#jtf 12
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“Em.”
She flinched, yanking her finger out of her mouth and jamming her hand in the back pocket of her jeans. She turned away from the window with forced casualness and arched an eyebrow at him.
He didn’t bother looking her over, knowing he would see what he had seen for the last month. “They’ve given the team our next assignment.” he leaned against the doorframe, not making a move to approach her.
Her forced calmness didn’t hide her second flinch. “Right. About that time, huh.” she smiled at him.
“Agent Mosely or Sean will be tasked with infiltration if it is necessary.”
She narrowed her eyes at the emphasised rank of the other woman on the team, and bristled at the implication. “Sir. I am perfectly capable-”
“No. This isn’t up for negotiation, darling,” he said as placatingly as he could. He knew what she was thinking, knew she was only thinking he didn’t think she was good enough; and he didn’t know how else to try to convince her of the truth. “Tsia is perfectly capable and hasn’t just gotten out of a deep cover op.” he reminded her.
She looked away, gritting her teeth. “Yes, sir.”
“We fly out tomorrow.”
She nodded again, still not looking at him.
He sighed, glanced around the empty hotel room one more time, and then left.
Tsia was hovering outside of her own hotel door, waiting for him worriedly. “Are you sure-”
“She passed all of her examinations and evaluations with flying colours.” he said flatly, running a hand through his hair. “There’s nothing you or I can do to stop her since she insists on coming along so soon.”
“Clyde...if we need anyone-”
“it will be you or Sean.” he promised, interrupting her again. “Emily is as benched as I can make her until she improves.”
Tsia relaxed. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me,” he muttered. Not when it was his fault she got hurt in the first place, he thought as he trudged down the hall to his own room.
He shut and locked the door behind him and sighed, longing for his own flat and his own bed and his own-
He cut his train of thought off with a trouble and shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over a chair before loosening his tie and dragging it off. He watched the fax machine set up on the desk and watched as it finished another sheet of paper. There were already at least twenty sheets lying in the tray and he resigned himself to a night of studying instead of sleeping.
He started unbuttoning his dress shirt, striding to the bathroom to turn the shower on. A hot shower after a long debrief never hurt; and without reading the case file, he didn’t know what he had to prepare for yet. He pulled his shirt off completely and leaned into the shower to turn the water on.
There were a few air bubbles and some awful sputtering, but nothing came out of the pipes. He breathed in slowly, and turned the water off and then back on again.
Nothing new happened and he breathed out a string of curse words in Greek.
He glared at the faucet as if it had done it on purpose, threw his shirt into the sink, and stalked out of his room with the sole intention of getting a hot shower come hell or high water. He took the stairs two at a time and hit the bell on the receptionist desk with a little more force than strictly necessary.
He waited twice as long as he felt was reasonable, and then hit it again with more force as if that would make it sound louder.
“if you’re here about the water, I am afraid the lovely young lady has stepped out to make a call about it.”
He breathed in and made himself calm down before he snapped someone’s head off.
There wasn’t anyone he could blame for this – at least anyone within reach. Doyle was on his way to some blacklisted government prison where he would be pumped for every piece of information he ever knew and then he would be lost; yet it still didn’t feel like enough. Nothing would ever feel like enough for what some people did, not until they regretted everything they had ever done and only then did it feel like a step in the right direction of enough.
He was good at his job. There was a reason he was the team lead, and it wasn’t his exceptional good looks and charming personality. He knew when she stepped out of the car in the precinct’s garage that something horrible had happened. He knew when she had privately begged him for a pregnancy test just what that something was, and he had sent her back to Interpol headquarters immediately. She had argued, she had gotten defensive, she had said she was fine but…
He should have known better. He should have done more research, should have built a better profile before ever going along with his superior’s insistence on concrete, eyewitness evidence. He was the team leader, and he was responsible, and he should have known.
He should have done better.
Now he had a sucessful mission on paper, a failed mission in practice, a team that was going to shatter if he didn’t figure out how to hold it together, and a fresh reminder of how easy he found it to ruin everything.
He took another studying breath and turned away from the desk, leaning against it as he looked towards whomever else had been foiled in their attempt to shower before bed.
The man dressed in all black, in a suit that even from this distance Clyde could tell was expensive, raised an eyebrow and let his dark gaze travel over Clyde’s bare chest with open appreciation. He didn’t linger long on the scars Clyde knew had to still be visible even in the evening light and at a distance, and when he raised his gaze to meet his eyes again, he was smirking. “Pity you didn’t finish undressing before you tried to turn on the water.” he drawled in a Scottish accent.
“Perhaps I did, and simply pulled my trousers back on to come down and make a complaint.” he leaned both elbows back on the desk, arching his back slightly.
“And put your shoes on, but not your shirt?”
“There are all sorts of diseases waiting in public footways, darling.” he retorted with a smirk.
The man’s smile widened and he got up. “Crowley.”
He watched him come over, not moving as the slightly shorter and much stockier man came to stand in front of him and watched his eyes once again map out his bare chest. “Clyde. Like what you see?”
“it has its merits.” he said, meeting his eyes again. “Do you have plans for the night?”
“I suppose shower sex is out of the question at the moment,” he said dryly.
The man snorted a laugh, eyes twinkling. “I don’t think I will be complaining about that for the moment.”
“Only the moment?” he couldn’t help teasing back.
“if we take long enough, they’ll fix the problem before we’re done.”
His breath caught in his throat, and he knew his cheeks flushed. He didn’t move from his seductive pose however, weighing his options.He could shut this down, make up some excuse about a boyfriend or girlfriend, and go back to his room. He could sit by his fax machine, study the mission files all night, and be the first at the airport in the morning. He could do everything he could to make sure this mission went off without a hitch.
Or he could spend a lovely night pretending he was wanted by someone, and hopefully fucked so hard he was late for the flight in the morning.
Either way, he probably wouldn’t get a shower.
He looked Crowley over. The man was rich, and assertive, and either used to no consequences or as good a profiler as he was to come on to a stranger in public. “I have been putting off getting fucked hard, darling. Aren’t you worried I’ll tire you out?” he pushed himself off the counter, leaning into Crowley’s space and meeting his eyes.
The man’s eyes darkened, and he gently traced Clyde’s lips with a finger. “I think you’ll find I am as good as my word.”
He swallowed, feeling frozen. There was still time to back out, still time to go back to his room and punish himself- “Then lead the way, darling. I can go all night long,” he promised.
If Crowley was surprised, he didn’t show it. Clyde waited while he gathered his briefcase from the foyer couch, and then fell into step beside him as they headed back to his room.
Clyde hesitated by the elevator, and started walking again when the darker man just kept going.
“...prefer to be as far from the sky as possible.” Crowley explained ruefully when he noticed Clyde’s curiosity.
“No penthouse suite?”
“God is just waiting for me to get in range so he can strike me down.”
He chuckled. “Dramatic much?”
“Says the man who ran downstairs half dressed because his water didn’t work – you smell heavenly, honey. Most wouldn’t have worried.”
Clyde narrowed his eyes at the man’s perception and wondered if he had made a mistake.
“Ah. Right. Insurance investigator.” he gestured at one. “Or a lawyer as the case may be. In between dealing with idiots all day and questioning my life choices, I got good at reading people.”
he relaxed a little. “Hopefully you had time to study some extracurriculars.” He purred, leaning against the doorframe when Crowley stopped and went to unlock the door.
“Maybe I’ll sit back and let you show me what you know, Clyde.” He threw a look dark with arousal at him, and laughed at the disappointment Clyde must have let out. He opened the door and gestured him in. “Relax. My mother always complained I was too aggressive by far.”
he walked in, looking around the well lit room. There was a set of fine luggage and several garment bags by the closet and he expected that if he searched he would find more immaculate suits in there.
“Like what you see?” Crowley stepped around him and made his way to the minibar. “Do you have a preference?”
“What with you...colour preferences, I rather expected some sort of dungeon.” He casually made his way over to the lawyer.
Crowley glared at him, offended by something he had said.
“I’ll take a Scotch on rocks, darling.”
He poured the drink with some annoyance and then held it out.
Clyde reached out to take it, and glanced up when Crowley didn’t let go right away. He sipped his drink slowly, watching him over the rim of his glass.
Crowley was watching him, his eyes calculating; and Clyde started to feel awkward.
“Like what you see?” he joked, shooting the rest of the Scotch back to break their gaze.
“Clyde.”
He looked back at him, setting his now empty glass back on the bar and waiting with something like nerves.
He took a sip of his neat alcohol, never looking away from him. “I have every intention of pinning you down to that bed, stretching you open, and coming several times before I give you release. I might tie you up. I might choke you. Normally I wouldn’t ask.” he took another sip, and Clyde could barely breathe. “But normally I hook up with people I know. And people who don’t have a past.” he added dryly, gesturing with the glass at Clyde’s scars visible on his chest. “I will fuck you into that bed until you forget your name, and I will use you; and, if I am right, you will love it.” he finished his drink and Clyde finally remembered how to breathe, his trousers suddenly too tight. “So yes, and the safeword is Rowena; or no, and you leave and have a pleasant evening and perhaps a shower.”
He opened his mouth, and then had to swallow and lick his lips to get his tongue to work. “Rowena?”
He grimaced. “My mother’s name. Instant mood killer. Knew a stripper once named Rowena – I blame her for making me gay,” he said conversationally.
Clyde chuckled again. “At twenty-one?”
“...cemented it for me, then.” he amended. “What will it be, Clyde?” he pressed, refocusing the conversation.
Clyde couldn’t stop his darted glance towards the door, couldn’t hide his hesitation.
But maybe someone taking control would help the guilt. He looked back at Crowley and nodded decisively. “Yes, sir.”
Crowley smiled slowly and poured himself another glass of Scotch. “Then I recommend you strip, honey.”
he dragged in a breath and immediately went to undo his dress trousers and slide them off.
“Stop,” he snapped.
He froze, hands still at his fly.
“You’re a bloody present, Clyde. Unwrap it like one.” he drawled, leaning against the bar in a mimicry of how Clyde had posed at the reception desk and sipped his Scotch.
He swallowed and tried to relax. “isn’t that alcohol counterproductive?” he asked sarcastically to hide his awkwardness.
Crowley narrowed his eyes.
He held his breath, canting his hip a little as he slowly slid his slacks down the skin of his thighs.
Crowley followed the movement, humming appreciatively.
Clyde pointedly looked at the glass, waiting for an answer.
He wasn’t in any hurry, savouring his sip before raising a finger and gesturing clyde to step closer.
He took a confident step forward, leaving his trousers in a pile on the floor. He put his hands on his naked hips. “You’re a little too dressed-” he gasped as Crowley reached out lightning fast, gripping his chin painfully tight and yanking him down to eye leve.
“You don’t get to decide what is productive tonight. I do. And I currently think that you are too tense right now to be a good boy.”
He swallowed. He could pull free, Crowley didn’t have any real grip on him; but he couldn’t, staring into his dark eyes.
“You want to be a good boy, and I want you to be a good boy. To reach that end, you are going to stop worrying about..well, about anything.” He said with a promise in his tone, before he slid his hand around the back of Clyde’s neck and kissed him deeply.
He didn’t exactly understand what Crowley wanted, but he did understand kissing so he focused on that. He rested his hands on Crowley’s waist and kissed him back the best he could.
When they parted for breath, he was pleased to realise Crowley was panting with arousal. He felt pressure on his shoulder.
“turn around, sweetie.”
He followed, feeling himself directed around. Crowley took his hands, crossing them behind his back and wrapping something around them.
His breathing immediately picked up, and he felt a kiss pressed to his shoulder blade.
“...I won’t check in often, since I trust you’re a competent adult but – are you alright?”
he held a breath to steady himself and then nodded. “Yes, of course.” he tested the binds and realised they were probably Crowley’s silk tie; and that he would also have to break something to get out of them.
Crowley hummed thoughtfully. “Kneel by the bed.” he finally ordered.
Clyde blinked, and then walked as gracefully as he could to the edge of the bed, turning around to see crowley before folding himself to the floor.
Crowley was sipping his Scotch again with that calculating look. “Did I say you could do that?”
“you-”
“Did I say you could do that?” He repeated forcefully.
He flinched and shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Glad you can learn something.”
Clyde watched him finish his drink and set the empty glass aside, his heart pounding in his chest. He reminded himself that he didn’t know this man, he didn’t know his history or his past or even his kinks. All he knew so far was that the man liked to be in charge, and that left a wide array of options left for how this could go.
And yet, he stayed on his knees with his hands resting in the small of his back and waited as the lawyer made his way across the room to him and took a seat on the bed next to where he was kneeling.
“Are you usually so much trouble?” he asked in a soft voice that somehow managed to be demanding.
Usually he went for more vanilla partners and it was good but… “No, sir.”
He threaded his hand through Clyde’s hair, and then suddenly he was being dragged up over his lap.
He yelped, struggling for a moment, but Crowley knew what he was doing; and with a hand in his hair and his hips braced too far over his knee, Clyde didn’t really have the leverage to gracefully correct himself. He breathed heavily, staring at the hotel carpet. “You – what are you-” he broke off with a yelp of surprise when Crowley spanked him.
“You need to relax, don’t you.” he stroked the curve of Clyde’s arse.
“Did you – I am not-” he jerked when Crowley spanked him again. He blinked at the carpet, trying to untangle the feelings in him.
“I said, don’t you.”
He flushed red with shame, and shifted uncomfortably.
Crowley spanked him several times, focusing his hits on top of one another until Clyde was squirming and trying not the whimper.
“yes – yes, sir. But-” he broke off as he got spanked again.
“No.” he punctuated every other word with another slap. “You do not get to decide. You will take what I give you, what I decide you need. Do you understand me?”
Clyde was shaking slightly, too shocked to try to struggle anymore. He didn’t exactly hurt he just…
Crowley dragged his head up by his head and repeated his question.
Clyde met his eyes, knowing he wasn’t able to hide his nervousness anymore. He studied him, speechless as he kept trying to untangle the feelings in his chest.
Crowley seemed to soften a little. “Relax, pet.” he kissed him soundly.
He sighed into the kiss, following for more when Crowley pulled away.
“I will help you relax.” he said without room for negotiating, maneuvering Clyde’s head back down to face the floor. He stroked the warm skin of his arse, before starting to spank him once again.
#crowley#balthazar#clyde easter#sebastian roche#supernatural#criminal minds#jtf 12#jtf12#alternate universe#crossover#wip#ao3#archive of our own#fanfiction
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i’m at the doyle arc in my rewatch and i would totally watch a spin-off based on the jtf-12 team, like just that phone conversation between emily, tsia and clyde at whatever park in dc was enough to convince me of their team dynamic, also i love tsia i wish she had been in the show for longer
#thoughts#emily prentiss#tsia mosely#clyde easter#jeremy wolff#sean mcallister#ian doyle#jtf-12#criminal minds
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watching journey to fearless is so damn painful though, especially after having listened to my tears ricochet just a few minutes before. just shows how much freaking time has passed and how fundamentally things can change even though you were so sure about something
#its so crazy realizing how insanely taylors life has changed and realizing then how much my own life changed#since i watched jtf for the first time.....like almost 12 years ago i think???#unbelievable#makes me so emotional#and they said speak now
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Enter Calamity
day 4: family
a quick dive into emily’s family history in all its ugly glory. of fucking course i manage to make an emily character study about hotch.
“Family” was something foreign to Emily.
Not in the literal sense: she was all too aware of her mother’s technical relation. Elizabeth Prentiss was always, at best, distant with her child and didn’t bother raising anything but expectations. The looming family name was a prestigious designation to be protected. It was clear to Emily at a very young age that the number one priority was the reputation of the family. Anything that jeopardized the sanctity of that was a problem to be resolved—her included.
Her mother gave her a falsified image that she was expected to maintain. They taught her the art of contriving a persona, plastering on a pretty little smile so she could be shown off and tucked away. She felt more like a pet than a child. Her training was absolute.
She had no identity, no sense of self. She was an empty husk with an intricate exterior. Her life was a display case—and there was no one to tell her that life should’ve been any different.
She was alone with herself. And she was no one.
There were people, friends she had made along the way—especially when she started pushing at the boundaries of the limitations set for her—but she moved so frequently so far that at some point she decided making friends wasn’t a priority anymore.
So Emily wasn’t really familiar with the concept of “family.”
When she ran off to Interpol (because that’s what it was in the end, no matter how many reasons Emily conjured, if only to keep her mother from being right) and got recruited by JTF-12, she was wary of settling into a group for the foreseeable future. Clyde Easter, Sean McAllister, Jeremy Wolff, and Tsia Mosely. They were nice enough, and time if nothing else inevitably drew them closer to each other. Adrenaline and tension led to the occasional hook up, but nothing more. Thankfully they typically went on individual missions, working undercover for a terrorist cell or weapons dealers or whoever else the brass had set their sights on. Lying wasn’t just second nature anymore, it was all she knew.
Which wasn’t all that different from the life she’d led before, even if she refused to acknowledge it. There was an element of trust—there had to be, given the precarious situations they found themselves in—but there was always suspicion. They worked for MI6, for fuck’s sake, of course they weren’t about to let their guard down. It would be foolish to not have doubts.
There was never a moment of relaxation, a time when she could just breathe. Constantly looking over her shoulder, whether she was undercover or not, grew tiring. But she had to admit there was something exhilarating about it. She spent her whole life not making connections with people—she was used to that already. But this was fun. There was a thrill in risking her life on a daily basis. She was a snake among wolves, remaining hidden in plain sight waiting for the time to strike. A single slip up could have her locked in a warehouse and tortured for the next six months, and the thought sent shivers up her spine in not an entirely unpleasant manner. It had her heart racing, and she spent years chasing that high. She’d get what they needed and slip away before they even noticed. Check check, mission success, on to the next.
But it wasn’t really that simple. The information they uncovered would disappear up the chain of command, skipping a few rungs along the way so no one knew the whole story. Not even their handler was told everything about the cases they came across, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they got the job done. They rarely knew what actually became of their missions. She was told that it was a matter of importance, that she was preventing the loss of thousands of civilian lives. It’s something she told herself when the exhaustion kicked in. It’s something Clyde said after explaining what horrible shit they had to do to earn the trust of whatever group they were after that week. It’s something Tsia said late at night during rare moments of vulnerability they would pretend never happened the next morning.
They had to say it. Because if they didn’t believe it, then what was even the point of all this? Wasn’t she just risking her life on the orders of people she hated? Did any of it even matter?
Maybe she should’ve chosen a different career path.
She was surprised at her first encounter of real family. Her target was a former IRA captain, a ruthless, powerful, unforgiving man. She had a picture of “Valhalla” in her mind, the same way she did for all her missions: painting them to be bad guys and not thinking any more on the matter.
Ian Doyle was different. Or maybe he wasn’t that different, this was just the first time she let herself notice. He was generous and thoughtful, which was something she hadn’t expected. She found that some of her practiced smiles were actually genuine. It wasn’t the first time she’d slept with a target, it wasn’t even the first time she’d played along with a loving relationship. But there was something about how open he was with her that had an unfamiliar weight of guilt sink in her stomach.
And Declan. Oh, Declan. The lively young boy took an instant liking to her. It was endearing, and she found herself growing more and more fond of the housekeeper’s son. Emily—Lauren—had a soft spot for kids. They were painfully straightforward and honest, taking the world around them at face value. No hidden agendas. No secrets. No lies.
But that was it, wasn’t it? Because the housekeeper’s son was suddenly Declan Doyle, being raised to follow his father’s footsteps. Her blood ran cold upon the discovery, and the guilt festering in her stomach turned into outright fear as she realized the outcome of her mission would inevitably shatter this family. Because that’s what they were: a family.
And she got to be part of it.. It was wrong—she knew it was wrong—but she felt herself settling into their lives. It became too real, her love for the boy. Suddenly she saw Ian in a whole new light: he was a doting, devoted father and there was no question he loved his son. This presumed sociopath loving Declan, loving Lauren… it was almost too much.
Emily never loved Ian, not in a romantic sense at least. He was a person capable of horrific deeds—some of which she’d witnessed herself. Some of which she took part in. Though she spent her time at JTF-12 pointedly not thinking about the acts she chose to commit (because that’s what it was: a choice. She wouldn’t let herself run from that responsibility), there was always a sickening layer of sin over her skin. Something she’d never be able to wash off. Something forever ingrained in her conscience, as permanent as a tattoo or a brand. So, no, she didn’t—couldn’t—love Ian.
But that picture of family… she couldn’t deny that he was a good father who truly thought he was doing what was best for his son. That was an Ian she loved: not as a man, but as an extension of Declan. She wasn’t lying when she offered to get them out. It was the one and only time she’d been completely honest. She would’ve done anything, if Ian had acquiesced, anything to keep that family safe.
Because how could she take that away? Who gave her that right?
In the end it didn’t matter. She’d already given SIS the information they needed to make the arrest, and before she knew it she was whisked away from the façade so good she believed it herself. She’d grown too comfortable and she knew it. Just being able to pretend, for those few short months, that she was a part of something she’d never had before.
She destroyed that. Maybe she wasn’t the one who arrested him, maybe she didn’t even want to, but it wouldn’t change the reality of it. The first family that ever welcomed her, and she destroyed it.
She hated herself for it, but she had to admit things worked out better this way. She was able to smuggle Louise and Declan away, far from Ian’s world. Declan’s life would’ve been brutal and unforgiving. Ever since she found his true identity, it had always been the plan to tuck him somewhere safe. Even if it meant dirtying her hands once again. This time she could say she saved a life with absolute confidence.
~
Her first days at the BAU were taxing. She’d specifically chosen this unit because of the constant field work. She wanted to be better, wanted to make a real, tangible difference that she could see with her own eyes. She wanted to help people, and the BAU seemed her best way of doing that.
To call it a “rocky start” would be an understatement. First of all, their leader was having none of it. She’d expected a little resistance, but she hadn’t anticipated downright hostility. She vaguely remembered an Aaron Hotchner working for her mother at some point—but seeing the tall man who looked like he’d been born in a suit made something click in her memory. She’d encountered him a handful of times over breaks from college, though he’d been younger and less sure of himself. Some lawyer-turned-agent that she brushed off as a bodyguard and dragged out on the balcony for a cigarette and surprisingly thoughtful conversations.
She wasn’t sure if it’d be embarrassing or a relief to see someone she knew, but she ultimately figured it would be uneventful.
She kicked herself later for still being so naïve.
He didn’t seem to recognize her, which she was fine with. But he held onto her hand for half a beat too long and she had to wonder if he really didn’t remember her at all. It really was a long time ago and as far as she could tell he’s been quite busy since then, though she supposed the same could be said for herself. (But why was he hiding it?) After an agonizing minute of painfully awkward small talk, he seemed floored by the reason she was here.
There had been some hiccups on the way to joining the BAU, but she was nothing if not persistent, and the section chief eventually made it clear she would be allowed into the unit. Which seemed to come as a surprise to the unit chief, because of fucking course something had to go wrong.
She managed to talk her way in to the team—a skill she had perfected over the years—but when she caught the wary looks he gave when he thought she wasn’t looking made it clear: she wasn’t welcome.
The rest of the team seemed relatively normal. Gideon remained a mystery (according to the others, that was also typical) but the others seemed nice enough. There was definitely a little tension. She figured it had something to do with the way the last agent left and decided to keep playing the amicable new agent until they relaxed a bit. She was employing the same tactics she used when infiltrating enemy squadrons, which she was a bit annoyed at herself for, but they left little choice. They’d ease up eventually.
For an ex-spy, she really was too naïve.
The next year was hard. She had no time to adjust before they were thrown into one disaster after another, leaving one or more of her coworkers emotionally devastated with each passing week. First Morgan with the painful resurgence of his past that he desperately tried to keep hidden, then Gideon with an unsub the likes of which they’d never seen, then JJ’s breakdown and Reid’s abduction soon after. Then Hotch, of all people, struggling to maintain composure and acting more gentle than she thought him capable of at the burn ward.
They each seemed to shut the others out, trying to save face and pretend nothing had changed, which only made them more high strung. They refused to talk to each other, turning away from any attempt to reach out. The quiet on the flights home was stifling, and she knew something was off about the dynamic beyond her recent addition.
She could tell they cared about each other beyond typical coworkers. She could tell they were almost like a family. It was something she only noticed because of its absence: the distance between everyone felt violent and reluctant all at once. They were hurting the others just as much as they were hurting themselves when they stayed isolated, unwilling to be vulnerable after some of their soul had been wrenched out and laid bare for the rest to witness.
It was a fucking mess.
Maybe because she was new, so they had no reputation to uphold, it was easier to coax them into opening up with her. Not all the way—she knew from experience that profilers were notoriously ill-equipped to handle their own mental wellbeing—but enough that it seemed to provide some comfort. She supposed it was harder to disappoint someone who had no expectations.
As the year went on, she unconsciously grew more attached to each member. Derek was so caring and was always willing and able to make her smile. Spencer was shyly sweet and a treasure trove of fascinating information that he was buzzing to share. JJ acted so tough but affected so deeply by the carnage they saw every day, reminding her of her younger self. Penelope was quite possibly the brightest, most radiant person she’d ever met—both in intellect and amity. Even Gideon had an achingly soft heart, despite his odd ways of expressing it.
And Hotch… she hadn’t managed to crack Hotch yet. He maintained his distance with her, but she noticed he’d been distant with the others as well. The biting retorts seemed exclusively for her, though, and she eventually grew frustrated trying to appease him and just decided to ignore it. She knew she got the job done (her one consistency over the years), and he couldn’t do shit as long as she continued to perform well. She didn’t need his approval.
She had to admit she felt a little irritation at his austerity. It was one thing to ignore a pissy attitude from a shitty boss, but the longer she was with the team, the more she realized he was good at his job. To everyone but her, he was a compassionate, attentive, considerate leader and had no difficulty keeping the team in line and on track. She’d spent enough time with Gideon to know that the casual atmosphere hadn’t come from him. Hotch was the one who encouraged the others to care about each other, and it was Hotch who inspired that devout loyalty. Even as the events of the year threatened to tear them apart, Hotch held them together in a way far more kind and gentle than a normal unit chief. He had created a home for them. One that she was not part of.
She was fine with it, really. She could watch this family from the outside. The others were struggling; she didn’t need the support like they did.
Or so she thought.
Erin Strauss. Emily didn’t think too hard about her sudden admission into the team. She didn’t want to think about it, figuring it didn’t really matter in the end as long as she could get her foot in the door. Even if the unwanted weight of her family name was the reason she got in, she would get the chance to prove herself. She knew she was more than qualified, and that was enough for her to assume her place here.
At least this time she could blame her willful ignorance for choosing to quell any suspicions she might have had. She knew better than to think there wasn’t a political motive behind any of this. She just chose to look the other way.
She grew more comfortable than she thought she would in her complacency. And when Strauss threatened to take that all away unless she delivered Hotch’s head on a platter, the decision was easy.
Without Hotch, the family would come undone. She wouldn’t take away the man that bore the burden of all the team’s troubles just because she didn’t like him. She wasn’t that immature.
But, more than that, she wasn’t going to tear apart another family. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
It was fine, she told herself. She hadn’t even been there a year.
She cared about them. She cared about them in ways she didn’t think she was capable of—that anyone was capable. She cherished them with a love she thought only existed in fairy tales. Everything they’d been through would’ve been enough to overwhelm any individual. And they were all devastated, certainly. But they were alive. They were getting better. They made each other better. It was a family unlike one she’d ever seen, and even if she could never be part of it, she would do anything to preserve that undeniable, unparalleled goodness.
Truthfully, the longer she stayed, the worse she felt. She could pretend to be unbothered all she wanted, it wouldn’t change the fact that she was an interloper. It really was no better than her MI6 days: she was an outsider. She was in the way. And now, thanks to her, they were more at risk now than ever. She’d wanted to chisel a place for herself in their lives, but all her efforts were not only in vain: she was going to break them apart.
She had a chance to fix it.
Yes. It was an easy decision.
She ran away.
The absent weight of the badge and gun on her belt that she’d grown so accustomed to felt cold. A reminder of where she never should have been. She was grateful for the chance to get to know them, to truly understand not just what a family is, but what a family is for.
But ultimately nothing had changed. She wasn’t cut out for a family. It would’ve all been built on lies anyway, a deception. She couldn’t tell them about her past, and if they knew just how much she was keeping from them, they’d never want anything to do with her again.
Maybe Hotch was a better profiler than she thought. Maybe he had known all along that her entire existence was a falsehood of lies built on lies built on lies. Maybe because he knew her all those years ago, he could see that she was nothing but a vacant husk with a hoard of masks. Not a single redeemable bone in her body. She was an intruder, and she hated herself for it. Stands to reason that he would hate her for it to.
So it caught her off guard when he knocked on her door.
When he asked her to come back.
In a way, he did know. He knew what Strauss wanted and that she hadn’t given it to him. She prickled a little at that, not wanting him to think she did it for him. She did it for the team.
But he seemed to know that too.
And that was enough for him.
She wasn’t sure what to do at first. On instinct she resisted: her fight or flight response had always been quick to engage. She knew she didn’t belong. She thought he knew it too—she wasn’t sure what had gotten into him today, but suddenly, standing in her apartment, he looked at her the same way he looked at the others. A calculated tenderness.
It was unsettling how difficult it was to brush off.
It didn’t matter if he had changed his mind; the ending hadn’t changed. Nothing was different. She still posed a threat. (But he didn’t seem to care about that anymore.) She’d she yearned for that warmth of family with a desperation unlike anything she’d felt before, even if it was all bullshit. In her mind she quickly came up with dozens of refutes to any argument he might use that she could think of, reminding herself of all the reasons she couldn’t go.
But she wanted to go.
He knew it, too.
He asked for her go bag.
Fuck, he was a good profiler.
She cursed herself and bounced her leg agitatedly on the plane to Milwaukee. It didn’t even take him five minutes to convince her, and now they were on a bustling plane in seats that were too small with babies that were too loud. He bumped her knee (she wasn’t sure if it was to get her to stop or because his legs were jammed against the seat in front of them), handed her the case file he brought, and started pointing out important information for the profile. It made her less nervous, as he asked for her input. A reminder that she was here for a reason.
Four hours flew by and she hardly noticed.
The look on the team’s faces when she saw them had her release a breath she felt like she’d been holding her whole life. They wanted her.
She’d never been part of a family before. Not really. She loved her coworkers—her friends—more than she thought possible. And the idea that they love her in return?
Well. She supposed this tightness in her chest was what people called “heartache.”
Maybe it was a lie. Maybe she’s not who they think she is. Maybe the person they love never existed. But she wanted to become that person. She wanted to become worthy of their affection. She wanted to shake off her shackles and leave shame behind, to move forward and walk alongside them.
She’d laugh, she’d cry, she’d suffer, she’d rejoice—and they’d be right there with her through all of it. She would rely on them because she knows how good it feels when they rely on her. Each and every day they would teach her what it means to be a family, and she’s never been more excited to learn.
#cm fics#cm fic#cm writings#emily prentiss#aaron hotchner#hotchniss if you squint#you'd have to squint real hard#but i'd encourage it#curse these fall days
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and ANOTHER thing about “you’re a good guy… you make the people around you feel good” is that like, while no one would or should ever accuse criminal minds of engaging in naturalistic dialogue or characterization, there’s something so specific about it. like she’s reacting to not the overarching Goodness of what the bau does — i think at that point the show is more invested in right vs wrong rather than good vs evil (eg this is what allows them to do eps about religion) anyway — but rather to derek being kind and generous when it’s neither necessary nor transactional. i think it’s a really cool part of both the early emily prentiss character arc (my beloved. i do think they punt her characterization as the show progresses, it’s why i write fic, etc.) that we see her adjustment to the bau as a matter of bonding with characters, and in particular derek: sometimes she’s awkward or clumsy in her interactions and that’s always struck me as partially a matter of learning how to be unguarded and genuine, and how to give without expecting anything in return. it’s nice as well that we get such a clear statement of what she values and sees as new or distinctive enough to deserve comment. one imagines her time in jtf-12 and counterterrorism didn’t provide much of a canvas for the display of human kindness and goodness, particularly not of the sort as natural and indiscriminate as she sees in derek. it sets the stage (looking ahead to how they pretty uniquely operate as partners) for their dynamic of mutualism and trust, one which is immensely valuable to her but extremely difficult, by both nature and nurture, to reciprocate.
like the obvious twist of the knife re: her whole “i hate politics” thing is that she got a job she really wanted not on merit alone, but because strauss saw her as a game piece in her own political machinations; but there’s also the fact that she is, fundamentally, quite good at the kind of politicking she rejects, down to the way that we see her actively unlearning those patterns over the course of that season. i think it’s really cool and precious that she gets to be the one to articulate that in “legacy,” which is, fundamentally, an episode that’s postulating what goodness in law enforcement can look like (non-transactional care, an actual sense of community and responsibility, insisting on the personhood of people whose lives and conditions are criminalized and, in being criminalized, reduced often to subhuman and below the law’s concern— like it’s copaganda that’s only half-aware of the extent to which it’s propagandizing a state of law enforcement which the current system makes impossible but w/e), so that was naturally going to map onto the personal relationships of the bau— but it’s nice that it got to figure into her building a place for herself and a new and different way of being in the world.
#again whensoever i end up going ape and writing that long character portrait this will feature heavily and be VERY vonnegut. just a warning#it’s so sirens of titan… sometimes i wonder if i don’t give the cm writers enough credit#cmposting
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Exactly 30 years ago, a US F-16 recorded his first kill and also the first using an AIM-120 AMRAAM
Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 12/27/2022 - 22:33 in Military, War Zones
General Gary North poses for a photo in front of the F-16 he was piloting when he shot down an Iraqi MiG-25.
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On December 27, 1992, four U.S. Air Force F-16 fighters, led by Lieutenant Colonel Gary North, found an Iraqi MiG 25 that crossed the air exclusion zone in southern Iraq. The F-16 held the Iraqi aircraft in the air exclusion zone, preventing it from escaping north. One of the F-16s, arriving from the north, fired an AIM-120A against the Soviet-building fighter. Find out how this fight was.
In April 1991, shortly after the U.S. and its coalition allies expelled Iraqi military forces from Kuwait in Operation Desert Storm, the U.S. established an air exclusion zone in northern Iraq. This was soon followed by the establishment of a similar zone over southern Iraq to enforce United Nations Security Council Resolution 688.
This resolution guided the protection of Shiite Muslims against attacks by military forces under the control of Saddam Hussein, the Sunni Muslim dictator of Iraq, and a series of other sanctions. To support the resolution and protect the Shiites, the southern air exclusion zone covered the entire south of Iraq, from the 32-degree latitude line to the south to the borders of Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. The air exclusion zone applied to fixed and rotating wing aircraft, but in October 1991, the southern air exclusion zone also became a "d driving ban" zone and the U.S. Central Command Joint Task Force for Southeast Asia (JTF-SWA) was entrusted with the execution.
Lieutenant Colonel Gary North, commander of the 33rd FS; SSgt. Roy Murray, team chief; SA Steven Ely, assistant to the chief of the crew, pose with the F-16D #90-0778 that Lieutenant Colonel North was piloting when he shot down an Iraqi MiG-25 over the "No Fly Zone" on December 27, 1992. Mounted on the tips of the wings are the advanced medium-range air-to-air missiles AIM-120A. The location of this photo is at Shaw Air Base, on April 1, 1993.
Generally, most Southern Watch missions consisted of fighter scans and patrols, suppression of enemy air defenses, aerial reconnaissance and air command and control using AWACS E-3 Sentry aircraft.
However, the air operations conducted by Saddam Hussein's air force during 91-92 showed that he had no intention of complying with resolution 688. In fact, as explained by Donald J. McCarthy, Jr. in his book "The Raptors All F-15 and F-16 aerial combat victories", countless military combats between coalition forces and Iraqi command and control systems, anti-aircraft artillery (AAA) sites, radar sites and land-to-air missile sites (SAM) occurred since the end of the Gulf War in 1991 until the invasion of Iraq in 2003.
One of the most famous clashes took place on Sunday, December 27, 1992, when an Iraqi MiG-25 fighter (NATO name "Foxbat") violated the air exclusion zone and entered airspace south of the 33rd parallel.
U.S. Air Force Colonel Gary North undergoes pre-flight checks on F-16 Fighting Falcon aircraft before flying on a training mission at Luke Air Base in Arizona. The green star on the aircraft represents the Iraqi Mig-25 he shot down.
On that day, at approximately 10:42 a.m. local time, then captain Gary "Nordo" North (who piloted the F-16D "90-0778", indicative Benji 41) led a flight of four F-16s on a routine OSW Mission. While the Viper pilots were refueling from a KC-135, they heard urgent transmissions between a formation of four F-15s in the air exclusion zone and AWACS controllers. An Iraqi fighter (that F-15, having been close enough to obtain a visual acquisition, confirmed it as a "Foxbat") crossed the border to the air exclusion zone and was now accelerating north safely with the F-15 in pursuit. The Foxbat quickly reached the north of the 30th parallel and the F-15, now with little fuel, left the area.
As told by Craig Brown in his book "Debrief: a complete history of U.S. air engagements 1981 to the present", North and his wing refueled only enough fuel to allow them to cover the designated time at the station in the no-fly zone and crossed the border with southern Iraq while the third and fourth aircraft of their group continued to refuel. In a few minutes, the AWACS controllers ordered the two F-16s to head to an Iraqi aircraft heading south towards the thirty-two parallel to ensure that the Bogey did not cross to the air exclusion zone. A few minutes later, the AWACS controllers directed the Vipers to intercept another high-speed contact that originated in the north and crossed to the air exclusion zone approximately thirty miles west of the F-16 formation. The Iraqi fighter was forced to turn north safely before the F-16, armed with two advanced mid-range air-to-air missiles (AMRAAMs) AIM-120A and two AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles, could attack him.
MiG-25 of the Iraqi Air Force.
The AWACS radar monitored another aircraft, northeast of the F-16, flying south towards the air exclusion zone, but this time, while the F-16s flew to intercept the fighter, an Iraqi SAM radar began to track the Vipers. At this point, North ordered the third and fourth aircraft in his group, now fully charged with fuel, to fly north at their best speed. Again the AWACS radar reported a radar contact entering the air exclusion zone west of the Northern formation at high speed at 30,000 feet.
Bogey was flying directly to them from the east.
Nordo asked for a tactical displacement to the north to "fit" the F-16 between the MiG and parallel 30, creating a blocking maneuver and trapping the Iraqi fighter in prohibited airspace. The MiG could not escape back to Iraqi territory without fighting. "Someone would die in the next two minutes, and it wouldn't be me or my wing," North said.
North requested authorization to shoot by visually identifying the aircraft - a MiG-25 Foxbat armed with radar-guided AA-6 "Acrid" missiles. He instructed his ward to employ his electronic interference pod and again requested authorization to shoot. He finally heard "BANDIT-BANDIT-BANDIT, CLEARED TO KILL" about his headset. Approximately three nautical miles, fifteen degrees high from the nose and fifteen degrees from the right bank to the north, he blocked the MiG-25 and fired an AMRAAM, which led to the impact and totally destroyed the Foxbat built in Russia.
It took less than 15 minutes from the moment North left the KC-135 to shoot down the MiG. The video below is the original footage of the slaughter described in this article.
youtube
On October 28, 1998, Colonel Paul "PK" White interviewed North for an article of his own, "Nordos' MiG Kill", where North described the moment of the missile's impact: "I saw three separate detonations, the nose and left wing broke instantly and the tail continued in the main body of the jet and, finally, a huge fireball."
Noteworthy, this fight marked not only the first aerial victory won by an American F-16, but also the first shooting of an AIM-120 AMRAAM.
Tags: Military AviationF-16 Fighting FalconHISTORYIqAF - Iraqi Air Force / Iraqi Air ForceUSAF - United States Air Force / US Air ForceWar Zones - Iraq
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Fernando Valduga
Fernando Valduga
Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. Uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.
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Next drawings (in no particular order):
Hotchniss NSFW
Emily and her Mom, requested by @prentitss
Anon request: cowgirl Emily
Anon request: hurt Emily
Feel free to send requests :)
To keep me awake longer and motivate me you can buy me a coffee
Already drawn:
Elize ryd of Amaranthe
Regina Mills Portrait
Teen Emily mugshot (collaboration with @scorpsik)
Demonology drawing inspired by one of @scorpsik's fics
Jemily NSFW
Drawing for "Ne Me Laisse Pas Seul / Don't Leave Me Alone" by @scorpsik
Another Vampily drawing for @leftoverenvy
Emily in a sports bra and grey sweatpants for @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece
Request by @prentitss Emily in hospital and Aaron sitting by her bed (post Doyle/pre Paris)
Anon request, something from one of @criminalmindsgonewrong's fics (NSFW)
Anon Request: Pregnant Emily
Tara and Emily at rock/metal concert
@cmgiftexchange: Reid wearing a santa hat for @foxy-eva
Anon request: Fanfic Art, "The Way Home" by @sequinsmile-x
Vampire Emily
Blood Covered Bride Emily
Fanfic Art: Emily sleeping on Derek's shoulder ("All the things we will be" by @cloudlessly-light)
Emily wearing a corset
Drunk Emily, smoking
Younger Emily (maybe JTF-12 time)
Fanfic Art: for "Burning Chrysalis" by @wilding-flowers
Temily kiss
Emily portrait
Emily and Sergio
Boxing Emily
Hotchniss baby
Emily's scars
Younger Emily (maybe highschool)
Fanfic:
Fractured Reflections
Unveiling Scars for @cloudlessly-light
Let me know if a link isn't working, somehow they sometimes stop working. I try to update them regularly but sometimes I forget :)
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Various Artists, Strike Newspaper #7
By Olga Yatskevich / In Photobooks / August 12, 2022
JTF (just the facts): Published in 2022 by the Archive of Public Protests (here). Softcover, 32 pages, with 24 color photos. Includes photographs by Michał Adamski, Karolina Gembara, Miśka Kuczyńska, Adam Lach, Alicja Lesiak, Marcin Kruk, Agata Kubis, Rafał Milach, Joanna Musiał, Wojtek Radwański, Bartek Sadowski, Karolina Sobel, Dawid Zieliński. With texts by various contributors (in Ukrainian, Polish, and English). Edit by Karolina Gembara. Design by Ania Nałęcka-Milach. (Cover and spread shots below.)
The seventh and most recent issue of Strike Newspaper came out in mid April, two months into the Russian invasion of Ukraine, and focuses on various anti-war and solidarity protests. Just in the first five days after the invasion, more than 280000 people sought safety in neighboring Poland. Poland has expressed its unwavering support to Ukraine, and Poles have offered a warm welcome to the many people forced to flee.
The front cover of the Strike Newspaper shows a yellow dove (an international symbol of peace) placed against a blue background, immediately making a statement about its content. Inside the photographs are intertwined with bold typography, slogans used by the protesters, and short reflections from the Ukranians who found refuge in Poland (and the Poles who hosted them). The photographs are presented as a collective effort and are not directly credited to each photographer; similarly, there are no captions, allowing the photographs to speak for themselves.
The opening spread of the newspaper pairs a photo of a young woman holding a sign that reads “Stop Terror” with the testimony of Olia Fedorova, a Ukranian artist from Kharkiv. Another spread overlaps a photo of exhausted women and children, seen at night and outside waiting with their hastily packed suitcases and bags, while the image on the right shows people with Ukrainian flags (some just printed on piece of paper) on the street in Poland. Similar juxtapositions continue throughout the newspaper, powerfully capturing the unfolding human tragedy and the need of everyday people to take a stand and show support.
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I watched CM s3ep4 "Children of the Dark" again.
Somehow, it only just now occurred to me to watch this episode with Declan in mind. I'm sure the writers had no clue about this facet of Emily's backstory when this episode was made. But it's fun to think about, and in the case of this episode it fits in pretty well.
Emily's urge to take in Carrie Ortiz, and her disgust about returning the other kids to their foster home, are that much more poignant.
Hotch's line about remaining objective in the job vs. Emily's "and I need to know I can be human" hits harder, or differently. All that she risked to get Declan out and keep him hidden, and later all that those actions would cost her... She did all that not only to save Declan, but also perhaps to hold on to her own humanity in a job that required her to sacrifice so much of herself. With or without Declan in mind, I love this convo with Hotch bc she is taking a risk, showing vulnerability, and then she tries not to give away too much more when it turns out Carrie's family showed up. We can practically see it hit Emily that maybe she *wanted* to take Carrie in more than she realized. Not just for Carrie's sake, but for herself too.
I wonder, did she ever let herself think of Declan as her own son, either undercover or after? Did she ruthlessly compartmentalize away that maternal instinct and tell herself she did all that for Declan merely because it was the right thing to do? Maybe "maternal instinct" isn't quite right, but certainly a protective emotional attachment - maybe more of a need to provide the kind of protection and love she didn't get as a child.
I wonder how much the rest of JTF-12 knew about Declan (I can't remember if that comes up later). Did they have anything to do with getting Declan to America? Did Emily orchestrate that all by herself? They had to have helped. Did Emily have to hide her feelings away even from them, to further protect Declan from becoming a pawn?...and/or to protect her "objectivity"/detachment from being called into question?
This apparent dichotomy between "objectivity" and "humanity" is fucked up in general, and especially so considering the deep cover situation Emily was in as Lauren. I've never been sold on the idea that Emily as Lauren actually loved Ian Doyle, but perhaps if you're in that dangerous a situation you do have to believe what you're selling, at a certain level. She kept that gimlet ring necklace. Maybe only because the writers needed a tangible clue for the team to make inferences about the nature of her relationship with Doyle? Maybe not?
This exchange with Hotch shows how far she's come since "Revelations" in terms of relaxing that compartmentalization a bit and trusting her team. But it could also function as a marker of how far removed Emily is now from her days at JTF-12, how much safer (?) or more *herself* she feels.
And then my favorite moment: at the end of the episode, on the jet, with JJ.
It's no stretch to imagine Emily thinking of Declan as well as Carrie as she looks out the window - both children she is unable to care for directly, but whom she nonetheless did what she could to protect, from a distance. I like the extra layer Declan adds to this scene. I like that JJ sees and affirms Emily's need to be human, her moment of vulnerability. I love the way this episode rewards Emily's tenderness rather than punishes it. Emily's little "...yeah?" in response to JJ always gets me - again, Emily lets herself *want* to love and care for someone. It's not just a fantasy she has to lock away behind a facade of unperturbed mission-oriented objectivity.
Whew y'all, I'm never going to be over that exchange on the jet. The way JJ looks at Emily............♥️.
#emily prentiss#some thinky thoughts#not sure how coherent this is but i don't care and I'm hungry#anyway no surprise i love Emily Prentiss an awful lot#i didn't even get into anything about her abortion or her parents lol#also i feel like this desire to have kids gets lost as the show goes on though I'm not sure when#i appreciate they don't make it the centerpiece of Emily's character (like they kinda did with JJ!) and it remains a private thing for her#does this count as meta?
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Tiamzons, Catbalogan 10 were held captive, tortured and cowardly killed by the AFP in US-directed operations
Marco Valbuena | Chief Information Officer | Communist Party of the Philippines
April 20, 2023
The entire leadership and membership of the Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP) condemns in the strongest terms the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) for the brutal torture and cowardly killing of Party leaders Benito Tiamzon (Ka Laan) and Wilma Austria-Tiamzon (Ka Bagong-tao), together with eight other revolutionaries after they were captured in Samar province on August 21, 2022.
At the time of their murder, Ka Benito, 71, was the Chairman of the CPP Executive Committee, while Ka Wilma, 70, was the CPP’s Secretary General. They were travelling with Ka Divino (Joel Arceo), a subregional secretary in Eastern Visayas, along with Ka Yen, Ka Jaja, Ka Matt, Ka Ash, Ka Delfin, Ka Lupe, Ka Butig (Catbalogan 10), who all belonged to the guerrilla force of the central headquarters.
In a report, the Political Bureau said the Tiamzons were travelling on two separate vans along the national highway eastwards towards Catbalogan City. They were flagged down between 12:00 noon and 1:00 in the afternoon, after which all communications with the group were lost. They were unarmed.
It explained that it took several weeks to establish the veracity of the reports which the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) released around that time. It also had to conduct months of investigation to piece together the details of the capture and subsequent massacre of the Tiamzons.
According to the information gathered by the Central Committee, the Tiamzons suffered severe beating in the hands of their captors. Internal reports cited witnesses who saw how the faces and bodies of the victims were smashed, apparently beaten with hard objects.
The CPP PolitBureau disputed the report of the AFP suggesting that the Tiamzons were killed after their supposed boat exploded while engaging in a firefight with forces of the Joint Task Force Storm, the 8th Infantry Division and the Joint Special Operations Task Force-Trident—a unit trained and commanded by the US military—during the early morning hours of August 22, 2022 off the coast of Catbalogan.
The claimed mid-sea firefight and explosion were all a drama hatched by the AFP and its US military advisers, to hide all evidence of the ignominy of their fascist crime. In truth, the already lifeless bodies of the Tiamzons and their group were dumped on a motorboat filled with explosives, and tugged from Catbalogan midway towards Taranganan island before it was detonated. Only eight bodies were subsequently retrieved by the military.
The murder of the Tiamzons follow the pattern of the wilful killings perpetrated by the AFP against captured revolutionaries. The same cruel and cowardly methods were used in the killing of Jorge Madlos (Ka Oris), Menardo Villanueva (Ka Bok), Antonio Cabantan (Ka Manlimbasog), Julius Giron (Ka Nars) and a number of others.
The Party demands justice for the August 21 massacre of the Tiamzons et al. Their capture, torture and killing were directed by the top officers of the AFP. The CPP holds the following directly responsible for the dastardly crime:
Ferdinand Marcos Jr, commander-in-chief of the AFP, Lt. Gen. Emmanuel Bacarro, then chief-of-staff of the AFP, Lt. Gen. Edgardo de Leon, then head of the JTF-Storm and the 8th Infantry Division, and Brig. Gen. Marceliano Teofilo, head of the Intelligence Service ng AFP, as well as the US military advisers behind the Task Force Trident.
The CPP demands justice for the Tiamzons and the Catbalogan 10, and calls for their indictment in all relevant courts.
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Action Report: Control - Introduction
In October 2019, a Joint Task Force was created between Mobile Task Force Lambda-12 "White Rabbits" and Mobile Task Force Xi-5 "Newtons Bullies". The JTF was to be called Hades-7 "The Gate Watchers", they were assigned to find out the origin of the strange building that seemingly manifested out of nowhere. It is a four-unit task force each unit given a code names simply Being H-1 through H-4.
H-1 is the captain of the squad, she is equipped with a Singularity Carbon Assault Rifle, Singularity Carbon SMG, armed with AP Rounds, E rounds, SC Rounds. She is wearing a Telekill Helmet with Singularity Carbon Armor over an Energy resistant suit. She has Frequency Distortion Grenades, Foundation Computer Screen Pad, Kant Counter, Scranton Reality Anchors, and Distortion Flares.
H-2: is the acting second in command, he is equipped with dual Singularity Carbon Batons, a Singularity Carbon Shotgun, and dual Singularity Carbon Pistols, armed with AP Rounds and SC Rounds. He is wearing a Telekill Helmet with Singularity Carbon Armor over an Energy resistant suit. He has Frequency Distortion Grenades, Foundation Computer Screen Pad, Kant Counter, Scranton Reality Anchors, and Distortion Flares.
H-3: Is the primary meta-engineer, she is equipped with a Singularity Carbon Baton, Singularity Carbon Assault Rifle, Singularity Sniper Rifle, and a Singularity Carbon Pistol, armed with AP Rounds, E rounds, SC Rounds. She is wearing a Telekill Helmet with Singularity Carbon Armor over an Energy resistant suit. She has a Portable Foundation Engineer Case, Scranton Reality Anchors, Portable SRA's, and Frequency Distortion Emitter device.
H-4: is the primary medic, he is equipped with a Singularity Carbon Shield, Singularity Carbon Assault Rifle, and a Singularity Carbon Pistol, armed with AP Rounds, SC Rounds. He is wearing a Telekill Helmet with Singularity Carbon Armor over an Energy resistant suit and has a Portable Foundation Medical Case.
It is unknown what kind of temporal anomaly they'd be facing if any at all but given the nature of the building and the fact that it was releasing all sorts of anomalous wavelengths it was safe to assume there were Aspectual Reality Anomalies within. Under no circumstances was the building to be underestimated thus it was concluded giving all units Singularity Carbon based weapons as well as other gear that assists in dealing with ARA's. Because of some of the anomalous wavelengths seemed to be similar to the ones originating from SCP-AHH the Foundation made finding the origin of this building its first priority.
***
Begin Recording
H-1: Everyone online?
H-2: Yes!
H-3: Yes Boss!
H-4: Rodger Boss!
H-1: Good. Right outside is the building, so far, the civilians don't seem to notice anything but still we will only proceed when the sidewalk is clear which will be in about a minute. Get ready to move on my command.
As H-1 said, within the minute the sidewalk was clear, and all units got out of the van and into the building.
H-1: Command this is H-1, we've entered the building do you read? Over.
Command: Copy that H-1, procced with the mission record everything you find and see what you can find regarding the anomaly. Once you've recovered enough information or have suffered a casualty you are to retreat at once. Until then, mission is a go; repeat, mission is a go, over.
H-1: Understood Command, over and out. Alright you heard them let's-
Unknown: Director has been employed; security has arrived.
H-1: What?
H-3: What the hell?!
H-2: What's going on?!
Unkown: Security are intruders/ unknown. unknown hired as security. security have mission, protect director, protect the oldest building.
***
Suddenly the four units found themselves down in a new room within the building and now surrounding a woman with red hair.
Jesse: Augh! ugh... huh? Who are you guys?
H-1: Huh?! Who are you... Jesse? How is your name already processed into the recording?
H-2: Boss, where the hell are we?
H-4: And what the hell are those things?!
The five of them looked down the hall and saw three men floating in the air as if they were possessed. Suddenly all fall to the ground and raise their pistols at the MTF units.
H-1: Enemy contact! Protect the civilian and lay suppressing fire!
H-4 grabbed Jesse's hand and guided her to cover while H-1 got out her Assault Rifle, H-2 his dual pistols, and H-3 her Assault Rifle. They all loaded AP Rounds first as standard procedure and fired. Though as expected the bullets did nothing.
H-1: Shit! Get to cover and switch to SC Rounds!
H-1, H-2, and H-3 did just that, but Jesse suddenly broke form H-4's grasp and got into the middle of the hall to shoot at the hostiles. Her bullets actually did her them and since they were all bad shots she was able to dodge their attacks with ease.
H-4: Woah, is she the director?
H-3: The better question is, does she even need protecting?
Jesse: Okay, that was a rush, so uh... Are you guys' employees here?
H-1: We were going to ask you that, who exactly are you, Jesse?
Jesse: How do you know my name?
H-1: ... We were going to ask you that too.
Jesse: ... Okay uh, I guess I'll start, I'm Jesse Faden, I originally came here searching for my brother, this place this bureau kidnapped my brother regarding some weird event during my childhood.
H-2: What? You encountered an anomalous event?
Jesse: So, you guys DO work here?
H-1: No, we're actually with uh... Well, I guess there's not much point in hiding it given the circumstances. We're with the SCP Foundation. It's an organization dedicated to containing anomalous events, objects, and creatures. This building counts as one since it spontaneously manifested out of nowhere.
Jesse: Really? So, wait, this place is home to a secret organization and you guys belong to a secret organization, but you've never heard of them?
H-2: No, this building isn't even supposed to exist.
Jesse: Woah, okay, uh... Well since we're all here and I'm the director now, do you guys think you can help me out since we're sorta on the same side?
H-3: Wait, you say you came here looking for your brother because the people working here kidnapped your brother. Which means you know nothing about this place but uh, if that's the case how can you be the director?
Jesse: It's kinda hard to explain, it all started when I touched this gun.
Jesse held up the gun and all the MTF units could see it moving as if its components were not physically attached yet it all still held together somehow.
H-1: Okay, that's definingly an anomaly, when we get out of here, I'm going to need you to surrender that to us.
Jesse: What? But... But what if I can't?
H-1: Then I'll have to insist. Trust me, you don't want to say no after that.
Jesse: No wait, you don't understand, I'm serious what if I CAN'T?
H-2: ... Then we'll have to try to find a way to separate the gun from you, but for now let's focus on the building.
Jesse: Or I mean, you guys could just leave it alone.
All the MTF units then looked at Jesse, even with their helmets on Jesse could tell they were glaring.
Jesse: Okay! Okay... how about a deal instead, you help me find my brother and in exchange I will cooperate and do everything I can to ensure this gun is yours, deal?
H-2: You're not in a position to-
H-1: Deal, let's go find your brother and see what the deal with this building is.
H-2 looked at H-1 in disbelief, but she ignored him as Jesse smiled at them.
Jesse: Alright great! Uh, follow me then, I think we need to go down this way.
Jesse led down the hallway and the MTF units followed her as she walked down the hallway suddenly, they all saw what looked to be a projection of a man. The recording was unable to pick up what they saw but according to them after recordings were retrieved the man said something about the hotline being essential.
H-3: What the hell was that?!
Jesse: The hotline... says the deadman.
H-4: Wait that guy was dead?
H-1: Worry about it later! More hostiles incoming!
As H-1 said more hostiles manifested as they entered an open office like area. Now with their guns loaded with SC Rounds they started fringing and this time the creatures were getting hit and dying as a result.
Jesse: Woah! You guys are awesome!
H-1: Focus on the hostiles! Give praise later!
Jesse: Sorry!
The five of them advanced forward as they killed the first three hostiles but more manifested at the distance. They hid behind desks for cover, but Jesse just ran towards them which shocked the MTF units.
H-1: Hey! What the hell are you doing?! Do you have some kind of-
Jesse suddenly raised her hand at one of them and they were blasted by reality altering energy pushing them back a little and harming them. She shot them in the stomach twice to finish them off then shot the other in the head three times disorienting it. She punched it to kill it and backed up to dodge some bullets from the final hostile which she shot several times until it died quickly.
H-1: Death... Wish...
H-4: Holy shit, I think she's a reality bender boss.
H-2: I think it might be because of that gun. We need to get it away from her as fast as possible.
H-3: That's if she doesn't shoot us first.
H-1: Don't start with that shit, that's a jinx and you know it. Let's just help her find her brother so we can take the gun and get the hell out of here.
They looked around the office area and didn't find anything other than floating bodies that seemed to be chanting something. It was assumed that their telekill helmets and Jesse's gun was the only thing that preventing the chanting from possessing them under any anomalous influence. They then went down to the corner of the area to and out the doors to a new hall where the chanting was a little louder.
H-4: Arugh! What the hell is that shit?
Jesse: The same noise that tried to possess me earlier, The Hiss.
H-1: The Hiss?
H-3: Couldn't you come up with a better name?
Jesse: Kinda more focused on what's going on here.
H-3: ... Fair enough.
H-1: Ha, I don't understand, our helmets are supposed to be able to suppress stuff like that.
Jesse: Oh, if your helmets are meant to protect you then trust me, they are. If you guys can hear the hiss but it's not taking you over, then that means like me your immune to its effects.
H-1: Huh, but if we can still hear it... it must be quite powerful.
H-2: Wait, if your new here then how the hell do you know so much?
Jesse looked back at the MTF units the looked away as if she was listening to someone else talking which confused the MTF units.
Jesse: I... I guess it's the gun telling me everything, but also... You know, like that projection of the dead man from earlier.
H-1: Yeah, speaking of which, who was that guy and how do you know he's dead.
Jesse: I- I uh, don't know how to explain it but it's kinda like the gun told me, if that makes sense?
H-3: ... The fact that it does make sense is the saddest part of this entire situation.
Jesse: Yeah, anyways the Hiss is burrowing into everything here, it's the enemy... our enemy and if we don't stop it, it could spread.
H-1: We absolutely cannot let that happen.
Jesse: Good, then follow me, I'm not sure if its the gun exactly but something is telling me this is the way to go.
After passing a few offices, they did come to a balcony which showed a large room with lots of geometric cube like pillars around a small area with what looked to be a giant upside-down pyramid in the middle.
Jesse: This is it! Come on!
H-1: Hey! Dont-!
Jesse then jumped down and landed perfectly on her feet without injury, she then started shooting at the Hiss victims that manifested and tried to attack her.
H-1: ... fine whatever. Come on! She needs back up.
Jesse had just run out of ammo and needed to wait for her gun to recharge which was difficult as five more hiss victims were shooting at her. But thankfully the rest of MTF Hades-7 got down safely and shot them with SC Rounds quickly killing the grunts. However, there was a new Hiss victim that had on heavy armor. The other MTF units and Jesse tried shooting at it but only caused minimal damage. H-1 then ran up to it and punched it in the stomach making it fly back into the wall. Before it could get back up, she started firing on it like crazy until it finally died.
Jesse: Woah! How did she do that?
H-2: This isn't our first rodeo; we've seen all sorts of shit like this and have been prepared for such cases.
Suddenly another projection of the dead man manifested in the middle of the room below the black upside-down pyramid. According to MTF Hades-7 he said that "control points had to be cleansed to stop the corruption of the hiss". In response Jesse walked to the middle of the room, kneeled down, and slammed her hand into the ground. Suddenly all the cubes and other geometric shapes started fusing together and fixing themselves back into the walls and floor of the room. It was like the entire area was distorted and by cleansing the area, Jesse had fixed everything.
Jesse: Holy shit!
H-3: You can say that again! That was fucking awesome!
H-2: But is it over? Is the hiss gone?
Jesse: No, and if I had to guess there's probably more control points that the Hiss corrupted.
H-1: Shit, this is going to be complicated.
Pope: Hello? Can you hear me?
H-4: What the hell? Who's that?
H-1: Pope apparently, how the hell are these names processed into the recordings already?
Jesse: Shouldn't we go see if they're, okay?
H-1: Sure, but let's proceed with caution, This Hiss, might have tricks up its sleeve.
Jesse and H-1 walked up to the bunker in the room, H-1 let Jesse do the talking since she was the "director".
Jesse: Yes, we're here, I can't tell you how good it is to hear the voice of someone sane.
Pope: The feeling is mutual. I'm Pope, Emily Pope, Dr. Darling's Assistant.
Jesse knew she needed to respond next, but she still looked to H-1 unsure of herself. H-1 just jerked her heard a little forward to show Jesse it was okay to just speak.
Jesse: I'm Jesse Faden, I'm just visiting
H-1 looked at Jesse in shock and raised her arms to silently question why Jesse would say that and not proclaim herself as the director. Jesse could tell H-1 was frustrated and confused with her but all she could do was shrug in defeat.
Pope: Oh shit! You're the new director! Hold on, we're coming out.
H-1 and Jesse looked at each other in confusion as there should have been no way Pope would have known Jesse was the director form that alone. Suddenly the door opened, and two armed guards walked out who quickly raised their rifles at the MTF Hades-7 units. Though the two groups pointed their guns at each other they slowly but surely all calmed down when they saw neither side was under the influence of the hiss. Then Pope walked out and addressed Jesse.
Pope: Director Faden, I assume?
Jesse: Please just call me Jesse.
Pope: Okay then, Jesse. Good to meet you, now for the status report. Somehow this hostile force, this... uh...
Jesse: The Hiss?
Pope: Sure, that works.
H-3: Oh, come on!
H-1: H-3, shut up!
Pope: Uh, well anyways, somehow this Hiss managed to infiltrate the building without warning. Because of that, we're in full lockdown. It seems to have spread everywhere and to everyone not protected by an HRA and extraordinarily you and your... friends.
H-1: Hm... HRA huh, hold on a second.
H-1 pulled out her Foundation Computer Screen Pad and with the Level 1 A.I. in the computer screen visor on her helmet, scanned the HRA on Pope.
H-1: Huh, not exactly the most advanced tech but still powerful enough to hold back psychic and even metaphysical threats. Not a bad alternative for Telekill, actually it might work better.
Pope: Telekill?
H-1: Its what our helmets are made out of and allow us to talk to you right now without turning into more victims of the Hiss. I'm H-1 by the way, Captain of Mobile Task Force Hades-7 "The Gate Watchers" of the SCP Foundation.
Pope: SCP Foundation? Never heard of you guys.
H-2: That's funny, we've never heard of you.
H-1: ... sigh Regardless! We're all here now and we all want the same thing, for the Hiss to be gone an explanation as to how it even got here in the first place.
Pope: Right, well if you are working with Jesse that shouldn't be an issue. Jesse, you are the director, and that makes you special by definition. Trench is no longer the director, obviously.
H-2: Trench? The dead man?
Jesse: That's the one yeah.
Pope: Uh, yeah that's how it works a director dies so a new one kinda has to step up, it's a whole process. Um, I'm sorry I'm talking too much, this whole situation is just a lot.
H-4: Tell me about it.
Pope: Right uh, but wait, Jesse. You didn't work here before becoming the new director, we're on lockdown but you just... came in? How?
Jesse: ... A janitor let me in.
All of Hades-7 and Pope looked at Jesse in confusion, though what spooked them all was when Pope suddenly started laughing.
Pope: Pfft, hahahaha! I love it! This is fucking unbelievable!
H-3: Uh, you okay, you're not going insane on us, are you?
Pope: No, no, I'm fine I just- I can't even... I mean how can this possibly get any weirder.
Unknown: FBI! Don't move!
Suddenly five FBI agents ran into the area with their pistols out. Soon Hades-7, Jesse, and the other Bureau members raised their own guns in retaliation. However, H-1 noticed their badge and that they belonged to the Unusual Incidents Unit. H-1 grunted and lowered her gun, before shouting at them.
H-1: SCP, Sigma, Delta! Lower your weapons you idiots!
Unknown: Oh- Oh shit! All units lower your weapons!
Unknown: What the hell? What's the SCP Foundation doing here?
H-2: We could ask you the same damn thing!
Pope: Uh, who are these guys?
H-1: sigh They're the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Unusual Incident Unit. You can think of them as a downgraded version of the SCP Foundation... or any anomalous organization for that matter.
Pope: ... Okay it just got weirder because we're known as the Federal Bureau of Control, and I've never heard of these guys.
H-4: The whole fucking day has been weird.
The FBI: UIU men lowered their weapons and talked with the FBC men while the one in charge went to Pope, Jesse, and the Hades-7 units.
Unknown: Frank Davis from the FBI: Unusual Incidents Unit, I know Foundation jurisdiction overrules our own but I still need to ask. What are you guys doing here?
H-1: We're here to assess the anomalous properties of this building that manifested out of nowhere.
Pope: Wait it manifested out of nowhere?
H-1: Yeah, I'm guessing it's not supposed to do that?
Pope: That, and it's also impossible, this building is known as the oldest house, it can only be found when people know where to look. Otherwise, you can't even find it and will always pass the building by as if it doesn't even exist. It's meant to be the ultimate fortress and sanctuary for the Bureau and yet it just suddenly appeared for everyone? That makes no sense... but then again nothing has made sense today.
Frank: Well, it might have something to do with that weird whispering we keep hearing.
Pope: You can hear the Hiss? How is it not affecting you?
Frank: Oh, that would be tanks to our specially made dome caps, these normal looking FBI caps you see on our heads are actually laced with special fibers that prevent paranormal entities from entering our minds.
Pope: ... Interesting. Okay look, I have a million questions right now but I'm sure you all have a million more. But first we need help form Jesse the Director. Since unlike the rest of us you don't need specialized equipment to defend against the Hiss. With you we might be able to cure those affected.
Frank: You mean those bodies floating around?
Pope: Yes, if they can be cured, it will make things a lot easier to reestablish control here at the Bureau.
Jesse: ... Sure... I'll uh, I'll try.
Jesse went over to one of the floating bodies and placed her hands on the head of the victim. H-3 used her equipment and quickly noticed that Jesse was emitting massive anomalous frequencies. Though it quickly died down and unfortunately so did the host as their body faded to nothing. Jesse then walked back to the group in defeat.
Jesse: The Hiss, its imbedded itself too deep, infused itself to the host. To tear it out is to tear them apart.
H-1: Shit so there really is only one way to deal with the victims of the Hiss.
Pope: Hm, well we still have you director so there's still hope. As for the rest of us... Well since there's more of us now, I think it's safe if we go over here to the office room and have all our newest guests catch up. We're all going to need to understand everything there is to know if we hope to survive.
.
End of Introduction
.
Continue to Part 1
.
SCP: HMF Tales Hub
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Deadly Boko Haram Terrorists Ambush Soldiers, Kill 3
In a tragic incident around the Lake Chad area of Borno State, Boko Haram terrorists launched a deadly ambush on Nigerian Army personnel, resulting in the death of a lieutenant and two vigilante members.
The attack followed the recent military takeover of the Boko Haram enclave in Krenowa, Marte Local Government Area, just five days prior.
Sources revealed that the soldiers, part of the 50 Task Force Brigade, faced heavy bombardment at Krenowa, compelling them to withdraw and leave behind 12 out of 15 motorbikes deployed for the operation. Despite the soldiers' strength, numbering over a hundred with various equipment, they retreated to Marte town.
soldiers on the frontline in Borno, Nigeria
During the ambush, an Armoured Personnel Carrier (APC) tank sustained damage, and the driver managed to escape with a leg injury. A soldier recounted the unexpected attack, mentioning the terrorists' hidden position that led to the soldiers taking shelter at the headquarters of the 27 Task Force in Marte town.
Unfortunately, the bodies of the slain lieutenant, a member of the civilian Joint Task Force (JTF), and another vigilante member could not be immediately recovered due to the intense firepower from the insurgents.
Efforts to obtain a reaction from the military high command proved unsuccessful, as calls to the mobile phone of the Director, Defence Media Operations, Maj.-Gen. Edward Buba, went unanswered. The situation highlights the ongoing challenges faced by security forces in the region in their efforts against insurgent groups.
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By • Olalekan Fagbade
Chief Imam, Vigilante member killed by Boko Haram insurgents
Some attackers suspected to be Boko Haram insurgents have reportedly killed the Chief Imam of Kaga, Imam Goni Muktar, and a vigilante in Kaga Local Government Area of Borno State.
It was learnt that the insurgents in a Volkswagen gulf stormed the imam’s residence at Malamti, an outskirt of Benishek at about 12:30 am on Monday.
According to a Civilian Joint Task Force source, the mode of operation was purely that of insurgents.
“On the night of Sunday, some gunmen suspected to be members of Boko Haram stormed the house of the Chief Imam of Kaga LGA Imam, Goni Muktar and killed him.
“One of the vigilantes on duty was forcefully taken away by the attackers. This is the second chief imam that was killed in Kaga within two months,” he said.
According to the Civilian JTF, the root cause of the incident could not be immediately ascertained, but the late imam would be buried today.
#ChiefimamkilledbyBokoHaraminsurgents
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you for whom i write this | wc: 884 | rating: G
i just found this in my documents and i don't think i'm going to do anything with it so i'm posting it here. pure emily prentiss character portraiture, if you haven't read vonnegut's the sirens of titan it will mean very little to you, etc.
Emily is writing a letter. It’s shooting tension along her shoulders, hunching her back, and straining her eyes.
Dear Emily, she writes.
There is so much I wish I could protect you from.
She crosses the line out with a sudden, embarrassed fury, tearing a ragged gash through the top sheets of her legal pad.
Dear Emily, she writes.
All of your bad decisions are necessary and inevitable. There isn’t much you could have done differently. But you will always regret not shooting Ian Doyle between the eyes.
Next to the legal pad is, neatly folded, the version of the letter she has to write. It’s a humiliatingly saccharine fabrication, rendered doubly so by the knowledge that it will shape her therapist’s rhetoric when she writes her recertification. It’s none of Dr. Levison’s business what Emily would say to her younger self, poised on the precipice of all this. It’s an exercise Emily would never otherwise have tolerated, until it became a condition of her livelihood. This second letter, as a result, has become a condition of her life itself. If she doesn’t write it, she thinks, she may never know herself again.
I am not a liar anymore. I have no reason to be. You will be horrified to discover what a liar you are, and can be.
Fighting the urge to cross these lines out too, she writes, You’re not real anymore, and I couldn’t lie to you anyway.
What I want you to know is that you should stop worrying about doing the right thing. You have an ego you try to deny, and too much ambition to direct it properly. You are not going to do the right thing. You are going to do what you have to do, again and again, and eventually you will get out of it and be able to do what you want to do.
You are 30. What you want is to be happy and successful, and you don’t know what either of those words mean. I remember being you, thinking about how hard it is to separate what I want out of life from what I’ve decided I don’t want in life, because mother wants it for me. On the plane to London, you’ll sit next to a nice couple in their early 20s. You’ll play cards with them and talk about how much scarier travel has become now, until the wife falls asleep on her husband’s shoulder. You’ll feel old and alone, even though you know they’re just idealistic kids. You’ll wonder if that’s something you want out of life. You’ll wonder if it’s even possible for you. You’ll think about mother and father and wonder what’s worth it in life, and whether being born a Prentiss meant you were condemned from the start to live a performance. This is not going to get better when you find out what JTF-12 has in store for you.
Do you remember The Sirens of Titan? You must— you’ve read it recently. Do you remember the letter Unk wrote to himself? I wish I could write that for you. “I am a thing called alive” and “Emily my old pal, here is who you can trust and here is all the knowledge that you will need to rebuild your understanding of the universe and the grim conspiracy that you have found yourself at the center of”— enough to make you courageous, watchful, and secretly free, the way you think you are. Emily my old pal, you are going to spend a lot of time feeling cowardly and scared, and I don’t think you’ll ever be your own hero. Like Unk, the best you can do is keep going, because there’s a kid at the center of it who means the world to you, and you can give him a good, safe life.
I’m writing this because I’m worried that I’m losing you the way liars lose their sense of reality. If I lose you, it will be only because I choose to. I remember you as an inflated sense of purpose which you held very close to your chest because even then you knew it was humiliating to want as much as you did. I remember you as a premature fear that you’d wasted your life and failed your potential. I regret and hate you, sometimes. Other times you just make me very sad.
Emily, my old pal, things work out eventually. You get to be reincarnated. You get to come back to your life as a whole new person. You get to have the insane sensation of rereading The Sirens of Titan and feeling like it’s speaking directly to you. All that matters in the world, now, is that you’re genuine and open in it. The only reason I’m telling you this is because you’ve been me all along, and I need the push to remember to be brave. I am a thing called alive. This isn’t guaranteed for any time at all.
Emily
She rereads the letter carefully. Then she folds it neatly up, crosses the room to her kitchen, and lights one of the burners. In a matter of seconds, the paper catches, blackens, and begins to burn her fingers. She drops it, and watches it flake to ash on the grate.
#fic#and now i get to delete the document#not tagging anything it's not very interesting byeeeeeeeee
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