely, documentaries have the power to raise awareness and inspire viewers to take action on important issues.

5. Are there documentaries suitable for children?

Yes, there are documentaries designed for children that provide educational and age-appropriate content.

[harostar]

Illusion of a Plan

One argument I keep seeing around the fandom is that “Ironwood is the only one with a plan”. The argument goes that no one else has tried to come up with any alternatives, that no one else has a solid course of action.

Which is......not what is happening. 

Ironwood symbolizes the kingdom of Atlas, which includes the ILLUSION of control. The ILLUSION of having a plan, of having a course of action that could succeed.

Those arguments that “Ironwood has a plan” ignore that Ironwood has ALWAYS crumbled under pressure and that his plans has always collapsed. What I mean by this is that Ironwood is ultimately an amazing Ideas man, and he excels at providing support to others. But whenever he tries to take control and be the leader, things......tend to go horribly wrong. One reason for that is because Ironwood himself tends to panic, and he makes rash decisions.

Ironwood does his absolute best when he has all the advantages or when he is working to help and support OTHERS. Think back to when Ironwood has done his absolute best, when he’s been heroic and saved the day. What did those moments have in common?

He was working with others and had put aside his ego to cooperate. 

Beacon:

Ironwood is starting to lose himself to panic, he’s spiraling and more worried about defending the PENNY program than dealing with the current crisis. Ozpin gives him direction: Use his army and save the city. 

Ironwood rallies the students, tries to deal with the hack, and then joins forces with Glynda and Qrow. He supports the evacuation and the efforts to save people. 

He SUCCEEDS in what Ozpin asked him to do. He saves an untold number of lives that day. 

But then he makes a critical mistake.

He goes back to Atlas and begins a process of isolation. He starts giving into his paranoia. He recognizes that Haven is the next target and tells Jacques Schnee that “Leo” won’t be able to handle it. So Ironwood starts closing the borders, abandoning his closest allied kingdom. Salem’s forces explicitly state their plan requires that Ironwood remain isolated, that he not reach out to Theodore and reaffirm his alliances.

Ironwood starts taking and taking from the most vulnerable citizens. To repurpose Amity Arena as a new communications tower, he begins placing greater strains on Mantle. He uses his authority to take supplies from Mantle, creating greater danger for the kingdom in the name of an ambitious and far-off plan. He ignores the immediate dangers in favor of gambling on what COULD eventually be a major benefit for everyone. 

Mantle: 

When the heating grid is deactivated in Mantle, Ironwood once again shows his greatest strength. He joins forces with Robyn, and TOGETHER they manage to come up with a multi-point plan to address the crisis. They lure out Watts and Tyrian, they organize evacuations. Everything is going in their favor.

But then Ironwood sees that someone associated with Salem has broken into his office. His trauma comes crashing down on him, and he throws away literally every bit of progress made. 

He sends Winter to kill Fria, leading Cinder to the Winter Maiden’s location as she wanted. He falls into the same trap that was played at Beacon, and they nearly lose a second Maiden to Cinder.

He turns on his allies, ordering their arrests. He doubles-down on abandoning Mantle, because among the refugees could be more of Salem’s agents. He decides to abandon the Amity Project, even when pressed about trying an emergency launch. (Something that Ruby’s team later PULLS OFF, in spite of his interference.) 

He hasn’t planned beyond “Fuck Off into the upper atmosphere, let this be other people’s problems”. We see this in the simple fact that people in Atlas are out on picnics and living their ordinary lives while Salem’s forces are on their doorstep. While the people of Mantle are facing death by Grimm or Hypothermia, the people in Atlas don’t even know anything is going on.

There are clearly no emergency procedures of any kind, because of course not. Atlas is always safe from everything because of their military. The people do not even know how to react to the sight of Grimm, nor do they have any way to deal with sheltering the population other than shoving them down into the subway. There’s no emergency shelters, no evacuation plans, absolutely no emergency planning in sight for the wealthiest kingdom with the best technology and the one standing military.

In Mantle, people are coming together and getting shit down with what little they have. The Happy Huntresses, the Mantle Police, and other random Huntsmen are doing everything possible with almost no resources and their main source of support/resources (Atlas military) completely cut off.

In the mean time, Ironwood has spent an entire day watching things go to hell. Clinging to his desperate Escape Plan, to the point of ordering a major enemy to HACK PENNY. On the slim hope he can force things to go the way he wants.

Meanwhile, Ironwood has rejected literally every single attempt to discuss alternatives. And he has rejected them with increasing violence. Oscar nearly died, and Councilman Sleet is dead now for questioning Ironwood. 

His best plan to deal with the Whale is “send my best operatives to hand-deliver a bomb on what is very likely a suicide mission”. When he....literally......has drones. He has machines designed for the purpose of handling dangerous things like that, but instead he’s sending his best and most loyal team to probably die on a long-shot. 

Meanwhile, Team “Don’t Kill Everyone” has actually accomplished a lot. Again, with very limited resources and almost no logistical experience. I think that’s important to remember in this discussion:

Teams RWBY and JNR + O are teenagers. 

The people that should have all the experience, expertise, resources, and means to get shit down are actively hindering them. EVERYONE is in over their head at this point. But only ONE PERSON has actively and consistently made things difficult.

Ironwood has decided his plan is the only plan. And he won’t even consider the multiple attempts to discussion alternatives, to discuss other options. To......anything. He’s already decided he cannot risk his City and therefore, everyone else is a necessary sacrifice. He’s providing increasingly willing to harm and even kill the people around him, in the name of defending a single city. 

He’s managed to convince himself and his subordinates that he has a plan. 

But he’s merely dressed up his panic, and presented it as something reasonable and rational.

It isn’t and pretending that he isn’t the primary party responsible for things being so bad at this point is a mistake. He’s the one with every single advantage and most of the cards, who has consistently refused to even talk with anyone else. 

He’s covered a turd in gold, polished it, and presented it as the only possible choice. 

And then insisted anyone going, “But it’s still shit” is too naive and getting in his way. Unfortunately, some of the fandom seem to also believe you’re not allowed to point out that a gold-plated turd is still shit, unless you independently offer up a completely unique and separate, better option. 

That’s not actually how things work. You’re supposed to be able to go: “But that idea sucks” and start asking questions and making suggestions. 

[boop-le-snoot]

Doll Parts | tony stark x reader

i love him so much it just turns to hate // he only loves those things because he loves to see them break // and someday you will ache like i ache // Hole - Doll Parts

all hurt comfort. angst. no happy ending. big sad. tony could have been like this, you know. he was like this to pepper at some point. i don't know why i am like this today. rated M for themes of (implied) addiction & cheating and non-explicit mentions of intimacy. word count: 3,3k

It wasn't as if she was blind or dumb. She saw the way he treated everyone around him; whenever a single person got too close he'd push them away, consciously or not. The man loved pushing everybody's buttons as if he was playing Galaga for a living; rapidly, mercilessly, with intent. Tony Stark was not a man to whom a person would give their heart willingly.

It was her own fault she went and gave hers away, to him, of all people. And sometimes, it did feel like he loved her, in his own way. Tony would shower her with gifts and affection, cling to her whenever he wasn't away on SI business, and God, the sex was out of this world. Sometimes, she felt as if she would suddenly burst into a blinding flash of light, scalding and deafening, that would sprout from the invisible wounds his fingers left on her skin. Like fine china, she cracked little by little under his steady, tender hands.

The first time he'd ended their short, by average standards, but long - by his, relationship, it didn't come as a surprise. She had never held illusions on ensnaring the world's most notorious playboy. Younger and less jaded, she amicably agreed to get her things that very same day, blocked his number and left for an overdue vacation in the tropics. Being able to browse the gossip sites speculating on their lack of public appearances whilst sipping a Strawberry Daiquiri was a much better alternative to spending her nights holed up in rainy Manhattan, having to answer numerous "I told you so" calls from friends and relatives.

Maybe, three daiquiris should've been enough. But she'd quit smoking because he said the smell bothered him and she- well, she could do anything she wanted now. Being alone and not dating a very public figure definitely had way more perks than she previously had taken for granted in her much less exposed life. That's how the heartache began to recede: it was hard to mope when fun was calling for you by your name.

Some of Tony's character traits had migrated onto her. Which wasn't bad per se, she had been told she could use to loosen up. Her friends rejoiced in the newfound adventurousness, never missing an opportunity to go out, throw a party, go on a clubbing spree. She was game and she was enjoying it. Dolled up and eyes sparkling, the newfound confidence radiated off her like a beacon, attracting just about every single like-minded person in a five mile radius.

Tony's champagne he had sent to their table meant nothing. Her friends laughed and giggled and asked her all about the juicy details about the billionaire; as much as she searched the rowdy crowd for a familiar pair of baby doe browns, they weren't anywhere within sight. So she went back to talking and smiled as bright as the strobe lights, throwing down a whiskey shot to water the burning ache in her chest.

She found him on the dancefloor. Seconds after she stepped her foot into the mass of grinding bodies Tony was there, an equally happy and intoxicated smile on his face and arms wide open, as if they hadn't parted ways at all. She wanted to be angry with him, she really did, she wanted to snide his frivolity and the possessive way that he had the audacity to treat her.

His eyes, they were her untold weakness. She hadn't seen him so happy in months. Just once, she agreed, she'd let it slide. And so they danced, bodies accustomed to each other in the way that seemed to be impossible for her to achieve with anyone since the day that she left Tony Stark.

A splitting headache and a cold, empty bed greeted her the next morning. Thankfully, her clothes were laying haphazardly on the floor of the bedroom - the bed that was not his own but, rather, as she assumed, one of the many guest rooms in his tower.

Not the one to usually harbour shame of her very human needs, she felt like a cheap whore when she got dressed and grabbed her purse, making a beeline for the door to the elevator. As soon as the doors opened, she was greeted with a woman in a professional suit - tall, strawberry blonde and as cold as the Arctic, beautiful in the Vogue-magazine, unattainable way.

"Good morning," The woman spoke in a pleasant tone.

She wanted to retch from the false cheerfulness. "Good morning, ma'am. I was just leaving," Refusing to bow to her own shame, she flashed an equally cheerful grin towards the blonde.

"I'm Mr. Stark's personal assistant, my name is Pepper Potts," They briefly shook hands, neither of them wanting to touch the other longer than it was necessary. "There is a car waiting for you downstairs. Be sure to take the left exit."

Internally fuming, she smiled slightly wider, seeing no need to introduce herself or prolong the awkward interaction longer than necessary. "Thank you, Ms. Potts, that will not be necessary. I have arranged my own ride. Have a nice day, ma'am," With that, she pressed the button once again, entering the elevator with the expression of polite contentment glued to her face like a persistent piece of dog shit she couldn't shake off the bottom of her shoe.

Ms. Potts' façade slipped slightly - she must've been new - as the blonde ran a sharply observant look over the woman in the elevator, pulling out her phone as soon as the elevator door was halfway closed. That was quickly forgotten, her head growing clearer with each second it was pressed against the cold window of the cab she'd called on the way downstairs.

It was a mistake, a perfectly human accident that happened to the best of them. Only it left a bitter residue somewhere south of her ribcage, something acrid and viscous that even alcohol couldn't melt. The more she drank, the thicker that ball of rolled up frustration became, bleeding into her work, her relationships with her friends. It was tiresome to keep craving something so far out of her reach.

The exhaustion grew day by day, until her chest felt constricted for most part of the day and all the oxygen in the whole wide world wasn't enough. Her heartache was saved, strangely enough, by aliens - they rained down on New York city like frogs during the Plague in the book of Exodus; as if God himself was angry at the state of affairs of his favourite pet earthlings. For a time, she couldn't afford to worry about her broken heart and focused on the dilapidated city, landing her resources and skills whenever, whenever she could.

Late at night, exhausted and drained, she allowed herself to flick through the news, eagerly soaking up the new details that seemed to pop up every other day. Aliens were real, Thor was one, Captain America was alive and her ex-boyfriend was now a member of the merry band of misfit superheroes.

She had never taken his hero sidegig too seriously. Tony had some good in him, he wasn't the attention-demanding supervillain-waiting-to-happen, but neither he was hero material. The Tony she knew was akin to a hyperintelligent kid left without supervision. Consequences were a slight setback, not a surefire deterrent for this man.

Her building remained mostly intact - some cosmetic damages that were repaired quickly and did not concern her apartment at all - so she stayed in the same place, much to everyone's dismay. A good chunk of her friends had moved away from NYC as soon as they could - not that she blamed them - but the calls of her family, consisting of begging and nagging her to move states, were beginning to climb over the annoying line very quickly. More often than not, she ignored all calls that weren't from her friends or work.

It shouldn't have surprised her that Tony showed up on her balcony one night - but the shriek that left her was utterly involuntary. His armored suit was noisy and clunky, just like was expected from a huge chunk of metal. Tony's face was a ghost of the man she used to know: he was pale, the bags under his eyes were fit to carry groceries in and he'd lost more than a few pounds around his middle.

Not that she had a glow-up. Work hours were long, volunteer work was by far more exhausting and emotionally draining. With her support system scattered across the country and free hours few and in-between, she'd acquired a shrink. Nightmares went away and the sluggishness, too, thanks to a couple of convenient prescriptions. It seemed like the professionals were as clueless as any in dealing with the aftermath of an alien invasion.

"You weren't returning my calls," Tony stated in the way of hello. It was so like him, to be skipping the pleasantries and glossing over the details.

"I have your number blocked," She replied unkindly, raising an eyebrow as the suit retracted and the man, wearing worn jeans and an oil-stained tee, stepped into the twilight of her home without an invitation.

"I wanted to make sure you are alive and your home is being rebuilt in case it was demolished. Stark foundation is shouldering most of the expenses," He offered in the way of explanation, beelining for the nice whiskey she kept in a tumbler in the living room.

The snort escaped her lips before she could help it; brain chronically overtired but medicated; Adderall and weariness. He was never a good liar, only a good faker. "Why are you here, Tony?" All of it: the damages, the casualties, all of it was public record, accessible 24/7. All he had to do was open Google.

He turned around, scanning her head-to-toe, in that not-quite-convinced way. "Just wanted to see if you're okay," He tried for nonchalant but his eyes were haunted. The whiskey glass he was holding empty in seconds.

She walked up to him, staying at an arm's distance from the man, before doing a slow, sarcastic twirl. "I'm fine. Not a scratch. Was in Staten Island that day."

He nodded, not at all convinced. "Good," Before slamming the glass down with such force, she was afraid the countertop now sported a rounded indent. Fingers twitching, he pulled the woman into himself before she could utter a peep, smashing their lips together without any grace, paying no attention to the way she froze as still as a statue. "God, I missed you. Couldn't bear the thought of you dying..." He mumbled in between harshly biting the plump of her bottom lip and steering the kiss towards his wishes, hand tangled in the hair on the back of her head.

He tasted like whiskey and desperation.

She couldn't not give in. She'd felt the same way when she watched his red and gold armor fly into that wormhole, missile in tow. She'd felt the same despair clawing at her ribcage when his lifeless body flew back from it before being caught by the rabid green monstrosity.

It wasn't graceful and it wasn't pretty; feeling like a monster herself, she responded the same way he did. She shredded his clothes, she clawed his back, leaving wet crimson streaks in the wake of her nails and whispered the ugliest, nastiest truths she had denied herself for so long. He left with the promise to stay in contact and for once, he did.

Nothing was the same. Tony was far from the careless, extravagant billionaire he used to be. These days he was a cynical, analytical asshole that one-upped people even before he had a real need to do so. Both of them had changed, really. She was not the tender uptown girl either.

The nights with him were rare and long; the nights alone with her work were recurrent and longer. The tower stood out on the NYC skyline like a sore thumb, beckoning with the unattainable snipe hunt of having something stable with the world's #1 superhero, Tony Stark. Each time they met, she felt almost as dirty as the time she stood in the elevator under the scrutiny of Pepper Potts.

Even if he didn't outright hide her. She'd ran into Black Widow and Clint Barton once or twice, each of them casting a glance at her Special Visitor badge before muttering niceties and moving on with their day. It was only slightly better with the Captain: he got in the elevator two floors below Tony's penthouse at 8 AM in the morning, just as she was leaving for work - dressed in a sharp pantsuit that was not-quite on Pepper's level. The soldier must've assumed she was a high-rank employee or a friend, the tips of his cheeks blushing as he spoke a quiet: "Good morning, ma'am," In that semi-formal tone of his.

Seeing a grown man get so flustered was quite adorable. "Good morning, Captain Rogers, sir," She replied in a matching tone, humoring him.

The elevator stopped suddenly and a few employees got in, staring openly at the national icon, who had his eyebrows slanted in confusion. The woman shared his sentiment: it was Tony's private elevator. She guessed all the other ones were too full in the mornings so the tower's AI put the underused one to work.

Or, at least, that's what she tried to convince herself of anyway. It wouldn't be past Tony to get jealous over something as trivial as sharing an elevator car with Captain America.

The plateau of normalcy didn't last long. Just as she was opening her third bottle of wine for the night, laptop open on the kitchen counter and proudly displaying "Tony Stark and Pepper Potts - America's newest power couple?" article, she realised he was a coward, too. Slowly but surely, he had ghosted her, not even bothering with an explanation of his sudden unavailability, the several dates missed and even more postponed indefinitely.

They were never going to be a normal couple. She had made her peace with that, ugly and depressing - but it was real. She thought what they had was real. She finally had admitted to herself that she loved him, loved an impossible man, loved to the bottom of Hell and pitfire. The fireworks under her skin had never fully gone away, she realised as more and more ugly sobs broke from her chapped lips.

She blocked his number again and bought herself a new one, deleting the "Tony Stark" contact for good. There was more than enough work to do and the time to feel sorry for herself was sparse. And if she picked up a habit to make sure the time working was spent with proper efficiency, without soaking documents in saltwater that her eyes seemed to overproduce those days? It wasn't a big deal. She needed to get back on her feet somehow, without being dragged by a man who wasn't even present to actively be ruining her life anymore.

If anything, she thought she should feel grateful. The blinding light, the stars that exploded and shone inside her only for Tony, became something poisonous and vile. It wasn't the bitter taste of regret; rather, she felt a flash of ravenous, burning anger every time his name or his face popped up in a press article within her eyesight. Love and hate weren't that different when it came to the intensity: she basked in those newfound feelings, taking care to pick apart and neatly sort each of his perceived flaws on a cute little shelf in her overtaxed brain and fatigued heart.

It wasn't healthy. A convenient escape for the summer; a cabin far, far away from the busy New York city - she took up the offer and relocated there, being content with working remotely, drinking strawberry mimosas by the lakeside. Day by day, the clarity of her mind returned, lulled into a false sense of security by the tranquil trees slowly swaying in the breeze and wide ripples in the water.

Tony seemed to be enjoying bringing chaos into her life and making her miserable. The quinjet landed right on the neatly manicured lawn in front of the cabin, several obviously exhausted and wounded superheroes dismounting the vehicle, Tony looking sheepish but determined in the lead.

She wasn't completely unaware of the rest of the world and knew of the fiasco the Avengers recently had. Was it the half-dead, limping Widow or the baby blues of the Captain, she couldn't tell, but the woman ushered them into her house, gathering the tools needed for first aid with haste. Fate wasn't looking to give her a break.

As soon as she stepped foot in the kitchen, alone, Tony was there, looking much like that time on the balcony, baby doe browns turned up to eleven and a groveling speech prepared on demand. He'd noticed her weight loss and the ashen tone of her skin, the prominent veins and the bags under her eyes. She was as obvious as a brick to the face with her vices.

She slapped him. He winced, but stayed quiet, preparing himself for the storm - and storm him she did, keeping quiet enough for most of the team to be able to tactfully ignore the scolding Tony was getting. "I despise, you, Stark. You're a coward. Do not dare to set foot in my house ever again."

Needless to say, the superheroes departed shortly after Natasha's injuries were stabilised and frowning, disappointed Thor and Steve (they'd asked her to address them by their first names) bashfully apologized for their sudden intrusion and any discomfort they might have caused. She smiled at Steve, wide and big; refusing to admit it was done just to spite Tony, she joked and blushed in response to the Captain.

Tony did not attempt to contact her again. For some time, she lived in fear - irrational one at that - he'd appear and wreck her life one more, final time, before admiring the destruction and leaving her a steaming pile of ashes on the floor. But seasons passed and all of it faded, like a vivid, terrible nightmare.

Piece by piece, her life was getting put back together. His name stopped invoking a swarm of feelings she needed to drown just to stay afloat; there were news regarding him, another violent altercation, and she simply flicked the TV back to adult swim. New friends and new hobbies were being made; the fine cracks made by his agile fingers were being filled with the gold of newer, better discoveries.

There was always something going on in the superhero world and finally one of the topics reached her line of work: mutant rights. She'd never stopped being a volunteer after that NYC invasion, making new connections in a domain previously unexplored, it paid off in spades regarding her career growth. The connections were vital to be able to climb the corporate ladder successfully.

Stark showed up at her door three days after half of his merry band of misfits were pronounced fugitives. This time, she expected it. She knew better than to expect him to assume responsibility by himself - a quick Google search and his relationship status was listed as once again single - the Virginia Potts she knew would not have let anything like that happen. Stark was on his own.

"They betrayed me," He'd said, from behind the door she had cracked open a few inches, to make him know he wasn't welcome in her home.

"I think you know now, how I felt then," She didn't falter, ignoring the way his still freshly-bruised face darkened. "As far as I am concerned, you deserve it. Goodbye, Tony." She shut the door without waiting for his response, hearing his footsteps slowly back away as she made herself another coffee.

Tony Stark taglist: @another-stark-sub @letsby @mostly-marvel-musings @rdjesus4ever @ladyeliot

Well um 💀 yeah. I'll go and attempt to scavenge some serotonin somewhere now. Thanks for reading! 💖✨

[katsukikitten]

Warning : 18 plus AU, adult themes, collage au

Part one Part two

"Mina, I really don't see why I have to wear this Bikini, I prefer a cutout  one piece." You say sipping your iced coffee as Mina packs her beach bag with sponges, rags, and tons of bottled water. You wait impatiently by the door of your shared, temporary dorm. 

"Becauuuusssse, I already told you! That Instagram post I made of all of us blew up, even with my large following. Remember how many people we brought in last time?"

"Yes, we made 45% more profit…" You bite at the inside of your lip as you think, adjusting your white t-shirt so it sat nicely above the black bikini bottoms. You weren't one to argue with numbers.

"Well now with the combined efforts with the shirtless boys we can actually use that allowance you got us for unlimited kegs." 

"No, Mina new windows and installation. They said the house was hot, which means winter will be brutal." You roll your eyes, "Unless you want to freeze this winter, personally I have no problem with freezing." 

She giggles at your joke, pulling you along as if you were the reason for being late instead of her. Mina spies Uraraka and Jiro waving them towards the two of you before she whispers softly to you.  

"Just, try to have fun today no matter what." 

You wondered if that was an omen, a jinx or if she already knew what lied ahead. Either way you would not being having too much fun. 

The four of you arrive just before the first customer's begin to line up and already you want to organize. Counting the heads until you see a certain ash blonde causing your normally cold blood to run hot. Too hot. 

"Mina?" Your voice dips low, as ice dances in the air around you, "What is he doing here?" 

"Who?" She plays dumb as the other two women greet the group of men. Harsh garnet cut to you as you steel your glare. 

"Oi, Icy Brat. What are you fucking doing here?" His voice grates your nerves and for a moment you see red. Thinking of freezing him and going about your day. Instead you choose to give him the cold shoulder, averting your gaze. 

"We're doing pairs for washing today. I'm glad you could make it" Kirishima beams, coming in for a hug, you take a step back offering him a polite smile. His smile doesn't lose an ounce of shine, it makes you respect him a bit more. 

"I'll handle the cash and direct cars then." You say pointing to the box, ready to grab the fanny pack and head to the street. Denki grabs onto you gently, releasing you as if you were hot to the touch.  

"No it has to be a boy girl ratio. I promise the outcome will be worth it, please!" This won't be the first or last time both Denki and Mina beg for your help. You look around at what must be their subconscious pairings. Jiro calls Denki over as the first car pulls up, Kirishima seems to wait patiently, his eyes lingering on bubble gum pink skin, while Sero is already guiding cars with Uraraka in tow. 

That leaves you and Bakugou who has his arms crossed, sneering at the customers. 

Your hope dwindles that today would be a good day.

Sero points to a blue car indicating that this was going to be yours to share with the hot head. Sighing you waltz over in your black wedge heels and begin your work. Bakugou looms over the wet car, sponge in hand. The two of you work in silence until the third car, a red coupe with a couple inside about to receive the show of their bi lives. 

They comment on the tension they feel between the two of you right away, they notice the glares and lack of communication. Even making small jokes about how funny it would be to see one of those cliche water fights between the two of you. 

"Icebrat, you're doing it fuckin wrong." Bakuogu barks, you ignore him, continuing to wash the car. Anger burns in his chest, never understanding why you acted so high and mighty. 

"Gonna give me the cold shoulder are ya?" He growls, eyeing the dirty water before a thought crosses his mind, "Love to see you ignore this."

His voice is sadistic before he throws the dirty water across the car onto your frame, suds and water cling to your white t, showcasing the black bikini top underneath. Your temper spikes enough that your shirt collects frost at the seams before you slowly remove it. Glaring at the hot head when you're done.  

"Fuck." The couple say aloud grabbing onto each other as they watch the scene unfold. Your powerful frame guiding you with a deadly clack of your heels. Your hands find the bucket of water Mina and Kirishima were using, your fingers tap the bucket and the water forms a film of ice at the top. Meanwhile Bakugou goes to "correct" whatever mistake you were making. The couple's eyes watch the unsuspecting Bakugou reach up their hood to clean a particular spot before water is dumped over his spiky blonde hair. 

You tap the back of his shirt making it stiff with frost, when he moves to face you it shatters away from his body. Revealing the sculpted plans of his abs and the scars of untold stories. 

If it weren't for all of that ice water Bakugou would have blown you sky high, he comes close to you. Huffing as his eyes become wild and wide. All you offer him is a deadly polite smile as you stare him in the face, unbothered and unphased by his towering presence. 

"What? I was only getting the spot you missed." When he says nothing you allow yourself to relish the silence, placing your hand on his shoulder capping it in obvious ice. 

"Are you giving me the cold shoulder now?" The question is nonchalant before you signal to Sero for another car as you walk to get more supplies. Sero whistles at a bristling Bakugou before leaning into the driver's side window to give directions. Before he can ask for a tip the driver is offering a twenty dollar bill while his eyes are flickering between yourself and Bakugou. 

"Mark us down as a regular." He sighs as his girlfriend does too.  Sero happily tucks the money into the fanny pack.

"Will do." 

Somehow the two of you manage quips and water pranks back and forth without killing each other. Making it through the long day but earning a high amount of tips. Mina clings to you as you count cash, sweat on her brow as the sun settles into an unbearable afternoon heat. 

"Uuugghhh how much longer mom?" She asks, sighing at your icy touch. You roll your eyes as you count the last stack. 

"Not too much hush." You place the money into the lock box, wondering how the hell the eight of you made so much money in just seven hours. 

"But I'm starving! Plus we still have to pick our rooms!" 

"You're that excited to move all of our items into what was a male dominated space?" You ask coolly as Jiro and Uraraka lean against the collapsible table. 

"I'm stoked." Jiro comments, her earjacks twirling themself as her eyes wander.

"It will be nice to be settled before the fall term." Uraraka sighs looking down at her phone, idly scrolling through her socials. The two women nod as the guys approach. You purposely ignore the hot head and allow your eyes to meet Denki's, although it takes him a few long seconds to meet your gaze. He was a little preoccupied with a black and white checkered bikini with matching Van's. 

"Earth to space cadet." Sero nudges his ribs subtly pointing to you as you gaze at him as a teacher would a student caught daydreaming. He clears his throat. 

"Well it seems your theory has paid off. We've made quite a bit of cash today." You lock the box before standing, reluctantly adding, "The pairing of female and male will be standard from here on out. Although we should only need a few more fundraising events depending on what the house needs. Which I trust won't be too much."

Three of the four boys shared a concerned look while the fourth knows how bitter your words were going to taste.

"We'll meet you at the house." 

❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥❄💥

The four of you cannot deny the excitement you feel as yall walk up to the historical home. The upper balcony seems to wrap around the back but only partially in the front while the porch below stretches across the front of the home. The siding had been repainted and the banisters above and below are wrapped in what will be sparkling lights at night. A stately set of double doors catch your eye before they yawn open by the hands of Denki Kaminari who is trying not to visibly sweat. 

"Home sweet home!" Denki steps aside to let the four of you in with your belongings. Your eyes dissect the place as you press your tongue into your bottom lip, trying your best to keep your cool. This place needed a lot of what you deemed necessities. You notice the familiar dining room table as the foldable card table they had at the carwash surrounded by the cheap camping chairs you thought you had replaced. 

The only decent looking room was the living room and even then it was only thanks to you. The leather arm chairs were placed haphazardly around the new sectional you had delivered as it circled around the TV you demanded from the dean.

Denki watches your manicured nails rap against your skin as you think.  

"The window installation and insulation went smoothly?" 

"Yes." Sero answers as your eyes wander around the room landing on your mattress and platform bed frame resting against the wall in the nook by the study turned bedroom. 

"We didn't know where to put it since the bedrooms aren't sorted out for you lovely ladies just yet." Kirishima smiles but your mind isn't on why it is there. No, your mind is wondering why there is only one.

"Was I the only one to order my mattress?" You look towards your sorority who holds a guilty look before you glance at the three men who mirror the women. 

"Well I guess that is for the better. We can spend extra on them now anyway." 

"Are you sure? I thought the budget was tight." Denki asks, earning a rare boasting smile from you. You make your way into the kitchen and six ducklings follow. Your nail taps the stainless steel of a high end commercial fridge. 

"It was tight before but not after I got this." Smile remaining on your lips as you speak, "It was 3,000 off due to some cosmetic dents but I got it as a donation. An alumni donation." 

"Wow for free?!" Denki and Sero ask in unison, amazed by your skill. 

"For free boys." 

"Wow, Bakugou might love that fridge even more now. Every time he cooks he mentions how great it is." Kirishama laughs but a certain name causes you to freeze to the tiled floor. 

"Bakugou…" You turn to Mina with a deadly glare as ice crystals form in your hair, "As in Bakugou lives here?!" 

The silence echoes throughout the kitchen and all that can be heard is the hum of the fancy fridge. Just as you're about to snap, Denki intervenes. 

"Uh. Did you want to talk bedrooms?" 

"YES!" The girls yell pulling the boys back into the safety of the living room as you collect yourself for a moment. 

God you hated the effect his name had on you but even more so how stupid you felt. As if this was some half baked plan to leave out the important detail that the man you loathed most would be under the same roof. Finally after a few deep breaths the ice in your hair melts and you step into the living room with a level head. Reminding yourself that this house was going to be rent free. You would have a full sized kitchen and your own bedroom, this was a much better option than the dorms even if it meant Bakugou came with it. 

"There is one bedroom upstairs not claimed, the rest of us guys are up there too. Then that door next to the nook is the study, it's not huge but it has a lot of shelves and big enough to fit a queen. Um there are two bedrooms in the basement but it's not totally dark down there. Plus the second living room with the pong table is down there. What else?" Denki taps his finger to his lips, "Oh half bath is here. Full bathroom is upstairs and there is technically another full bath in the basement, it's just more 'open concept'." 

"Open concept?" Jiro asks, earjacks perking with curiosity. 

"He means no walls. Just a toilet and a shower head chilling next to the laundry sink and washer, dryer." Sero explains, again you tongue the inside of your bottom lip. 

"Girl huddle!" Mina shouts, pulling the three of you into a small circle, "I personally really would like one of the bedrooms in the basement. I'm loud and I wouldn't mind the late hours that come with the pong table. I am the QUEEN after all." 

"I want a bedroom in the basement too. You know my music gets super loud!" Jiro pipes in. Uraraka wants to say something but politely waits for you, instead you gesture for her to speak first. 

"I...I would be much more comfortable in the study. I don't mind it being small." Her brown eyes bore holes into the floorboards as you read between the lines. 

"I would be much more comfortable on a different level than all four men." Is what she means, you sigh internally, swearing this will be the last compromise you make for these women. 

"Then I'll take the room upstairs." You state before telling the boys the arrangements. You look at your watch to check the time. 

"If we leave now in the college van and trailer I borrowed we could get everyone else's mattresses tonight." You look around the room before asking, "So where is Bakugou anyway?" 

The three boys glance at one another, Kirishima speaks up. 

"He had a….previous obligation." He laughs, rubbing the back of his head. You narrow your eyes. 

"Let me call him. This is more important than whatever he is doing. It clearly isn't school related." You hold out your hand for the red head's phone, he pulls it from his pocket reluctantly. 

It rings before going to voicemail but that's never stopped you before. You call until he picks up screaming into the receiver. 

"WHAT THE FUCK I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCKING CALL SHITTY HAIR!!!" 

"Enough with the dramatics, what could be more important than your other roommates deciding bedrooms in the house?" 

"Is that?!" A female voice screeches your name once she figured out who you are, "Listen here slut, I'm in the middle of getting my back broken and…" 

"Bakugou we are leaving in fifteen minutes. I advise that you get here on time. Otherwise we will leave without you." You interrupt the angry booty call. 

"And if I fucking don't, Icebrat?" You roll your eyes at the nickname as you sigh. 

"Then I'll spend your portion of the allowance on something else. Fifteen minutes." 

"OI!" Bakugou shouts before a woman's voice comes across the speaker.

"Stop ignoring me bitch and stop talking to my man!"

"Oh sweetheart your 'man' is only going to your place cause he sleeps on a crusty ass futon not because he actually likes you." Your voice is honeyed in venom before dipping low, "Bakugou be home or you forfeit the fucking funding for your bed."  

With that you hang up, passing Kirishima's phone back to him. Everyone shares a glance as they remember just how icy you can be, there was no threat in your voice. Only a promise to Bakugou. 

"Sero be a dear and help me take my mattress up." You ask lifting the box with the unbuilt frame with ease. Suddenly skittish Sero takes a moment to grab your mattress as Denki helps him bring it up the stairs but abandons Sero by the bathroom at the top of the stairs, forcing the tape hero to face this challenge alone. Sero only hopes the room neighboring yours is shut and he sighs with relief when it is. 

He helps you set the items into your room that is located in the front of the house.  You take in the view of the perfectly sized yet small bedroom. Two large sets of sliding doors that meet in the corner force you to place your bed against what you assume is the shared wall of one of your roommates. Sero swallows thickly as he realizes just why Denki abandoned him. He can see it in your eyes, the curiosity sparkling as you turn to face him, you're going to inquire about the room next door. 

Please Gods do not ask him. 

Don't fucking asking him please. 

"Who do I owe the pleasure?" You smile sweetly, praying it is Kirishima or Sero at the very least. Hell you'd even take Denki who sings loudly off key, as long as it wasn't Bakugou. You watch the raven hair man's face fall, his dark eyes avoiding yours as he answers and yet somehow you already knew. 

"Ba-Bakugou's" The room drops twenty degrees as the floor freezes beneath your feet, snow floating gently to the floor as Sero's breath puffs in the new found tundra. 

"SERO I NEED YOUR HELP MAN! JIRO'S DRUM SET AND AMPS ARE HEAVY!" Denki calls from downstairs, saving Sero's hide. The man rushes and catches himself from slipping before he practically jumps down the entire set of stairs. 

"How did she take it?" Mina whispers before following Sero's eyes to where your bedroom should be. Urakaka comes from the study with snowflakes dusting her hair and a shiver. 

"Well at least I'll never be hot in the summer." 

[aesthbaby]

Her Secret

Summary: We’re all aware of Emily’s untold secrets that she took to the grave with her but what about Lauren? The one thing both woman have in common is you, and the memories they took with them in both of their deaths

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Prompt/request: None, just an idea I’ve had in my head for a while.

Warnings: Cursing | Death

Wordcount: Almost 4k

Master List

AN: Time line might be a little spotty because the show did not give many details but I promise its still comprehensible.

Its beautiful for a sad event. The white flowers are such a stark contrast to her personality. The color reminds you of a time before, before they knew her and before all of this happened. One of your eyes feels kind of funny so you reach for it, pulling back to examine the small drop of water on your finger. You compose yourself and push the large, black, sunglasses up your nose. Maybe you shouldn’t be here. You were dressed in all black with a black umbrella. Despite it being a sad day, it was unnecessarily sunny.

You spot her team making their way down the walk way. Three men carrying the dark coffin with one Caned man in the front and the women in tow. You take a step back into the shadows as they near the podium. As the service progresses the amount of speeches and tears are--overwhelming. Images of Emily, once known to you as Lauren, flash across your mind as you hold back any and all emotions associated with this event. 

You knew she wasn't really "dead," she couldn’t be. Emily Prentiss is invincible and would never go like that. You saw the woman known as "JJ" glances your way but she says nothing about it. Probably assuming you were another one of Emily's secrets taken to the grave.

Emily’s not dead. Emily wouldn’t die like that. 

You kept repeating it in your head.

Italy - 2004

The violets surround the mansion like a protective field. Their peaceful existence mocking your volunteer imprisonment. You only took this job because you and this other agent were the only ones who spoke fluent Italian. She was supposed to take it and you were the understudy or whatever but then she got knocked up so here you are. Being mocked by fucking flowers. Your thoughts are interrupted by Doyle approaching you with his brunette arm dealer on his arm. You turn away from the balcony upon his approach.

“Lauren deve restare qui mentre scappo. Per favore, tienila d'occhio.” Lauren has to stay here while I run out. Please keep an eye on her.  He’s always been so bossy, and for what? To make himself seem more powerful than he actually is? We’re all aware of the danger working for him provides.

“Si signore.” Yes sir. You turn to acknowledge the woman in front of you but she speaks first.

“Perché? Non posso venire con te?” Why is that? Can't I come with you? She whines.

He gives her a look and she backs down. The Captain heads out with his guards behind him, leaving you alone with his lover.

You’re not sure what to do with her. Is this a form of  babysitting?

She clears her throat. “I know.”

Hearing her speak English was a surprise but it makes sense, there was always something different about her. You arch an eyebrow and reply, “Sai...che cosa?” You know....what?

She holds up a finger for you to give her a moment. She turns around and sticks her head out the door; then closes and locks it. “You’re not really from Tirana, are you?” Who is this woman? You maintain a neutral face while she continues. “The fact that you never eat with us was a dead give away. You’re always held up in this room.” She gestures to the large room filled with files, records, and books. “Like you’re trying to avoid something. I’d also like to point out how you rarely present any Albanian customs.” Where are you going with this Reynolds... “At first I thought, ‘Maybe they’re one of Doyle’s assassins that I’m not supposed to know about.’ But then I started paying attention and realized you’re nothing like that.” You let out a sharp breath. “Its okay.” She takes one of your hands. “I won’t tell Ian. There’s already enough death in his life and I wouldn’t want to see you be one of his next victims.”

You’re stuck in the moment and words are hard to form. All of your training is slipping through your fingers. For all you know she could be bluffing, trying to get you killed. You go with your safest option because you don’t know this woman at all. You pull your hand from her and take a step closer. Peering into her eyes for any sign of fear and when you find none, you proceed. Leaning in as close as possible to her. “Non farei acquisizioni così pericolose se fossi in te.” I wouldn't make such dangerous acquisitions if I were you. You whisper. You could never be sure if your suspicions were correct but this, this was all the confirmation you needed. What’s that old saying? Takes one to know one. “Agente.” Finishing off that last word you brush past her.

Virginia - present

 Being back in The States with Doyle still running around is unnecessarily risking. Emily’s defeat is the only reason you’ve come back. To watch her team grieve over the coffin is saddening but having to hide is the shadows is unfair. Am I not allowed to publicly grieve? Are my tears not worthy? The grip on your umbrella tightens. She’s not dead. Emily doesn’t loose. Emotions are running high and the speeches are getting long. Last time you talked, she claimed to be alone. No family and no fiends but clearly she was wrong. What you’d give to be laying under a plum tree on a wool woven blanket with her head in your lap. Eating pastries you raided from the kitchen and telling the Captain that you needed her to help analyze costs. What a fool.

You were so entranced with the memory that you didn’t notice when the pale, dark haired agent approached you. Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief if I’m not mistaken. “Agent.” He acknowledges.

“Sir?” You mumble.

“Your profession was easy enough to guess, though I’m not sure of your name.” Those knitted brown sweaters and golden, dainty necklaces. The short chestnut hair with soft curls that smelled of honey shampoo. The way she’d nudge your foot during dinner while casting discreet glances. Its all gone. “Agent?” He calls again. “Are you alright?”

Before you say anything you make sure your voice is clear. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, did she suffer?” That question didn’t need to be answered but you just had to know. A favor was called in on your behalf by Lieutenant Parks, he gave very few details about her death but you’ll take that over nothing at all. This was the one question you didn’t have an answer for. With nothing but silence from the man, you have your answer.

Reaching for your pocket there’s a small clear box; inside of the plastic is a handful of pressed violets. Without looking you hold the slim box out to him. “Please, make sure she gets them.” After he takes them you make one last note of the sight in front of you. All of her friends, family, and coworkers gathered in one place with Emily’s grave as the centerpiece. You turn to finally face the man, tilting your shades so he can see a bit of your eyes. “Dead or alive.” And then disappearing in to the back of the cemetary.

Italy - Spring of 04′

Two months ago you were staring off of Doyle’s Spanish-styled balcony thinking, “What would happen if I called it quits?” You had enough evidence and entail for him to never see freedom again. So what was stopping you?

Her. She was making you second guess.

After having her call you out for being a spy, you were very careful about what you did and said around her. Its not like she had any definitive proof but at the same time neither did you. What you said that day was a total bluff. Its a miracle you’re still alive. You were left with only two conclusions: one was that she herself is a spy, or two, she’s one of the smartest people Ian has ever brought home.

Then came a day where the boys went out to wherever and it was just you, her, and the maids. Most of them are Russian and speak poor Italian so they usually keep to themselves. You’re at the dining room table pretending to run numbers since that’s literally your job- well that and vetting backgrounds of sellers and buyers. Essentially a secretary with dangerous patrons. The position is mind numbingly boring but it does allow you to remain invisible while observing the operation. Think about it, who’s going to notice the secretary while discussing millions? They’re idiots. They allow you to sit in on every single meeting because you’re just the person who runs numbers. A debatable perk to this job is the amount of free time you posses. Usually its spent digging around the operation, sending information back to HQ, or actually enjoying small aspects of the city. That brings you to right now where you’re doodling random shapes on the bottom corner of the paper.

Lauren is on the couch wearing a button up satin dress, quite short for Ian’s taste so you’re surprised to see her wearing it. She’s read something you’ve never heard of, not that it matters. With no idea why she’s in here with you, you retreat back into your own mind.

“The maids have left.” You suddenly hear beside you, nearly jumping out of your skin.

“You scared me!” At the realization of your chosen language you gasp and watch as Lauren smiles widely. You shoot to your feet repeating no over and over. Actively trying to take back your words while she looks rather amused.

“I knew it!” She points at you all accusingly and shit. You keep shaking your head no and trying to get her to be quiet. “I was right about you!” And here’s the perfect time to have a maid to walk in. Lauren says something to her but you’re too wrapped up in your head to translate. All your years of training, expierence, undercover work has just been thrown away over your stupid mistake.

They’re going to kill me. They’re going to have my head on a stake in the middle of the garden for the world to see- or worse! I’ll be tortured for my crimes by one of Doyle’s men.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the brunette waving her hand in front of your face. “Don’t worry,” She say softly as you notice the house keeper is no longer with you. “I told her they could take a break...” At your confused face she continues. “So now we can talk.”

Virginia - present

To say you had no idea where you were going, was an understatement.

You hadn’t been to Virginia in years so everything felt unfamiliar. You took quick peaks at your surroundings as the rented porshe pushed through the traffic. Everything hurt, not the traditional pain you experience over a broken toe but the emotional kind that coursed through your entire body.

Is this what a broken heart feels like?

You kept telling yourself she wasn’t dead; couldn’t be. Not your Emily, the woman you know is a fighter. She’s fucking invincible and would never let herself die at the hand of that monster. If she was really dead, wouldn’t you feel it? Wouldn’t you feel your connection to her sever?

At the reorganization of the build ahead of you, you pull the car into the left lane.

Italy - Spring of 04′

She is so fucking clingy. Always starring at me when no one is watching and going on less missions with Doyle. Speaking of him, the man likes to take her everywhere; calls her “Ho il mio portafortuna” his good luck charm. She usual goes out with him whenever he’s traveling but lately she’s been making little excuses on why she wants to stay for the day. Instead of spending the day recuperating from a headache (like she’s told him) she’ll bother you.

That accent and the way she pronounces her R’s makes you wanna melt, but then she starts asking you a million and one questions. What’s your favorite food? When’s your birthday? Have you ever broken a bone? Do you enjoy reading? Its always something with her. I think she’s trying to annoy me. So far you’ve been answering her questions in Italian to insure that you don’t fuck up again.

Doyle is none the wiser, he still sees you as a secretary and her as arm candy.

But you must admit that Lauren is growing on you. She hasn’t said anything in English to you lately or exposed you to Doyle. You’re rarely ever alone but when you are, she gives you one of her finished books and sits in the room quietly. Its comforting. Today she’s given you Niccolo Ammaniti with a note scribbled in pencil on the 5th page, “Hang in there.” Smart woman, writing it in light pencil so I can easily erase it without leaving a trace...also paranoid woman but rightfully so.

Virginia - present

You adjust your shoe so as not to slip before going into the building and suck the shades into your pocket. The giant letters, I. O. D. S. stare back at you in Ariel font.

Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. Just accept her death and move on.

Inside of Investigations of Death Services you nod to the secretary, an ex of yours, and continue on to your destination. While in the elevatored your vision feels blurry but now isn’t the time for tears. Arriving at your floor, you spot his office and walk in without so much as a knock or invitation.

“One second,” he speaks into the phone. “Can I help you?” His dark eyes look angry, like he doesn’t recognize you. You take a step forward, offering your closed palm to him. “What? What is this? A fucking magic trick?” You slowly open your palm towards him, revealing the silver clover pin. The suited man looks like he’s just seen a ghost. “Shane, I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone, then reaches from you hand. “Where did you get this?”

Snatching you hand back and putting the silver back in your pocket. “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

He narrows his eyes on you before answering. “Can’t say I do.”

“Back in 03′ you knocked up Carin and proposed I go on assignment. Granted I was the only person who was fluent in Italian--or so I thought. Come to find out there were five other agents who could’ve been assigned there. You chose me because I was up for your job.” Your anger is boiling over quickly. “You were a shitty employee and they were ready to fire you.” You take a daring step forward. “Until you proposed infiltrating Valhalla with one of the foreign operative agents. You told them there were only two fluent agents. Back then we had never met but I knew who you were, Hell, we all knew how much of a screw up you were. Guess you don’t recognize me anymore? I mean in your defense its been years and I’ve lost a few pounds due to the stress you caused me but that’s for another day. How about we go back to 2003.” For a man with toxic masculinity issues, he looks pretty scared. “You couldn’t just out right suggest me so you have to offer up someone else. Coincidently Carin got pregnant right around the time she was starting her training, by you I might add, and could no longer go.” A wide smile starts to grow on your face. “Bet you were counting on my death, huh?” Awe poor baby seems to be shaking. “No...you’re too much of a pussy for that. I bet you were hoping I’d go to Italy and screw things up for the whole operation.” Now you’re toe-to-toe with him. “Mess up so bad that they’d have pull me out and demote me. Or! Reveal myself and hope Doyle’s men killed me or I’d go sprinting home with my tail between my legs.” His silence is starting to irritate you. “So which is it, Mark? Hmm? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry!” He yells with a reddened face. Out of the corner of your eye you see his co-works looking through his glass walls but you couldn’t care less. “I’m sorry, y/n. What do you want from me? I’ll do anything!” Now we’re getting somewhere.

You push the pin into his face “Where is she, Mark?”

“Where is who?” He’s still fucking shaking.

“Asking me another stupid question and there will be hell to pay.” You’re not really going to hurt him but considering the circumstances, this is justified. The man put your life on the line over some stupid position, a bit of threatening wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay okay. All I know is that after you left she was taken by ALPHA and later faked her death. When Lauren Reynolds died, Emily Prentiss got to go home and Ian Doyle went to a North Korean prison.”

“And now...”

“Last I heard she was working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI but was recently killed under suspicious circumstances.” At your expression, he continues. “We know she died during a scuffle with Doyle and there was a funeral but we are yet to have a death certificate on record. Sometimes it take anywhere from a week to a month for us to receive proper records on agent deaths. I thought that-”

“Stop, talking.” You cut him off through gritted teath.

Italy - Autumn 04′

“What is your problem, Lauren?” You’re out on the patio in front of the pool on a warm day. Lauren has a four course meal on the table, courtesy of the chefs.

“Nothing...” She shrugs with a mouthful of strawberry.

“You want me to leave.”

Another fucking shrug.  

“Be serious.” You’re trying to stop yourself from stomping your foot.

She puts down her food and clasps her hands together. “Yes I want you to leave.” You watch as she gets up and smooths her skirt; taking your hands in hers. “Your time is thinning and you’ve been her a lot longer than me.”

“And leave you here alone? No way, I know you’re invincible but even Superman had his down fall.”

“Superman?” She loops you in closer. “Why not superwoman? Awfully sexist of you.”

“Oh, shut up.” You nudge her back a bit. “But wouldn’t you miss me?”

She gives you one of her wide smiles. “Let me show how much I’d miss you.” She leans in for a light kiss against your lips.  You pull away quickly so as not to be seen. El, like the letter, picked out a blind spot that’s covered partially in shadows. “I have to leave in 15 minutes but until then...” She trails with a very telling expression.

“Where?” You laugh. “Not in the second floor bathroom again because that was...tight.”

Her perfectly plucked eyebrow arches upward,  “And you were loud!”

You hop past her to sneak a grape. “Hey! You do know that was mine, right?”

“What are you going to do about it, Superwoman?” You turn to grab another grape, while doing so you feel her presence behind you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, L.”

“Oh why not?” She lightly trails down your backside. “It’ll be so much fun.”

You turn back to her. “Ten minutes?”

“In the library?” She smirks and you nod along.

Virginia - present

This four hundred dollar airplane ticket is going to serve its purpose but paying it back is going to suck. Your government salary was nice and all but $400 is still a lot.

Just two days before, you rushed around you place to pack all of the essentials for a quick flight to Paris; charger, hygiene, two outfits, and the pin all tucked into a stylish backpack.

That brings us here, standing in the streets of downtown Paris alongside the buzzing mopeds weaving through the streets. In front of you is the little café Elle would go on and on about, naturally this is the first place you could think to look.

You didn’t even know what you were looking for. The woman you fell for was a brunette with light curls and bangs.

You were looking for Emily. The woman Lauren introduced you to. The woman you grew to love in the same way you love Lauren, but Lauren is dead. Has been for awhile, now its time to find Emily. Your Emily.

You find nothing, no one who even slightly revels Emily on your first day there. So you find a hostel to lay your head in and continue on the next day. Again and again with the same routine for five days straight.

You wasted all of your time here for what? A memory? A dream? Two woman who no longer exist on the same astral plane as you?

That’s when you see it, a head of dark brown hair a few tables ahead of where you’re standing. With all hope lost you almost think its a mirage. 

You sit a few tables ahead of her, careful to keep your face hidden. When the waiter comes around to take your order you give him very specific instructions.

Emily’s POV

Being a dead woman is lonely and isolating...at least the coffee is good. The waiter who dropped off the hot beverage not too long ago has circled back with a cheese croissant in hand. That’s odd, I hate cheese croissants. “Cette personne là-bas m'a demandé de te livrer ça.” That person over there has asked me to deliver this to you. He points over his shoulder to a person who’s face I can’t quite make out. “Ils m'ont également demandé de vous donner ceci.” They also asked me to give this to you. He reaches from his front pocket and softly places a silver clover pin that I haven’t seen in years, and a pressed Violet. I can feel the air drain out of my lungs at the objects in front of me. “Merci beaucoup.” The only person who knows what these objects mean are Doyle and-

At the sense of being watched my head shoots up at the source. At first there’s nothing there but then I spot the familiar figure. Its been weeks since I’ve actually seen them, it can’t be. I must be seeing things. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breathe, I open them to see that they’re gone.

“Boo.” I hear in my right ear; looking up to see y/n standing beside me with a bright smile.

“You scared me!” Realizing how loud I am, I take a breath.

“Miss me Elle?” I left you behind, twice. I died twice without letting you know. You’ve had to start over too many times and its not far.

“Y/n, how did you find me?”

“Really, Elle. Did you really think I’d fall for that party trick you pulled at the BAU? I’m not dull, and besides,” Y/n/n gently puts their hand over mine on the coffee mug. “You’re my Superwoman, you’ll never die.”

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･**･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟ･*:.

@beyondprincess @confused-and-really-hungry @millipop18 @supercorp8388 @groovygoob  @emilyprentisswife@covetedcoven @justaghostmonument @rabid-wild-misfits @nomit16 @afuckingshituniverse @mys2425  @fanfictionfangirl04  @aaron-hotchner187 @lisztomaniacalice @thestrawberrygirl  @miidguardian-exe @criminalmindsmoodrn @ssacandice-ray @davidrossiismydad @garcias-batcave @ssaemxlyprentxss @andreaxxg13 @emilyprentissistoocute @mortallythoughtfulgurl @iamyouknow-yours @aesthbaby​

[collisiondiscourse]

i have decided i am now going to blow up your inbox bc i csn i’m sorry codi focnnf

b u t!! anyway i’m going to rambling abt my new dad for all au [whixh was the au i sent you that ask abt]

alrighty so all might is now midoriya’s dad. that’s a thing. i like to think that inko and toshinori were high school sweethearts who broke up after graduation but met again when all might was called to recuse some hostages and inko was one of them!! anywho all might recuses her, they go on a coffee date, realize they’re still in love and start again

they get married and have izuku, who keeps inko’s maiden name [midoriya is now inko’s maiden name bc i do what i want]. he’s the cutest baby who has inko’s green hair, but has one blue and one green eye! [these are /important/] inko and all might talk abt maybe giving izuku all for one when he’s older, but they decide against it bc they don’t know if he’ll have a quirk or not

spoiler!! bitch baby has a quirk!! he gets a quirk that’s so much different than inko’s quirk and !!! ahhh!!! the basic explanation is that all might’s all of one genes mixed and then “corrupt” inko’s like 3 generation quirk-having genes or smth and izu has a very, very complex quirk now. it’s called astron, and astron allows him to fucking astral project into the center of the university and shit chxnc

astron works two different ways: using his blue eye he can project other people into his own personal astral plane and do whatever he wants. while the person’s physical body is still where it was, their mind is in the astral plane. if he uses his green eye, he can project himself to his astral plane and fuck around without consequences!!

[there’s an untold third ability of astron using both of his eyes, but izuku tried doing that when he first got his quirk and immediately fell into a coma for like a month? it was bad and his mind couldn’t handle the stress and dipped lol]

ANYWAY, izuku grows up with a bomb ass quirk and still has his kacchan with him thru his childhood so things are a lot different than canon? the wonder duo are little shitheads together and i love them, they wreck havoc and i love them

i have more ideas for this story but this is all i have for now, codi this is so long i’m sorry i’m blowing up ur inbox 🥺😭

me opening my askbox and seeing the length of this au: holy shit

me reading the actual whole au: HOLY SHIT

AJ I LOVE THIS HIGHKEY!!! I LOVE THE IDEA OF OP DEKU W A FUCKED UP QUIRK JUST TERRIFYING EVERYONE HE COMES ACROSS!!!! heterochromia is SO so good as a character design element and i LOVE THE WAY THIS IS IMPLEMENTED YELLS. I WANNA DRAW THIS SO BAD!!! THIS LOOKS SO COOL

(serious writing/plot below - blood and vomit mention)

oh god and now im imagining deku like. being this extremely feral and annoying lil shit whos extremely powerful and now bakugous got someone on his level so hes a lot more humble as hes growing up but also him and deku are the?? BESTEST OF FRIENDS. and i imagine when bakugou is being a little shit deku just. astral projects him out of his body for a while and apologizes to whoever kacchan yelled at LMFAO---bakugou comes back to his body and is all like “....fucks sake stop doing that”

AND THEN omfgkjfds imagine morally grey deku who does whatever he can to win?? he knew he wouldnt get into UAs hero course fair and square (all might offered him a recommendation but he declined because he wanted to get there on his own with kacchan) because robots didnt have souls he could astral project so he practices his quirks limits like YEARS prior and he tells bakugou about it but never rlly shows him but on the day of the entrance exam?

he shows up. everything goes as normal and he finishes the written exams and then moves on to the practical exam (still seperated from kacchan like in canon) and like. Every one goes dashing forward and deku doesnt really try to beat anyone. He waits until theyre all in the center engaging with robots when he walks to the center of the room.

and he sees the zero pointer in the distance.

“THE ZERO-POINTER’S HERE!” He yells and points at the gigantic mech heading their way. All at once everyone’s heads whip up to catch sight of the robot, enraptured by its sheer size and power. 

As they all look to one direction, Deku makes eye contact with them and smiles.

All at once, every single participant in the area goes limp. Astron throws their souls into the astral plane with little fanfare and everyone watches in awe and annoyance as their bodies uselessly crumple to the ground from the outside. The green-haired boy is suddenly given free reigns of the arena and they seethe as one by one he deactivates or disables robots that were once under their purview.

(What some of the smarter ones notice however, is the way he seems to be leaving some stray 3 pointers untouched... almost as if he was doing the calculations in his head as he goes... on how to ensure the number one spot while others can still score points...?)

One by one however, they start struggling and reaching to reconnect with their bodies. Their gleaming bright souls bob up and down with frenzied energy and Deku feels it. He feels it like itches on his skin and goosebumps that turn into hills that dance up and down his back. He feels it like he feels his limit reaching.

Its still around 10 minutes though before he actually loses control and everyone comes back to their bodies. His quirk times out and almost like its angry, the astral plane takes his body in exchange for the dozens he kept in there. He gets sucked through and passes out while everyone else runs and destroys the remaining bots. It doesn’t matter though, because he knows he’s racked up enough points to stay on top. He lets himself rest and observes the blue-haired tall guy with engines who contemplates carrying Deku’s body to safety.

Until, he sees her.

Just under some rubble and very close to getting crushed by the Zero-Pointer’s foot, Deku spots a brown-haired young girl that he recalls has some kind of floating quirk. He sees as everyone runs past her, prioritizing their own safety instead of hers.

He makes a decision.

Quickly--recklessly, a familiar gruff voice says in his ear--he forces himself back into his body and looks around. He runs to the girl and attempts to dig her out from the rubble before she gets crushed. The robot comes ever closer.

Using the little strength and flexibility he’s learnt from years of sparring with Kacchan, Deku abandons her in favor of climbing up the broken concrete and metal to meet the robot’s visor. He knows he won’t save her by digging her out of there, but by god is he gonna let her get injured without a fight. These robots weren’t designed to kill, but they were designed to destroy.

Focus. Focus and listen to what’s around you, Izu-kun.

The world around him reduces to tunnel-vision and suddenly Deku is face to face with the Zero-Pointer. It stops, as if calculating how to discard of Deku without hurting him severely with its own strength.

Everything has life in it. You only need to focus and look for it.

Izuku Midoriya looks at the robot.

In a whirlwind of blue and green, he reaches inside of himself and searches for life. Cold steel and hard-wired code meet his gaze and he plunges even deeper. 

Focus.

Then all at once, everything in his visions snaps into sudden clarity, like he’s never seen before. He feels everything. Sees Everything. Smells, tastes, hears--and he hears how the metal beneath him bends and groans. He feels how it winces and shudders. He sees it as it opens its maw and its visor bends in a facsimile of eyes, pleading him as if asking how?

The robot beneath him comes to life and stumbles back.

Quickly, he scrambles to the nearest ledge which happens to be a broken support beam. Distantly, he thinks he feels his arm being sliced open on the edge of it and the warmth of blood streaming down his side as he nearly falls. 

“HEY! YOU WITH THE ENGINES!” He hoarsely screams to the still remaining, slack-jawed contestants. “I CAN’T KEEP THE ZERO POINTER DOWN FOR LONG! GO HELP THE GIRL AND TAKE HER TO SAFETY NOW!”

With a sudden burst of energy, the fellow participants start taking others out from the rubble while the blue-haired boy helps the brunette he was protecting earlier. As he watches them clear the rubble to drag her out, he feels a pang.

Who am I? a lost voice calls out. It’s raspy and almost-robotic sounding and only he can hear it. Where am I? What am I?

And Deku’s vision flickers.

In and out, he sees flashes through eyes that aren’t his. He hears voices that are simultaneously faraway and way too close for comfort. The world tugs at the sides of his perspective and a strain is pulling at the back of his head tearing his brain to shreds. He doesn’t know what he’s focusing or straining on, except that its working and keeping the zero-pointer down.

He grits his teeth. “Hurry the hell up! i can’t do this any longer--”

Bursts of pain appear behind his mismatched eyes and he wants to scream so bad and if he were looking any clearer he’d see the way that the zero-pointer thrashes on the ground in time with the pounding on his skull. Bile crawls up the back of his throat and Deku screams.

“SHE’S CLEAR! YOU CAN LET GO NOW, MIDORIYA-SAN.”

Izuku lets go and his vision goes black.

[mariacallous]

Suella Braverman has a “dream”. And what is it that she dreams of? Yesterday, she let an audience at a Conservative conference fringe event in on one of her great political hopes: a Telegraph front page with a picture of a plane taking off to Rwanda. This, her big dream, is the stuff of many people’s nightmares.

Later the same day, in her first major speech as home secretary, Braverman thanked Priti Patel for the “foundations” she had laid in toughening the immigration system, invoking the usual spectres of “illegal immigrants”, “low-skilled foreign workers” and “mass and rapid migration”. But she made it clear that she would go further, with plans to bring in the harshest, most damaging immigration environment yet.

Going one further than her predecessor, she committed to deporting anyone who doesn’t enter the UK through government-sanctioned routes. To rapturous applause in the conference hall, she waded further into the culture war and took aim at the ongoing legal challenges to the Rwanda policy, promising human rights legislation will not get in her way. On top of that, she said she would deport anyone who had passed through a “safe” country before arriving here. This was months of moral panic about people crossing the Channel distilled into one speech.

With the rightwing press and decades of similar messaging at her back, Braverman has the luxury of not having worry about whether the government’s logic is strong or not. But she must surely know how flimsy it is. “Legal” routes are so small in number that a tiny proportion of people get refugee status this way. This leaves most with no other choice than to make life-threateningly perilous journeys in the hope they will get here. “I didn’t have any other way to do it,” 28-year old Ali said about crossing the Channel, “while my life was in danger.”

Much of this plan would breach the United Nations Refugee Convention, which states that how you enter a country and whether it’s the first “safe” country you reach shouldn’t affect your asylum applications. And so this could be a case of politicians talking big, amping the rhetoric to show they are tough. Regardless, when governments have overpromised in the past and haven’t done all they said they would, they have still done untold damage to people’s lives. People die trying to get here, children are kept from their families and many are made destitute. Two years ago, 11 Syrians were left in the street in Madrid when the Home Office deported them. It would be a mistake to assume the government will not make all of this much worse.

Attacks on people seeking asylum are so egregious, it is tempting to focus all our energy here. But if this is where outrage begins, it shouldn’t be where it ends. Braverman said her “ultimate aspiration” was to reduce “net migration” by only allowing “immigration that grows our economy” – which means the “high-skilled” not the “low-skilled” kind. We already have a good idea of what this means: barring people from moving just because of their qualifications, class or how much money they have, while bringing in people deemed “economically necessary” to exploit them as long as it suits the “British economy”.

We have heard much of this before, from Boris Johnson and Theresa May and at the Labour conference last week. Nestled in Keir Starmer’s roundly celebrated conference speech was one line on all of this, “I will … control immigration”, he said, “using a points-based system.” We should pay attention to this overlap, however small it might be. It is no good to focus on asylum seekers at the expense of everyone else; defending the refugee convention while doubling down on only admitting people who are “economically useful”. “We asked for workers,” the Swiss writer Max Frisch said in 1965, “and human beings came.” Most politicians refuse to accept this, unless it suits their message.

“It’s intensely personal,” Braverman said yesterday, describing her parents’ stories of migration, just as she did in her 2015 maiden speech. It is an effective strategy; it gives a veneer of respectability. It also slots nicely into her political beliefs: Britain will welcome you, if you “integrate”, work hard and embrace being “British” – whatever that might mean. Attacks on “mass migration”, “identity politics”, trans people and the right to protest are tightly woven together as part of the law-and-order, proud-to-be-British view of the world. A view the last home secretary shared too.

But this a picture built on sand. Braverman’s father fled Kenya for Britain in 1968 and it’s unlikely he’d be let in today. Even at the time, his was only part of the story. In March 1968, the Labour government rushed through racist legislation to make it harder for Kenyan Asians to come to Britain. That second part doesn’t make it into politician’s speeches.

Seemingly designed to strip people of their basic humanity, Braverman’s speech and the architecture around it turns human beings into caricatures. People who arrive by “small boats” are illegitimate and ill-intentioned. “Mass migration” puts pressure on public services. Victims of modern slavery choose to come here and game a lax system. This version of events infects public discourse. It quickly becomes truth no matter how fictitious it is.

This isn’t simply a distraction from a disastrous 28 days of Liz Truss’s government, nor is it just lofty rhetoric to speak to the Tory base. It fits neatly into the government’s agenda, and it will mean more people die trying to get to the UK. This is not too bold a prediction to make, it is exactly what has happened before. Predictability does not make it unimportant; that it’s what we’ve come to expect makes it all the more chilling.

[honeycobie]

Heal

doctor!Sunwoo x doctor!reader, fluff, angst

requested by: anon

warning: mentions of death and blood

a/n: disclaimer: i’m not familiar with medical procedures so please forgive me if i have included anything that is incorrect! i geniunely do not mean any offense as i have very little knowledge in this topic, most of it comes from watching dramas. i recommend listening to the truth untold by bts when the angst comes in! hope you enjoy this one ^^

“Hey, cutie.”

You jump in surprise, causing the coffee to overflow and splash onto your hand, burning you. Inhaling sharply, you shake your hand in pain, eyes locking with the male leaning against the doorframe. 

“Sunwoo. Be professional please.” you sigh, placing your mug down as you turn the tap on, letting the cold water run over your hand, soothing the burning sensation.

He scoffs, and by the rustling of his clothes, you can tell that he’s inching closer to you. “Everyone knows we’re dating. Are you ashamed of me?” Sunwoo gasps dramatically as if he just found out a dark secret of yours. 

You look up, meeting his gaze squarely. His dark eyes glint mischievously as his plush lips curve up into a smirk before slowly closing the distance between you.“Are you going to tell me or should I force the information out of you?” he breathes, his voice silky, causing you to shiver at how sensual he sounds.

You turn off the tap and wipe your hand, shifting to the side to escape. Sunwoo intercepts, his arms snaking around your waist as he envelopes you in a back hug. Tilting his head, he presses a kiss against the nape of your neck. You’re torn between letting him continue or pushing him away. Involuntarily, you angle your head to the side to give him more access, your own body betraying you. 

“Sunwoo! What if someone walks in?” you nag half-heartedly, but the complaint melts into a whine when he kisses harder, his arms tightening around your waist ever so slightly. 

“This is a hospital, you two.” 

Startled, you push against Sunwoo’s chest, effectively loosening his hold on you as you scramble away from him. You relax when you realize it’s your friend, who just happened to be your co-worker. He feigns a look of revulsion, pretending to gag, causing you to laugh as he passes you to refill his water bottle. 

“You’re just jealous you’re not as attractive as me.” Sunwoo declares jokingly, flipping his hair dramatically.

“Me? Jealous? As if. I get so many people asking for my number.” your friend replies, glaring playfully at him. Pulling out his phone, he practically shoves it into Sunwoo’s face, showing off the number of contacts in it. 

Before Sunwoo can even open his mouth to form his retort, you butt in. "We all know I'm the best one amongst us three." 

Both him and Sunwoo stare at you with an indifferent and exasperated expression but Sunwoo gives it away when his bottom lip quirks up slightly. Your grin widens as you chuckle and soon your friend joins in. Sunwoo grins, his dark eyes dancing with mirth and adoration as he stares at you, his eyes wandering over your face, taking note of how effortlessly stunning you look, your features highlighted in honeyed tones by the sunlight that filters through the window. 

Catching his breath, the amusement on your friend’s face is replaced by seriousness. “For real, I’m surprised you didn’t get separated into different departments. Actually, no, I’m surprised you didn’t even get caught!”

You grimace, taking a sip of coffee to reinvigorate yourself. “Don’t remind me. We got caught making out by a co-worker a month ago,” you admit, your cheeks colouring with shame and embarrassment. 

His eyes bulge at your statement, his mouth opening and closing, reminding you of a goldfish. Sunwoo laughs, unconcerned. “We had to bribe her to keep it a secret.” 

“It’s all your fault anyway,” you add, narrowing your eyes at him as you shake your finger at him.

He pouts, giving you puppy-dog eyes. “It’s not my fault you looked so kissable at that moment,” Sunwoo complains, miffed. “You could’ve just not kissed back.” he continues, “which means you liked it.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and you smack his arm lightly.

Your friend slams his water bottle down, surprising the both of you with the sudden noise. 

“Stop being lovey-dovey, you’re making me sick,” he utters and you watch, entertained by how he pales at Sunwoo’s previous statement. 

You laugh, before you catch sight of the clock, blanching when you realize that your break was basically over. “We better get back to work.” you mutter, hurriedly grabbing a towel to mop up the spill on the ground. 

Your friend nods before bidding farewell, darting out the door. You scowl when you realize that your mug wasn’t full, thanks to Sunwoo sneaking up on you. Sunwoo notices the sullen look on your face and he tries to slink away furtively.

Catching sight of him creeping out the door, you call after him, “You owe me a coffee!” 

At the sound of your voice, he dashes off, not even acknowledging your declaration. Grumbling to yourself, you straighten your clothes before leaving the break room, hastening to catch up with Sunwoo. 

»»————-　　————-««»»————-　　————-««

You're discussing a patient's diagnosis with your co-worker when you hear shouts. Twisting, you see the paramedics roll in a gurney with a semi-unconscious woman on it. Your eyes widen when you see blood staining their uniform, the slickness of it shining under the fluorescent lights. Taking in a deep breath, you steel yourself before stepping forward.

“What happened?” you ask the nearest paramedic, who looks slightly panicked. You examine the patient, your eyes landing on several fatal injuries as well as other minor ones. Your nose flares as it picks up the discreet metallic scent, your hands instinctively reaching out to press your hands on the wounds to try and staunch the blood flow.

“Car accident. She has heavy hemorrhage as well as respiratory problems, possibly due to a collapsed lung. Seems to have some kind of cerebral injury too.”

You nod curtly before pushing the gurney towards the operation room, calling for assistance from the nearest nurses. “Did you contact any of her relatives?” 

The paramedic nods, quickening her pace to match yours as the gurney is pushed into the operation room. “Her husband and her two sons are coming over.” 

You give her a small smile before diverting your attention to the patient. “Can you hear me?” you question, carefully waving your hand back and forth in front of her face to catch her focus. 

The woman nods weakly, letting out a muffled cry in pain when she inhales, opening her mouth to attempt to form words, causing her to cough and you catch the sight of blood slowly dripping out between her lips. 

You shake your head, telling her to not talk. Turning away, you gesture towards the nurses. “Try and stop the bleeding and prepare her for operation,” you order, stepping away to disinfect your hands and put on the mask and hair net. 

Before you can even take two more steps, you feel someone clutch your wrist to stop you from walking away. Glancing back, you meet the woman’s shimmering eyes, eyes brimming with so much agony and sorrow that you wanted to look away. 

“If I don’t survive...please tell my family I love them,” she whispers, wincing when she accidentally shifts her position, her eyes fluttering close for a heartbeat before she fights to keep them open, combating the urge to succumb to the tempting darkness.

You shake your head, giving her a reassuring smile. “Don’t say that, please. Everything will be fine.” 

Although the woman gives you a smile that’s full of hope, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s as if she realizes that even if you repeatedly lie to yourself, only the outcome will bear the truth. Her grip slackens, allowing you to continue with your procedure, but her gaze follows you, glistening with unshed tears. 

»»————-　　————-««»»————-　　————-««

“Only a bit further, stay with us.” you mutter, more to yourself than to the patient. 

You furrow your brows in concentration as you work and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the silence becomes unbearable, save for the constant beeping of the heart monitor and you exhale softly to release the tension, forcing your shoulders to relax a little.

You’re about to finish when the heart monitor abruptly speeds up before it flatlines, the sound of it reverberating off the walls. Your eyes widen and you’re frozen, stalling for a second before springing into action. 

“Go get back-up!” you bark at the nearest nurse, moving to attempt to cease the sudden blood flow, the scarlet liquid splattering on your scrubs. You swallow a lump in your throat, your heart sinking before you dismiss it, your face set in determination. 

Now was not the time to hesitate. You had a life to save. 

»»————-　　————-««»»————-　　————-««

You sit, alone, knees to chest in an empty corridor, right outside the operating room you were in mere minutes ago. You stare at your shaky hands, tears blurring your sight. Although you had scrubbed off the blood, you could still envision the crimson liquid staining your hands, marking your failure.  Balling your hands into fists, you focus on breathing steadily, squeezing your eyes shut as tears start to slowly drop.

Despite the seemingly sombre expression on your face, your mind was a mess, tangling and knotting together until you couldn’t decipher a coherent thought.

Hearing footsteps echoing against the walls, you don’t move, your forehead still resting against your knees as the sound grows louder. You sniffle messily, your eyes stinging with the tears you try to keep in. 

You see someone crouch next to you in your peripheral vision, but you don't glance up, not even when a hand lands on your shoulder and you’re scooted into a comforting embrace.

“You tried your best, baby,” Sunwoo begins, his eyes softening when you look up, finally meeting his gaze and he notices the tears trailing down your cheeks. He moves closer so your head falls into the crook of his neck, nestling snugly against him. 

“I failed. I couldn’t save her,” you mumble, your bottom lip quivering. Sunwoo doesn’t know what to say to console you, instead, he holds your trembling form closer to him, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Did you see the way her eldest son looked at me?” you continue, your voice barely louder than a whisper and Sunwoo strains to hear you. “His eyes were full of hatred...I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget how spiteful he looked in that moment.”

You could still picture the way the boy had looked at you when you had come out to announce his mother’s death. Even though he could only be around seven years old, he had a solemn expression on his face and exuded maturity as he held onto his younger brother’s shoulders. The facade had only broken when you had exited the operation room and it broke your heart to banish their hope.

You shuddered as you remembered. It was as if he was swearing to take vengeance, to punish you for his mother’s passing. You knew that he had succeeded because although you would wear a smile on your face in the future, you would always be haunted by this regardless.

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palm so forcefully you thought it would draw blood. “I left her sons without a mother. What kind of doctor am I?” you laugh bitterly, wiping your tears roughly before tossing your head back, trying to stop the tears from slipping out. 

“Don’t say that.” Sunwoo shushes you, his hands threading through your hair. You close your eyes and allow yourself to depend on him, to find solace in his hold. You listen to his heart steadily pumping and your face contorts when you remember the flatline of the heart monitor. 

When you don’t speak, he lets go of you, making you feel empty, already missing the warmth and comfort his proximity gave. 

“Let’s get you home then.” he murmured, giving you a tentative smile as he stretches his hand out to help you up. You place your hand in his, letting him pull you up. When you don’t return his smile, Sunwoo frowns, his brows knitting together before he conceals it.

 He hated to see you like this, hiding your pain and sorrow under an expressionless mask. Disguising his worries, he promises himself to always be by your side to make you happy and shine on you like the sun, expelling the murky clouds of doubt and misery that shadow your thoughts.

»»————-　　————-««»»————-　　————-««

You lie in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as you wait for sleep to overtake you, to numb your pain. Your mind replays the scene, rewinding and rewinding until you felt trapped at the moment, helpless and frozen, watching a patient slowly die in front of you no matter how hard you tried.

Getting up, you wobble unsteadily to the door, cracking it open, cringing when the bright light hits your eyes, causing you to avert your gaze momentarily. “Sunwoo?” you call, your voice hushed. 

He looks up from his position on the couch, brows furrowing in concern when he sees your puffy and bloodshot eyes, face red and blotchy from crying. 

“Can you stay with me?” you ask quietly, staring at the ground as you tremble, your hands playing with the hem of your shirt. Nodding, Sunwoo follows you back to your bedroom, crawling under the duvet with you. Briefly, you and Sunwoo sit together in silence, you lost in thought while he watches you, his heart shattering with every breath he takes. 

“It’s ok to cry, baby,” Sunwoo whispers, his voice shaking as he sees your frigid and detached expression. He was afraid that if he didn’t save you from the deep and vast ocean, you would sink further, drowning in despair and your criticizing thoughts. 

“Say something, please.” he pleads, shaking your shoulder desperately, hoping to produce a reaction from you. He would rather see you cry or scream than having to witness you slowly grow numb and distant. 

That’s when you let go, the first tear followed by many more, your body wracked with the onslaught of tears. Sunwoo’s heart hurt, listening to your gut-wrenching sobs and the way you gasped for breath in between each sob. 

You bend forward, pressing your palms to the mattress to ground yourself, to remind yourself that everything would be alright. Sunwoo opens his mouth, searching for words to say, anything to distract you. 

Instead, he provides comfort with his presence, pressing himself to you in hopes that you would feel him there, that you would know that you were not alone in combating the darkness that was threatening to swallow you whole. 

He shifts so that he’s lying down, you curled up next to him. Your tears gradually stop cascading down your cheeks, until there’s nothing left but the remainder of your tears. Sunwoo gently kisses away your tears, his hand stroking your hair comfortingly. 

You close your eyes, surrendering to sleep as his loving kisses lull you to sleep. Sunwoo watches you, his hand moving to draw abstract patterns on your back. 

He knows you’re strong and that you will heal, even if you bear scars in the future. For now, he will act as your guardian angel, watching over you, always.

[silverhandy]

I saw the devil (in me) - chapter 6

Takemura doesn't believe in ghosts, not really, but a man driven to his limit might believe in just about anything. Trapped in a losing game and consumed by grief, he returns to Night City looking for closure. but ends up finding something much more.

ao3 I chapter 1 I chapter 2 I chapter 3 I chapter 4 I chapter 5

    When Takemura opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was, the apartment so foreign compared to what he was used to. The dissonance was almost enough to push the grogginess away from his mind, make the heaviness of his limbs less daunting as he looked around, taking in the surroundings. Right, he was at Viktor’s, must’ve dozed off at some point. At first, Takemura didn’t know what awoke him, other than the painful stiffness of his neck and shoulders but as his vision cleared, that, too, became apparent. Viktor was standing by the kitchen counter, motioning to take off his jacket, the snow that covered the material already melted and soaking into it, but froze halfway when he saw Takemura stir awake.

    “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya. Should’ve taken the bed, though.”

    “You did not wake me, I was just about to…” Takemura replied, motioning to get up, but what stopped him was a warning meow from the cat, still lying on his lap. It raised its head, clearly not amused by the disturbance. Viktor raised his eyebrows, a faint smile appearing on his lips as he grabbed himself a chair and sat down, leaving the jacket on the counter.

    “He likes you.”

    “Does he have a name?” Takemura asked as the cat stood up, clearly deciding it had had enough of its guest’s affections, and jumped to the floor in a swift motion, not even glancing at the two men.

    “Nibbles.” Viktor chuckled. “Before you ask, it was not my idea, but V’s. Judy...isn’t in the best place right now, said the cat reminds her of V too much, plus she’s leaving Night City for good anyway. Asked me to take care of it, so I took the little guy in.” he said, looking over at Nibbles, who jumped onto the counter, eyeing the bowls on the far corner of it and finally turning its gaze back to Viktor, disappointment clearly visible in its huge eyes. The ripperdoc shook his head slightly, a soft smile on his face as he engaged in a staring match with the cat, his eyes losing focus behind the tinted lenses as he got lost in thought. Takemura took the time to stretch, the aftereffects of a nap in such an uncomfortable position having stiffened his joints. He didn’t feel rested, more like he had been rather abruptly fished out of a tank filled with warm water. Then again, he didn’t think he knew what feeling rested felt like anymore.

    “A fine feline.” Takemura finally said, only to break the uncomfortable silence between them and to shake the doctor off whatever track of thought he found himself on. Viktor only hummed in acknowledgment, turning his gaze back to the other man.

    “Glad to see you settled in okay. It’s been slow at the clinic, so I thought I would drop by, just to grab something and see how you’re doin’ while I’m at it.”

    Takemura took a quick look at the little screen displaying the time, the digital numbers displayed on a small screen giving off a soft, blue glow. What he probably should have expected, what would have been just a moment of rest turned into a few hours and Takemura had already felt he had wasted enough time.

    “Thank you for the clothes,” he said, bowing his head slightly, as if his words weren’t enough to accent his appreciation. In reality, they really weren’t.

    Viktor waved his hand.

    “Don’t mention it. Figured you’d want to wear something that’d make you feel more...you.”

    Takemura let out a deep sigh. Viktor deserved more than half-truths and omissions. He owed him the truth, after everything the ripperdoc had done for him.

    “I was let go from the company.” Viktor raised his eyebrows at this sudden change of topic, but said nothing, allowing Takemura to carefully choose his words as he continued. “Completely and irrevocably. I refused to accept the consequences my actions have brought upon me and was punished for it.”

    “Letting you out alive was Saka’s idea of a parting gift?” Viktor asked, leaning back on the chair. Despite the calmness of his voice, Takemura could feel a hint of sarcasm, anger even, though it was not directed at him.

    “I would say it was the opposite. In their eyes, I did not take the chance to redeem my honor and have to live with that decision weighing down on me.”

    Viktor hummed and took off his glasses, wiping the lenses on the edge of his shirt. Even though Takemura never wore them, always having been equipped with cutting edge optics, a new set from time to time, long before it officially made its way into the wider market, he doubted cleaning the lenses like this was effective. It almost looked like Viktor was buying himself time to think about what he was about to say, though the silence didn’t last more than a few seconds.

    “And in your eyes?”

    The question took Takemura aback, summing up what he’d been thinking about in merely a few words. A rare thing it might be, an ability he never had, never needed back when his life was dictated by a clear set of rules and orders from people he accepted as his superiors, first in the military and then, later, by Saburo-dono’s side.

    “I...am not sure yet. I came all this way only to realize that what I fought my entire life to protect, to uphold might be little more than a vicious lie. It is hard to face, how replaceable I am. I had been selfish, enough to believe that after I cleared my name and helped Hanako-sama bring Yorinobu to justice, everything would be the same as before. How foolish of me! Before I knew it, the order of things I fought to help restore, one I have killed for, was distorted into something I could no longer recognize. And the scariest part,” Takemura hesitated for a moment, but it was too late to not finish his trail of thought, bare all his doubts to Viktor the way he would never dare to in front of someone else. “is that it might have always been like that. I was just too blind to notice.”

    “Must’ve felt like a rug was swept from under your feet. However painful it might seem, you are your own man now. You can forge your own path, and it’s only up to you if you see it as a blessing or a curse, but it does make a hell of a difference. Trust me,” Viktor said, a warm, knowing smile on his face. “I’ve been there.”

    Takemura felt curiosity rise in his chest, remembering the photo of Viktor from his Trauma days, but he didn’t want to push the other man, just as Viktor had not pushed him. As expected, the ripperdoc didn’t elaborate and Takemura didn’t ask him to. There was a time for everything and he felt it wasn’t it, not yet.

    “Thank you,” he said and stood up, walking to the chair to grab his coat and put it on. It wasn’t that late, he might still be able to catch Akiko at work, not that she ever left it. “I am going to meet with a netrunner, but will be back soon.”

    “A friend of yours?”

    “I would hesitate to call her a friend, but we did help each other. That account I mentioned, I set it up shortly before leaving the city. I never thought I would have to use it again, but as you say...better to be safe than sorry.”

    Viktor hummed in response. “Alright. Just watch your step out there, the snow is pretty nasty.”

    “I will. By the way,” Takemura turned around just as he was about to put his hand on a scanner to open the front door. “what did you do with that car? And the wakizashi?”

    “The sword? Still have it, but left it behind at the clinic. Do you need it back?”

    Takemura hesitated. Does he?

    “Not really.” he silently hoped he never will. “The car?”

    “Had to call in a favor to make it disappear. A real shame, it was quite a beauty. Your Arasaka buddies seem to have cleaned their own mess before NCPD caught a whiff.”

    “Of course. They always do.” and with that, he walked out.

***

    When he finally reached the less frequented part of Charter Hill, the little sunlight that managed to break through the dark, heavy clouds was long gone, giving way to street lights and neons tastefully implemented into the newly built, sleek looking buildings, even though right now they were obscured by the heavy snowfall that made Takemura regret he couldn't just drive there. Even the ever present neons and advertisements were more subtle, on par with the kind of life the people residing in the district were leading - moderately comfortable, a step up from Heywood, but still not high enough up the food chain to compare with those rich enough to reside in City Plaza. Takemura had eventually strayed off from the wide, open spaced pavements into a more dense area, navigating the increasingly narrow streets that exposed the true image of Charter Hill, the middleman district with nothing but a pretty exterior masking the rot that went too deep into Night City’s system to ever be truly hidden, revealing itself in various ways, from overworked corpos passed out the benches despite the grueling cold to the occasional bloodstain on the pavement, only partially obscured by fresh snow, one that the cleaners haven’t managed to scrub off yet. An organic proof of meaningless violence in a place that kept eating its own young and hopeful, entangling them in an endless web of favors and obligations, one that kept tightening and spreading all around the city. Even Takemura, on his first visit to Night City, out of money and resources, found himself entering the untold arrangement that kept the city ticking, indebting himself to people and indebting others for his sake just to keep himself afloat. Some of the favors he already cashed in, others he hoped he’ll never have to, but at least in this case he didn’t walk past the rusty gate to the netrunner’s basement with cautious distrust, as he did with so many others. Akiko was different, much more human despite the fact she interacted with the ghosts floating around the Net much more frequently than with regular humans. Despite that, she still had something that many have lost on lesser endeavors - a conscience and a heart to back it up.

    As he walked down the stairs, careful not to slip on the ice the water dripping from the roof has turned into, he pushed the heavy, metal door open, only a small name plaque an indicator of who might reside there. The doors closed behind him with a dull thud, one that almost made him jump as he walked further into the building, following the neon line on the floor, the only source of light in the otherwise completely dark corridor. Eventually, it widened into a large room, the netrunner the only person there. For a second, Takemura didn’t even see her until he turned his gaze to the server on the left side, one of many lining the walls. Before Takemura had a chance to announce his presence, the netrunner’s voice came, a bit muffled:

    “Yeah yeah, gimme a sec!” the woman muttered, her entire torso still hidden inside the jaws of the machine as she tinkered with its’ insides, balancing on one foot as she struggled to reach for the cable she needed.

    “No rush, Akiko,” he said, leaning on the doorframe, seemingly the only place in the entire room where he wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over or breaking something, the space was so densely covered with cables and spare parts spread all over the floor and running up, creeping up on the walls, some insulated with a dulled glow of tiny LEDs, basking the room in an unnatural, blue light. How the netrunner could work like this, Takemura had no idea.

    Upon hearing his voice, the woman jumped, hitting her head on the metal plate with an audible thud. Cursing under her breath, she finally emerged and turned to face him, rubbing the back of her head with a pained expression.

    “Takemura, you scared the shit out of me! Some warning would be nice,” she complained as she walked over around the partially disassembled netrunning chair to greet him, a smile on her face despite her seemingly cold tone. She looked different from the last time he’d seen her, her previously long, greying hair now cut short and dyed angry pink, reflecting the blue hues and creating strands of violet that danced around her face every time she moved her head.

    “I presume this means you have not expected me.”

    “After our last conversation? The only person I expected to see less was Saburo Arasaka himself. What brings you back to Nigh City? I thought you hated the place.” she said, stepping over a box of what looked like fried cyberdecks to grab a chair. “Here, take a seat, you look like you’re about to topple over.”

    Takemura sighed and reluctantly sat down, secretly grateful for the offer. The room was unpleasantly warm, servers towering one next to the other enough to bring the temperature up to a point where he had to shake off his coat.

    “I came to honor the memory of a friend and stayed to admire the scenery,” he said, his attempt at sarcasm met with Akiko’s expression softening. Takemura saw the way her eyes kept darting to his arm, bandage peeking out from the long sleeve of his shirt.

    “Shit, I’m so sorry. It was that merc that you worked with, right? I heard about what you guys pulled at the parade from a ‘runner friend of mine. With what came after, I thought you’d be back at Saburo’s side in Tokyo, so…”

    “Akiko-san, excuse me, but I did not come here to gossip.” he stopped her mid sentence, feeling a sudden need to cut this conversation short and get out of this warm, confined room into the biting cold of Charter Hill. The woman looked surprised at the retort.

    “O-of course. Whaddya need?”

    “That account I asked you to set up before I left. Is it still up?”

    This time, she scoffed.

    “‘Course it is. I have one of these beauties constantly pulling it in and out of the Net as we speak.” she pointed to one of the servers lining the wall. “Normally it would’ve cost you a ton of eddies to keep it buried as deep as it is, but I honor my debts. You helped me, now I’m helping you, no questions asked. Although…” she trailed off and crossed her arms. “I’d certainly appreciate it if you cared to share why the hell you need to cash that one in in the first place. Arasaka not paying as much as they did back in my day?”

    Takemura grunted. Of course, she, of all the people he got to know in this godforsaken city, wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily.

    “We had a disagreement of sorts, one that resulted in me being let go in a rather abrupt manner. I did not have much time to make preparations for such an event, hence I come to you. I need to get access to the deposit. Can you do that for me?”

    Akiko narrowed her eyes, clearly not expecting such honesty on Takemura’s part.

    “Well then,” she said, reaching for a port box propped up next to one of the many screens standing on the tabletop. “of course I can. Just jack in and I’m gonna walk you through it.”

    “I am afraid my personal link is out of commission for now. Is there any other way?”

    “Good luck getting around the city without one. You had a ripperdoc take a look?”

    “I did,” he replied, a bit annoyed at her pretentiousness. “Please Akiko, just focus. Is there any other way?”

    “I can put you through a neural port directly, but…”

    “What?”

    “You’d have to jump into the Net with me and to be frank, you don’t look like you’re at the top of your game. With no one keeping an eye on your biomon, I’m worried you could flatline on me.”

    “So I can either wait until my personal link can be fixed or come back here with a ripperdoc?

    “A tech savvy one at that. And someone you trust, considering what we’re doing here.”

    Takemura was silent for a few seconds, considering. Just a few months ago, he’d probably rush into it, not wanting to stall his progress any further, determined to keep things moving even if it would cost him later, but now, with the unexpected turn his life has taken, he wasn't so quick to act. If jumping into the Net was as risky as Akiko made it out to be, and he had every reason to trust her on that, pushing for it right now would be counterproductive. He thought about Viktor and how his work would go to waste if Takemura was to fry on the netrunner’s chair, so much effort on the ripperdoc’s part for nothing. Other than the need to pay Viktor off as soon as possible, even if only to make up for his kindness, since the doctor not only did not push Takemura to hurry but offered him a place to stay so casually, there was nothing rushing him. No time sensitive goal that required him to push himself far past his limits as he feared not only for his uncertain future, but for his very life. It felt odd, in a way.

    “Fine. I think I know just the right person.”

[tokiro07]

Can’t stop thinking about the term Strand game now that I’ve come to a satisfactory checkpoint on Soulslikes 

As I believe I said last time, I don’t find Strand game as unsavory a term as Titlelike on the basis that, while it does inherently reference the title of the game that purports to have spawned it, Death Stranding, it is meant to evoke the characteristics of the genre it seeks to establish

Near as I can tell, Hideo Kojima’s intention was for each player to be a “strand” in the grander fabric of the gaming community, and those individual strands can be and need to be tied together to make something bigger

I’m really on the fence as to whether I like this term, because on the one hand the metaphor is really nice and can be attributed to a lot of things, but on the other it does very little to actually convey the mechanics involved

It’s more concise than saying “asynchronous multiplayer” and also allows for the possibility of real-time interactions, but asynchronous at least conveys the idea that one players actions will affect another even without any direct interaction

I’m also not sure if direct interaction SHOULD be included in the definition of Strand games, as I’m having trouble envisioning a game with exclusively real time multiplayer being considered a Strand game. I suppose if, for example, there were a Death Stranding clone where the players all share the map in real time that could work, but would that still be in line with Kojima’s intentions? Was the point not that the influence of others was almost entirely indirect and incidental, that the actions of one echo outward to reach an untold number of others? Would having the ability to meet, interact, communicate and coordinate with others not defeat the purpose? Or would the mere fact that their actions have meaning for others be all that’s necessary, regardless of whether they could directly interact?

I also keep coming back to the word echo as I think of this. Asynchronous or not, the fact that one players actions have an effect on others makes me think less of a fabric being woven and more of a stone being thrown in a pond, sending a ripple in all directions until it hits something else. If someone told me that Death Stranding was either an Echo game or a Ripple game, I think I’d have a better understanding of how the multiplayer aspect works than being told that it’s a Strand game, as those terms convey the action that the player takes during gameplay

In an interactive medium, it’s important to tell the player what they’ll be doing rather than how they’ll be feeling. In film, genre is for feelings: comedy is for fun and laughter, romance is for love, drama is for passion or sadness, horror is for fear, action is for excitement, etc. In games, genre is for activity: Platformers are for moving a character via jumping, Shooters are for aiming and firing at enemies from a distance, Puzzles are for problem-solving, Action is for variable forms of violence, Recursive games are for repeatedly facing and overcoming a challenge, etc. Like I wanted to convey with moving from Soulslike to Recursive, Opportunistic and Cryptic, a proper gaming genre name should communicate what the player will be doing more than what they’ll be feeling

Calling Death Stranding a Strand game does convey, at least metaphorically, that the player is and will feel like a strand of thread woven into the fabric of their community, but that more gives the idea of what other players are doing. It’s a description that makes the player feel like their role in the fabric is passive, like the fabric is being woven around them rather than personally contributing to the fabric as a whole. This may be a consequence of seeing how others affect your world and never knowing what effect you have on others, but I think that makes the name even more important

If Death Stranding is called something more active, like an Echo or Ripple game, it makes it clear that the player’s actions (or at least context specific actions) will in some way reverberate and reach someone else, even if only insignificantly and in a way that they’ll never see. It makes the player into the one throwing the stone or shouting off the side of a cliff; even if they can’t see the ripple or hear the echo, they’ll see or hear someone else’s sooner or later, and they’ll know they aren’t alone

Sure, this is still a metaphor the same as Strand game, and therefore doesn’t convey as much as say “in a Shooter, you shoot,” but if it can only be described in the sense of the vibe the player gets, I’d rather know what action I’m taking to get that vibe

Furthermore, Strand has a lot of definitions, including “being left in isolation,” the exact opposite of what Kojima wants to convey with that genre name, so not only is it too passive for my taste, it also is just too easily muddled to get across what it’s supposed to

Echo and Ripple are also just more versatile terms since they can be verbs or adjectives, while Strand in the definition it’s meant to use can only be a noun

For example, officially Death Stranding is an Open World Action game. if we want to convey that Death Stranding has asynchronous multiplayer without saying “asynchronous multiplayer,” would it sound better to say that it’s an Open World Action Strand game, or an Echoing Open World Action game? To me, the adjective is a lot easier to append to the existing nouns of “Open World” and “Action” than a third noun would be

I also think that a noun is more suited to a primary or secondary gameplay loop than whatever part you’d consider asynchronous gameplay to be. Technically speaking, the asynchronous gameplay in Death Stranding is entirely optional; it’s necessary for the message and the experience that Kojima wants to convey to the player, but the game can be completed entirely without it to my knowledge. What you’re actually doing is traversing an open world (the primary loop and the focus of the game) and engaging in action sequences against other characters (the secondary loop, an obstacle to your attempts at traversal in the primary loop)

You can intentionally leave items for other players and you can feel assured that your tower or road or what-have-you will be a positive influence for someone else, but the assistance you provide and receive is meant to enhance the other two loops. It would be very difficult if not impossible to develop a game where “influencing other players’ experiences” is a gameplay loop without another loop present to define what you’re influencing

Naming a genre an adjective helps to give context to the type of experience the other gameplay loops will provide, while making it a noun implies that it’s the experience itself. Calling Death Stranding a Strand game implies that the Strand mechanic is the central experience of the game, when the reality is that a lot of players may not even realize that the items they found were left by another player and not deliberately programmed to be in the game. Calling it an Echoing Action game, though, tells you that you’ll be engaging in combat and that your actions may echo into another player’s experience while still emphasizing the action as the more central and universal experience while still leaving the possibility for someone to develop a way to create a pure Echo experience

Do I think Echo or Ripple will catch on? Probably not, I’m not exactly an influencer, but I do think that as more developers try to take cues from Kojima’s work, more varied methods of utilizing the elements he introduced are bound to crop up, and “Strand” won’t seem like the most appropriate or elegant word choice anymore. All I ask is that when that day comes, people don’t feel too overwhelmed or conflicted  about what the best word would be and default to Strandlike