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notmuchtoconceal · 11 months

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- welcome to a bruxaria – a show that may or may not still be the bruxcast. on my program today, i have the effervescent lil tall sip of fizz, cpt. luxor drottin ready to seranade us with some fine poppy foam bubbles i know you'll be eager to trickle right down your shirt fronts!

- what up, brother brux. you got a special girl in your life yet, bro?

- she's out there, mate! might be listenin in right now for all we know!

- bro, what i know is you're gonna make the luckiest lady alive the lady who makes you the luckiest man alive. you're so special, brother brux. you deserve a special girl to be with, all the rest of your days ~ !

- cpt. drottin, i have to ask – you a great dane or just a standard swede?

- deffo not enough finns to make a whole fish, bro.

- an avalanche every iceman cometh, i am indeed the jelliest of donuts!

(STICK IT IN A PUSS O/o STICK IN A PUSS o/O YOU LOVE TO CUP THE VULVAE /O CUP THE VULVAE /o CUP THE VULVAE O/O )

- bro, you should soundproof cpt. hlaford when you're recording, otherwise stick em someplace soundproof, bro. holy hell – what are you even spending 9/10ths of our total broadcast budget on if you can't account for basic quality of life improvements?

- mate, we hadn't always been a big show. you're a young up-and-comer. you weren't with us in the early seasons. i started out as a pirate channel in a janitorial closet and did every show to the hammer beat of wally deadliftin in nothing but a big sweaty ass-stained lycra singlet and cheese scented wool socks, the singlet himself (itself -- weren't once human!) almost obscenely padded out by a fat heavy knit cotton tee which'd accrued mothscales on pine like sycamore sap; sweatmarks foamroasted in tree rings so much i thought he were wearin some sorta throwback arctic camo -- sometimes just strippin outta his drenched as shit singlet, tossin his goofy coconut tropical scented pineapple printed dick briefs at me head. full on fuckin sloshin me like urinal piss foam in a mug i served outta the tap at me own bar, and wally fukin drank it down, asked for another and another -- by the end, i was dehydrated, lyin on my side jitterin and he just bleched and said he was goin out fer a beer /// live on air, his stinky fuckin briefs hittin me head, and it's so sweet and anointed and heedy like a fuckin pina cooldada it takes awhile to taste the burn -- joshua openly fornicatin christos, i bet this man's cock is delicious! i just wanna stare the seat of his pants everyday the rest of my life and cringe thinkin about how good it'll taste, but i'll never ask, cause i'm such a shy and delicate flower -- i had to hear it during recording, during editing, on the air. it's part of my creative process now. there just is no motive to create without hearin wally scream through a wall. punch through the wall. chase me around the room. hollerin after me to gimme back his soul. destroyin all my equipment, but not before it can all be backed up to the satellite, way out in space, where wally's domain can not yet penetrate into the upper atmospheres ~0~ ! tell you the truth, i can't coax him into helpin me do it unpaid, so i just sort loike – y'know. built my sets around him. sometimes cut off pathways in advance, to keep him boxed in, change the patterns of nature to make him predictable, just sorta like – you know. follow him and record so inspiration can strike the second he lets his guard down and thinks he's free to be himself, but i'm just over here bein a nosy lil anthropologist lady who wants to record the sound of him gettin it on so i can once again feel a butterly tinglin in my nowhere places when the currents of life are alive and fruitful like a smoothie churning egg beater my brain from which i will fry the heartiest crepes?

- bro, to be completely honest – i have so many questions, i don't even know where to start, so um – i won't unless you give me a few moments to collect myself, which i doubt you will?

- mate no, by all means. this is a show where two people talk. a talk show. i have to show you talking. in all the hours we've been together, i'm sure i definitely have footage of you talking. go ahead. prove it to me now and to the viewers at home that you have participated in my talk show by talking to me – now. live on air. edited only for initial broadcast.

- um –

- cpt. drottin, you know, i think –

[vintage tye-dye throwback bumper

cpt. laika greenscreened onto a celluloid scarred void of rippling droplets !

collides with cpt. jacek in the edit ! ~ !

as typical,

laika's overblown toothy cheeked eyeball fucking is soggy sugarmush churned maple greens from steel-cuts =0

/ and jacek's face looks much like his dick --

much too large and swaggering to be this fuckin leaky. ]

( 0 _ ./. o. >,: <;\|-/~ ) o ( l .,.KlTYT>| |)

the bell rung.

the mirage accumulated by light particles into corpulence.

your brother didn't have a beard. he looked nothing at all like cpt. drottin.

- um, sir?

once again, your most favored hour fell upon you.

- your sarcasm is much appreciated, sir. you're the only one who has the balls to roast me both openly and to my face.

in full confidence, you would much rather have him raw.

- our most astute viewers know the true meanings of your words, as do i, though i scar my tongue most to know saltlick... just gonna pretend you wanna rut my tight and virtuously chaste hole and leave me drenched in my own tenderings and squirtings, sir. // your proclivities have been much established by those-in-the-know, but um… this'll look better for the men, you know? you're way more relatable when they're thinkin bout you like, um – like grabbin me,& suckin me without, um, tearin me in half and slurpin out each a my halves like shucks through the pelvic openings?

he has such a pretty throat. a shame you couldn't fit both your cocks in his mouth at once without tearing him apart down the prime meridian.

- sir, i know you're jockin me right now, big bro. you had two cocks, um – holy fuck, you'd have this cloven hoof bulge all gnarled like the limbs of a tree out which the earth had been hollowed, all fat roots and pike-thorn branches and, um – i'd wanna bury myself in your crotch even more?

you and everyone fuckin else, kid.

- my apologies, sir. after my recent sesh with cpt. schreibermachen, where secrets were re-divulged without the application of rope, i couldn't help but fall into the dreamy reveries he induces upon the mere mention of your, um – that shrill horrible beeping sound that would otherwise lance at my ears, but which by his gentle assurance now floods my nerves with the anticipation of the sweetness before a toothache?

he needed to surprise you. he wasn't doing anything new today.

- i could rip off my face and expose the maw of coiled intestines beneath, hissing out with the hellfire of your own failed accountings, lord of all which forgotten ~ slain always by the light of remembrance?

throw a tarp on him. worst he'd do is burn the place down.

–

cpt. schreibermachen glanced at cpt. drottin through the light.

he seemed for a moment, only anonymous. some face more flesh than memory, shed as the cicada shell of a mask.

- never have i met a man before as you, brother – as uncut and void of substance as myself.

cpt. drottin – let himself linger in the glance that he threw back.

he would stroll as he would linger, some eternal dusk whenever he took things slow. though his eyes were the hardball palming the mits of the leather. no fangs to see in the dusklight he crept.

corrosion softest in the creases. parts of him wore away, from wear and from moisture, and it seemed inevitable – that he should decay though still a young calf he was. to slaughter before spoil. no caustic splotches. no sheens of oilslick to stain. the wear of age which deep intuition had bent into seams varicose down the planes of his face – hairline fractures in the light which you would only see for only you looked, and met not a man's eyes before meeting the topography of his skin, as you interrogated your seawall against oblivion every morning.

you had seen comelier young men putresce on the vine. he was simply microdosed with his own fermentations, dispersed in beads along the sweet, you never tasted his punch, or into what frenzy it drew you.

- i will hear you, brother – for you are a virtuous man.

schreibermachen wore a brief of cotton, drottin a brief of aluminum – the translucence of the strands wrung spun and glow wormed in the rays of the evening sun refracted off the contouring of their meddle.

their cocks they pushed together, to careen shaft to shaft, in boy's adventure fables where they knew the heroics of their capacities for life and for daring, ascending and descending the ropes from which they hung and swung, sang and wrang, though sometimes it were vine or stone, and they could press only closer to cling in embrace, singing praises of valor, sputtering salival and bellowing, articulations upon articulations as you strove to meet his eyes ~

though your head craned back as his, slick inside the prison of his briefs, as you foamed through the cling of yours, your slick coating his, beading through the meshing to mingle with his as he stewed in your seepage and his stung your nicks, your cockheads so tight inside the dual collar of your phimotic ring, magenta and clamped upon by the joint limitations of your own crucified anatomies, as you were girdled in flesh as you were gartered in fly, as much two bodies trapped inside a mind as two minds trapped within a body, inches upon inches together /

your eightheads together, (4 + $ - CAP = ←) meeting his eyes with the mutual piteousness of your need, hovering at a threshold of ecstatic communion, condemned to never plummet off, but shoot deep roots into the rocks at the edge, to drop fruit to be carried far in the rivers below ~ your trunks entwined and your branches parting farther, the spongeal nodes of your need still aching and pressed together, no longer able even to rub, but merely to give and to merely pulse in the same heartbeat of your idiot-eyed surrender to himself and to you ~

breeches around your ankles in the public squares, your uniform jackets drenched with drool, foaming down your legs and into your breeches, briefs so soaked-through there is nothing left to-be unseen ~

and you are breathing in the spice of cpt. drottin's beard, longing to bite at it, but you can only hold him, wishing your faces were clamped even closer together, stuffed by the figure-eight of a dual-chambered inflatable gag, mouths clamped into the optical illusion of a vice-grip jaw to jaw so you could meet his eyes, only his eyes, and never be away from those pools into which you longed to drown, but would plunge into only to scale up – for the light you saw was but a reflection of your own.

… you are the true foundation, brother joseph;

drottin sang to ache ~

the exhaustion he could no longer prolong.

[ camera left rolling for six hours.

through the silky, slatten light

falling through embers of alleys;

cpt. hlaford bums a smoke off a derelict saint, to bless him with a bottle of spiced rum, and a pirate jig they will do.

a pirate jig they did do for you.]

( )

- cpt. drottin. my, my – aren't you looking lovely this fine day!

- thank you, cpt. haruspex. all the world is lovely that i look upon ~

- do you ever feel, like, er – there's somethin that needs to be done that you aren't doin, mate? sometimes i feel like i, um – sorta use people to distract myself from my real problems?

- bro, you shouldn't be talking to me if you have things you need to do.

- mate, no – it's not like that, it's more, like –

- you can't make excuses for yourself, cpt. haruspex. you're a brave and enduring soul who every day stands in the muck of primordial chaos and pushes the world heaved upon your shoulders back up into the warm and ever enduring horizon line of the sun. you know this to be the truest and most real you. you know the smog which composes the pollutant of your atmospheres arises only from maladaptive industry, and this is simply the cumulative effect of many tiny corrosions which have gone unchecked, for an arrest has come over your basest components.

... you are a live today, cpt. haruspex. the day is what you make of it, and you ought make a reality the many fine things you know yourself capable. will you take my hand? take your hand and make a pledge to me?

- mate, your hands i'd –

- don't be scared, brother brux. i'm just a man.

- …

- haha, hey lil slime trail.

- it's just, um – you're so warm and so soft – i don't want to lose myself in your eyes, cause i'm not as strong a swimmer as i should be, or maybe i am, bein the one to be born and all, it's just – i jump headfirst into choppy waters or else plunge into the arctic cold? cause i like to?

… guess it sorta feels like when i see the storm waves or the blackest depths, i gotta take the leap. if i don't, it's like – why didn't ya jump in? why didn't ya endanger your life? what's a self-preservation instinct done but hold ya back to the wall? think you're ever gonna flower in the ice?

/// sure are gettin oily, mate – way your hormones are chuggin away.

... what ya see's what ya get, and all ya see is the filth gushin out ya. you breakin up, or you breakin out? i seein static or caulked splotches? why i see a time-lapse of a rose on every face, so bright and clear i can anoint myself with my own imaginins?

... guess it sorta feels like the slicker i get, the more i can stay outta holds, but um – i don't always know if there're people grabbin at me while i'm under water? the pressure wraps around me. some hand, some arm. throats always grippin mine. don't always know what i need to do. if i'm strugglin to keep my head up, or strugglin to sink!

- cpt. haruspex, look upon this vast country. all but the sink is yours.

... cpt. haruspex, look upon this scarred and arid continent. all but the sink is yours. you have no basin in which to let stagnate still waters, and no gorge cut by the slow erosion of a coercive night's languid stream.

... you are face down now in a puddle of your own brewing, gasping for air when you could simply flip and meet the sky ~

falling to the sky

… some fisheye of waters diffused, icy only at the rims of space.

... sun warmed as the sands in which you lie, standing only to see truth.

... cpt. haruspex, you have dominion over every beast that you tame. you have dominion over every land you claim. you receive nothing of what you have asked, though you have accepted everything you have to gain. you assist and you are given, and you insist only so you do not receive. there are things which you are owed, and to make yourself known will bestow upon you the earnings of your actions! do not drown yourself in your own meager moisture – not when you have it within you to call upon those pressures of the sea, to cloak out the air ~ in the black tumult of the storm winds, you may blot out the sun – for an hour, for a day – to drench the droughted land in the downpour for which it is overdue!

- am i like heat, lux? risin like air, or bread in the oven? will i be fanned down or else carved and buttered? am i a tasty lil croissant – you wanna have me for breakfast, deem me the fittest meal, unworthy as i am?

- with my coffee, um – put some butter in there, too – make it shimmer as gold in the suns you obscure, for what dim light you have is surely radiant, though it skims only blackenings of my won-blotted eyes?

- and my waters? soakin the land as a fair maid well-aware i have tracked her far across the fields?

... will they sink deep, between the hard baked scales of the sun-drenched soil – the debris of what is dead and dry, to raise porous and fungal in the caps of some vast toadstool, as handsy as it is without hands?

- i will always remember you, cpt. haruspex. you are the bell which makes me remember. you are the ring which wakes me to dismember.

- i am the phone you never pick up. i am a connection you did not make. i am a spring shower dried up too soon, for the light of the sun oppresses me with its bounty :-- which is not the meager bounty of oijyamb. doomed though i am, doom always ain't gotta be such a gloomy thing!

- in the shade, the boulevard of every garden :-- hatted though i am, no cat am I, though still i feed on all assortments of what i net! we are all the octopus :-- for we reach and we grasp, and the bites of our kisses leave their mark or their notch, more pattern than bloodclot or breakage!~

- lux, i err – really appreciate all you have to say, but i really need to go to the bathroom mate. can you please let go of my hands? your grip is so strong, so tight and so loving, i think it makes me quiver in ways that neither me or my bladder could ever get used to!

- go, brother brux! begin your showers early!

- land's gonna get real fertile, i can tell ya that mate!

– another brick, brother lux. it is a pleasure to be limed with you.

///

...

[armchair slid against the tile, crashed back against the plateglass ;;

ceramic shattering, rootwork of marble slab pulled up by the plinth.]

,,,

\\\

[cpt. psychorragia hunched over throbbing, polishing his pulsating meat, bellowing like an ape peeling, fondling, mashing bunches upon bunches of ripe bananas unfurling in pinecone fountain light waters gushing burgeoning spooge geysers of milk and honey in cascades of neuronal flares all throughout the denser coagulants of himself; all over his muscleboy mantits shoulders so broad and slopey.]

./ o ./

cpt. psychorrhax dabbed the cloth under cpt. schreibermachen's eyes.

blooms darkened the blue to bluer gray, as light as spring rain, shining black as mud beckoning a baptism in clay.

though he picked up far from little, it could hardly be enough.

the tears, infrequent though they were, bled him for the waters came too fast and too heavy, and left joey once more clinging to his brother –

some branch he ducked under to catch reprieve from the downpour, as he looked back to see fields bleak with storm swallowed by the choppy surf of some granite tide, finding himself now alone on a rock stranded out at sea, sodden beneath the wind-torn branches of this lone and rootless tree he kept upright, for he did not know, were he to lean his weight upon its boughs, would it sink or stay afloat.

- you're too good to me, laik.

- that is a contradiction in terms, cpt. schreibermachen.

where joey refused to push himself -- seduced always by the warmth of his brother's arms -- he would find himself pulled beneath the riptide, buried forever in the mudflats which churned beneath the shallow seas.

- what depthless rubber lungs i have! what a well-scrubbed and castiron heart! let no man tell you there is no fortification to be found in running away! for what submersible would i be if i caved to the pressures ... !

joey's hands clenched laika's shoulders.

the blood grew torpid in his veins.

laika spoke, and made himself heard.

- a lesson our brother, cpt. haruspex has no want to learn, for he lives his lectures daily, repeating them with such frequency.

his hands rested in mutual conspiracy with himself to lean further in, for he could feel only useless letting them hang limp at his sides, and so it made itself so that to anchor was always an act of will.

– i shouldn't need you to do these things for me, laik.

though now joey felt only that he could push off, for there could be no indignity greater than being seen for what he could not hide.

once more, laika made himself more.

-- i am the man you love. i would do these things and many more, and i would do them gladly, would you but permit me.

from the distance of a forearm's length, cpt. schreibermachen could meet his brother's eyes ~ the peak of a silver mountain through the mist.

– i shouldn't need you… to take care of me, laik.

laika leaned in.

joey's heat bled through the layers of their shared insulation.

– everyone needs someone to take care of em, joe.

once more, a gooiness clung to the skin of his arms. pearlescent as honeysuckle baked in the heat of their embrace. steam distillations rose from pomegranate flesh and there were nothing but cocktails to be had.

– not the major. never the major. he is truly more – unconquerable than i.

laika allowed himself to linger – he had no cause to contradict in full. not here. where he was needed most. where he most needed to be.

– you don't know what he needs. sometimes i know better, big bro.

joey stayed with him. it seemed natural. no protocol, and no guilt.

he would give anything, for with laika he had all to give.

for laika never asked for things he could not give.

#with this ring #can't live with em #can't ever die without em #fuck you #don't ask me why #i am the reason

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protege-not-protagonist · 4 months

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Criminal Minds: The Protégé Chapter 4

Ch 4: My Brother's Keeper Pt. 1

Blurb: After meeting with Dr. Reid, Grace is called away on a case with the team to a double Homicide of children with excessive overkill. It doesn't take long to establish that This Unsub will kill again if not caught soon. But as Grace works the case, certain aspects of it stir up a past she would rather forget. Meanwhile Spencer can't help but start working on the victimology of this new possible serial killer back home.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Audience: 16+ mature audience for depictions of violence and sexual references

Author's Note: if you see a trigger warning that concerns you, you can scroll to end and I'll have a brief description what happens. I think that system should work well cause then those who don't want spoilers don't have to read the trigger warnings at the start and get spoiled. Also my apologies to Groton South Dakota. I'm sorry I'm sure your a lovely town, I just threw a dart on the map and looked for a small town in that area. No offense.

TW: Ableism, child death, violence, gore, crime scene depiction, kidnapping.

Quantico, FBI Runway Tarmac Thursday July 2023 1:32 pm

‘Sorry,’ Grace apologised as she entered the jet, ‘It’s worth the wait trust me.’ She turned behind her and gestured to the two people who followed her up the stairs, ‘This is my friend Agent Stiller, from Forensics…’

A neatly dressed young man with dark skin and round glasses smiled widely and offered his hand to the rest of the team, ‘You can just call me Avery, nice to meet you guys, I’ve heard a lot about the lofty sixth floor. Didn't know you guys had a jet.’ That earnt a few laughs from her team.

Grace turned to the older redheaded woman who still stood at her side. ‘And this is our associate, Dr Boland, she's an expert Forensic Anthropologist with the Smithsonian. She taught me everything I know.’

'Well, I don't think that's quite true, Grace,' Dr Boland chuckled slightly and turned to the team offering a small wave, ‘Nice to meet you all, although I wish it were under better circumstances.’

‘Thank you for joining us on short notice, we appreciate having you both on board,’ Prentiss welcomed them, ‘Take a seat where you can find one, budget won’t allow for a bigger jet so we might have to get a little cosy, I’m Section Chief and Acting Unit Chief SSA Prentiss, this is SSA’s Rossi, Alvez, Simmons, Jareau and Dr Lewis, you both know Special Agent Matthews. As soon as we’ve taken off, we’ll start running through what we've got so far.’

The jet started taxiing along the runway. Without too much surprise, Avery and Dr Boland took the couch seat together. Grace smiled and shot them an encouraging smile up before sitting down next to Rossi.

‘Where did you wander off to today, huh? That's the first time you’ve taken a lunch break longer than 10 minutes. I’m proud of you,’ Rossi nudged her.

Across the table from her, Dr. Lewis and JJ listened in curiously.

‘I was still on site, as I’m sure you will all hear from Alvez in his report-’ she heard Luke snort from the seat behind her. ‘-I went to see Dr Reid.’

Everyone sat up in their chairs, suddenly very focused on what she had to say. She even heard the rest of the team's seats creak behind her.

‘What?’ she asked. It felt like she was unaware of some joke that they had with each other. Had they been taking bets again?

‘Nothing.’ Rossi shrugged, ‘We all miss him. Guess we just wanna know how he's doing, How’d it go?’

The jet shuddered as it sped full speed down the runway. They all paused their conversation as the cabin began to rattle. Rossi gripped the armrest tightly and Grace closed her eyes and enjoyed the stomach flipping sensation. They lifted off the ground and there was the pleasant buzz in her body of adrenalin. She loved take offs. She opened her eyes and there were a few pairs staring back at her, waiting. Oh yeah, they had asked her a question.

‘Fine, it was really good actually. He’s nice, gave me some advice, and he's funny too… It was very… I don’t know.’

‘You two just… gelled well? It would be nice having someone on your level to talk to,’ Dr. Lewis suggested.

Grace let out a nervous chuckle, ‘Oh no, he is way above my level, but… he’s not like other people I've met who are like that.’

Rossi gave her a knowing look, ‘He is the smartest guy in the room but he doesn't lord it over anyone. He doesn’t have a drop of arrogance or conceitedness in him.’

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ she smiled. Rossi was right, probably because he knew who some of the ‘other people’ she was referring to.

‘Well, if you think he is funny, you must be closer to his level than us, cause his jokes often go over our heads,’ JJ remarked and there were a few nods of agreement.

The monitor chimed, and Garcia’s bright personality shone through the screen.

'Hello my crime fighters and special guests! I've got an update, not a good one but still an update.'

'What have you got, Garcia?' Prentiss asked. They all got up and gathered around the second table in the jet that currently had all the files scattered across it.

‘Well, I have nothing folks, I looked for two related persons with Brittle Bone Disease in Groton and surrounding areas, and there are none. I trolled through medical records, but knowing they can be tricky and locked up tight, I went with ER admissions for repeated broken bones, then tried health insurance, then wheelchair and braces purchases, then school enrollments with special needs, nada… whoever these babies are, they aren't local and I can't find them and it's making me so sad.'

‘That's okay, keep working on that list, extend it to nationwide; families with two or more individuals with Brittle Bone who are under 25,’ Prentiss instructed.

‘Oooh, that is a big list,’ Garcia winced.

‘It’s okay, we have Dr Boland and Agent Stiller here, they will help give us more identifying features and we can narrow down the list further as we go along.’ Prentiss assured her. 'But are there any missing persons with Brittle Bone reported?'

Garcia shook her head, 'None reported in the entire country.'

Grace felt her chest ache a bit at the thought of a pair of parents out there unaware their kids were missing, or worse, not caring that they were. She held to that thought.

‘Brittle Bone is debilitating for kids. Most breakages occur before puberty, they would require a high level of care. These are kids you couldn't leave them home alone for long periods of time. They wouldn't be able to walk long distances or play on a playground unsupervised. Even if these victims are in their early teens, and they aren't as vulnerable, they're still someone you would notice missing. If they have not been reported missing, it’s likely that their guardian is also missing,' she suggested.

'Or the unsub themselves,' Alvez countered.

Why hadn’t she considered that? It was more likely.

She winced at the thought, 'I hope not. But yeah that's what statistics would point to, most murders are committed by someone closely related to a victim, even more so with children.'

'Well, if that is not the case…' Simmons pointed to a map of Groton they had on the table, 'Two major routes intersect here the 37 and the 12, there isn’t much in the town, it’s basically a rest stop, we could be dealing with a mobile killer. If our unsub knew the town had little in the way of law enforcement, they could dump the bodies, shock a small town, overwhelm law enforcement and continue driving. They’d be long gone before the cops even figured out what to do, it’s a forensic countermeasure. Have we looked at the Highway Serial Crimes database? Any similar scenes in other states?'

Garcia shook her head, ‘I checked that, and I'm keeping tabs, but I’ve found nothing this severe, or with kids, sorry. Ah… and I see you’re getting ready to look at those photos and I’ll take that as my cue, I’m out. Talk to you later.’

The screen went dark as Simmons laid out some of the photos on the table.

Prentiss turned their guests. ‘Can you tell anything from the photos that will help narrow anything down?’

‘Ah, no, I agree with everything Grace has concluded. An MNI of two. Both victims are definitely under 21. Most likely related, both have OI. Most likely Caucasian; their teeth have no shovelling. I would say these victims are more likely have Type One, but we will have to reconstruct and get stature estimates and bone samples to know that for certain. Unfortunately, I can’t rule out one of our individuals being pre-pubescent either, like Grace observed, their 31 hasn’t erupted. And if the victims do have Type One, it is the only type not known to cause unusual dentition. I believe it is a worse case scenario, one of those victims is around 12 years old.’ Dr Boland reported.

Grace already had known that, but somehow having someone else confirm it, made the cabin's recycled air feel heavy.

Avery sighed, ‘I have nothing to add, except I want to let you guys know, we are pretty good, but we are not miracle workers. I just want to prepare you for the possibility that we may not ID these victims if no relative comes forward with DNA or reports them missing. Soft tissue is obliterated, so we’re going to work with what we can and move to bones. Now, with younger victims, it is harder to determine sex with only skeletal remains, and given the condition they are in, the fragmentation will also make it difficult to determine facial features or distinguishable characteristics. Dr Boland will do what she can and I will assist where I can.’

‘Wait assist? So you’re not a bone and body guy?’ Alvez asked.

The rest of the team looked confused. Grace realised she hadn’t really told them much about who Avery was, or much about her old team, really.

‘I dabble but no, on the second floor, I’m the living people expert,’ he explained.

JJ nodded along with a grin, ‘You’re the team liaison.’

He nodded proudly, ‘I specialise in CSI coordination, organisation, and education for local police. Grace called me because I’ve worked cases like this before. It is possible we are walking into a contaminated crime scene, regional PD’s will be trying to work with one another, there will be press vultures, and we will most likely be doing the reconstruction in a country clinic or even a vet clinic. Agent Prentiss, I know you will be head of this investigation, but if you allow it, I will gladly organise and coach Local PD though evidence collection. I will do my best to make sure all evidence is collected and processed so it is admissible in court, if that's what you want me to do.’

‘That would be a big help, a profile is going to be hard enough with not much victimology to go off, we don’t need to be juggling crime scene management as well,’ Prentiss agreed.

Avery pulled out a business card and passed it around, ‘That’s my number, I'll grab all yours as well. I know how important a profile is in a case like this, I need to know any updates on your profiles immediately. In a small town like this, we will definitely work with volunteers. I’ve been warned that having Feds brought in might excite and Unsub, it’s possible I will be working along side our unsub at some point, so I think it’s good if we stay in touch.’

Rossi nodded with an impressed look on his face, ‘Where do you find these people, kid?’

‘Around. I keep good company,’ she smiled.

‘Okay when we land, we have a 20 minute drive to Groton from the regional airport, JJ, Matthews, Stiller and Dr Boland, I want you to go to the crime scene, make sure they get everything under control. Rossi, Alvez, I want you to question the staff at the golf course where the bodies were found. Simmons, Lewis you're with me, we will go to the station and get a lay of the land. We'll meet at the Gold Stallion Inn by seven. That's where we're being put up. I hope none of you snore, because there are only six rooms some of us are gonna have to share.’

‘Shot not sharing with Rossi,’ Dr Lewis remarked.

‘Hey, I do not snore. And I’ve had three wives who can attest to that,’ Rossi defended.

Somewhere along Route 37, South Dakota, Thursday July 2023 3:30 pm

He looked out the window as the radio played country music. It had been a long time since he had been on a road trip, he’d forgotten what it felt like. The crink in his knees hardly bothered him though. This was too exciting. Fields passed him and he smiled as a herd of cows lazily grazed, watching their minivan drive by.

‘Cows!’ he exclaimed with delight.

No one else in the car shared his enthusiasm. That was okay, his mom and dad had been driving for a long time, they were tired.

But then the woman next to him sobbed.

‘Please, where are you taking us? Where are my boys!’ his mother cried.

His smile retreated. She was ruining it.

‘SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!’ he pressed the gun to her head again.

‘Lilly, it’s okay baby, we’ll be okay!’ Dad called from the driver’s seat. ‘Please don’t hurt her, she just wants to know when we are going to stop.’

The man turned back to look at him and the woman with pleading eyes. It was good that Mom and Dad loved each other. If only they would love him as much. This was supposed to be a family road trip. They were supposed to be a happy family now. Why didn’t they love him?

‘We stop when I say we can, and you’ll see your boys again, soon enough,' he promised, and he wasn’t lying this time.

This Mom and Dad weren't right, his brothers weren’t right. He’d find the right ones one day. But he supposed he had to value what little time left he had with this family, it was supposed to be fun wasn’t it? He lowered the gun as the road sign loomed up ahead and he smiled. They were nearly there.

‘Ooh, let’s play a game… I spy, with my little eye, something, beginning with… M.’

Groton SD, Golf Course, Thursday July 2023 3:58 pm

'Deputy Mitchell?' JJ asked as the four of them climbed off the golf cart and approached a middle-aged man guarding a large tarp spread over the ground.

'You the feds?'

‘Agents Jareau, Matthews, and Stiller, and our forensic expert Dr Boland.' JJ introduced, pointing out each one.

'Well, thought you'd be all suited up with earpieces, but I'm glad you're here. Body is under here.' He lifted the tarp partially and they all braced themselves. 'Groundsman found it here this morning, Jesus,' the deputy winced and turned away.

'When did the call come in?' JJ asked.

‘That was about six this morning... Look, other than putting the tarp on and doing a search of the grounds, we haven't done anything else. This is way over our heads. We are a small community. People come here cause it’s quiet and nothing happens, we don’t have resources, certainly not for this. Heck, I’m not even sure how we are going to move the body. We asked the regional centre, Aberdeen, for help. They took one look and told us to contact you guys, but they’re sending us their CSI team. They just radioed that they are a few minutes away.'

Avery began to talk about how they were logistically going to go about this. JJ asked questions about what time people usually played golf, and the opening times of the course. She zoned out and peeled the tarp back fully, and Dr Boland jumped to help.

Immediately it was clear the victims were killed right here. This wasn't a dump sight. Blood spatter was caked all over the grass.

Dr Boland opened her field kit and began taking the ambient temperature, following procedure. Grace however became focused on the thing she hadn't been able to tell from the photos; how was this done.

She fixed her glasses on the nose and knelt down next to the bodies.

'Hello, I'm Agent Grace Matthews, I'm just going to examine you to see what happened, okay? Then we will get you both somewhere safe and put you together so we can bury you okay?'

She always spoke to the bodies. She knew the others on the team thought it was weird. She even felt weird talking to them this time, it was hard to even recognise them as human in the state they were in. But that’s why she had to do it, especially at a scene like this.

It was a habit she started at her first job after she left school and she kept it up when she went into forensics. The practice was quite normal in some fields. It was a humanising technique that gave dignity to a body while acting as a coping strategy for the living person. They taught it at the academy, but few practiced it.

'And I'm Dr Boland, I’m Grace’s friend. I will be putting you together and running tests. I will work as fast as I can.' Dr Boland introduced herself, not missing a beat. Grace looked to her in surprise. The doctor only smiled warmly back at her as if to say, “it's not weird at all.” And kept setting up the scene for the investigation.

Grace turned her attention back to the gore and clasped her hands together and hugged them under her chin; it was time to focus. This is what she was here for, this is what got her into the FBI.

Her eyes darted across the mess and searched for repeated patterns or familiar shapes. Amongst the clumps of flesh, splinters of bone and bloody strips of cloth that would have been clothes, she looked for large pieces that were still relatively intact. A long bone, or perhaps the outline of where the clothes would have sat, hopefully. She moved around, searching from every angle for something recognizable. Eventually, the two bodies began to appear. She could identify different sections of a body and her mind filled in the blanks or rearranged into the form it was supposed to take. The two had died next to each other; one face down, one face up.

Two fragmented bones stuck out to her. A snapped the ulna and radius. Attached to it she found a bit of skin that was bruised and dented in a rough crescent shape.

The scene flashed in her mind;

A young voice cried out as they were hit in the back of the head with the bludgeon, their skull shattered immediately, they fell face first into the grass and their jaw dislocated, which allowed the mandible to remain relatively while the overkill was exerted. This was the younger one. When they hit the ground, the other older one turned to the assailant, who was already swinging the weapon at him now. They raised their arm in defence to block the first blow of a rounded heavy object swinging at them. Their forearm shattered immediately. They fell to the ground, and the blows kept coming in a frenzied rage from the man standing above them. They died relatively quickly. But the unsub wanted to humiliate and disfigure them further, he beat them for what must have been hours.

She shook the scene from her mind and focused now on the weapon.

It was flexible and heavy yet did not leave a uniformed mark. It was malleable and, given the frenzied blitz attack; improvised.

She racked her brain, an improvised weapon on a golf course. It would have to be a club right? But it couldn't be; a golf club wasn't the right… anything. Shape, size, weight distance from the attacker; it was all wrong. This damage was more like a mediaeval mace, something heavy that could be swung but didn’t have much reach- yet, not solid? She stood up and wandered around, deaf to the world as she searched for an object that would fit the disruption.

'Hey Agent Matthews… Matthews… Grace. Grace!’ Dr Boland called to her.

‘Yes?’ she turned around

‘If you're heading over there to the bunker can you get a sample of the sand please?' Dr Boland asked.

She nodded and pulled out a test tube from her forensics field kit. She knelt down and scooped up some sand from the bunker. It was really fine sand, not like the natural sand that was about the town. This stuff would get everywhere if I fell over right now, she thought to herself. Then she had a little giggle to herself, it would get everywhere, but it wasn’t rough, or course, it was powdery and fine. Like Anakin Skywalker, she disliked sand, which was unfortunate, having grown up on a tropical island. She also hated golf courses. In her opinion, and her father’s, they were a waste of space. Swathes of nature manicured into useless fields to chase a ball in. The amount of habitat destruction, water wastage and land metamorphosis places like this went through was… she halted.

The sand wasn't from here.

It was brought here, and you buy sand in bags and sand bags are heavy and malleable. And she knew firsthand, you can scale a sandbag down and make the tried-and-true homemade truncheon with little effort.

She ran back over the body and pulled out her magnifying glass, inspecting a depression that would have been caused by a blow. Sure enough, she could make out a few fibres and sandy particulates in the wound. She pulled out a swab taking a sample.

‘Dr Boland, there are fibres and particulates in these wounds, make sure to get some samples before you clean the bones, have you established a baseline yet?’

‘Yeah, it's that flag there,’ she pointed to the peg in the ground and continued laying out measuring guides getting ready to take scaled photos. Grace stood next to the baseline, took out her tablet, snapped a photo and drew an outline with her stylus.

'I got a rough indication of where the victims are lying. I'll do a diagram, that way you can have a rough starting point for the reconstructions.’ She drew outlines of the victims over the photos and labelled them One and Two and hit send.

Dr Boland glance at her tablet smiled, 'This is great. I've never seen you work out side the lab before.'

'Well I do this quite often, I think it would be more accurate to say I've never seen you work out side a lab before,' Grace grinned.

'True, the field is not usually my scene, especially when the site is this recent. But I just wanted to say, the field, it suits you. You seem... more free.' The doctor remarked.

Another golf cart approached carrying a uniformed officer and a few people in CSI jackets; the team from Aberdeen.

‘Looks like the Cavalry's arrived.’

‘Go, catch this guy, we’ve got this,’ Dr Boland nodded, holding out her hand.

Grace frowned at her and reached to shake it.

Dr Boland laughed and shook her hand back, ‘As much as I appreciate that you are comfortable enough to shake my hand, I actually was after the samples you collected, I need to catalogue them.’

‘Oh. right,’ Grace nodded and handed them over. ‘What do you recon? If we catch this guy by Saturday, will you be up for Sunday Study Brunch?’

Dr Boland smiled at her, ‘Well with your diagram here, it should make it easier to reconstruct. I’ll say, we’re on at this point. I’ve got a new stack of possible US soldiers from Bataan, circa 1940s, that I could use help cataloguing, unless you want to work more on your thesis?’

Grace sighed, ‘Not yet, I’m still stuck. Cataloguing Soldiers it is then. I’ll see you and Avery tonight, I’ll keep you in the loop, but I have to brief JJ, and the team. I’ve got a weapon and a few details.’

Leaving one car with Avery and Dr Boland at the scene, JJ and her met up with Rossi and Alvez after they finished the staff interviews.

‘Anyone stick out?’ JJ asked.

‘Nope,’ Rossi shook his head. ‘All of them have alibis.’

‘Grounds man was a bit too into lawn, but none of them seemed off at all.‘ Alvez added. ‘What if this guy is a worse case scenario; just a random guy with victims of opportunity who motored out of here like Simmons said?’

JJ sighed, ‘Well, apparently opening hours are seven to seven, and people would only interact with staff and leave a record if they paid for entry, or hired equipment or a cart. Most locals have an annual pass, so they don’t need to pay for entry. Not that it’s really barred at all, there is no fence, no security or CCTV. Anyone could walk onto the course at any time. What could you tell from the bodies?’

They all looked to her.

‘It was a blitz attack followed by post mortem overkill. After the initial attack the unsub continued to beat them to humiliate and dehumanise them. There was no attempt to conceal the bodies; there is no remorse. The Unsub, is a man, given the strength, and probably under 30, immature and emotionally stunted. The attack was disorganised and full of rage. It seems personal, if the unsub didn’t know these kids, he must be using them as surrogates,’ she reported.

‘Now that kinda rage at two random defenceless disabled kids makes me think we could be looking at a hate crime; like extreme ableism,’ Alvez surmised darkly.

‘Ugh, can this guy get any worse,’ JJ murmured.

Grace gave her a sympathetic look. JJ hid it well but Grace could tell, she was very shaken by this case. She had said very little the entire time. Anything with kids was hard, especially on JJ, but this level of brutality was something else entirely.

‘You said the attack was disorganised, are you implying that he is organised in another aspect?’ Rossi turned to her.

‘Yes well, I may have some good-ish news in that department,’ Grace nodded, ‘The weapon was an improvised truncheon. Now improvised weapons usually indicate a disorganised individual, but on this occasion the weapon actually shows the opposite. He used something that requires criminal sophistication. This guy used a sock filled with sand. It’s a simple but effective weapon. It's not one that comes to mind unless you’ve been in a situation where you’ve had to learn to make a weapon out of nothing before,’ she smiled proudly. They continued to look at her, confused, so she elaborated; ‘I think this guy’s been to prison. Which means he’s in the system, we can find him.’

Rossi’s phone rang and he answered after a quick glance at the Caller ID. ‘Yes? Yeah everyone’s here, yeah I’ll put you on speaker hang on-’ Rossi held his phone out, and they gathered around it, ‘-Go ahead Emily.’

‘I have bad news and worse news. The bad news is there are only five rooms at the inn, so more of us are going to have to share. The worse news is that there are only five rooms because room one’s key was left in the drop box this morning before the office opened and the guests’ car was gone. Now the manager assumed they had checked out, but when the cleaner arrived this afternoon, the Giles family’s belongings were still inside the room.’

‘Well, that’s not good,’ Rossi voiced what they were all thinking.

Grace's mind raced, it made sense why they weren’t reported missing; this family was on vacation, they weren’t expected to be anywhere. The Unsub still had the parents, they couldn’t report the kids missing, they might not even know their kids are dead.

Prentiss continued, ‘Hotel manager says the Giles family were a family of four staying one night. Mom, dad and two boys, one around 15, one around 12 with crutches. Garcia got the 411 on them, the Giles are originally from Minneapolis, she can confirm the boys and the father have type one Brittle Bone Disease. Garcia is searching for their car as we speak. We also have moved our base of operations to the inn and called in State troopers to meet us and the sheriff there. We need to give the profile as soon as possible; we’re dealing with a family annihilator.’

Next Chapter

Note: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this and that you like Avery and Dr Boland, we'll be seeing them and a few other OCs a fair bit in this story. If you love it, or even just like it, please leave a comment and/or like, it is much appreciated and it really motivates me.

TWs:

Ablesim: this is the big one. Unsub is targeting physically disabled people and it is suggested that these murders could be hate crimes. It is not explored why the unsub has this view point in this chapter but it doesn't really matter. It's never justifiable at all to hate like that. unsub is horrible and delusional. Be warned for ick factor.

Child death: sadly the victims are kids.

Violence, gore, crime scene depiction: these all go together, I don't think I'm too graphic, but Agent Matthews goes to the crimes scene and she replays the events in her head. it's a brief depiction of how the children were murdered.

Kidnapping: there is a scene with our unsub who is currently with the kids' parents, who have been kidnapped. He threatens them and is just generally creepy.

#oc #OC Grace Matthews #BAU #criminal minds #mentor spencer #big brother spencer #spencer gets a happy ending #the protege #the protege chapter 4 #fanfic #my fic #criminal minds case #spencer reid

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cryingoflot49 · 10 months

Photo

Book Review

Garbage World by Charles Platt

“Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me/I wanna be dirty,” sang Janet Weiss, played by Susan Sarandon, in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It could very well be the theme song of Roach, a character in Garbage World by Charles Platt since it fits his transformation from neat-freak to filth monger as the plot progresses. Roach is the pivot on which the novel turns. It is a book with a simple and unoriginal plot, and it makes a definite statement about class conflict, but it isn’t an entirely serious book and if you read it thatv way, it can be rewarding.

Somewhere in outer space there is a political entity called the United Asteroid Belt Pleasure Worlds Federation. While the asteroids these people inhabit are never fully described, we do learn that they are a high-tech civilization with high living standards, and an abundance of wealth. Their biggest problem is waste disposal. What they do is fill up blimps with garbage and then drop them on another asteroid named Kopra, which is also the Greek word for “feces”. The problem is that so much trash has been dropped on Kopra that the asteroid is fracturing under the weight and will soon break into pieces, spreading all the garbage throughout the immediate surroundings and ruining the cleanliness of the more developed asteroids in the federation.

Roach arrives in a spaceship with his commanding officer Larkin with plans to move the inhabitants of Kopra off the asteroid until they are able to fix it to prevent the catastrophe. The people living on Kopra are led by Gaylord, a giant bearish man with no sense of cleanliness or refinement. He earned his status as leader by accumulating the biggest hoard of junk which he has organized and labeled like pieces in a museum in his basement. His hoard makes Gaylord powerful because he is resourceful enough to know what to do with all his garbage when the time requires it. Larkin and Roach are anal-retentive germaphobes, but Gaylord finds common ground with Roach and a friendship grows between them. Roach also falls in love with Gaylord’s daughter Juliette. Gaylord also has a son named Oliver who leans a little bit more to the clean side and secretly agrees to help Larkin who has not been entirely honest about their mission on Kopra.

Roach is a bit of a humanitarian whose job is to collect information about the inhabitants of Kopra. He goes about studying them like an anthropologist. By that I mean he studies them with all the haughtiness and contempt that anthropologists in the colonial era studied so-called “primitive societies”. Still he cares enough about the Koprans to want to save them from their dirty and lowly status in the universe. Larkin, however, cannot be trusted and his plan is to exterminate the people there along with his efforts to prevent Kopra from exploding and polluting the entire asteroid belt with the filth his people have dumped on Kopra.

There are other inhabitants on the asteroid they call the Nomads. They live in the jungle under much rougher conditions and also survive by scavenging the junk that falls in blimps from the sky. Roach sets out with Gaylord and Juliette to find the Nomads so they can bring them back to the spaceship to be taken away while the asteroid of Kopra gets repaired. However, somebody sabotaged their vehicle and they come close to death, but the nomads save them from disaster. T o their surprise, the nomads turn out to be peaceful and hospitable people. The whole middle section of this novel is a series of adventures in the strange and dirty landscape of Kopra. Along the way, Roach begins to respect the Koprans more and more as he becomes accustomed to being dirty and gradually adapting to the environment of filth.

Roach’s transformation is complete when he falls into a warm mud pit with Juliette and the two get it on, having some truly dirty sex. This was actually my favorite part of the novel; Platt’s description of love making while submerged in warm and slimy mud was actually quite arousing. It wasn’t overly described either. There was just enough there to give you the tactile sensation necessary to make Kopra seem like it could actually be a nice place to visit. Needless to say, Roach has gone native at this point and, for him, there is no turning back.

Beyond that, I will just say you have to read the book to find out what happens.

Garbage World is a lot like the pulp science-fiction adventure stories of the 1920s and I am sure the author was aware of that. Those stories often had a colonialist mentality either latent or overt. A courageous spaceman travels to another planet or another dimension and encounters tribes of dangerous creatures that often bear the physical characteristics of non-European people. The hero falls in love with a local female and manages to escape before getting chopped up and eaten, killed by bug-eyed monsters, or flayed with primitive lasers. Garbage World turns this whole fictional paradigm on its head. In the post-colonial 1970s, there were more than a few social scientists pushing the idea that colonial subjects were just as human as the colonists and deserved to be treated as such. Charles Platt obviously took a cue from this change in attitudes and wrote Garbage World. It is an obvious critique of the way people in developed countries treat people in the Third World. The people of Kopra are portrayed as being resourceful and intelligent enough to make the most of their living conditions, even thriving on Kopra, finding happiness and the full realization of their human potential. Meanwhile the neat-freaks who invade their territory are the ones who created the conditions on Kopra and then plot to destroy them for being dirty, useless, and primitive. The dirty people of Kopra are the good ones while their technocratic adversaries reveal a link between colonialism, fascism, and obsessive cleanliness. By the end of the book, dirtiness is a virtue and Kopra looks like a borderline utopia. This book also reflects the growing concerns over ecology and environmentalism of the times in the 1970s.

Charles Platt’s Garbage World is a simple book on the surface. It was written primarily for entertainment. But when looked at in the context of the time when it was written, and the chronological space it holds in the progression of science-fiction writing, it makes a definite humanitarian statement. Despite the statement it makes, it is not a serious work of literature and it should not be approached as one. But if read solely for fun, the morality of the story may come out a lot more strongly. So go ahead and read it for fun and see what happens. Just don’t hide it under your mattress so your mother won’t find it; it’s not that kinds of a dirty book. And if anybody ever wants to have some filthy sex in a warm mud puddle, remember this book and don’t deny yourself that opportunity.

#book reviews #charles platt #science fiction

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applepi-1 · 1 year

Text

Misunderstanding- Kenma

You stood on the bus holding onto the pole trying not to fall asleep, the thought of Kenma sitting on the couch when you got home was the only thing keeping you up. The woman in front of you was eyeing you as you dozed off for the 100th time. You jumped as your phone went off, the lady in front of you rolled her eyes at how loud it was. "Sorry, sorry." You saw it was Kenma and a small smile formed. "Hey, love. I'm on the way home. Work was tough."

"Another case?"

"Yeah, a murder. Stayed up all night." The people around you looked at you as you closed your eyes sighing into the pole.

"A murder? Another one?"

"Yeah, the body was chopped up so I had to put all the pieces back together... which wasn't technically my job."

"Ew."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I like I have a little blood on my leg. It was so gross."

"I bet. Can't wait to see you, kitten. I cooked dinner since I knew you would be tired and exhausted to come home and cook."

"Thanks baby. I am exhausted and dinner sounds amazing. I just want to be home and take a shower."

"How far are you?"

"Umm..." You looked around trying to see where when you saw a sign. "Oh, this is my stop, I'll be home in like 10 minutes tops."

"I'll fix your bath, get home safe."

"Thanks love. You are amazing." You walked towards the door was the train stopped only to see an officer.

"I need you to come with me, miss." You looked at him confused.

"Hey, um. Kenma can you actually meet me at the police station?"

"What why?"

"Just... meet me there. Get Daichi." You hung up and followed the officer outside to his car. He opened the back door. "May I ask what this is about?"

"Get in the car." You sighed and got in he closed the door behind you before getting in. He called it in on the radio.

"Um sir, I had a really long day I just want to lay in bed."

"Ma'am with all do respect, can't let you do that." You groaned and flopped back into the seat looking out the window. You looked at your phone seeing a message from Daichi.

Dai- Don't say anything until I get there.

You turned your phone off as the car stopped, you waited for the officer to open the door. "Come on." You got out the car and walked inside. He brought you into a room and left you there.

"Okay?" You sat down and looked around the room, noticing it was an interrogation room.

"Mrs. Kozume?"

"Yes?" You looked at the man as he sat in front of you.

"Did anyone tell you why you're here?"

"No, but I'd like to know why."

"We heard you were on a train... talking about murder."

"Wait, hold up. That's not the story."

"So you weren't on a train talking about murder?"

"I mean... I was. But not how you think."

"Then tell me how I should think it is."

"I'm a forensic anthropologist. I look at peoples bones. We had a late night in trying to figure out the murder. My job is to examine the bones and put them in the spot they're suppose to be in. That's my job."

"You have your Id on you?"

"I do." You grabbed your bag and shuffled through it. "Or I don't let me call my colleague and I'll have them bring it down."

"We've heard that one before." You turned your attention to the door as it opened.

"Sorry, sir. We have a Daichi Sawamura here. Wants to speak to you and Mrs. Kuzume."

"Huh.." The man looked at you before the door. "Let him in."

"Ok." You sighed as you saw Daichi.

"Daichi Sawamura. You're quite popular."

"So is Y/n L/n."

"Excuse me?"

"Mrs. Kuzume was a forensic anthropologist before she was married. She goes by Y/n L/n. Her license is being renamed to her marriage name."

"Uh-huh. Well, we have a few more questions then you can go."

"Yes, sir." You groaned and laid your head down. The man got up and walked out the room leaving you with Daichi. "What do I do, Dai?"

"Hey, relax. I'm sure they are gonna run your name through the system and figure it all out. Kenma is waiting outside for you, ok?"

"I just wanna go home. Work was stressful and Kenma made dinner and everything."

"I know. He told me, I'm sure you'll be leaving soon."

"I hope so."

"Sorry about that, Mrs. Kuzume. You are free to go, it won't happen again."

"Let's hope it won't." Daichi stood up and offered you a hand. You got up and walked out the room, grabbed your stuff and walked out the station. "Baby." You groaned as you reached Kenma.

"Hey, love. I ran you a bath while I waited for Daichi. It should still be warm and ready. Let's get you home."

"Thanks, and thank you Daichi."

"Of course. Get home safe." You both went your separate ways.

"I can't believe they arrested you."

"Well, technically they didn't. I didn't have any handcuffs on me thankfully. I just want to go home take a shower and eat with the love of my life."

"Aww. We're almost home love."

"Thank god." Kenma laughed as you pushed yourself into his side, he wrapped an arm around you and sighed.

"Welcome home." This time you laughed as you reached your house. "You go take a bath and I'll heat up the food." You smiled at your husband and kissed his cheek.

"You are amazing."

"I know, you said that earlier." You scrunched your nose and ran upstairs to the shower. Kenma shook his head at you and walked to the kitchen and grabbed your plates. When you were done you saw Kenma waiting in front of the table with a smile on his face.

"Thank you for cooking dinner. This is... sweet."

"Least I can do. You've been working so hard lately, thought you could a use a night of relaxation."

"I love you, Mr. Kuzume." You wrapped your arms around his neck.

"And I love you, Mrs. Kuzume." You smiled as he leaned down and kissed you.

#kenma x you #officer daichi #misunderstanding #confused kenma #kenma kozume #kenma x y/n

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cassyapper · 1 year

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are you okay? <3 free space to infodump abt noritaro. i think uve said before that u think kakyoin isnt cis, and obviously not straight, what is his attitude abt his identity? does he influence jotaro at all in being more self-accepting/open?

hi my dear friend yes i'm okay im already feeling better after talking about it (bottling things up is not good kids a good bitch can do you much good) but im still a little miffed. it will fade tho this isn't my first rodeo

also yes kakyoin. i think he is bisexual yes and as for his gender erm. so i see him as like. i dont think he'd have a term for it. it's Basically a type of bi-genderfluidity where he oscillates between agender and then bigender (both man and woman at the same time)

i think kakyoin realizes he's bi decently early for a kid who was born in the 70s and raised in the 80s. i dont think he was very shy about it or like. he's conscious he can't like be super open about it cause yknow we live in a society and he doesn't really wanna draw attention to himself over smth like that but he's not ashamed of it mostly. probably one of the only pros that the superiority complex he had as a kid gave him

i think it takes longer for him to realize his gender i dont think he actually like consciously realizes how he feels until he meets josuke and josuke brings it up once LOL. i think it really makes kakyoin realize "oh huh i have feelings about this." so he explores. like i said i dont think he'd ever find a proper term for it (he honestly honestly honestly might call himself bisexual (both his gender and the genders he's attracted to) in every way LMFAO). but yeah he's not shy about it either he's like yeah haha

AS for if this influences jotaro yeah definitely i think so. jotaro is very cagey as im sure we're all aware. his infamous insistence on being stealth and all that. i think kakyoin being so nonchalant about it all and countering jotaro's like "dont you feel shame" (he wouldn't say it in those words) with "uh no lmao? this is just how i feel" idk i think it'd be pretty novel for jotaro. also kakyoin doing all the research he does cause of course and his enthusiasm about it would pull jotaro in himself. and since kakyoin is an anthropologist and so he talks about how some identities span across cultures while some are culture-specific and all that and i think it would make jotaor feel more like, in place. like he belongs. knowing that queer experiences of all kinds have always existed and continue to exist and will always exist. anyway

this got wordy apologies i just have like a manifesto about kakyoin gender. nthank you and i love you so much yoss

#cass cries

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draslihanxfahri-bailey · 6 months

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📜𝙰𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙵𝚊𝚑𝚛𝚒-𝙱𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 & 𝙹𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚕-𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚢

"Okay, girls! Where shall we start first?" For the past four months and with Rhia being more active now and aware of her surroundings, Aslihan has loved finding ways to spend time with both of her little girls. Whether it was at their neighbourhood's library or the adventure park or Wonderwell, it was a blessing witnessing them grow up and form memories. To see Alex and Rhia grow closer and how much they love each other already. With Rhia in her stroller, looking around and grabbing at the air, Alex was right next to her, chatting and pointing out everything they were seeing. The six year old thought about her mother's question before eagerly suggesting, 'The jungle exhibit! I wanna show Ri the tiger!' Thinking back to Eli taking Rhia with Rachel to Coral Cove weeks ago and how he panicked thinking he was traumatizing their baby, the anthropologist smiled warmly. "I think the jungle exhibit is an excellent choice, sweetheart." Cheering, the child quickly began to lead the way—at least, until she ran into someone. 'Oops... Sorry, mister! Are you okay?' Quickly leading Rhia's stroller to Alex and taking her hand, Asli froze when she saw the man her daughter ran into. "H-Hey," she said. It finally dawned on her how long it's been since Alex last saw Jesse.

𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛: 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗 ; 𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟸𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹 || @jesseelmassalamy

#( interactions. )#( ch. jesse el massalamy. )

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magnoliamyrrh · 6 months

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okay so. my opinions on their eyes were watching discourse that i disagree w. here goes english class essay on tumblr

starting w quickly one of the worst complaints ive ever heard, "its written in backwoods, uneducated, slave talk" "it portrays african americans as uneducated and lower class." dear lord. yes the book is written in heavy southern dialect or avve or both bc theyre basically the same thing, but it adds a lot to the book as far as im concerned. if i as a foreigner can manage to read it just fine and enjoy it, im sure you can deal w it. if i could read this when i was like 16 and had only been speaking english for 6 years rly, im sure u can cope. hurston was also an anthropologist who predominantly studied southern and carribean african diaspora, and thus her writing is heavily based on this. she also,,, was born in alabama and raised in florida, and thus, she was trying to portay not "those backwards rural folk over there" but her own people. and you can tell too, in the book, she was also trying to find and understand herself. others have called their eyes were watching god a brilliant capturing of the soul and culture of southern black ppl, and uhhH yea, id tend to agree. the fact she focused on rural peoples doesnt somehow mean she was saying all of the african diaspora is like this, and also...... .. theres nothing wrong with "uneducated" "backwoods" poor and rural people god damn get the classism out of here

but onto the main shit

a) its a grand love story love life goals. + her relationship w tea cake is feminist goals somehow

uhh,,, not quite, not as simple as that. even the summary of the book, along w many other summeries in some versions, calls it "an enduring southern love story" and to an extent it is, but also, its far from,,, something to be glorified too much. especially not as other book summaries say, "tea cake comes along and is the best thing ever a liberator etc etc"

its true that thats part of it. hurston from what i know said she wrote the book almost as a love ode to a man she fell in love with when she was in haiti, and it shows for sure. but tea cake, and his relationship with janie, isnt without problems. after they get married he steals her money, uses it to "feel like a rich man," to buy food and drinks for ppl, to buy a guitar, to party, leaving her alone for days while she wonders if he aint dead, or if he hasnt stolen her money and left her, used her - she's struggling, in pain, anxious through the roof, he finds her sitting on the floor staring into nothing when he come back. and sure, he apologizes, he explains himself with charm and humor, says he couldn't help but want to know, says he didnt wanna bring her around lower class folks out of fear she wouldnt like it - and when she tells him she'd want to be there, after that, he does always bring her w him and doesnt exclude her. he gambles the money back and comes back stabbed, bleeding, but keeping his word, "look in mah left pocket and see whut yo' daddy brought youh. when ah tell yuh ah'm gointuh bring it, ah don't lie." its playful, charming, you get drawn into his shpeel, and i think anyone whose ever had a habit of falling in love w,, , how to say, those rough around the edges, those w street smarts, can say yea, theres a charm to it. he tells her after, from that point on, they're going to be living on his money, that he's a man and thus he's gonna provide - and in truth he never steals her money again, never uses her money again despite her having it, and while she works at times, he also works more than her, and its clear hes okay w sticking by his word of providing.,, and janie forgives him for this ordeal, sure. at the same time,,, it could be said its a red flag and that yup, he stole her money once right after they got married and left her feeling bad for days, which aint alright

next, the domestic violence between them, and the jealousy too, which the book at times romanticized and portrays as normal. theres several instances of this throughout. janie talks about how he strikes her on multiple occasions, but also how she strikes him. she talks abt finding out theres consequences for trying to fight him, which is getting beat. when she gets jealous and thinks he might be sleeping w another woman, she slaps him and they fight from room to room, him trying to keep her from beating him, that time not beating her and ending up w them having sex. another time when tea cake gets jealous that a woman is trying to set her brother up w janie, even tho he knows she aint gonna leave him or cheat on him, he beats her just to show that he possesses her, owns her. he knows shes done nothing to justify the jealousy, but does it anyhow. "no brutal beating at all. he just slapped her around a bit to show he was boss. everybody talked about it next day in the fields. it aroused a sort of envy in both men and women. the way he petted and pampered her as if those two or three face slaps had nearly killed her made the women see visions and the helpless way she hung on him made men dream dreams." this line v much shows the romantization and normalization of domestic abuse. and then, tea cake goes on to talk to the other men about it, to brag about it, to talk about how bc his wife is mixed and lighter skinned you can see the marks and bruises a beating leaves on her. the other men say beating on darker black women aint the same, bc noone can tell the next day you beat them, and because they will fight you back and beat you back all night, but janie seems to just take it obediently (not exactly true in all instances, she does fight back and beat him at times) and u can see it on her skin. tea cake brags to the other men that thats why he likes his wife, and that she is wherever and however he wants her to be........ which is something janies previous husband joe said too :/ except janie seems to accept and romanticise this, while having an issue w her previous husband, when in many regards tea cake and joe are doing the same thing.

and this takes us to,, well, tea cake aint exactly a "liberator" and their relationship isnt feminism 101. its just not. yes, tea cake in a sense liberates her. he reminds her of the boy she had a crush on as a teenage girl and the bees in the bloosoming tree. he unlike her previous husbands lets her.. be. he teachers her how to play board games, teacher her how to shoot a gun, goes fishing with her, takes her to games and dances she wasnt allowed to go to before. hes proud of her for shooting better than him, and he never once tells her to shut up around pll like joe does. when shes with him she talks to other ppl, shes finally involved in community life like how she wished. they spend nights on the muck dancing, singing, gambeling, joking and talking w other people, joining the carribean dancers around the fire. its clear in a sense that throughout the progression of her marriages, janie ends up w a man who Does in some regards represent and give her freedom, and who is also much closer to lets say, an african spirit and traditions than the previous two, especially joe. janie says, tea cake made her soul come out of its hiding place, and he did.

but he also..,,, was a man of the times, and they were both people of the times. and while tea cake saw her as much more an equal than her other husbands ever did, he was also clearly in charge and their marriage was still following a series of traditional norms

janie is still in many regards submissive to him, and "like a child." despite her being older than him, he calls her a girl child, a baby girl, a little thing, makes several statements and allusions to this sort of thing a lot. he calls himself her daddy, he holds up the idea that a man ought to provide for "his woman" and take care of her. she wears blue like a young gal bc tea cake says it looks good on her. and still, yea, this isnt a one way thing in their relationship, bc janie also, especially when hes sick or wounded, calls him a boy, a boy chile, her baby, mamas him etc. and theres many times when hes all too happy to try to fulfill her wishes and needs and do what she wants. and yea, its part of how love makes you feel young, its part too of how some ppl search for that sort of parental care in their partners, especially those who havent had it much (like janie, who grew up without a father.) still, this is mostly seen the other way in their relationship

and here its important to take into account janies history of trauma and how she was raised. she was raised by her grandma, who was born a slave and raped by a white master, which is how she got her mom. her mom in turn was raped, and thats how she got janie. there is a deep history here of violence and submission - her grandma even tells her, the black woman is made the mule of the world by both white and blacl men. janie is also used to being struck by her grandmother as a child, thus, to her being hit is normalized, a part of life, and even a sign that someone cares about you a lot - loves you enough to beat you for your own good. janie is married off to a man x2 x3 times her age at 16 by her grandma, and shes expected to settle bc shes not being beat, shes not being worked too hard, and the mans got property. janie struggles throughout her entire life with the lessons and morality her grandma taught her, and her marriages taught her, even saying at some point she hates her grandma for it.... janie has been conditioned throughout her life to be submissive, and to accept violence, and while she definetely has a fighting spirit and craves more than shes told to settle for, while she certainly stands up to wanting a certain amount of independence, shes also... bound by her times, by her conditioning, and this has limits for sure.

and thus we see her submission in her marriage w tea cake, even as he gives her more freedom than others - even that phrasing, he "gives" her freedom, but really, it aint his to give is it...? not only does she forgive him for the money steling, and for the beatings, but its also shown regularly that shed much rather follow his lead w things. in many regards, shes the one that asks and does - they go where tea cake wants to go, they do what tea cake wants to do. hes the one that chooses where they get married, hes the one that chooses to go work on the muck, hes the one that tells her to come work the fields w him, and hes the one that tells her to stay home and not work... after the hurricane she tells him again, well do and go where u wanna go. and while she goes along w it, while she says well do whatever u wanna do,,,, shes still following his lead by all means. shes been sweeped off of her feet like a child, and in many regards shes following his lead, and its known that hes the boss. more equal than her other marriages, but, still

.... and so. its complicated. it sure as hell aint a relationship which is "feminist" or "liberating" in a feminist sense or a modern sense..... and yet. it would be unfair to say, it also didn't liberate her soul somewhat, and they didnt love each other

b) and this takes us to the second critique i dont agree w, that the book is outright bad bc it promotes and romanticizes violence and all this. and also its definetely not a love story at all

,,, and. yea i dont think this is a fair critique at all. i think its up to you to interpret zora's writing and what it means to you. she clearly had more than just a one sided puritanical moralistic view and feeling on all this, and yes, she wrote this book in part infleunced by a whirwind romance she had in haiti and im sure to a great extent her own life experiences. she also wrote this book in the the 1930s. there is something deeply deeply honest, raw, real, and soulful about it because of this, it is complicated in the way real life is

no, janie isnt some sort of modern day "feminist" protagonist but also. she wasnt meant to be, she just wasnt i dont think

and i dont think its,,,, fair, to dismiss this entire book and all the brilliance in it bc of that.,, or to say that they didnt love each other either. it was far from perfect thats for sure. and i do really get why some would look at all this and say yea, this isnt love. i do... but i think its more complicated that that. and i think in many ways, it is a story of people and love in the context of the, well, limitations of who they are. in the context of deep deep generation and current trauma, in the context of the times, in the context of a lot of things..... and ive said this before, to me its in many ways the same sort of conflict i had when writing that ethnography on my grand grandma and grandpa, child marriage bridal kidnapping and all that, and trying to make some sense of what love and marriage mean in circumstances like that. and i could not reach a conclusion which simply said, they never loved each other. i just couldn't no matter how much i wanted to, bc, despite how fucked it all was, that wouldnt have been the true, messy complexity of it all....... tea cake did love her, he did bring her to life, he did cherish her, he did protect her, he did see her as more his equal than other men - he risked his life for her and died for it. he was also possessive, and jealous, and physically abusive. and she beat on him too.

........ and on the ending of the book, it can be interpreted in different ways for sure. tea cake's death and the way he dies could be interpreted in many ways. it was rabies that took him, and rabies is why janie had to shoot him, but the rabies made the jealousy he had before and the violence he had before come out to a stronger extent. in a way it could be said zora ending the story w tea cakes rabies being the final issue relieves him too much of his responsibility and actions, gives janie a "justified" retaliation and end... zora also v much shows how the other black ppl shed been living w largely turned on her when she shot him, caring more for him they did her. surprisingly janie talks about how some of the white women in the courtroom pitied her and "formed a protective shield around her", while her own turned their backs on her..she hears the men say, "well, you know whut dey say, 'uh white man and uh nigger woman is de freest thing on earth'. dey do as dey please." even if soon they forgive her and feel bad for their turning on her and her treatment of her and come to their senses. and thus, were also reminded that the book is Indeed very vocal of black mens views and treatment of black women, (as well as on how colorism affects things but thsts a whole other long train of analysis) and that zora wasnt just saying and showing that all this is a-okay. she wasnt saying that the other men were all good all fine, she wasnt saying that tea cake was either

.. and as for janie coming back home. welp. i think it can be interpreted again in many ways. some say it shows she had to kill tea cake in order to truly gain her freedom, it was the final step in her coming to self and self actualization, and that the ending of the book is "feminist" in this regard. others say the ending is the ending of a great love story, with janie coming home now with her soul alive, having seen the world as she says, to rest and be at peace. she sobs of what has happened, and yet she realizes tea cake lives still in her love. a beautiful metaphor of how the dead live through the love of the living. his memory lightens up the room like a sun, she draws the fishnet of his light and love and freedom over her, she calls her soul to see.... she has also learned from tea cake in part to not care what others say, so she doesnt care that the town women want to talk shit about her.. others say, the ending of the book is a feminist disaster. it shows janie giving up control over her narrative by not caring what the other women are saying about her. it shows her shutting herself into her old house with memories of a man who really, wasnt all that great. others say, its not a feminist disaster bc while the ending means the above, in zora writing it even beautifying, were still meant to critique it

honestly by this point, not quite sure i know. id say its neither and all three all in one bc its way more complicated than just "a feminist or not feminist message" "a role model message" ,,,, but rather, something deeply real and complicated...

either way. im sure i could say more but thats most of my thoughts. i think its a pity to diminish this book either to some grand perfect love story, or to failed feminism, or whatever else. its so much more..... it is a book about deep deep trauma and pain, slavery, culture, humor, coming of age, soul, love, hope, hate, racism, colorism, women and men, religion, and beauty.... and id say, most all really, it is a story about how beauty somehow comes out of deep sorrow and pain.... reducing it into bits is a pity and disservice to its sheer raw and real spirit

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