#Dodge McCoy

[romanmarble]

Take News from Corporate?

> Yes.

It took one file for the members of the Tulpar to go for each other’s throats—but who sent that telegram? Who was the messenger? In a dingy steel cubicle in some far away constellation, looking upon a singular interface—the fingers of a midwestern hiring intern presses >send.

Soon enough, Dodge McCoy becomes a unwilling bystander to the incoming recordings of that all faraway ship. Never shoot the messenger, he gulps, as his shaking fingers sends the next command, >delete all recordings.

Mouthwashing Character Piece, December 2024, Ibispaint, 4 hours.

Recording below

[starberry-cupcake]

some highlights of the tribbles episode:

1) chekov bonding with his dads

2) jim and spock getting constantly interrupted

3) scotty's lover (the enterprise) being insulted

(jim also got insulted but scotty didn't think that merited the effort)

4) uhura unlocking a wildlife disaster on account of cuteness

5) jim having the worst day (but used to it)

6) bones saying bi tribble rights

7) married flirting (this time with tribbles)

[urdreamydoodles]

Can we have some headcannons about the comic X Men characters seeing their lover going absolutely animal during battle due to losing control and thinking the enemy killed the character they're paired with?

X-Men x Reader

You think the enemy killed your lover

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Cable & Hank McCoy

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- When Logan finally regains consciousness, he sees you in the midst of battle, a blur of primal fury tearing through your enemies. There’s something raw and unhinged about the way you move, like an animal unleashed, and it takes him a moment to realize you’re fighting as if he’s already dead. His heart clenches as he understands just how deeply his supposed “death” has shattered you.

- Watching you like this is both breathtaking and terrifying for Logan. He’s always respected your strength, but this is different—this is vengeance incarnate. He recognizes the wildness in your eyes, a mirror of his own rage when he loses himself. Logan knows he needs to reach you before you spiral further, but he also knows you won’t stop until every last threat is eliminated.

- Logan makes his way to you, dodging blows and gunfire, his voice rough as he tries to get through to you. He calls your name, over and over, louder each time, but you’re in too deep, consumed by grief and fury. The sight breaks him a little, knowing he’s the reason for your pain. But he’s never been one to back down, so he keeps pushing, shouting until his voice is hoarse.

- Just as you finish off the last enemy in a brutal display, Logan manages to reach you. He grabs your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, and he says your name in a tone that cuts through your haze of anger. When you finally turn to face him, there’s a mixture of disbelief and relief in your eyes, and he can see how hard it’s been for you to lose control.

- Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as your anger fades into exhaustion. He murmurs reassurances, his voice softer than it usually is, telling you he’s okay, he’s here. You cling to him, breath hitching as the realization settles that he’s alive. Logan just holds you, whispering that he’s not going anywhere, grounding you as your mind returns from the edge.

- Later, when you’re both safe, Logan sits beside you, a hand on your back as he tells you how much it meant to him that you fought for him like that. But he also makes you promise that you’ll never let grief take you that far again. With a quiet intensity, he says he never wants to see you lose yourself like that, no matter the cost. You nod, grateful for his honesty and the steady comfort only he can give.

Remy LeBeau aka Gambit

- Remy never thought he’d see you like this, an unstoppable force ripping through your enemies as if they were nothing. His heart sinks as he realizes what’s driving you—thinking he’s gone, that he’s been taken from you. The raw anguish in your movements, the way you fight with reckless abandon, hits him harder than he could have imagined.

- Struggling to regain his own strength, Remy watches you, pain and admiration swirling within him. You’re beautiful even in your fury, and there’s something heart-wrenching about how much you care, how much his loss has devastated you. He knows he needs to reach you, but he’s almost afraid of what you’ll do when you see him.

- As you land blow after blow, Remy starts calling out to you, his voice a mixture of desperation and tenderness. He knows you can’t hear him through the storm of your anger, but he keeps trying, putting everything he has into reaching you. “Chérie, it’s me! I’m here,” he calls, each word laced with the hope that it’ll get through to you.

- Finally, when he’s close enough, Remy catches your arm, spinning you around to face him. For a heartbeat, there’s only shock and confusion in your eyes, and he braces himself, waiting for you to process that he’s alive, that he’s standing right here. His hand comes up to your face, and he whispers soothing words, his thumb tracing soft circles against your cheek.

- As you finally realize he’s okay, you collapse against him, the weight of the battle and your grief crashing over you. Remy wraps his arms around you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple, murmuring that he’s safe, that he’d never leave you. He holds you close, grounding you in his warmth, his presence pulling you back from the edge.

- Later, as you both recover, Remy teases you gently, his voice filled with warmth. “Didn’t know you cared so much, ma belle,” he says, though there’s a hint of seriousness behind his grin. He tells you he never wants to see you suffer like that for him again, that you don’t have to shoulder that pain alone. You smile back, grateful for his understanding and the promise of his steady presence.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- When Kurt wakes to the sight of you battling with reckless ferocity, he’s taken aback. He’s always known you were strong, but this is different—this is a primal, almost desperate rage that’s tearing through your enemies. It’s clear you believe he’s gone, and the realization stings, leaving him both moved and horrified by the depth of your grief.

- He watches you, his heart aching as he sees the agony etched into every move you make. Kurt has always admired your strength, but seeing you like this, driven by heartbreak and fury, is almost too much to bear. He knows he needs to get through to you, to pull you back before you lose yourself completely in the anger.

- With a deep breath, Kurt teleports closer, his voice steady and calm as he calls your name. He keeps his distance at first, understanding that you might not recognize him right away in your state. But he keeps talking, his words gentle yet insistent, hoping to break through the storm of emotions raging within you.

- When you finally turn to him, your eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief crossing your face. Kurt approaches cautiously, reaching out a hand to you, his touch featherlight as he reassures you he’s alive, that he’s here. He whispers soft words in German, words meant to soothe and comfort, and slowly, the tension in your body begins to ease.

- Kurt pulls you into his arms, holding you close as you tremble, the weight of your grief finally lifting as you realize he’s okay. He strokes your hair, murmuring reassurances, promising that he’ll always be here, that you won’t have to bear this pain alone. His touch is gentle, his presence grounding, a balm to your wounded heart.

- In the aftermath, as you sit together in quiet reflection, Kurt speaks softly, thanking you for fighting so fiercely for him. But he also makes you promise that you won’t let grief consume you like that again, that you’ll remember he’s here with you, no matter what. You nod, touched by his words, and the bond between you feels stronger than ever.

Scott Summers aka Cyclops

- When Scott sees you tearing through the battlefield, raw anger and sorrow radiating from you, his heart breaks. He knows what’s fueling you—that you think he’s been taken from you, that he’s gone. He watches in shock as you fight, your moves a chaotic blend of power and desperation, and he realizes just how deeply his “death” has shaken you.

- Though Scott is weak, he pulls himself up, calling out to you, his voice firm and steady. He knows how much his presence means to you, and he needs to reach you before you lose yourself entirely in your grief. “I’m here!” he shouts, but he can see you’re too far gone to hear him, lost in the haze of pain and rage.

- As you take down another enemy with a brutal blow, Scott gets close enough to grab your arm. You whirl around, anger flashing in your eyes, but the moment you see him, there’s a flicker of recognition. He meets your gaze, his hand steady on your shoulder, grounding you in his presence, letting you know he’s real, that he’s here.

- The realization hits you like a wave, and Scott gently pulls you into his arms, holding you as you shake. He doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his steady heartbeat a quiet reassurance against the storm inside you. You cling to him, letting his presence bring you back from the edge, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you in the here and now.

- Later, as you both catch your breath, Scott speaks softly, his tone serious yet tender. He tells you how much he appreciates the strength you showed, but he also asks you not to let grief drive you to that place again. He doesn’t want to see you suffer for him, and his words are filled with a gentle but firm conviction.

- With a quiet smile, you promise him that you’ll try to keep that darkness at bay, that you’ll remember he’s here, even in the toughest moments. Scott nods, his hand still on yours, and there’s a silent understanding between you—a shared strength that will carry you both through whatever comes next.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- The battle had taken its toll, and you were certain Jean had been lost. The surge of grief within you erupted into raw power, your abilities igniting in a way that scared everyone around you, including yourself. You tore through the enemies with an unrelenting fury, the thought of avenging her the only thing grounding you to the fight.

- When Jean finally managed to regain consciousness, she saw you surrounded by chaos, your power crackling in the air like a storm barely contained. The pain in your expression cut through her heart—seeing you like this, thinking she was gone, was unbearable. She called out to you softly, her voice strained but filled with urgency.

- At first, her words couldn’t reach you. You were too consumed by rage and despair, tearing apart anyone who dared come near. But Jean didn’t give up, pushing herself to stand, her telepathy reaching out to your mind, whispering gentle reassurances: I’m here. I’m alive. Please, come back to me.

- Her presence in your mind broke through the haze, and your powers faltered. You turned toward her, disbelief and hope flashing in your eyes. Jean reached out with both her hand and her thoughts, anchoring you as you stumbled toward her. The moment you touched her, the flood of emotions spilled over, and you collapsed into her arms.

- She held you tightly, her own tears falling as she whispered comforting words, grounding you. Jean didn’t shy away from the storm you had unleashed; instead, she understood the depth of your pain and vowed to help you carry it. Together, you stood amidst the wreckage, leaning on each other for strength.

- Later, as the two of you sat in the aftermath of the fight, Jean gently cupped your face and told you she’d never leave you, no matter what. Her words were a promise etched into your soul, and you held onto her, knowing she meant every word. The bond between you both deepened, forged in fire and grief but tempered with love and understanding.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- The storm within you matched the one raging in the sky, lightning cracking and thunder roaring as you unleashed your fury on those who had taken Ororo from you. You fought like a force of nature, your movements wild and untamed, your grief fueling every blow. The thought of her death had broken something in you, and you didn’t care if you fell with the enemies surrounding you.

- Ororo awoke to the sound of the storm and the sight of you at its center. She could feel the raw, unrestrained power radiating from you, and it frightened her to see you like this. She understood your pain, but she knew that if you didn’t stop, you would destroy yourself in the process.

- Using the last of her strength, Ororo summoned a gust of wind to push the enemies away from you. Her voice rang out, calm and steady despite her exhaustion: “I am here. Look at me.” The words were soft yet commanding, cutting through the chaos surrounding you.

- When your eyes met hers, the storm inside you faltered. You stumbled toward her, disbelief evident in your expression. Ororo reached out, pulling you into her arms as the tension drained from your body. The storm around you began to calm, the skies clearing as her presence soothed your anguish.

- Ororo held you close, her voice gentle but firm as she reassured you. “You are not alone in this,” she said, her words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. She didn’t admonish your actions but instead helped you find balance, her wisdom guiding you back to yourself.

- In the quiet moments after the battle, Ororo took your hand and looked into your eyes. “Your strength is remarkable, but you must learn to wield it with purpose,” she said. Her words weren’t a reprimand but a promise to help you grow. With her by your side, you knew you could face anything.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- When you thought Rogue had been killed, something inside you snapped. The world around you became a blur as you fought with unrelenting ferocity, your grief manifesting as raw, untamed power. You didn’t care about the consequences; all you wanted was to make those responsible pay for taking her away.

- Rogue regained consciousness just in time to see you in the middle of the carnage. Her heart ached at the sight of you, consumed by pain and rage, and she knew she had to stop you before you destroyed yourself. She pushed herself up, calling out to you with a voice full of both urgency and tenderness.

- At first, you didn’t hear her. The sound of your own anguish drowned out everything else, and you continued to fight, blind to the world around you. But Rogue wasn’t one to give up easily. She pushed through the chaos, reaching out to you with a determination born of love.

- When her hand finally touched yours, you froze. Her voice, soft yet steady, broke through the storm raging inside you. “Ah’m here, sugar. It’s me,” she said, her Southern drawl wrapping around you like a lifeline. The sight of her alive and well shattered the walls of your grief, and you collapsed into her arms.

- Rogue held you tightly, her own tears falling as she whispered reassurances. She didn’t shy away from your pain but embraced it, her presence a steady anchor in the aftermath of your fury. She stroked your hair, her touch grounding you as she helped you come back to yourself.

- Later, as you both sat together, Rogue cupped your face in her gloved hands and smiled softly. “You’re stronger than you know,” she said, her voice filled with affection. “But you don’t have to face this alone.” Her words were a balm to your soul, and you leaned into her, grateful for her unwavering love and support.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- When you thought Erik had been killed, your grief erupted into raw, unbridled power. You tore through the battlefield with a vengeance, your abilities surging beyond control. The air around you crackled with energy as you fought, determined to make every enemy pay for what they had done.

- Erik regained consciousness to the sight of your fury, and for a moment, he was both awed and terrified by your power. He had always admired your strength, but this was something else entirely—a manifestation of the depth of your love for him. He knew he had to reach you before you destroyed everything, including yourself.

- Summoning his strength, Erik called out to you, his voice sharp and commanding. “Enough!” he shouted, the weight of his authority cutting through the chaos. His words startled you, and for a moment, your rampage faltered as you turned to face him.

- When your eyes met his, the world seemed to stop. Erik’s gaze was steady, his expression calm but filled with concern. He took a step toward you, his hand outstretched. “I am here,” he said, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to fight alone.”

- The sight of him alive broke something inside you, and you collapsed into his arms, your anger giving way to overwhelming relief. Erik held you tightly, his presence grounding you as he whispered soothing words. He didn’t chastise you for your actions but instead reassured you that he understood your pain.

- In the aftermath, Erik sat with you, his hand resting on yours as he spoke. “Your strength is extraordinary,” he said, his tone filled with both admiration and caution. “But you must learn to control it, to channel it wisely.” His words weren’t a reprimand but a promise to guide you, and you nodded, knowing you could face anything with him by your side.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- When you believed Charles was gone, the world tilted on its axis. Grief consumed you, and in that moment, every lesson about restraint and control he'd ever taught you was forgotten. Your power erupted like a tidal wave, obliterating anything and anyone that dared stand in your path. The connection you’d always shared with Charles was severed, leaving a void that felt unbearable.

- Charles regained consciousness to the chaos you had unleashed. He immediately felt the intensity of your anguish, the raw and untamed energy you were emitting. Reaching out telepathically, he tried to connect with you, his mind brushing against yours with a gentle, familiar touch.

- At first, you resisted his presence in your mind, too consumed by your emotions to recognize it. But Charles persisted, his voice calm and steady in your thoughts: I am here, my dear. You are not alone. The warmth of his words broke through the storm raging inside you, and you turned to find him standing there, alive.

- Your legs gave way beneath you, and Charles caught you, his arms steady and reassuring. He held you as you wept, his mind offering soothing reassurances that you were safe and that he was still with you. The connection between you, once frayed, grew stronger as he shared in your pain and guided you back to yourself.

- Later, as the battlefield grew quiet, Charles spoke to you softly. “You are remarkable, both in your strength and your love,” he said, his tone filled with admiration. “But grief cannot define you.” His words carried a wisdom that only he could impart, and you nodded, finding solace in his presence.

- Together, you returned to the team, your bond stronger than ever. Charles promised that no matter what challenges came, you would face them together. His unshakable faith in you became your anchor, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, you were never truly alone.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- When you thought Wanda had been killed, the world seemed to unravel. Your emotions became a catalyst for your abilities, and reality itself twisted and bent under the weight of your grief. You lashed out at the enemies surrounding you, determined to make them pay for taking her from you.

- Wanda’s consciousness stirred as she felt the fabric of reality shift. She knew it was you—your power was unmistakable—and her heart broke at the thought of you in such pain. Gathering her strength, she reached out with her magic, creating a beacon of light to guide you back to her.

- At first, you didn’t notice her presence, too consumed by your anger and sorrow to see the light she had conjured. But Wanda persisted, her voice a soft plea that resonated in the air around you. “I’m here, my love. Look at me.”

- The sound of her voice cut through the haze, and you turned to see her standing amidst the chaos. Relief and disbelief flooded through you as you stumbled toward her. Wanda caught you in her arms, her magic wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.

- As the two of you stood together, Wanda whispered soothing words, her hands gently cupping your face. “I’m alive,” she said, her voice filled with both love and reassurance. Her presence calmed the storm within you, and the world around you began to stabilize.

- Later, as you sat together in the aftermath of the battle, Wanda held your hand tightly. “We are stronger together,” she said, her eyes shining with determination. Her words were a promise, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them side by side.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- When you thought Pietro had been killed, the world seemed to slow in contrast to the speed of your grief. Your pain erupted into a flurry of action, every movement driven by the need for vengeance. You moved with a singular purpose, tearing through enemies with a ferocity they couldn’t escape.

- Pietro wasn’t down for long. When he came to, his first thought was of you. He spotted you in the distance, your powers wreaking havoc, and he immediately knew what had happened. Despite his own injuries, he pushed himself forward, racing toward you at a speed that blurred the edges of reality.

- It wasn’t easy to stop you. You were lost in your emotions, your every action fueled by the belief that Pietro was gone. But he didn’t give up. He zipped in front of you, grabbing your face with both hands and forcing you to look at him. “I’m here,” he said, his voice urgent. “I’m not going anywhere.”

- Your movements faltered, the sound of his voice breaking through the storm inside you. You stared at him, disbelief etched across your face. When his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, the tension drained from your body, and you collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest.

- Pietro held you tightly, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with a rare vulnerability. “I’m sorry you thought you lost me,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But I’m here, and I’m not leaving you.” His words were a balm to your soul, grounding you in the moment.

- Later, as you both rested in the aftermath, Pietro refused to let go of your hand. “You scared the hell out of me,” he admitted, his tone laced with both concern and affection. His honesty reminded you of how deeply he cared, and you vowed to protect each other, no matter what.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

- When you thought Emma had been killed, the pain was unbearable. Your emotions surged, and your powers manifested in ways you couldn’t control. You fought with a cold, calculated fury, determined to make the enemies responsible suffer for what they had done to her.

- Emma’s telepathic presence was the first thing you felt before you even saw her. She reached into your mind, her voice cool but firm. Enough of this dramatics, she said, her tone laced with both affection and exasperation. I’m alive, darling.

- You froze, her words cutting through the fog of your grief. Turning, you saw her standing amidst the chaos, her diamond form glinting in the light. Relief washed over you as you stumbled toward her, your emotions spilling over in a way you knew she would tease you about later.

- Emma caught you in her arms, her diamond exterior melting away to reveal her softer side. She brushed her fingers through your hair, her voice low and soothing as she reassured you. “You’re stronger than this,” she said, her tone both a challenge and a comfort. “And I won’t have you falling apart over me.”

- Her words brought a smile to your lips, even through the tears. Emma wasn’t one to coddle, but her presence was enough to ground you. She helped you regain your composure, her sharp wit and unwavering confidence reminding you why you loved her.

- Later, as you sat together in the quiet aftermath, Emma looked at you with a rare vulnerability in her eyes. “You’re important to me,” she admitted, her voice softer than usual. “But don’t you dare lose control like that again. We’re in this together.” Her words were both a warning and a promise, and you nodded, knowing she meant every word.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

- When you thought Laura had been killed, a savage rage overtook you. The thought of losing her, someone so important to you, drove you to a breaking point. Your normally measured demeanor was replaced with unrelenting fury, and you launched yourself into the fray, fighting with an intensity you didn’t even know you possessed.

- Laura wasn’t down for long. Her healing factor kicked in, and though her injuries were severe, she pushed through the pain. When she saw you fighting with such reckless abandon, her heart twisted in an unfamiliar mix of pride and worry.

- She approached you cautiously, not wanting to startle you mid-rage. But when her voice broke through the chaos, calling your name with that rare softness only you ever heard, you stopped in your tracks. Turning to her, your chest heaved with exertion and emotion as you saw her alive, battered but breathing.

- “I’m not that easy to get rid of,” she said, her lips quirking into a small smirk. Her words were light, but her eyes were filled with a rare vulnerability. She stepped closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

- The adrenaline drained from you in an instant, and you collapsed into her arms. Laura wasn’t one for big displays of affection, but she held you tightly, her claws retracting as she whispered, “I’m sorry you had to think that, even for a second.” Her voice carried an earnestness that melted your anger into relief.

- Later, as you both sat together in the quiet aftermath, she took your hand and squeezed it tightly. “You don’t have to go berserk for me,” she said, her tone teasing but serious. “I’ll always come back. Always.” Her words were a promise, one she intended to keep, no matter the odds.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- When you thought Wade had been killed, the world went silent, as if the universe itself had paused in shock. But grief quickly turned to fury, and you channeled every ounce of your anger into the fight, determined to avenge the man who had brought chaos, laughter, and unexpected love into your life.

- Unbeknownst to you, Wade had already regenerated and was watching your rampage with equal parts admiration and amusement. “Damn,” he muttered to himself. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

- He let you have your moment for a bit before dramatically announcing his presence. “Honey, I’m home!” he shouted, striking a ridiculous pose mid-battle. The sheer absurdity of his reappearance caught you off guard, and you froze, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

- “Miss me?” he said with a wink, dodging an enemy attack as if it were nothing. Your emotions hit you like a freight train—relief, anger, joy—and before you knew it, you were storming toward him. “Whoa, whoa! Easy on the merchandise!” he joked as you threw your arms around him.

- Wade wrapped his arms around you tightly, his usual banter softening as he whispered, “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare ya, but hey, I’m kinda hard to kill.” His voice carried an uncharacteristic sincerity that made you hold him even tighter.

- Later, as the dust settled, he leaned into your space with a playful grin. “So, did I earn some hot, passionate, ‘thank God you’re alive’ kisses, or what?” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling, knowing that only Wade could turn such a harrowing moment into something ridiculous and comforting all at once.

Nathan Summers aka. Cable

- When you thought Nathan had been killed, something inside you snapped. You charged into battle with a ferocity born of desperation, pushing your limits to ensure no one else fell. Every attack, every movement was a testament to your grief and your unwillingness to let his loss be in vain.

- Nathan woke up groggy but alive, his body slowly regenerating thanks to his techno-organic enhancements. When he saw the carnage you were wreaking, his heart clenched. He knew you loved him, but seeing the depth of your despair took him by surprise.

- “Stand down, soldier,” his gruff voice called out, cutting through the chaos. At first, you didn’t believe it—you thought it was your mind playing tricks on you. But then you turned and saw him standing there, bruised but alive, and your world came crashing back into focus.

- You ran to him, your emotions overwhelming you as you buried your face against his chest. Nathan wrapped his arms around you, his massive frame providing the stability you desperately needed. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere.”

- As the adrenaline faded, the reality of what had happened hit you both. Nathan cupped your face in his hands, his eyes filled with unspoken promises. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said, his voice heavy with guilt. “But you’re stronger than you know. Don’t forget that.”

- Later, as you sat in the aftermath of the battle, he pulled you close, his arm draped protectively around you. “We��ve got each other’s backs,” he said firmly. “No matter what.” His words were a vow, and you nodded, knowing that no force in the universe could break the bond you shared.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- When you thought Hank had been killed, the rational part of your mind shattered. Logic and reason were replaced by an all-consuming grief that fueled your every move. You fought with a precision that was almost mechanical, each strike a desperate attempt to make up for his absence.

- Hank, though injured, managed to pull himself together. When he saw you fighting so fiercely, his heart ached. He admired your strength but hated that it came from a place of such profound pain.

- “My dear,” his deep, soothing voice called out to you, breaking through the haze. At first, you thought it was a hallucination, a cruel trick of your grief. But then you saw him, standing there with a gentle smile despite his injuries, and your heart nearly stopped.

- You ran to him, tears streaming down your face as you clung to him. Hank wrapped his arms around you, his fur soft and comforting against your skin. “I apologize for worrying you,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “But as you can see, I am quite resilient.”

- His calm demeanor helped bring you back to yourself, and you managed a shaky laugh. “You scared me,” you admitted, your voice breaking. Hank brushed a hand over your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. “And I regret that deeply,” he replied. “But you showed remarkable fortitude. I’m proud of you.”

- Later, as the two of you sat together in the quiet aftermath, Hank held your hand in his massive paw. “No matter what challenges we face, we’ll face them together,” he said, his tone unwavering. His words filled you with a sense of peace, and you knew that as long as he was by your side, you could handle anything.

[aerialworms-art]

Spocktober + Trektober Day 14 - Historical AU

Yeehaw, baby!

(ID under cut)

[Image ID: A black and white drawing of Jim Kirk, Spock, and Doctor McCoy from Star Trek: The Original Series.

They are sitting atop a stagecoach. Spock and Jim are sitting on the front bench. Jim has the reins in his hands. McCoy is sprawled out in the back, head leaning on the railing, his feet (clad in cowboy boots) crossed over the railing on the other side. They are all dressed in western clothing with cowboy hats. Spock and Jim are wearing shirts and waistcoats; Spock's is buttoned up, Jim's waistcoat is unbuttoned and his shirt is hanging open to his collarbone. McCoy is also wearing an apron and has his shirtsleeves rolled up. His hat is jauntily placed over his face and he has a stem of straw sticking out from his mouth. Jim and Spock both have stars pinned to their chests that vaguely resemble the Starfleet chevron. Spock is wearing a bolo tie with the IDIC symbol on the pin.

Jim is saying, "Alright, listen, these Dodge City cops aren't likely to trust 'big city folks', so we're gonna have to blend."

Spock replies, "Which is why you're making us wear these absurd hats."

Jim: "...they're not that bad."

McCoy: "Yeah, they are."

Above the drawing is written "Trektober" and "Day 14 - Historical AU" Below it is written "@aerialworms" and "Spocktober"./End ID]

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

More Precious Than Rubies: Part 3a

This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.

WC: 2662

TW: SVU-typical talk of rape and sexual assault cases.

AN: The prompt was "I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage."

When the jury read their verdict of “not guilty” on all counts, you breathed a sigh of relief and then tended to your client, who collapsed against you in broken sobs.  You got him collected, then you both went out and made a brief statement to the assembled press.  You shook Jeremy’s hand and wished him well, and then you stood a moment in the weak April sunlight.

You descended the steps of the courthouse slowly, one at a time, and thought about what you should do. 

It was late in the day – you could go back to your airless little utility closet of an office and wrap up you paperwork on the case.  Or you could start making your way towards home.  Most of the cops and ADAs went to celebrate or commiserate at Forlini’s, but two blocks up was a charming little Spanish wine bar that most tourists walked right past.  It was right near your subway stop – you could go finish your paperwork there.

You had been a good student in high school and undergraduate, and you’d been top of the class in law school.  The sole subject you struggled in had been math and calculus, so it was fortunate that law didn’t require much higher math beyond calculating what consecutive sentences would add up to.

If you had been good at higher math, you’d know what an inflection point was – a moment when a curve changes from being concave to convex, or vice versa.  Life was full of inflection points – when the path a person could take is changed or decided on.  Most times, the person in question had no idea how their little choices affected the larger arc of their life. 

Take the subway or walk.  Eat the street meat or the leftovers you packed from home.  Go to Fordham law or Columbia law.

Turn right, towards your office.  Or turn left towards home.

Today, you turned left.

********

Barba was livid.  The problem was, he didn’t know who to be madder at:  himself, or Liv, or the rest of the SVU squad. 

He should have known better.  He should have known.  How many times had SVU handed him flimsy cases with circumstantial evidence?  How many times had he sent them away, refusing to even consider a case until it was more solid?

Too many times, and yet here he was – dodging Jack McCoy, sneaking out of the office, creeping past Forlini’s without looking through the plate glass windows, ducking into a tiny wine bar.  Steadying his nerves with a glass of ruby-red Garnacha and just letting the alcohol inflame his temper even more.

Because he should have known better.

And once he worked through his uncharitable feelings about his detectives, he moved on to the irritating new public defender.  If he had been intrigued by you initially, it quickly wore off once he saw you shred his admittedly feeble case.  You caught the social media posts that NYPD didn’t, but that didn’t make you a brilliant lawyer – it just meant you were thorough.  And lucky.  The next time he faced off with you in court, he’d settle the score.  And he’d do it with the same, tiny, infuriating smile you had sported during closing arguments. 

He finished off his first glass of wine and then ordered another, along with a charcuterie tray for one, as if he didn’t already feel like a loser.  He sipped his wine slower and tried to enjoy the notes of plum and juniper.  After his last overdue annual physical (and his doctor clucking over his blood pressure), Barba had downloaded some meditation app that basically charged him $2.99 a month to tell him to close his eyes and take deep breaths.  While he waited for the world’s smallest, saddest charcuterie tray, he closed his eyes and did just that.

He could feel the tension loosen a little bit.  His pulse slowed.  He took another sip of wine and tried to savor it.  Everything would be fine.  He’d take his lumps from McCoy, then he’d march over to the 16th precinct and give Liv a stern speech about sloppy police work.  Then he’d do better, be more vigilant, work harder.

When he opened his eyes finally, his newfound serenity evaporated immediately.  Across the bar, settling into a stool and pulling a stack of papers out of a battered satchel, was the irritating new public defender.  He ducked down and watched you furtively.  You shed your grey jacket.  You ordered a glass of white wine but no food, and you bent over your papers.  Your face was drawn and serious, as if you hadn’t just scored an impressive victory against the district attorney’s office. 

The waiter bringing Barba’s food created a flurry of activity that drew your eye, and Barba saw you see him.  You nodded at him in greeting and gave him a smile, and he wasn’t sure if it was meant to be friendly or to gloat.  He embraced his foul mood as it returned and settled for the latter instead of the former.

He scowled back at you and pointedly ignored you to focus on his food, but not before he saw you carefully gather up your stuff and walk around the bar to join him.  He was unable to be explicitly rude and ignore you, so he sighed and turned to face you.

“You here to gloat?” he asked, and he watched your face turn from casually friendly to guarded.

“I’m not gloating,” you replied.  “I wanted to say it was a good case, and that you did your best.”

Barba scoffed and took a deep swig of wine, polishing it off in one gulp.  “Liar.  It was a weak case, and now you’re gloating.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and watched him as he ordered another glass of wine.  “I’d think that you’d be happy that you weren’t responsible for getting an innocent man locked up,” you said, and your voice was clipped and almost borderline angry. 

He swiveled in his seat so that he could face you directly.  You weren’t wrong, but Barba was still smarting from such a humiliating defeat – especially on a case he shouldn’t have even taken to trial.  He had no one to blame but himself, but the heady red wine was hitting him harder than his usual scotch did, so he snapped back at you.

“Enjoy your victory,” he said, and you narrowed your eyes further until they were mere slits in your face, glaring out at him.  “You won’t get another.”  And then he turned back in his seat to make sure you knew you were dismissed.

He’d feel bad about it in the morning.  You were just some green public defender, some bleeding heart, probably, and likely someone who just eked out a law degree and a license from passing the bar.  And you had kept an innocent man out of prison.  But law was a zero-sum game:  every case you won was a case he lost.

And more than anything else, Barba loved to win. 

-----

It was another month before Barba faced off against you again, and it ended in a draw – guilty on a lesser count, not guilty on the more serious charge.  You’d be able to make a plea for leniency during sentencing.  When court was dismissed, he turned to nod at you, but you deliberately tilted your head in that sometimes-cute, mostly-irritating way you had and ignored him.

The next match up was just two weeks later, and you lost it handily.  Guilty on all counts, and your client was a repeat rapist, but Barba begrudgingly admitted that you gave him a good defense.  The defendant would not be able to appeal based on incompetent counsel.  Again, you refused to look at Barba, but he couldn’t miss the tension that melted from your frame when your client was led out in cuffs.  He realized that you had to defend monsters, and he wondered if you just now realized it yourself.

He got to talk to you a little during those cases, when you both did the mandatory tap dance around possible plea deals.  Even if you were young, you were a fierce competitor, snapping back at his own witty one-liners with sarcastic rejoinders of your own.  Unlike the other lawyers he squared off with, though, you never made it personal.  You never snarked on his suits (like Calhoun), and you never called him a peacock (like Buchanan).  You just threw out obscure case law and legal precedents that he sometimes wasn’t aware of.

Meetings with you left him both invigorated and exhausted.  Like a sudden burst of adrenaline that, when it was spent, made him weary.

He conceded that you knew what you were doing.  You seemed to know the law inside and out, and you seemed to have a supernatural instinct for when SVU was floating a weak case.  Barba wondered what your relationship with Carisi had been like – maybe your ability to see through the squad’s posturing came from whatever had happened between you and the lanky detective. 

Barba asked Liv about it once.  Liv had just shrugged and said that you and Carisi had already been a couple when he came to Manhattan’s SVU, and then a few months later, Carisi had turned up to work with red eyes and rumpled clothes for a long stretch before pulling himself together.

“She was sweet,” Liv said.  “She used to bring in lunch and dinner when we were working overtime.  But she was still in school then, I think.  Fordham.”

Barba pictured you in college student garb, maybe a pair of faded jeans and a Fordham sweatshirt, your face sans makeup and your hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail.  He pictured you bringing in boxes of food for the squad, maybe sitting and chatting with them a bit while Carisi played footsie with you under the table.  He pictured the tall detective walking you out, kissing you and promising to see you at home soon. 

Barba felt a measure of melancholic jealousy for that imagined domestic scene.  He’d love to have a girlfriend who brought him food when he was working late.  More to the point, he’d love to have a reason to even go home instead of pulling late nights in his office.  His mind started to wander to an imagined scene where you brought him food in his office, where he kissed you and promised to see you at home….he shoved that daydream aside violently.  Not you.  Anyone but the irritating public defender who stung and maddened him like a deep papercut that kept breaking back open after he thought it had healed.

He wondered again idly what had broken the two of you up.  Likely being on opposite sides of the law, Barba figured.  Carisi, the cocker spaniel of special victims advocate, and you, an avenging angel of the poorest criminals Manhattan had to offer.

-----

SVU had a new case:  a sixteen year-old, Anthony Forni, was being tried as an adult for sexual assault of a neighbor in his apartment building.    

And a familiar face caught it for the defense.

Barba and Liv were in his office, chatting about the case when Carmen knocked on the door and announced you.  As per your usual routine, you nodded curtly at Liv before zeroing in on Barba like a heat-seeking missile.  You marched over to stand on the other side of his desk, and Barba knew by now not to bother with polite small talk about the weather.  He seemed to have lost that privilege when he rebuffed you all those months ago at the wine bar.

“Counselor,” he said in greeting, and his mentally girded himself for a fight.  Increasingly, your meetings with him were getting tenser.  It was his fault, probably, when he made it personal by calling you “girl wonder” sarcastically once, and you had glared at him so hard that he almost withered under the force of your stare.  Almost.

“The Forni case,” you replied.  “Let’s talk plea deal.”

He scoffed at this and saw Liv start to open her mouth to add her two cents, so he held a silencing hand out to her.  “I’ll take my chances at court.”

The corner of your mouth twitched as you fought a smile.  “You sure about that, Barba?”

“I’d consider rape in the second degree.  Five years, and he goes on the registry.”

“I’d consider forcible touching,” you retorted.  “Probation, mandatory therapy.”

Barba laughed outright.  “A misdemeanor?  Don’t waste my time.”

You held up your hand and ticked off your points.  “One, you can’t prove that my client even had sex with the victim…”

“The rape kit tested positive for lubricant,” Live cut in, and you just rolled her interruption into your list of points without even looking at her.

“Two, the victim is married and is rumored to have a piece on the side, so lubricant is a non-issue.”  You paused for a split second, waiting for another interruption.  Your eyes never left Barba’s; he wondered if you were this intense with other ADAs.  He couldn’t imagine you staring down Callier or O’Dwyer with such passion. 

“Three,” you continued, “Forni’s mother has been fighting with the victim over noise complaints for months.”

“Which gives me a motive for the defendant attacking her,” Barba cut in.

“Which gives me a motive for the victim lying,” you snapped.  “And four, I have reason to believe that my client is himself a victim of sexual abuse.  He needs therapy and support, not hard time with grown men.”

“How noble of you,” Barba murmured, and he saw you clench your jaw.  “But what about support for the victim?  Moreover, what about justice?”

“What’s just about sending an underaged kid to an adult prison?  That’s vengeance.”

Barba shrugged.  “That’s the law.”

“An eye for the eye makes the whole world blind,” you replied, and Barba laughed outright again.  He was thinking, more and more, that you were some sort of bleeding-heart do-gooder after all. 

“Embroider it on a pillow,” he snarked.  “Don’t use it for a basis of legal argument.”

“At least I keep it pithy,” you sassed back at him.  “Your closing arguments are so wordy and long-winded, you couldn’t embroider it on a blanket.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, and Barba refused to look away first.  Instead, he studied your face, smirking a bit at the way your nostrils flared almost imperceptibly as you raged quietly.  Finally, you blinked and stepped away from his desk.

“I’ll see you in court then,” you declared, and you flounced out without another word.  Barba could practically feel the energy in the room shift as you left, like you were a storm front passing by.

He leaned back in his chair and then glanced over at Liv.  He’d nearly forgotten that she was even there.  That was the problem with you:  in court and in these little encounters, the rest of the world seemed to fall away.  Liv, for her part, was giving him that infuriating soft smile she had when she felt like she had some new insight into Barba’s character or inner thoughts.

“What?” he barked, sounding meaner than he intended.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Her smile widened.  “I saw you staring at each other.  I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”

“Neither,” he said.  “And stop smiling like that.  It’s just business.”

Liv held up her hands in mock surrender and stood up to leave too.  But the smile never left her face, and she even chuckled softly to herself as she made her way to the door.

“For my money, that looked a lot like sexual tension to me,” she said, and she ducked out of his office before he had a chance to come up with a snarky response.

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part nineteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

you make some new friends.

a/n: this might be my favourite chapter yet. I had sooooooo much fun writing it, and finally touching on/adapting scenes from the show is bringing me so much joy I can’t wait to get to the meat of it, but the parts between now and then excite me too!!

word count: 6.7k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, if you’ve been reading up until now you know the drill, I’m getting lazy with my warnings LOL, no smut here, a bit of angst, F R I E N D S H I P

✨@friskito-library for new works and updates✨

Your days in the radio room have become more and more frequent, since your run-in with Gwen and her crew. It’s like you told Tess; with Hartford gone, you’d lost one of your more consistent meet-ups, and you needed to know what else was out there. You needed new connections, new friends, allies. You needed something. In case Boston went belly-up and needed to get the hell out of dodge and never look back, you needed a soft place to land.

Abe’s garnered quite the collection, over the years, and it’s like everywhere you look, there’s another wire connecting from one wall to the next, batteries that probably shouldn’t still work plugged into far too many devices. His map collection is something to write home about, and you spend some time trying to figure out the path Joel and Tommy took from Austin, but when your finger finds Cincinnati, your chest goes tight, and you return to the room Abe’s set up for just for you, branched off the main room he uses to send requested messages.

You’re still paying him with cigarettes, although some of them are the hand-rolled FEDRA shit that McCoy has a penchant for. The soldier’s other habits always seem to win, though, and you always have at least half a dozen for Abe, who’s quietly grateful, waving you off into the side room, closing the door behind you.

“I don’t wanna know,” he told you when you first asked. It’s been a while now, though you stopped for a while when Nick shot Joel, when you both needed time to recover. “Just do what you need to do, and leave me out of it, okay?”

“So you don’t want any more cigarettes?”

He pointed a finger at you. “I never said that.”

And here you are, one side of the big headphones pressed to your ear. The foam has definitely seen better days, but the sound is relatively clear. You’ve kept a notebook of your contacts, the frequencies they’re usually on, the days of the week and times they’re usually available. Today, you’ve gone through every single one, and no one is out there. So you’re just twisting the dials, the strange sound of the static and frequencies almost giving you a headache, but then—

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’, cuz I’ve built my life around you.

You haven’t heard that song in a long, long time. In fact, you’re pretty sure the last time you heard it was in Joel’s truck, in that field just outside of Austin, staring up at the stars. Fleetwood Mac has always been one of your favourites, and you slide the other side of the headphones over, encasing yourself in the song, shutting your eyes as the music crackles over the radio.

But time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I’m getting older, too.

You can feel the song in your soul. It digs straight into your chest, the crooned lyrics wrapping around your heart and squeezing tight.

Oh, I’m getting older, too.

You let it wash over you, sinking back into the chair, wrapping your arms around yourself, tilting your head back on your shoulders and making the cable connecting the headset to the radio stretch. You’ve found a few cassette tapes over the years — namely the same Led Zeppelin album you’d once given Joel for his truck — but you make a mental note to keep your eye out for Fleetwood Mac or Stevie Nicks.

The song finishes, and you sigh, straightening in the chair, reaching out to turn off the radio, fingers brushing against the knob.

“If there’s anybody out there, my name is Frank. I’m on frequency 1462. We have resources, and we are looking to trade.”

He repeats himself again, and then another song starts. More Fleetwood, Go Your Own Way.

Well, shit.

Your fingers fly across the knobs, turning to the right frequency, wincing at the whine as it clicks on. You reach for the microphone.

“Hello?”

There’s a fraction of a pause before, “Oh my god, hi!”

If your years of smuggling have taught you anything, it’s that you can’t trust anybody right off the bat. You have to be wary, you have to be careful. Hell, there are still people you’ve traded with that you don’t trust as far as you can throw. It’s just the way things are.

But fuck, if he doesn’t have the kindest-sounding voice.

“Is this Frank?”

“It is!” he replies, his excitement somehow palpable through the radio waves. “Oh my god, I was starting to think no one was gonna hear that message.”

“It’s a good song,” you laugh, pulling the mic closer to you on the table. “Haven’t heard it in a long time.”

“It’s a classic,” he agrees, and there’s a slight pause before, “Okay, I’m gonna admit, I have no idea how to do this.”

“How to do…?”

“Make deals,” he says, “meet people over the radio. Have you done this before?”

You’re not quite sure how much truth you should offer a perfect stranger, regardless of how kind he sounds. If this is a FEDRA trap, chances are good you’ll be able to blackmail your way out of it. So you settle on, “Once or twice.”

“Am I allowed to know your name? Or is that not…?”

“It’s Liv,” you offer. “Where are you, Frank?”

He pauses again. “I’m not sure if I should…” You can hear the sudden hesitancy in his tone; you know it well.

“Why don’t I tell you how I normally do this?”

“That would be perfect.”

“You tell me what you have to offer, I tell you what I have to trade. We settle on terms, pick a meeting spot and a date, and that’s that. You don’t kill me or my people, I don’t kill you or yours, and we part ways with what we’ve bargained for. Simple.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“But before we get into that, can we at least make sure we’re in the same state? I try not to cross the borders if I can manage it.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” he agrees. “We’re in Massachusetts.”

“Good,” you nod, reaching for your notebook and pen, scrawling Frank’s name on your page, along with the frequency number. “So are we.”

“Coast?”

“Pretty close.”

“Good.”

“So we’re in the same state,” you say, tapping the pen against the paper. “What are you offering to trade, Frank?”

“Tell me something first,” he prompts, and your brow lifts slowly. “How long do your…relationships with traders usually last?”

Your throat bobs, Gwen’s screaming voice echoing through your head, but you shove it away. “Depends. As long as everyone holds up their end of the deal, there’s no real time limit.”

“What’s the longest you’ve traded with someone?”

“There’s a group in Providence I’ve been trading with since 2008. Never had any issues there.”

“Uh-huh, good to know. The thing is, what I’m proposing here, it might not be the same as the other deals you’ve made. We’re well-protected here. My partner, Bill, he’s…he’s a survivalist, and he’s built this place to last. We’re not going anywhere fast, we’re sustainable.”

“Meaning you wouldn’t come to the city,” you say, catching on, and now you’re the one feeling hesitant. “Depending how far out you are, it might not be worth it to us. There’d have to be something worth the risk each time, and I don’t—”

“Freshly cooked meals,” he says, and you stop dead. “Fresh vegetables. Wine, the good kind. New clothes, building materials, and weap—”

“Stop,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “I only trust the radio so far. Give me coordinates, and a date, and we go from there.”

He gives you the coordinates, you scribble the numbers down, and decide on a date, three days from today. You say your goodbyes, and you tell him not to get back on the radio until you’ve met, but to keep playing the music, so you know everything is still a-go. “You like Fleetwood Mac?”

“I love Fleetwood Mac.”

“Then you and I are gonna get along just fine.”

You can’t help the smile in your voice. “I’ve got a good feeling about this, Frank.”

“Me, too.”

“Well, I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

“See you soon. Oh, and Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay safe.”

It catches you off guard, makes something crawl up the back of your throat.“Thanks, Frank. You too.”

You dial to a different frequency the moment you’re done, shutting down the radio entirely, and leave without a word. Abe doesn’t so much as glance at you as you head out, past the long string of people waiting patiently for him to send their messages.

+

Joel’s home before you are, which is a shock.

His back is killing him. Tommy’s skipped out on every single one of his jobs lately, and Joel feels like every time he turns a corner, there’s something else that needs repairs, another new face asking him to fix something. His hands hurt, he’s got a kink in his neck, and all he really wants to do is fall into bed and have your body curled against his.

He sighs as he gets through the door, brow pinching when he doesn’t find you perched at the table or sitting on the couch, head bent over your maps or flipping through your notebooks. It’s become habit for you lately, wanting to build up your connections more and more, now that Hartford is gone.

The guilt over the entire situation lingers in the back of Joel’s mind, a nagging voice that sounds suspiciously like his brother.

Joel shakes the thought away. He did what he had to, to protect you. To protect his wife, his family.

He did what he had to.

Locking the door behind him, he tosses his makeshift tool bag — a ratty backpack he found at the donation hall before it shut down — into the corner, and flops onto the couch. He slings his hand over his eyes. He’ll just close them for a minute, just until you’re home, until you’re…

A nightmare latches onto him with a vice-like grip, throws him fully out of sleep with a gasp, his chest heaving.

“Joel?” your voice calls, a soft echo across the apartment, and he turns to see you perched in one of the kitchen chairs, pencil between your teeth, your hair falling in your eyes. “Baby, you okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away, swinging his legs off the couch, getting to his feet with a groan. He rubs at his lower back as he pads over to the kitchen, coming to stand behind you. He leans forward and plants both hands on the table either side of you, leaning down until he can fit his chin into the curve of your neck, planting soft kisses at your pulse.

“Fine, now that you’re home,” he mumbles, and you lean back into him slightly, turning your head so you can kiss at his, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair. “You were out late.”

“I’ve been home for hours,” you reply, huffing a laugh, setting the pencil on the table. Your maps are all spread out, the big one of Massachusetts on the top. “You’ve been asleep the entire time. Didn’t wanna wake you.”

Joel drags one hand off the table, moves his arm so it’s slung around your chest, curling his fingers around your rib cage. “How nice of you.”

“Best wife ever,” you say, and Joel laughs into your skin. “Oh, and there’s dinner for you. Abe’s wife sent me home with food as thank you for fixing their door the other day.”

“What is it?”

“Something with Spam in it,” you tell him, and Joel wrinkles his nose. “It tastes better than it looks.”

“Noted,” he grumbles, pressing one last kiss to your throat before he straightens, spine creaking as he goes. “Fuck, I’m getting old.”

“I think the grey in your beard suits you,” you answer, turning back to your maps, “just for the record.”

The corner of his mouth quirks as he heads for the fridge, fishing out the plate of food and leaning against the counter. “How was your day, baby?”

Your pencil drops again, and you push your chair back, the legs squeaking against the floor. You turn yourself towards him fully, slowly getting to your feet, taking a step towards him. “I made a friend.”

Joel’s brow quirks. You know a lot of people in the QZ, that much he knows for certain, but he’s really not sure how many of them you would refer to as friends. “Oh?”

“On the radio. His name is Frank.” You turn back to the maps, eyes raking over the paper, your finger finding a spot marked with pencil. “He lives in Lincoln, and we’re gonna go see him in three days.”

He nearly drops the plate. “What?”

“I mapped out the path. It’s a bit of a hike, almost five hours outside of Boston, but—”

“Ten miles?” Joel repeats, and you just nod. “Liv, we’ve barely been outside the city limits, and you wanna hike ten miles to some random stranger?”

“Frank,” you say, your tone almost petulant, and Joel puts the plate down. “They have food, Joel. Real food, not bullshit QZ rations. Wine, weapons, building materials. New clothes. This could be good for us, Joel. Really good.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “You want me to hike five hours for wine?”

“I want you to hike ten miles for a chance at something good, Joel. Something new.” Your gaze drops and you knot your hands together. “Something to make up for what we did, maybe. Somehow. I don’t know. I just…I feel good about this, baby. And it’s just a meeting, to start. I didn’t promise him anything, just that we’d meet, and we’d talk. Then we go from there.”

Something in your voice tugs at him, and for a moment, Joel’s not quite sure what it is, but then it hits him.

It’s hope. It’s the most hopeful you’ve sounded in a long time, and when you take another step toward him, he opens his arms to you.

“The route will take us right past Cumberland Farms,” you continue, and Joel cups your hip in his palm, letting out a quiet oomph as you lean against him, reaching up to twine your arms around your neck. “We can stop there first, stash some stuff just in case.”

“A safety net,” Joel says, and you nod.

“Exactly.”

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“You were asleep for a long time,” you reply, and Joel just scoffs, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Wait,” you pull back, moving one hand to the middle of his chest, pushing lightly. “Is that a yes?”

“Well, I’m not about to let you go by yourself now, am I?”

+

It’s a long fucking hike.

Thankfully, it’s relatively easy. The path you’d chosen isn’t overly adventurous, no daunting hills or thick forests. It’s mostly open air, rolling fields, forests either side of the roads. The weather is beautiful, which is a plus, though you can feel the sweat pouring down your back as you walk, on the right side of Joel, as always.

You recount the entire conversation you had with Frank to Joel as you walk. Tess had offered to come with you, too, but you decided the two of you would go for the first meeting, and if things worked out, then you’d all go together the next time. You could tell part of her was relieved, and she admitted to you later she had plans to see Robin the same day you were going.

“You got instinct, baby,” Joel tells you after you’ve finished the story, your fingers twined together as he pulls you out of the path of a fallen telephone wire in the middle of the road. “Don’t forget that. I’ve seen it; you know what you’re doing. And if you feel good about this, then I’m game. We see what happens. And if anyone tries to lay a hand on you—”

“Hit ‘em real fuckin’ hard with my bat.”

He grins. “That’s my girl.”

The praise makes your chest warm, and when he’s close enough, you slide yourself against him, slipping your arm around his waist, tugging his around your shoulders. “Your wife is a badass, Joel Miller,” you say, and he barks a laugh, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “In case you weren’t aware.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he says, his brows lifting. “Believe me, I’m aware. It’s fuckin’ hot. Only reason I married you.”

Now you’re the one that laughs, sliding your hand into his back pocket and squeezing his ass through his jeans. “Jackass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, and squeezes your shoulder, turning his head to kiss the top of your head. “Liv, baby?”

“Mmm?”

“When we get back to Boston, I’m gonna try and talk to Tommy. Make peace or somethin’.”

You nearly stop dead in your tracks. In fact, if Joel wasn’t still walking with his arm around you, you might have fallen over. But you don’t let your shock be known, schooling your face as neutral as possible while letting one brow raise. “Oh, really?”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot, and I just…He’s my baby brother. He’s a fuckin’ idiot, and he’s gonna get himself killed, but he’s family. And we keep going for family, so I gotta fix it. Somehow.”

Slowly, you nod. “You think he’s gonna tell the Fireflies about me?”

“I’ll break his fuckin’ nose if he does.”

“Joel.” You smack at his chest. “That’s not how you fix it.”

“I know, I know. It’s…” Joel shakes his head. “I want to believe he won’t. I really do.”

“So talk to him,” you say with a nod. “See what happens, go from there, and please, just don’t fucking hit each other.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You continue on, the sun beating down on your every step. There’s not much more conversation, but the silence is easy, a comfort. Joel doesn’t let you wander far, you eventually step out of his grip but your hands are still linked together.

Your stop at Cumberland Farms is brief. In the early days, you brought a stash box to the gas station, tucked it below one of the floor panels. You and Joel mostly empty your packs into the box, some ammunition, a spare knife, food that’ll last a good while. A backup. You pull one of the long-empty freezers over the panel, try to make the trash and debris cover it up, just to be safe. Joel gives you a nod of approval, and then you keep going.

Eventually, the tree-lined road gives way to open space. More hills, dips in the earth. Far in the distance, you see a plane broken in half on the hilltop — an emergency landing gone wrong — and your stomach rolls at the thought of what’s still up there.

But then you turn another corner, and it’s even worse.

Beside you, you hear Joel’s quiet shock. “What in the…?”

You grip his hand tighter, pushing yourself against him, tearing your eyes from the sight before you. “I thought he was lying.”

Joel’s head whips in your direction. “What? Who? You knew about this?”

You swallow hard around the lump that’s formed in your throat. “Early days, after the outbreak. Like, the week after, FEDRA swept through the small towns and evacuated them. Told people they were going to a QZ. And they were, if there was room. If not…” You tilt your head towards the pit.

“How did you know? You’ve been out this way?”

“Never this far,” you answer, shaking your head. “Nick, he…he told me about it.” Joel stiffens, and you squeeze his arm. “He wasn’t part of it, but he knew soldiers that were. It wasn’t just here; it was all over. Across the country. Who fucking knows how many people FEDRA killed.”

“I just don’t get why.”

“Better dead than infected.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, and pulls you closer, turning you away from it. Not that it makes a difference; you know you’ll be seeing the half-buried skeletons, the scraps of clothing and the scattered belongings, in the back of your mind for a long time. “Maybe there’s a path through the forest.”

You shake your head. “Just keep going.”

“Liv—”

“Keep going, Joel.”

So you do. You try to bury the sight, try to push it away, try to focus on where you’re going instead.

It’s like you turn the corner, and all of a sudden, there’s a town right in front of you. A small town, to be sure, a handful of buildings, some that have seen better days, and when your eyes land on the nine-foot metal fence around the perimeter, Frank’s wavy voice on the radio echoes through your head.

We’re well-protected here.

He sure as hell wasn’t lying.

As you approach the fence, Joel situates himself in front of you, his expression wary, an arm held out, protector mode on. You get closer, and suddenly it strikes you that you have no idea what Frank looks like. You have no idea who you’re looking for.

But you’re pretty sure it’s not the large bearded man with the giant fucking gun pointed at your head.

Instantly, you’ve both got your hands in the air, Joel still a half step in front of you. “What do you want?” the man barks, lifting the gun a little higher, switching between aiming the barrel at your head and at Joel’s.

“We’re here to see Frank,” you say instantly, nearly tripping over the words. “I’m Liv, this is Joel. I spoke to Frank on the radio.”

“Oh my fucking…Bill, put the gun down!” another, strangely familiar voice shouts, and over the larger man’s — Bill’s — shoulder, you see a slightly smaller man, a touch taller than Bill, but thinner, his hair shorter, his beard a little more well-kept. He’s got a dishrag over his shoulder, and as he jogs up to Bill, pushing his partner aside and reaching for the gate before you, he grins at you.

The gun is lowered, but as Frank pulls the gate open, Bill pulls out the same bio-scanner machine you’ve seen FEDRA soldiers toting around back in the QZ, and your heart sinks into your toes.

“Would you put that thing away?” Frank chides, waving at Bill, beaming at you now as you take a hesitant step towards the now-open gate. “You must be Liv.”

His smile is infectious, and as Bill stows the scanner, your excitement returns. “Hi, Frank.”

“Come in, come in!” he says, and reaches for your hand, tugging you through. “You guys are just in time; lunch is almost ready. Right, Bill?”

“…yes.”

Joel’s a half step behind you now, his hand finding the small of your back as you walk through the gate completely. Bill sniffs as you step past, and closes the gate behind you both, hitting a keypad that emits a loud beep, the heavy sound of magnets slamming together.

You’re at a loss for words as you follow Frank down the street. It looks so…normal. So alive, so lived in. You’ve become so accustomed to abandoned buildings and broken windows; to be around buildings that look well taken care of, a house that looks like it belongs to someone, you’re at a loss.

“This place is beautiful,” you manage to say, picking up your pace to keep up with Frank. “It looks so…”

“Normal?” Frank asks, and you just nod, giving a little laugh. “Cookie-cutter? I know. It’s definitely grown on me.”

“You weren’t always here?”

“Oh, no, not always. It’s been about…three years now? Something like that?” He waves a hand. “We can talk more about that stuff over lunch. You two must be starving.”

You turn another corner, and the most beautiful house stands before you. Two stories, perfect white picket fence out front, planters filled with flowers lining the walkways, the hedges and lawn neatly trimmed. A US flag sticks out from the front of the house, the fabric billowing in the warm breeze, and you nearly topple over when you see the patio furniture set out, four chairs around a table, each place already set, wine in the middle, glasses at each spot.

You and Joel are frozen in place, but Frank continues on, stepping through the small gate in the fence and walking towards the table. Bill stalks past you, heading into the house, and Frank waves you on. “Come! Sit!”

Joel’s hand pushes against your back, his voice low in your ear. “You still feelin’ good about this?”

“Very,” you reply, and let him propel you forward slightly, unable to wipe the grin on your face as you walk towards the table.

You take a seat, Joel sliding into the chair next to you, and Frank produces a bottle of wine, filling the glass in front of you. Joel gives a little nod as Frank fills his glass, and you’ll be the first to admit you reach for the glass quickly, taking a long sip that tastes like heaven. You’ve never been a huge wine drinker; you indulged every once in a while before — the occasional glass if you were out for dinner, and your mom had a penchant for rosé — but this is good fucking wine.

“How long did it take you guys?” Frank asks as he fills his own glass, then the empty seat for Bill. “Easy travels I hope?”

“‘Bout five hours,” Joel answers as you take another sip. “No Infected, and the weather’s good.”

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Frank says, still beaming at you, and you’re smiling into your wine. “We’ll eat first, and then I’ll show you two around. Bill’s a bit…hesitant about the whole thing, but he’ll come around. He’s a big softie.” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly. “Sort of.”

As if on cue, the front door opens, and Bill appears, calling Frank’s name. The taller man rises, jogging towards the door and when he turns back, he has two plates of food in his hands. It’s fine china, piled with steaming veggies and pieces of meat, actual fucking gravy and Bill has a bowl of dinner rolls tucked in the crook of his arm.

Frank sets a plate down in front of you, and for a second, you honestly feel like you could cry. “Oh my god, thank you.” Bill hands the other two plates to Frank, then disappears towards the house. Frank goes to follow, but then waves his hand at his partner’s back.

“He can handle the salad himself.” He settles into the seat across from you, gestures to the plate you’re still staring at. “Go ahead, eat! There’s more too, if you’re still hungry after.”

Joel wastes no time, but you wait for Bill to return, saying your thanks when he hands you a bowl of salad that looks fresh from the garden. Your mouth is watering. He just gives you a curt nod, sinks into the chair opposite of Joel, and pulls a handgun from the holster on his leg, setting it beside his plate. A warning, and you see Joel’s eyes dart to it before he glances at you. You sip your wine again, your hand finding Joel’s thigh beneath the table.

“Well, this is just incredible,” you say, breaking the awkward silence that’s settled. “Honestly, it’s just…it’s amazing, truly.”

“Right?” Frank agrees, giving you an almost conspiratorial grin. He picks up the wine bottle from the table, gestures to your glass. “Refill?”

“Please,” you say, holding your glass out.

Frank side-eyes Bill as he picks up the gun, pulling back the hammer with a quiet click. “Could you not, please? They’re our guests.”

Joel stares at the gun for a long moment before, “I’m the same way.”

“Oh, you’re a paranoid schizophrenic, too?” Frank asks, and you have to stifle your chuckle, covering your mouth with your hand so you don’t spit wine.

Bill rolls his eyes. “I’m not a schizophrenic.”

Bill and Joel share another glance, and you take another sip of wine before clearing your throat. “Well, I just wanna say, uh, gun aside — which I get, for the record.” You squeeze Joel’s leg beneath the table. “You’re protecting your family. But this is just so nice, and so appreciated, to have a meal like this, in such a beautiful place. It’s been so long since things felt normal, and this…even if we don’t end up working together, I just…thank you. Both of you.”

Frank meets your eyes, holding his glass towards you. “We are working together.”

“We haven’t even—” you start, but before you can finish your sentence, Frank sets down his glass for a moment and gets to his feet, reaching for his glass and the bottle again.

“You know what?” he says, giving you a grin. “Let’s go inside. Liv, I wanna show you something.”

You feel Joel’s eyes slide back to you, his brow furrowed deeply, and you squeeze his leg one more time before you’re getting up. “Actually, I’m dying to see the inside.”

“Let’s go,” Frank continues, ignoring Bill’s protests. “Bring your wine.” As you follow him towards the house, he pauses to let you catch up, turning to you. “Like I said, he’ll come around, he just…takes a while.”

You can’t help your chuckle. “Reminds me of Joel.”

As you step inside the house, you’re at a loss for words. Antique furniture, beautiful paintings, and it feels like a home. A stark contrast to your apartment back in Boston, which has felt more and more like just a place to keep your stuff. Especially since Joel showed up; wherever he was, that was home.

You dance your fingers across the piano keys as Frank turns towards the dining room, a large mahogany table taking up most of the space, matching chairs, an old grandfather clock, a covered desk. You don’t have enough of a musical ear to know if the piano is still in tune or not, but then Frank calls your name, and you wander over, sipping your wine as you go, careful not to let it spill.

“This place is amazing,” you comment, and Frank grins, turning to rifle through one of the desk drawers. “Did you and Bill find this place? I’m shocked it’s in such good condition.”

“No, Bill has always lived here,” Frank answers, still searching for something. “I was heading for Boston, after the Baltimore QZ fell. There were ten of us originally, but by the time I ended up here, I was the only one left.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, almost a reflex, and Frank waves you off. “So, you and Bill…you found each other, in the middle of all this?”

He finds what he’s looking for, something concealed in his hand as he pushes the drawer shut, and the grin on his face as he straightens to look at you makes your chest warm. He’s just so charming, kindness radiating off of him in waves. You’re not used to it.

“We did,” he says with a nod, an almost dreamy look in his eye. “It’s hopelessly romantic, isn’t it? Must be the artist in me. And you should have seen this place when I first got here. At least an inch of dust everywhere you looked.”

“Bill’s not much a cleaner?”

“He’s practical, but he forgets to pay attention to things sometimes. But he’s learning.” He smiles. “We all are.”

You scoff a little laugh. “That’s a good way to put it.”

Frank holds the thing he’d fished out of the desk to you. “For you.”

Your jaw drops. Fleetwood Mac. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he laughs, putting the cassette tape in your hands. “It’s yours. Landslide is on side B.”

“Frank, I can’t—”

“You can,” he presses, chuckling at your protest. “A token of appreciation for travelling this far to meet with us.” Before you can refuse, Frank turns, refilling his glass where he’d set it on the table and sinking into one of the chairs. “Now, tell me how this works.”

+

The majority of the afternoon is spent following Frank around, him showing you the numbered but incredible sights Lincoln has to offer. It feels like stepping into a history book in the best kind of way, and that feeling of normalcy, the white picket fence only adds to it.

“So, how long have you and Joel been you and Joel?” Frank asks. You’re in the clothing boutique, poking through the racks of clothes. Frank told you to pick out an outfit, and you’re taking your choices very seriously, your mind torn between desperately wanting something cute while knowing you need something practical.

“Hah. It’s, uh, complicated?” you reply, your voice hitching on the word. You rub the sleeve of a green sweater between your fingers, savouring the softness. “We knew each other before the outbreak.”

Over the top of the rack, you can see Frank make a face. “That doesn’t sound that complicated.”

Before you know it, you’ve told him everything. It throws you, to trust someone this quickly. But, he invited you into his home, trusted you not to turn on him and his partner, his family. And that warmth he seems to radiate, it just adds to it all, making you feel like you’ve known him much longer than you have.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” he says after you’ve given him the whole story. “So you were together in 2001, then you moved to Boston, then shit hits the fan, you’re still in Boston, and Joel shows up five years later with his brother and another woman?”

You nod, flicking through a rack to find a pair of black jeans in your size. “Yes, Tommy and Tess.”

“And Joel and Tess were a thing when they first got to Boston?”

“Yes.”

“Then Tess broke it off with Joel, and you two got back together? And she’s one of your closest friends?”

You nod again. “Yes.”

“And Tommy is…?”

You sigh. “Tommy is even more complicated. I think I’d need another bottle of wine before I even start talking about Tommy.”

Frank grins. “All the more incentive for you to come back.”

“As if I’m not already convinced.”

Outside the boutique, you can hear Joel calling your name. You glance at your watch. “Shit. We probably need to start heading back.”

“Take those,” Frank says, gesturing to the jeans in your hands. He has the green sweater you’ve decided on in his hands. “I told Bill to pack up some food for you too.”

You head out of the boutique and towards the gate, and as you approach, Joel and Bill walk out of the house, Joel’s bag slung over his shoulder, looking a bit fuller than it had when you arrived. He hands you your own bag, and Frank hands you the sweater as you crouch down to stuff the clothes in your bag. “You’re sure about this?” you ask, pulling the Fleetwood Mac cassette out of your back pocket.

“Of course,” Frank answers. “Don’t think of it as a gift. You’ll come back in a few weeks, and we’ll trade. 

“We will. And I’ll bring Tess, like I said.”

“Oh,” he continues, glancing over his shoulder at Joel and Bill, who have stopped a good ten feet behind you, “and I had this idea, that we should use codes for the radio. Y’know, just in case someone’s listening. I know you were worried, the first time we talked.”

You nod. “That’s a great idea. What kind of code are you thinking?”

“Music,” he grins. “Sixties, seventies, eighties. We’ve got this book on Billboard hits we could give you. Sixties if there’s nothing new, seventies if we’ve got something new, eighties if there’s trouble.”

“Eighties for trouble,” you repeat, nodding again. “I like that.”

“Good,” Frank says, and you get to your feet. “I gotta say, Liv, I felt good about this before, but now? It’s nice, so nice, to have new friends.” He reaches out, puts his hand on your arm. “And yes, before you try and deny it. That’s what we are.”

You can’t help your grin. “Friends.”

He grins back. “Friends.”

Joel and Bill have been talking the entire time you have, and when you glance back, you see Joel heading toward you, squinting in the sunlight. “Ready?” he asks as he comes to stand beside you, his hand finding the small of your back again, and you nod. He turns to Frank. “Thank you, for the lunch, and for…” He trails off, gesturing to you. “We needed this.”

Joel and Frank shake hands, and after, Frank pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders. “See you soon.”

+

You get back to the QZ late. You’re both exhausted, worn out by the hiking and the sun and the abundance of food. You’re both drooling over the leftovers Bill and Frank sent you home with, and as soon as you’re through the door to the apartment, Joel pulls out one of the containers, and you eat it with your fingers standing over the sink, both of you laughing at the absurdity of your day.

The next morning, Joel goes looking for Tommy.

Unsurprisingly, his brother has skipped out on his job for the umpteenth time, so as soon as morning curfew has passed, Joel heads into the city, and starts combing the buildings he knows are Firefly hideouts. The third building he’s poking around, and he’s stopped by a woman. She seemingly materializes out of the alleyway, arms crossed over her chest, dark hair tied back. She calls him by name, and Joel freezes.

“You won’t find him,” she says, her voice deeper than Joel is anticipating. “Tommy’s not here.”

Joel turns slowly, regards the woman as she steps out of the alley. She’s dressed the same as everybody else is, clothes that have seen better days, boots wrapped with duct tape. “You must be Marlene.”

“Guilty,” she answers.

“Where’s my brother?”

She looks down at the pavement, digs her toe into the asphalt. “Tommy left this morning.”

Joel’s stomach twists. “Left? What d’you mean, left?”

“I stationed him at our base in Minneapolis,” she says, and Joel’s heart stutters. “He left with a few other men this morning.”

His hands clench into fists. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I know how you feel about the Fireflies, Joel,” Marlene continues, and the edges of Joel’s vision tinge red. “Tommy told me. And I understand why you would have your…reservations. But your brother just wants to do some good.”

“My brother is a fucking idiot,” Joel spits. “Is that what you told him? That blowing shit up and killing soldiers was good?”

“We’re doing more than that,” Marlene starts, “and Tommy understands that. He knows what he signed up for.”

“Does he?” he replies, and his voice is climbing. There’s a handful of people out on the sidewalks, and some throw glances in his direction. “You turned him against his family. Against his own brother.”

“I didn’t turn him against you, Joel. Tommy made a choice.”

Joel shakes his head. He’s shaking with anger, confusion, fear — every emotion crawled up the back of his throat and making a home there. “That’s a load of shit.”

Marlene digs in her pocket and extends a folded piece of paper toward him. “This is the radio frequency for the base in Minneapolis. Give it a day or two, then try and get through. I know your wife works the radios, she shouldn’t have any problem reaching him.”

He just stares at her, eyes darting between her face and the piece of paper. But finally, the desperation that’s been added to the mix wins out, and he snatches the paper. “If he dies, it’s on you. I’m not responsible for what happens after that.”

“If he dies, I’ll await your wrath, Joel.”

Before he can do anything more, she turns on her heel and disappears, leaving Joel in the alleyway, alone.

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🍓in case tumblr eats the ending🍓

[artbyblastweave]

As a big superhero guy, I have a question: Why do you think it's so common to show Reed Richards, Tony Stark, Hank Pym, Hank McCoy (ESPESCIALLY those last two) as, at best, morally ambiguous and at worst, downright awful in modern portrayals? Is it standard American anti-intellectualism, tied into our growing distrust of science and technology, or is it just that they seem kinda bland?

I don't think it's anti-intellectualism per se. For three of the four I think it's just a consequence of contemporary writers being Allowed To Notice And Unpack Things.

For Reed Richards, it's the result of fans and writers applying a level of scrutiny to early plots and character beats that weren't intended to stand up to any real level of scrutiny. He's a guy who got all his best friends horribly mutated by taking them up in an untested spacecraft. He's a guy who brainwashed a bunch of captured skrulls into thinking they were cows. He's a guy who keeps whipping up extremely specific technological solutions to the problem at hand, which never seem to trickle down to the consumer market- hence the "Reed Richards is Useless" trope. And he's gotta dodge and weave around patriarchal accusations vis a vis a lot of the casual sexism of early FF, where Sue had limited combat utility and was often in the mix as the Damsel-in-distress classic. And obviously excising the unconsidered sexism from the dynamic is the right way to go, but treating that early recklessness/ruthlessness/callousness seriously, as an actual personality flaw that he has, and has to work around, is significantly more interesting than just rewriting the character to not behave like that.

For Iron Man it's the result of people starting to take more seriously the moral implications of the fact that he's an arms dealer and a billionaire. (Apocryphally, Stan Lee did this to see if he could create a character who would be popular with his left-leaning audience despite being everything they hate ideologically, but I take this with a grain of salt.) Another element, I think, is that in preparation for the release of Iron Man, Marvel made him a headliner in Civil War in 2007; the nature of Civil War lent itself to him doing a lot of authoritarian bullshit, and said bullshit sort of set the bar for his capacity for extreme behavior when pressed. Put Iron Man in any situation, try to determine the extent he'll go to in order to resolve it, and you have to take into account that time he was sticking his colleagues in virtual-reality prisons on behalf of the government. A demonstrated willingness to do atrocities for what you think of as the greater good does add some flavor and tension, I have to give them that!

For Hank Pym, it's totally down to the midlife crisis arc from 1981, where he rebranded as Yellowjacket, got drummed out of the Avengers for using excessive force, and battered his wife Janet when she tried to. You know. Talk him out of building a robot to perform a false flag attack against the rest of the team to get back in their good graces. The whole arc was supposed to be a very deliberate tragedy about his mental breakdown but it kind of poisoned the well on the character and became the thing future writers endlessly relitigate, either doubling down on it (The Ultimates, Marvel Zombies) or trying to repudiate it (Mighty Avengers, Avengers Academy.) Even before that, though, he had a pointed loose-cannon mad scientist situation going on even in comparison to the others on this list- his debut was a Twighlight zone-style horror story where he nearly gets himself killed testing the shrinking formula, and he also created Ultron and nearly got everyone killed that way!

I have no idea what's going on with Hank McCoy. I don't think I want to know what's going on with Hank McCoy. Every time I turn my ear in the direction of that corner of the fandom these days, all I hear is screaming. Are you guys alright

[bullet-prooflove]

When I fold, you see the best in me The joker and the queen

Companion piece to One Night

You see the fall coming. It starts the week before Sharon’s anniversary. Vince becomes more subdued, his mood brittle. He cancels plans, ignores your texts, dodges your calls. This time of year it’s hard for him, you understand that more than most.

You give him his space, whatever issues he needs to work out they aren’t with you and you don’t want to put that additional pressure on his shoulders. He has enough to think about with both Bode and Luke.

It’s late when he comes by your office. You’re standing in front of the whiteboard surveying the latest helicopter surveillance images of the forest.

The reason you were selected for this posting was because of your experience shutting down weed farms in the Appalachian Mountains, the strains that were coming out of there were potent, too potent for the kids whose hands they were finding their way into. High levels of THC were causing psychotic breaks in users as young as twelve years old.

Then there was the violence. A family of eight had been found slaughtered across three of their properties, each one containing a ransacked grow. You’d managed to catch the perpetrators as they off loaded the product to local contacts.

You’d been brought in when something similar had started to occur in the local area, there was a spike in high school students suffering from hallucinations and psychological issues. Three hikers had been killed up in Lakeport after they’d stumbled across a farm during a nature walk and there was some sort of Hatfields/McCoys style feud going on between two rival growers that was spilling out all over the place.

Vince stands beside you as you study the board, his fingers reaching for the yellow magnet you’ve placed over one of the images before he guides it a few miles north.

“I was out there earlier today.” He tells you, his fingertip trailing along the river. “If there is a farm it’s more likely to be here, closer to the water source, there’s less trees so more access to sunlight for the grow.”

“Thank you.” You say softly before writing the coordinates on the board with the marker.

“I’m an asshole.” He says abruptly into the space between you and you sigh, gesturing for him to take a seat on the battered couch that you sometimes nap on.

He winces as he lowers himself down onto the sofa, you can see the stiffness in his movements. You’d heard about the structure collapse over in Elmsdale, it had been an all hands on deck situation for the rescue crews. You note the dust in his hair, the streak of dirt still smeared across his cheek and realise he must have come straight here after his shift ended.

His fingers thread through yours, his thumb chasing over the back of your hand.

“I haven’t been fair to you.” He says quietly. “I’ve ignored you, shut you out…”

“I know why you did it Vince.” You say softly. “You forget that I’ve been through the same thing, that I know what it’s like when a birthday or anniversary comes around. Sometimes cutting yourself off is the only way to get through the day, to survive it.”

That’s the thing Vince forgets about you is that you get it, what he’s going through because you’ve been there before. You’d lost a partner back in Tennessee, the man you’d planned to marry. You still kept that ring in a velvet pouch at the back of your underwear drawer.

Jacob may be gone but his memory still lives on inside of you, the same way that Sharon’s still does in him. You will always treasure the time you spent together but that story is over, it’s time to start making new ones. That’s the part that Vince struggles with, the book is closed but sometimes a couple of pages fall out and he has to confront the loss all over again.

“I felt guilty.” He finds himself telling you. “That by being with you I was somehow betraying her.”

He shakes his head as he purses his lips together.

“Sharon wanted me to move on, she wanted me to be happy.” He says gruffly before he tilts his head up to look at you. “You give me so much joy Annie. I wake up with a smile on my face, I sing in the shower, I’m finally living again and that is because of you, your love, your patience.”

His forehead comes to rest upon yours, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek.

“Just don’t give up on me.” He pleads, his voice breaking just a little. “I’m know I’m messy…”

“Vince…” You sooth, your fingertips trailing along the line of his jaw. “I could never give up on you.”

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[beardedmrbean]

RAPID CITY, S.D. (AP) — The last two members of a trio who carjacked and kidnapped an FBI employee in South Dakota in 2022 have been sentenced to lengthy prison sentences.

Deyvin Morales, 29, was sentenced to 47 years in prison. At the same hearing, 29-year-old Karla Lopez-Gutierrez, was sentenced to more than 26 years in prison.

The third person involved in the crime, Juan Alvarez-Sorto, 25, was sentenced earlier this month to 37 years.

Alvarez-Sorto and Morales had pleaded not guilty to kidnapping, carjacking and other crimes, but were convicted in January. Alvarez-Sorto also was convicted of unlawfully entering the U.S. after being deported to his home country, El Salvador. Lopez-Gutierrez pleaded guilty in August to aiding and abetting kidnapping and a weapons charge.

At the hearing, the victim said the assailants “showed me no mercy” before he was able to escape.

“You had everything of mine already,” he said. “Why did you have to kidnap me?”

Prosecutors said the three attackers left Greeley, Colorado, on May 5, 2022, and were on a “drug trafficking trip” to South Dakota in a Ford Expedition. Nearly out of gas at the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, Morales told the others they needed to “take over” a new vehicle, Lopez-Gutierrez testified in January.

A short time later, the FBI employee speeding in his Dodge Durango saw the Expedition and pulled over, believing it was a tribal officer. Prosecutors said the suspects took the Durango at gunpoint and forced the victim to go along. The victim said Alvarez-Sorto threatened his family and held a gun to the back of his head as he was facedown in the Badlands.

When the group stopped to buy gas and zip ties in the town of Hermosa, South Dakota, the victim decided to try and escape. He said at the hearing that he crawled over Morales and “clawed” his way out of the car. Morales grabbed his jacket and the victim fell, but managed to get to his feet. He “ran like a chicken with my head cut off” to get away, he said.

Morales and Alvarez-Sorto were arrested in Greeley a week later. Lopez-Gutierrez was arrested in August 2022 in Loveland, Colorado.

Morales’ attorney, Jonathan McCoy asked the judge for a sentence of 20-25 years. He said Morales was granted asylum in 2017 because a gang in Guatemala wanted to kill him.

“Deportation sentences him to death in Guatemala,” McCoy said.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Jeremy Jehangiri said Morales squandered “the good will of our country” in committing the crime.

[crazyk-imagine]

Leadership and Mended Relationships

Pairing: Leonard “Bones” McCoy x Ex-Captain! reader Characters:  Leonard “Bones” McCoy, Ex-Captain! reader, James T. Kirk, Spock Warnings: Fake aliens, bad alien biology (author created), mentions of crew mates dying or being dead, Kirk and reader interactions, Kirk and Bones interactions, classic Spock behavior, fighting, mentions of stabbing Word Count: 3,357

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You sigh, staring up at the sky as you think about everything that’s happened to lead to this moment; you in a tree, so your friends don’t harm you. 

Can you even call them friends if they’re constantly trying to kill you? 

You shrug off the idea and return your focus onto nothing and stare at the sky with an empty head, no thoughts running around. 

It’s almost… peaceful, even if there are times where you wish you still had someone to talk to. 

-

The annoying whispers of people below you, draw your attention onto them. 

They clearly don’t know who resides on this planet now and certainly won’t know how to protect themselves. 

You sigh and climb down from the tree branch. You stand behind the two. “Would you two shut up?” 

The blond male raises his phaser, aiming it at you. 

He looks familiar but you can’t focus on that. “What are you two doing here?” 

The two men glance at one another, each with a raised brow. “Where’s your ship? I need to get you two out of here.” 

The darker haired one furrows his brows, unable to tell if you’re being honest or not. “How do we know we can trust you?” 

‘That voice is familiar?’ You roll your eyes, shaking your head. ‘Absolute idiots.’ “Those things you’re hiding from, are infected with an unknown disease. They were once people I knew but now, they will severely harm anyone that gets in their way. Now, I’ll ask you again, do you want to live?” 

“Which way.” The captain interrupts before the darker haired man could interject. 

“Good.” You jerk your head to the side, “follow me.” As you slowly move away, you listen to their complaints and sketchy attitude towards you. 

-

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

James glances back towards you, rushing ahead of Leonard. “Yeah, well, we don’t have a lot of other options, huh.” 

“How do we know we can trust her?” 

He stops, barely having enough time to keep distance between you and him. The lighter haired man turns around to face his friend and loyal shipmate with a questioning look. “Do you see anyone else willing to help us?” 

You shush the two, not wanting either of them to draw anyone closer. 

The man in blue continues to make unhelpful comments. 

You can’t take it anymore and decide to do the only thing you can and cover his mouth with your hand, needing him to shut up. “You need to shut up, okay?” 

Your gaze travels up from his hand, leaving you to stare into his eyes. “If you don’t, you two will not make it out alive. Do you understand?” ‘These eyes…’ 

A vulcan runs through the bush blocking you three from the rogues. “There seems to be a tribe of- oh. Hello.” 

“Both of you keep,” you stare at the two who seem to be the most compliable. “’complains too much’ quiet and stay here. Do. Not. Move.” 

-

You push the push aside, needing to see where they are and come up with a plan. You turn back, glancing over your shoulder, “when I say run. You run.” 

“Wait,” the captain begins to argue. 

You shush him, “don’t speak another word. Do as I say when I tell you to, okay?” 

The captain sees the fire in your eyes and nods. 

You run forward heading towards a tree, knowing it’s your only means of safety. 

-

James glances over at his buddy. “Are you happy, Bones? Our one chance of survival just ran away.” 

“Shut up, Kirk.” 

-

You jump down onto the first one that moves closer, tackling it to the ground. 

You two battle with one another, struggling to dodge the punches coming your way, only to succeed when you punch it in the nose and it proceeds to fall to the ground, no longer moving. 

Your head snaps up as two others stomp, rushing towards you. 

You pull out your handmade dagger, swiping at the closest one. 

It lets out a shriek, holding its arm as if it’s in pain. 

“Run!” 

-

None of them could move. 

Spock tries to get you to move but neither of them listen as he tries to persuade them away from here. 

The other rogue comes up behind you, wrapping their arms around your waist, pulling you into their grasp. 

The two of you struggle before you manage to get the upper hand, thrusting your elbow up, hitting its nose. 

There’s one thing you’ve come to realize and won’t hesitate to teach the others, wanting to save lives. Maybe make up for the lives you saw lost today. 

The rogue that got away from you shrieks, most likely upset that its two companions are now dead. It isn’t much of a fight between the two of you once you get the upper hand. 

-

You take a deep breath, holding your side at the sharp pain that comes with every breath you take. ‘Slowly inhale. Exhale.’ 

You push the bushes aside, showing the three your tired expression. “Now,” you huff. “I ask again, where’s your ship?” 

“Why do you want to know so badly?” James asks you. 

Leonard chimes in before you can answer. “What did you do to those-” 

“Rogues. Can I get a captain, a doctor, and a Vulcan back to their ship because that’d be great.” 

“And what of you?” Spock asks. 

You shrug, “whatever you see fit.” 

“I don’t believe I understand the term “you see fit”. There is no reason to see why things are fit. Are you referring to your camouflage attire?” 

The three males have been unable to see your face this entire time, but you simply answer his question with a stare. 

“Call your crew. They’ve waited long enough. I want to get you out of here. The longer you stay here, the more at risk you all are at becoming a rogue.” 

“Is that what happened to you and your crew?” The captain asks. 

You sigh through your nose, “yes.” 

Leonard grits his teeth. “We can’t contact our crew.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, “what’s the last thing you remember seeing before being chased over here?” 

“It was really colorful.” 

“Well, isn’t that helpful. Can any of you tell me something else? Something distinct?” 

“We were near a camp or what looked like an abandoned campsite,” the dark-haired man chimes in. 

“Oh.” Your voice doesn’t come out as comforting as they could have hoped. 

“You know where it is?” The captain asks, surprised by your answer. 

“Yes,” you say, with a sigh. “Get up, it’s time to start walking.” 

“How do you know there aren’t going to be anymore coming after us?” 

You take a deep breath. “Those three were the last of my crew.” 

“Who are you?” The Vulcan asks. 

“Someone trying to help you. Now you can either sit here with a high risk of being infected or you can follow and be quiet while I get you out of here safely.” 

“Why’re you talking like you’re never getting out of here?” James asks. 

“I never thought it was going to happen... still don’t. I also don’t expect you to invite me aboard. You have a crew to protect and look out for. I understand.” 

“You went through the same thing.” 

“… look at where that got me.” 

“I’m sure you did everything you could.” 

“It wasn’t enough.” 

“You seem like the kind of person who would do everything they could to protect those they care about and, in some cases, even complete strangers.” 

“Is this how you get girls into your bed?” 

“Well- not mine- but- that doesn’t matter. How- how would you know?” 

“You have a quality.” 

“A quality?” 

“I bet you use those blue eyes to reel them in.” You push plants aside, giving the three more space to walk through. 

“Am I wrong?” 

“I don’t find this to be necessary regarding our escape, captain.” 

The corner of your lips tugs upwards. “That’s correct, Spock.” 

“Wait- wait. You two know each other?” Leonard asks, shocked at the interaction between the two of you. 

“We were all in the academy together.” 

“If I’m not mistaken, at one point, we were in the same class.” 

You stop, looking up at the sky as you take a deep breath. “We’re here.” 

“Cap- Capt- Captain.” The captain pulls out his comm. 

“Scotty.” 

You smile when you hear the classic sigh of relief from a crewmate. “How’re we lookin?” 

“Good. Better now. Ready to beam up, Sir?” 

“Yes. Beam up the four of us.” 

Your head snaps in his direction. 

“Four?” Leonard leans closer to his captain, “Jim, are you sure about this?” 

-

Before you know it, you’re on the ship and find a few others giving you strange looks. “Are you sure you want me here? I don’t even know your names.” 

“You never told her our names?” Spock asks, although he's sure you know their names. He knows you were always one to try and remember people’s names, reason unknown to him. 

You cross your arms, “does it matter?” 

“It will when we have you checked out?” James says, unsure of what he’s suggesting. 

“I’ll pass,” you assure him. 

“Pass? You’ll pass...” Leonard chimes in. “On a visit to the doctor which you haven’t been to in how long?” 

You avoid his gaze. “A while.” 

“Exactly.” 

“Nope. I’m not doing this” you spin around to walk away. “Bye.” 

“Hey! Wait up!” The captain shouts, running after you. 

-

“I’m Jim.” 

“As in Kirk?” 

He tilts his head. “How’d you know?” 

“I went to school with you.” 

His expression doesn’t change. 

“You definitely did not pay attention the first time this was mentioned.” 

He scoffs, “that’s rude of you to assume.” 

“It’s not assuming if I’m right. Now, go get me a new uniform and we’ll talk.” You raise a brow when he doesn’t move. 

“O- okay. Follow me.” He shows you where the spare uniforms are (after asking one of his crew members where to go) and grabs one for you. 

You take it, examining it. “Is there anything else besides a dress?” 

“Not at the moment.” 

“Could I get a red one? Gold just- it’s not my color anymore.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” He switches the uniforms for you. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” You unwrap the scarf from your head and remove your goggles, followed by the rest of your attire. 

His eyes widen at the sight of you stripping down. “Wow, your just-” 

“It’s skin, not a new undiscovered planet. If you can’t handle this, turn around.” 

“I think I’m good.” 

He squints when he sees your tattoo. “Have I met you somewhere?” 

You pull the dress up, slipping your arms through the sleeves. “I did mention we went to school together.” 

“Yeah, I know. I meant besides that.” 

“I’ve been everywhere so it could have been a number of places.” 

“Okay. It’s just- I’ve seen that tattoo somewhere before.” 

“I’ve had to change on the way to class before. Could have been then.” 

He nods. “Follow-” He’s cut off when the ship shakes, you fall against the wall. 

-

“Captain on the bridge.” 

“What’s going-” 

“You need to get power and you need power now,” you tell the two men who sit in front of the captain’s chair. 

“There’s too little power. We can’t leave.” 

“I’m getting us out of here. Jim, I need your permission to-” 

“Captain, they’re trying to make contact,” a woman in a red outfit says, holding her headset in one hand. 

“Let them.” 

“Isn’t this a surprise?” 

You turn to see the man who did this. “Krealigah. (kr-ee-leh-gah) Taking my crew wasn’t enough. You’ve decided to steal this ship’s power. Still trying to continue with your torture plan?” 

“I wouldn’t say that. You know what happens to those who bad mouth me.” 

“And you know what I can do. Seems to me like we know hardly enough about each other so how about you and I beam down so we can have a proper talk?” 

“As nice as that sounds, I’m going to pass.” 

“Why do you need their ships power? You have enough to leave.” 

He chuckles, “who says I want to leave. Maybe I want to see how long you think you can survive with this crew.” 

“The only thing you want to do is see innocent ships become tainted and ruined by whatever poison you have on you.” 

“We’ll see about that.” 

“He’s scanning us,” the dark-haired man sitting in front of the captain’s seat says. 

“His shields are down, right?” You ask. 

“Yes.” 

“Put yours up now. Jim, you need your shields up now and someone to go down to engineering. One of his men came aboard and messed with your systems. I know who. If you give me your permission, I can stop him and make sure the same thing that happened to me doesn’t happen to your crew.” 

He nods, “Mr. Sulu, shields up. You and I are going down to engineering and stop this guy.” 

“You should be-” 

“Let’s go.” 

“You don’t like to listen, do you? Always one to throw yourself straight into danger, huh.” 

“It’s called protecting my crew.” 

“Protecting your crew and being stupid are two different things.” 

“Now that you two have been acquainted, can we go down to engineering now?” 

“Spock, good timing as always.” 

-

You rush towards the doors and step inside. 

“She’s still here? Why is she- and you gave her clothes?” Seems like he does remember you. 

You spin around and poke his chest, “you need to shut up and know when to respect someone who’s saving lives, not in the same way as you but keeping people alive know the less. Keep talking like that and you’ll wind up with a foot up your-” 

“Okay,” James pulls you away from Leonard, making sure to keep a distance between the two of you. “You know, this would be a lot easier if you two could be friends.” 

“I don’t see that happening.” You cross your arms. 

“She isn’t making this easy.” 

You shake your head. “I swear,” you mumble. 

“What do we need to prepare ourselves for?” 

“A whirlwind of torture. When these doors open… grab anyone, you can and get them out of here.” 

“But we could-” 

“Spock.” 

“Yes.” 

“You don’t like to admit when anyone is right but if either of these two are the last ones here, you get them out of here.” 

He nods, “understood.” Leonard furrows his brows at how you managed to get the Vulcan to cooperate with you so easily. ‘She’s certainly changed…’ 

The ding makes your heart race. 

-

You know what’s coming but don’t want to experience it… again. You run out the doors, knowing exactly where he is. Placing the makeshift weapon into your belt. 

“Where are you going?” Leonard asks, from the bottom of the ladder. 

“Don’t follow me.” 

He grumbles and runs over to his captain when James calls for him. 

-

It wasn’t hard to find him, he threw the first punch. 

You continue fighting him even as you hear your name being called. 

Before he could try to escape you, you managed to grab the weapon you made for this occasion and jam it in between his ribs. 

“This is where our paths never cross again.” 

He stumbles backwards, his arms thrown out in front of him as he attempts to catch his balance. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone. 

You let out a deep breath until you cry out in pain. 

Krealigah managed to grab your ankle, pulling you with him. He uses the little amount of upper arm strength he has left and pulls himself up. 

Before you know it, all three use their phasers, giving you the opportunity to kick him off the wired path. 

James and Leonard haul you up, off the ground. “Is that it?” 

You nod, “yeah. He’s gone. It's over.” 

The captain gives you the biggest smile he could have. 

“I don’t like that look you’ve got there.” 

“Why? I’m not doing anything wrong?” 

You glance back at the other two to find Leonard shaking his head and Spock as emotionless as ever. “Start walking, I need to see a doctor or something.” 

“Then it’s a good thing we have a doctor right here.” 

You glance at him up and down. “I only see “complains a lot” standing there.” 

James snickers into his hand, “Bones… you’ve got a new name.” 

The man rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to stay here and listen to this.” 

You roll your eyes, “neither am I.” You step around James, attempting to leave until your body doesn’t want to cooperate. You slowly limp away from the three males. 

“Are you limping?” 

“No.” 

“Your ankle is hurting from when he grabbed it, is it not?” 

“Shut up, Spock.” You make it to the ladder. “I’m fine.” 

“You are not going down that ladder with your ankle being the way it is.” 

“I’m doing it. None of you can stop me.” 

“Fine. Hurt yourself more.” 

You give Leonard a sarcastic smile. “Just means you’ll have to take care of me longer.”

He shakes his head, “there’s an elevator over there. Come on.” He grabs your arms and pulls you up, keeping a tight grip on you so he doesn’t lose you. 

-

You four stand in the elevator with James and Spock in front of you as Leonard lets you lean against him. 

As soon as you get close to the med bay, people are asking questions and pulling him away. You manage to catch yourself before you can fall. 

You look around, everyone’s busy saving lives and fixing everyone’s wounds. 

You turn around to leave and sit in one of the break rooms, wondering where you should go from here. 

-

“Here you are.” He pulls out a chair and sits across from you. “I thought you managed to get off the ship.” 

“No,” you glance at the ground. “I just needed to let you all do your jobs and-” 

“I didn’t see your chart anywhere.” 

“That’s for a good reason.” 

“No one pulled you onto a bed?” 

“I left before anyone “could” besides I don’t need it. I’m fine.” 

“You could have fractured your ankle. Come here.” He moves the chair closer and lifts your ankle, examining it. “It doesn’t seem like anything’s broken but I need to be sure.” 

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll be fine. I-” 

“You’re going to the med bay and getting examined. You’ve been gone for three years and no one’s…” 

“Three years is a long time.” 

“She divorced me a year before you got promoted and assigned that mission.” 

“So, your babygirl’s about seven now?” 

“She’ll be eight in a few months.” 

“That’s good to hear.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You avoid Leonard’s gaze. “I thought you were dead this entire time. How could you not tell me?” 

“I was given orders.” 

“That’s ever stopped you before.” 

“I needed to know you’d be safe.” 

Hearing those words warm his heart, you’ve been protecting him this entire time… something he wanted to do in return for the longest time. “I missed you.” 

“I know,” you smile at him. “You used your relieved angry voice on me this entire time.” 

He shakes his head, hiding the smile that slowly stretches across his lips. “I’m happy you’re safe.” 

“I know.” 

“Aww.” 

“Dammit, Jim.” 

“What’d I do?” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m glad to see someone else adopted you.” 

“Yeah, we’re really a match made in heaven, aren’t Bones?” 

“Kirk, if you don’t shut up. I’m going to inject you again.” 

James narrows his eyes at his friend as he hauls you up out of your chair, knowing Leonard wants to have you get checked out at med bay. “Don’t forget I’m your captain, Bones.” 

“You’d die without me.” 

“Okay, can you two keep it in your pants and take me to that damn med bay before I start limping there myself.” 

Leonard shoves Jim away and helps you get there, needing to make sure that you’re okay.

[ironwitchpainter]

Star Trek: Planetary Perception and Pursuit, Episode 4: The Rollercoaster Experience

The Enterprise streaks through the cosmos, the stars blurring into lines of light as it travels at maximum warp speed back to Earth. The journey is filled with a mix of anticipation and exhaustion, the crew eager to share their tale and process the profound events that have unfolded. Upon their arrival in Earth's orbit, the ship is met with a flurry of activity as the planet's defenses acknowledge the return of their flagship. The order is given, and the Enterprise descends into the embrace of the Starfleet docking bay, its engines powering down with a sigh of relief. The moment the docking clamps engage, the crew is informed that shore leave has been granted.

McCoy, still standing by Kirk's side, looks over at the captain with a raised eyebrow. "I don't suppose you'd consider staying in sickbay for a bit of R&R?" His Southern drawl is laced with the hint of a challenge. "You've earned it, and I'd sleep better knowing you're not going to keel over the moment we step foot on Earth."

Kirk chuckles, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet of the bridge. "Bones, I appreciate the concern, but I'm feeling fit as a fiddle." He winks at McCoy. "Besides, you know I can't resist the charm of Earth. I've got a feeling we're all going to have a nice, low-key time. We've dodged enough bullets and kissed enough dragons for one day." He claps his hands together, the sound sharp and final. "Now, let's get down there and enjoy some well-deserved rest and relaxation. I'm sure we won't find any trouble on good ol' Terra Firma."

With the ship safely docked, Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, and Mr. Spock prepare to beam down to the countryside of Earth. The transporter room is filled with the comforting hum of the transporter as the three officers stand side by side on the pad. Kirk's eyes are alight with excitement, while McCoy looks slightly skeptical, and Spock maintains his usual stoic demeanor. The world outside the ship awaits them, a stark contrast to the alien landscapes they've just left behind. The countryside of Earth offers a serene backdrop of rolling hills, lush forests, and the occasional distant farmhouse - a reminder of the simplicity and beauty of the planet they fight to protect.

McCoy, as the transporter effect fades, looks around with a sigh of relief. "Ah, fresh air," he says, inhaling deeply. "And no more temporal shenanigans, I hope." He looks over at Kirk, who's staring into the horizon, a look of quiet contemplation on his face. "Jim, you alright?"

Kirk blinks, bringing himself back to the present. "Yeah, Bones," he says, his voice a bit distant. "Just thinking about the choices we've made, and the future we've shaped." He turns to face McCoy and Spock. "I've got a feeling we're going to need to keep our wits about us, even on Earth. We've changed history, after all."

As the three officers, Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, and Mr. Spock, disembark from the transporter pad, they find themselves on the lush, green grounds of a quaint farmhouse. The building is nestled among rolling hills, surrounded by a patchwork of fields and forests. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the landscape, and the scent of freshly tilled earth and blooming flowers fills the air. A gentle breeze whispers through the leaves of the nearby trees, carrying the distant sounds of animals settling down for the night. The farmhouse itself is a picturesque example of human architecture, with its whitewashed walls and thatched roof, standing as a bastion of simplicity amidst the complexities of the cosmos they've just left behind. It's a stark contrast to the gleaming steel corridors of the Enterprise, and yet, it holds a certain allure, a promise of rest and respite from the stars.

The farmhouse before them is not just any ordinary abode; it holds a special significance to Captain Kirk. This is the place where he was born and raised, the very same farm in rural Iowa that shaped him into the man he is today. The house stands tall and proud, a silent witness to the countless battles he's fought, the lives he's touched, and the history he's shaped. It's a place where Kirk can find peace, surrounded by the memories of his youth and the warmth of his humanity. The porch creaks with age, the garden is overgrown with flowers that seem to nod in welcome, and the old oak tree in the backyard stretches its branches out like welcoming arms. This is where the legend of Captain James T. Kirk began, and it's where he finds solace amidst the infinite vastness of space.

As Kirk approaches the farmhouse door, his hand reaching out to grasp the weathered wood, it seems to resist his touch. It's as if the very fabric of the house is hesitant to let him in, to acknowledge the man he's become. With a grunt, he gives it a firm tug, and the door slowly creaks open. On the other side, an Andorian stands, his antennae twitching with curiosity. Dressed in the traditional attire of an Earth farmer, the blue-skinned alien looks utterly at home amidst the rustic setting. His eyes widen in surprise as he recognizes the captain. "Captain Kirk!" he exclaims, his voice a mix of astonishment and joy. "What brings you here?"

It's Yagi's father, a member of the Andorian contingent on Earth who had befriended Kirk's own father. The Andorian's presence here is a poignant reminder of the diverse tapestry of life that now calls Earth home. His eyes are filled with the warmth of a long-lost friend as he takes in the sight of the man who had once been a young boy playing under his care. "I was just tending to the crops," he says, a broad smile spreading across his face. "But I can see you've had quite the adventure."

The scene unfolds, and it gradually becomes clear that in this altered timeline, this is not Kirk's childhood home but rather the family house of Lieutenant Yagi. The farmhouse, though familiar in its quaint charm, holds a different set of memories, a different history, a different warmth. The pictures on the walls, the layout of the rooms, the very air carries the essence of a life Kirk knew nothing about. The realization sinks in as the captain steps inside, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar yet comforting surroundings. This is where the story of Yagi's youth was written, a story that Kirk now feels a part of, woven into the fabric of his own life by the threads of fate and friendship.

Kirk's communicator chirps to life in his pocket, and he pulls it out with a sense of urgency. "Yagi, come in," he says into the device. There's a moment of static before a voice, filled with confusion, responds. "Yagi here, Captain. What's the situation?" Kirk's expression softens, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Look around you, Lieutenant. Wherever you thought you were going to visit your family, they're not there. They're here, with us. The timeline has shifted, and we're all connected in ways we never could have imagined."

The voice on the other end of the communicator is a mix of shock and amazement. "Understood, Captain," Yagi says, his tone reflecting the gravity of the revelation. "We're beaming down now. I'll... I'll be there shortly." The line goes silent, and Kirk pockets the communicator, looking over at McCoy and Spock. "Well, gentlemen," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "it seems we've got an impromptu family reunion on our hands."

Kirk steps into the farmhouse, his eyes taking in the unfamiliar yet comforting surroundings. He addresses the Andorian farmer with a mix of wonder and concern. "But if Yagi's family is here, where's mine?" The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of his own displacement. "The timeline... it's changed, hasn't it?" His gaze drifts to the pictures on the walls, the unmistakable Andorian artifacts that speak of a life intertwined with humanity in a way he had never known. The warmth in the room seems to intensify, as if the very walls are welcoming him into a new chapter of his life's story.

Yagi's father, the Andorian, tilts his head in curiosity. "Your family, Captain?" he asks, his voice filled with gentle confusion. "I believe they've been relocated to Tarsus. After the incident, it was deemed safer for them to be closer to the diplomatic envoy." He looks around the room, his smile fading slightly. "But fear not, your presence here is a testament to the strength of the bonds you've formed. You are part of our family now, too."

Kirk nods, processing the information. He looks out the window, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the landscape. "Tarsus," he murmurs to himself. "Home is where the heart is, I suppose." He turns back to the Andorian, his expression resolute. "Thank you for looking after this place, for being part of the fabric of this new history." His eyes flick to McCoy and Spock, who have remained silent, allowing the captain to process the revelation. "I guess we'll have to make the most of this unexpected turn of events."

McCoy, his hand on Kirk's shoulder, offers a reassuring squeeze. "Home's where you make it, Jim," he says, his voice warm and steady. "And it seems we've got ourselves a whole new set of memories to make here." He looks around the room, taking in the unfamiliar yet comforting sights. "But first things first," he adds, turning to the Andorian. "I'm guessing we could all use a good meal and some rest. You wouldn't mind if I use your kitchen to whip up something hearty, would you?"

The Andorian farmer, still smiling, gestures towards the kitchen with a sweep of his arm. "Please, make yourselves at home," he says. "I've got plenty of fresh produce from the fields, and I'm sure we can rustle up something delightful." The room feels alive with the promise of shared experiences and new beginnings, as the three officers begin to unpack their bags and settle into their unexpected lodgings.

The transporter room aboard the Enterprise is a whirl of activity as Yagi and the rest of the team prepare to beam down. His mind racing with questions, he can't help but feel a strange sense of excitement and belonging as he hears Kirk's words. The transporter effect engulfs them, and moments later, they materialize in the farmhouse's backyard, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the ship's sterile environment. They looks around, seeing their teammates - their friends - standing before them, all looking as surprised as he feels.

Spock, ever the logical voice of reason, raises an eyebrow at the new revelation. "Indeed, Captain," he says, his tone measured. "It appears that our actions have not only affected the future of Organia but also the personal histories of each of us." He glances around the room, noticing the subtle differences that speak of a life intertwined with Andorians. "This... unexpected development will require careful consideration and adaptation."

Kirk turns to face Yagi, his eyes warm with a genuine smile. "Welcome home, Lieutenant," he says, extending a hand. "I know it's not the reunion you were expecting, but sometimes, the universe has a way of bringing us to where we truly belong." He glances around the room, his gaze lingering on the Andorian farmer. "It seems we've been granted the opportunity to be part of something greater than ourselves. To build bridges where once there were walls." He gestures to the table, laden with a feast of Earthly and Andorian delights. "Let's sit, share a meal, and get to know our new family a bit better, shall we?"

Kirk, Spock, and McCoy, having settled into the warm embrace of the farmhouse, find themselves drawn into a discussion about their plans for shore leave. The trio sits around the wooden table, the light from the flickering candles dancing in their eyes as they speak. Kirk, ever the optimist, had envisioned a simple visit to his childhood home, a chance to reconnect with his roots and perhaps indulge in a bit of fast driving. Spock, on the other hand, had planned to visit a library, to immerse himself in the vast pool of knowledge that is human literature, while McCoy had his heart set on a quiet retreat, surrounded by the soothing sounds of nature and the gentle hum of medical technology as he caught up on his research.

As the evening deepens and the stars come out to play, the conversation shifts to the myriad of possibilities that Earth has to offer. "Why not see the sights?" Kirk suggests, his eyes alight with excitement. "We could ride a roller coaster, visit the zoo, or explore the vast treasure troves of knowledge that are the museums. Or perhaps," he adds with a mischievous glint, "try our hand at ice skating. It's a human tradition, a dance on the frozen surface of water. It's exhilarating, and I guarantee it'll make you feel alive."

Spock, his gaze thoughtful, considers Kirk's proposal. "While I appreciate the cultural significance of such activities, Captain, I had intended to utilize this shore leave to further understand human emotions through literature. The works of Shakespeare, perhaps, or the philosophical musings of Earth's ancient thinkers." He pauses, tilting his head slightly. "Though, I concede that experiencing new physical sensations could also provide valuable insight into the human condition."

Kirk grins at Spock, clapping him on the back. "That's the spirit, Spock," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "Embracing the unexpected, that's what life's all about. And who knows, maybe you'll find a newfound love for the thrill of the rink or the roar of a car engine." He winks. "But, of course, I'll respect your need for intellectual pursuits. Maybe we can find a way to blend the two, eh?"

Yagi's antennae twitch with excitement as they speak up, a local attraction coming to mind. "Captain, Dr. McCoy, Mr. Spock, I've heard of a place that might just serve both purposes. It's called the 'Cosmic Carnival of Wonders'. It's a blend of Earth's past and present, with thrilling rides, a virtual library filled with the greatest works of literature, and even an ice skating rink. It's a celebration of diversity and unity, a place where all species can come together to enjoy themselves and learn about each other." Their eyes shine with enthusiasm. "It's not too far from here, and I'm sure it'd be an enlightening experience for us all."

McCoy snorts, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "A 'Cosmic Carnival of Wonders' way out here in the sticks?" He looks around the room, taking in the simple yet charming decor of the farmhouse. "Well, I'll be darned. I didn't think we'd find anything like that around these parts. But you know what, Yagi? That sounds like just the kind of crazy Earth adventure we could all do with right now." He gets up from his chair, stretching his legs. "Count me in. After all, it's not every day you get to see Shakespeare performed by Andorians, or Spock trying to land a space hopper."

Spock raises an eyebrow at the suggestion, his curiosity piqued. "A synthesis of cultural education and physical exertion," he muses. "It is an... intriguing proposition." He turns to Yagi's father. "Would you care to join us in this exploration of human customs?"

The Andorian farmer's smile broadens at the invitation. "Indeed, I would be most honored," he replies, his antennae waving in delight. "It's been quite some time since I've had the pleasure of witnessing the diversity and unity that such gatherings bring. Plus," he adds with a twinkle in his eye, "I've always had a soft spot for Earth's peculiar pastimes."

Kirk nods in agreement, his eyes reflecting the excitement of the group. "It's settled then," he declares, pushing back his chair. "We'll make a day of it tomorrow. Now, let's get some rest. We've got a full plate of experiences waiting for us, and I, for one, intend to savor every moment." He looks around the table, his gaze lingering on each of his friends. "This place, this new history we've found ourselves in, it's a gift. And I, for one, am not going to waste a second of it."

The next morning, as the first light of dawn filters through the windows of the farmhouse, the aroma of a hearty breakfast fills the air. Yagi's father, dressed in his usual farmer's attire, approaches the table with a steaming pot of coffee. "Please," he says, gesturing for everyone to help themselves. "Call me Thrall." The simplicity of the gesture, asking them to use his first name, speaks volumes about the trust and kinship that has grown between them overnight. The room buzzes with energy as the officers discuss their plans for the day ahead, the promise of the 'Cosmic Carnival of Wonders' a beacon of excitement in the otherwise serene landscape.

With the warmth of Thrall's hospitality filling their hearts, Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and the others set off for the 'Cosmic Carnival of Wonders', a place where the past and present of Earth converge in a whirlwind of color and sound. The journey is a short one, the farmhouse's antiquated charm giving way to the futuristic sights and sounds of the 23rd century as they approach the sprawling entertainment complex. The carnival's neon lights pierce the early morning gloom, beckoning them with the promise of adventure and discovery. The air is filled with the laughter of children, the tantalizing smells of exotic foods, and the distant hum of alien languages mingling with the familiar twang of Earth's diverse dialects.

As they arrive at the 'Cosmic Carnival of Wonders', Spock finds himself genuinely intrigued by the myriad of sensory stimuli that assaults his Vulcan senses. "Fascinating," he murmurs, his gaze taking in the vibrant tapestry of life before them. "This place appears to be a microcosm of the Federation itself, a blend of species and cultures coming together to share in the pursuit of knowledge and entertainment." His voice carries a tone of curiosity, a rare emotion for a Vulcan. "The interweaving of such disparate elements into a cohesive and harmonious experience is indeed... enlightening."

McCoy's eyes light up at the sight of the carnival, his face breaking into a wide smile. "Looks like we're in for a real hoot!" he says, clapping his hands together. "A place that combines the thrills of the future with the charm of the past, and serves up a dash of Shakespeare on the side? Count me in, folks!" His Southern drawl thickens with excitement as he surveys the rides and attractions. "Let's not forget, we're here to have some fun, too."

Spock turns to Kirk, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. "You seem particularly eager for this 'roller coaster' experience, Captain," he says, one eyebrow arched. "I must admit, I am somewhat... intrigued by the concept of voluntarily subjecting oneself to such intense gravitational forces."

Kirk laughs, the sound rich and hearty. "Spock, my friend, you've got to live a little!" He claps Spock on the shoulder. "You can't always be in a library or a lab. Sometimes you've got to throw caution to the wind and just... ride the roller coaster of life!" He winks, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, if you don't come with us, you'll miss out on the thrill of watching Bones scream like a little girl when we hit those loops!"

McCoy snorts, his cheeks coloring slightly. "I'll have you know, Kirk, that I can handle a little excitement," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "But if I'm going to be scared out of my wits, I'd rather it be because of a medical emergency than some contraption designed to make you feel like you're about to fly apart at the seams."

Spock's gaze remains steady on Kirk, a hint of challenge in his eyes. "Very well, Captain. I shall endeavor to experience this 'roller coaster' for the sake of understanding human behavior in... exhilarating situations." He nods to McCoy. "And perhaps, Doctor, the experience will provide some insight into the physiological responses to fear and excitement."

With Kirk's infectious enthusiasm leading the way, the group of friends make their way through the bustling carnival crowd, weaving past stalls of alien delicacies and throngs of laughing children. The air is alive with the clang of metal, the screams of delight from those already on the rides, and the tantalizing smells of funnel cakes and other Earthly treats. They arrive at the gleaming roller coaster, a colossal structure that spirals into the sky like a serpent made of steel. The ride's name, "The Celestial Whirlwind," flickers in neon lights above the entrance, and the line of eager participants snakes around the base, a mix of humans and various alien species all dressed in a riot of colors that reflect the carnival's vibrant spirit.

As they wait their turn, Kirk and McCoy exchange stories of their past carnival experiences, their voices filled with laughter and nostalgia. Spock listens intently, his curiosity growing with each anecdote. Yagi's family, watching the exchange with fondness, shares tales of Andorian festivals and the thrills they too seek out. Thrall, in particular, speaks of a gravity-defying sport played on the ice fields of Andoria, drawing parallels to Kirk's description of the roller coaster.

The moment of truth arrives as they climb into the sleek, space-themed seats of the 'Celestial Whirlwind'. The roller coaster's safety harnesses click into place, and the anticipation builds as the ride lurches forward, climbing the initial ascent with a steady, almost serene rhythm. Kirk, his eyes gleaming with excitement, gives a thumbs up to Spock, who regards the experience with his usual stoicism, though the faint flutter of his eyelids betrays his nerves.

As the roller coaster reaches its peak and pauses for a brief, heart-stopping moment, Spock's voice is eerily calm. "Captain, this does indeed appear to be a... most illogical yet fascinating endeavor." He glances at Kirk, who grins back at him.

McCoy, his arms folded tightly across his chest, mutters under his breath. "Remind me why I let you talk me into these things, Jim," he says, though the twitch of his lips suggests he's not entirely displeased with the situation.

The roller coaster releases its hold, plummeting down the first drop with a roar. Kirk's laughter echoes through the night as the wind rushes past them, and even Spock's stoic façade cracks as he experiences the rush of adrenaline that comes with the freefall. The coaster twists and turns, looping through the sky in a dizzying display of engineering.

As the ride comes to a halt, the group disembarks, their faces a mix of exhilaration and relief. Kirk is the first to stand, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "How was that, Bones?" he asks, extending a hand to help McCoy up.

McCoy takes Kirk's hand, his knees slightly wobbly as he steps onto solid ground. "Well," he says, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, "I've had better days in sickbay, but I'll admit, that was... something." He shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "I think I'll stick to my quiet research and a good cup of tea after that."

Kirk chuckles at McCoy's reaction and then turns to Spock, his hand still outstretched. "And what about you, Spock?" he asks, a twinkle in his eye. "Did you find the illogical thrill of the 'Celestial Whirlwind' as fascinating as you thought you would?"

Spock rises gracefully, his demeanor unruffled despite the roller coaster's tumultuous ride. "It was... enlightening," he says, his voice measured. "The sensation of weightlessness and the subsequent reassertion of gravity did provide an interesting insight into the human psyche's desire for excitement and the physiological response to fear." He glances at McCoy. "Though I must admit, Doctor, your reaction was quite... entertaining."

The narrator confirms that Spock did indeed take Captain Kirk's hand after the exhilarating ride on the 'Celestial Whirlwind'. This small, yet significant act of camaraderie between the Vulcan and the human captain highlights the depth of their friendship and the shared experiences that transcend their species' differences. Despite Spock's initial skepticism, he had embraced the thrill of the moment, offering a glimpse of his capacity for enjoyment outside his usual stoic demeanor.

As Spock's hand meets Kirk's, a sudden and unexpected rush of warmth flows through their fingers. The telepathic bond they formed on the planet of the artifact, though weakened by distance and time, still lingers between them. Spock's eyebrows furrow slightly as he feels a flutter of Kirk's emotions - the residue of fear and excitement from the roller coaster ride. This unanticipated connection surprises him, serving as a subtle reminder of the intertwined destinies they share.

Kirk, ever the intuitive leader, senses something peculiar through the telepathic connection that lingers faintly between them from their earlier adventure. As he looks into Spock's eyes, he can almost feel the rush of adrenaline that had accompanied their harrowing escape from the ancient trap. The shared experience had left an indelible mark on their bond, allowing Kirk to pick up on the faintest whispers of his first officer's thoughts and feelings, even in the midst of the carnival's chaos.

At this moment, Kirk senses in Spock's mind a peculiar blend of emotions. Beneath the Vulcan's usual stoicism, there's a faint spark of excitement from the novel experience, a hint of curiosity about the human condition, and a touch of amusement at McCoy's visceral reaction. But what truly stands out is the deep-rooted affection and camaraderie that Spock feels for his human friends, a testament to the unbreakable bonds forged through their shared trials and tribulations. It's a poignant reminder of their friendship and the diverse tapestry of their intergalactic family.

McCoy shakes his head, a bemused smile playing on his lips as he watches Kirk and Spock's interaction. "I ain't no side-show act, Spock," he says, his Southern drawl thick with good-natured sarcasm. "But I'll be your guinea pig for science if it means I get to see that look on your face again. It's like watching a Vulcan loosen up and have a little fun, something I thought I'd never live to see!" He chuckles, patting his chest. "My heart can't take much more of this roller coaster life, but I reckon it's worth it for moments like these."

Spock regards McCoy with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, his usual stoicism slipping slightly. "On the contrary, Doctor," he says, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. "You are not merely an 'attraction'. You are an embodiment of the very essence of humanity that I find so... fascinating." He pauses, his gaze lingering on McCoy's face. "And if the expressions of shock and exhilaration on your face amused me, imagine the intriguing study it would make for a Vulcan ethnologist. But, I must admit, the bond we share through our past experiences has indeed made this moment... quite pleasurable." Inside, his thoughts swirl with a secret appreciation for McCoy's undeniable allure, an emotion he meticulously keeps guarded behind the veil of logic.

Kirk's gaze darts between Spock and McCoy, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He can feel the unspoken tension in the air, the telepathic echoes of Spock's thoughts revealing a depth of emotion that the Vulcan rarely shows. "Well," Kirk says, his voice low and gentle, "it seems like the 'Celestial Whirlwind' wasn't the only thing that got your heart racing, Spock." He squeezes McCoy's shoulder reassuringly, his eyes filled with understanding. "Bones, you're the star of the show here, whether you know it or not." The captain's words hold a warmth that acknowledges the complexities of their friendship and the unspoken feelings that lie just beneath the surface of their camaraderie. The connection between Kirk and Spock, now a silent and unspoken secret shared between them, adds a new dimension to their relationship, a bond that goes beyond friendship and into the realms of love and acceptance.

McCoy's smile falters for a moment as he catches the look in Kirk's eyes, the weight of the unspoken understanding between them heavy. He clears his throat, his cheeks reddening slightly. "Now, now, you two," he says, trying to lighten the mood. "Let's not get too sentimental at a carnival. There's still the 'Galactic Gravity Whirl' to conquer!" He slaps his hands together, trying to shake off the sudden seriousness that had descended upon them. "And if I'm going to get my heart racing again, it's going to be on my own terms!"

Spock nods, his gaze shifting to McCoy, his expression unreadable. "Indeed, Doctor," he says, his voice a calm counterpoint to the emotions swirling around them. "The 'Galactic Gravity Whirl' does seem to be an appropriate next challenge." He turns to Kirk, the warmth from their earlier connection still present in his eyes. "Though I suspect, Captain, that our experiences today have provided us with more than mere amusement. They have illustrated the value of embracing the illogical aspects of life and the profound connections that arise from shared experiences."

With the conversation turning towards their next adventure, the trio, along with Yagi and Thrall, navigate through the bustling carnival-goers and make their way towards the 'Galactic Gravity Whirl'. This ride, a twirling, gravity-defying wonder, beckons them with its hypnotic lights and the promise of an out-of-this-world experience. The line for the attraction stretches before them, a tapestry of eager faces from across the galaxy, each waiting for their turn to be thrown into a whirlwind of sensations. As they queue up, the chatter of various languages and species fills the air, a testament to the universal appeal of the thrill and camaraderie found in such simple pleasures.

The 'Galactic Gravity Whirl' is a sophisticated piece of technology, designed to simulate the unique gravitational fields of various planets across the Federation. As they wait, Kirk's curiosity piqued, he asks the carnival attendant about the ride's mechanics. The attendant, a friendly Tellarite with a penchant for dramatic flair, explains that the ride employs a combination of holodeck tech and advanced inertial dampeners to create an authentic experience. "You'll feel the crushing weight of a gas giant," he says, "the floaty grace of a low-gravity moon, and the heart-stopping plunge of a planet with a wonky gravitational field!" His words paint a picture of a journey through the cosmos, all wrapped up in the safety of a carnival ride. The group exchanges glances, their excitement palpable as they anticipate the interstellar odyssey that awaits them.

Finally, the moment arrives, and they step into the sleek pods of the 'Galactic Gravity Whirl'. The safety harnesses tighten around them, a gentle reminder of the forces they are about to experience. The pods begin to spin, slowly at first, and then gradually picking up speed as the gravitational fields shift. The world around them starts to blur into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, the music swelling to match the increasing intensity of the ride. Kirk, McCoy, and Spock all lean into the centrifugal force, their bodies adapting to the ever-changing gravity.

As the pods spin faster, and the gravitational fields shift more dramatically, McCoy starts to feel a bit queasy. His stomach lurches, and he grips the safety bar tighter. "Jim, I think... I think I might be in over my head here," he says, his voice strained. The usually unflappable doctor is clearly struggling with the sudden onset of motion sickness, his complexion turning a shade paler. Despite his discomfort, he tries to keep his humor, flashing a weak smile at Kirk. "I'm not sure how your ancestors enjoyed these contraptions, but I'm feeling a bit like I've been through a transporter malfunction!"

Spock's eyes are closed, his body at peace with the shifting forces. He opens them to find Kirk watching him with a mix of concern and amusement. "Are you quite all right, Doctor?" Spock asks, his voice calm and steady amidst the chaos. "Humans often find the thrill of these experiences... intoxicating. It appears to be having an adverse effect on you."

McCoy's laugh is a bit forced, but he nods. "Damn straight, Spock," he says, the words coming out in a huff as the pods whirl around. "I've seen enough stars in my life without needing to chase them on a carousel!" Despite his discomfort, he grits his teeth and holds on, not wanting to miss out on the adventure. The Vulcan's inquiry about human preferences for thrills brings a thought to his mind. "But you know what? Maybe there's something to this after all." He glances at Kirk, who is still grinning like a kid in a candy store. "This... this is what keeps us coming back for more, isn't it?"

Kirk's eyes meet McCoy's, and his smile widens. "You got that right, Bones," he shouts over the din of the ride. "Life's about the thrills, the chills, and the people you share them with!" His gaze shifts to Spock, a silent acknowledgment of their shared history and the unspoken depth of their friendship. "And we've got enough of those to last us a lifetime!"

The 'Galactic Gravity Whirl' comes to a smooth halt, the pods gradually decelerating until they come to a complete stop. The safety bars release with a hiss, and Kirk is the first to stand, reaching out to help McCoy, whose legs are wobblier than a newborn foal's. Spock's hand is firm and steady as he assists McCoy, his touch gentle despite the Vulcan's usual detachment.

As McCoy's trembling hand meets Spock's, the same curious connection that had occurred before the roller coaster happens again. This time, it's Spock's emotions that flood McCoy's senses - a blend of curiosity, the thrill of the experience, and an underlying concern for his human companions. Spock's grip tightens almost imperceptibly, and his eyes widen slightly as he feels the doctor's unease. It's a moment of profound realization for both of them, a silent revelation that their bond has grown to include a telepathic link.

"I think I've had enough of the cosmic thrill-seeking for one day," McCoy says, his voice a bit shaky as he steps out of the pod. He takes a deep breath of the cool night air, his eyes searching for a place to sit. "But, I'll admit, it's been quite the... adventure." He looks at Kirk and Spock, his expression a mix of amazement and trepidation.

The next stop on the evening's itinerary is the 'Shakespearean Sonnet Sphere', a holographic exhibit that allows visitors to immerse themselves in the timeless poetry and drama of Earth's most revered playwright. The group heads towards the dimly lit dome, the soft murmur of sonnets and soliloquies emanating from within. Kirk, ever the enthusiast for Earth's cultural heritage, leads the way, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

As the group pauses outside the 'Shakespearean Sonnet Sphere', Kirk notices McCoy's pallor and suggests he sit down on a nearby bench. "Take a moment to catch your breath, Bones," Kirk says with a smile. "Spock and I will grab some refreshments." He claps McCoy on the back before turning to Spock. "You're with me, Mr. Spock. We've got a mission to get the good doctor something to settle his stomach."

Spock nods, his eyes flicking to McCoy for a brief moment before following Kirk. Inside the sphere, the air is cool and scented with the faint aroma of fresh flowers and parchment. Holographic figures dressed in Elizabethan attire recite sonnets and scenes from the Bard's plays, their voices resonating with the power of timeless words. Kirk moves through the exhibit with an ease that belies his alien surroundings, pausing here and there to listen intently, his eyes closed, as if savoring the verses.

Kirk leans against a faux-stone pillar, watching the sonnet performers with a thoughtful expression. He turns to Spock, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "So, Spock," he says casually, "you've got quite the poker face, but I've noticed something different about you tonight." He pauses, allowing the words to hang in the air like a challenge. "You seem... affected by the emotional undertones of our experiences. Is there perhaps a certain someone you're thinking about?" His eyes sparkle with mischief, hinting at the unspoken question of whether Spock has developed a crush amidst the whirlwind of human interactions.

Spock's eyebrow arches slightly at Kirk's observation. "I assure you, Captain," he replies, his voice measured, "my emotional responses are under control. However, the telepathic bond we formed on the planet with the artifact has indeed provided me with a new perspective on human behavior. It is... enlightening to experience such a direct connection to your emotions." He looks away, focusing on a holographic Ophelia floating gracefully in the center of the room, her words of love and madness echoing through the chamber.

After a moment of contemplation, Spock's gaze drifts back to McCoy, who is now seated on the bench outside the sphere, his eyes closed as he takes deep, steadying breaths. "I am thinking of Dr. McCoy," he admits, his voice softer than usual. "The bond we share has made me aware of his distress. The illogical nature of human emotions can be quite... disconcerting, yet I find myself concerned for his well-being. His current condition is not... optimal." The admission of his concern is a rare moment of vulnerability for the Vulcan, revealing the depth of his empathy despite his species' reputation for detachment.

Kirk grins at Spock's response, knowing full well that he's hit a nerve. "That's who I mean, Spock," he says, his voice filled with the warmth of shared experience. "It's not just about poker faces and crushes, though I'm sure Bones would love to be the center of your universe." He winks at the Vulcan, who, despite his stoicism, can't help but roll his eyes. "But seeing you care, really care, about us... it's what makes us all family." Kirk's words hang in the air, the unspoken truth resonating between them. The friendship between Kirk, McCoy, and Spock has always been the heart of the Enterprise, and this newfound telepathic link only serves to strengthen it further.

Upon racing the front of the line, the vendor inside the Shakespearean Sonnet Sphere presents them with a tray of steaming beverages and a selection of soothing, ginger-infused snacks known to combat motion sickness. The vendor, a friendly Betazoid with a knowing smile, nods in understanding as Kirk explains McCoy's condition. She assures them that these refreshments are a popular choice among those who have overindulged in the carnival's thrills. Kirk and Spock carry the tray outside, where McCoy sits, looking a bit greener around the gills. The doctor's eyes light up at the sight of the ginger concoction, and he takes a grateful sip, the warmth spreading through him like a balm to his tumultuous stomach.

Spock approaches McCoy with a measured gait, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the nearby lights. He subtly extends his hand, brushing his fingertips against McCoy's wrist, using their telepathic bond to gauge the doctor's condition. The brief touch is unnoticed by the bustling crowd, but the connection it creates is profound. Through their shared link, Spock feels the doctor's relief as the ginger begins to take effect, and the nausea subsides. "Your body is readjusting to the standard gravity," he states, his voice a soothing balm in the noisy carnival atmosphere. "Your discomfort will soon pass." The concern in his voice is genuine, a rare glimpse into the depth of his affection for his human companions.

McCoy looks up at Spock, his eyes misty with gratitude. "Thanks, Spock," he murmurs, taking another sip of the ginger beverage. "I don't know what I'd do without you two." He glances at Kirk, who is chuckling at the sight of McCoy's distress. "And don't you start," he adds, though the threat lacks its usual bite. The bond between the three of them has grown stronger with each shared experience, and the doctor is acutely aware of the silent support Spock has provided during their more... illogical escapades.

They decide to sit and watch some Shakespeare inside the Sphere. The dimly lit chamber is a tranquil oasis amidst the carnival's clamor, the scent of artificial flowers and aged parchment permeating the air. The holographic figures continue their recitals, their voices weaving a tapestry of love, betrayal, and heroism. Kirk, ever the Shakespeare aficionado, selects a spot where they can comfortably observe the performances. The benches are padded with a soft, velvety material that seems to absorb the noise of the outside world, allowing the timeless words to resonate within the dome.

Yagi and Thrall, the Andorians, exchange puzzled glances as they enter the Shakespearean Sonnet Sphere. Their antennae twitch slightly as they try to make sense of the archaic language and dramatic gestures of the holographic figures. They are unfamiliar with the Earth playwright's works, their own cultural heritage rich with epic tales of valor and honor, but devoid of such complex human emotions. They watch intently, their curiosity piqued by this alien art form.

Inside the sphere, Kirk selects a spot where they can comfortably observe the performances. He leans back, his eyes shining with appreciation as he takes in the sonnets. The words of Shakespeare have always had a profound effect on him, and the holographic display is no less mesmerizing than any live performance he's seen. He glances at McCoy, noticing the doctor's gaze is not on the stage but rather on the ginger beverage in his hand. "You know, Bones," Kirk says, his voice low and filled with mirth, "Shakespeare himself might have had a few words about the fickleness of gravity's sweet embrace."

McCoy snorts, his color slowly returning. "I'd wager he'd have a sonnet or two about it," he replies, raising his cup in a toast. "To gravity, may it always keep our feet firmly planted on the ground." The three of them laugh, the tension of their recent mission momentarily forgotten in the embrace of friendship and shared experiences.

As the final sonnet fades away, Kirk turns to the group, his gaze thoughtful. "Alright, folks," he says, the warmth of the moment lingering in his voice, "now that we've had our dose of culture and thrills, how about we explore something a bit more... grounded?" He suggests a museum that's been gaining a lot of buzz around the carnival. It's an interstellar exhibition, showcasing the history and artifacts of various species within the Federation. The idea is met with nods of agreement, and they make their way out of the Sphere into the cool night air, the cacophony of the carnival once again enveloping them.

The interstellar museum is a stark contrast to the vibrant colors and lights of the carnival. The building is a sleek monolith, its surface a shifting tapestry of starlit galaxies. As they enter, the coolness of the air conditioning is a welcome reprieve from the warm evening. The hushed whispers of the crowd give way to the echoes of footsteps on the gleaming floors. Each exhibit tells a story of triumph and discovery, of ancient civilizations and modern marvels. Kirk leads the way, his hand hovering over the interactive displays with a child-like wonder.

Spock's gaze lingers on a particularly intricate Vulcan artifact, a relic from the time of Surak. It's a simple piece of metal, etched with ancient symbols that speak of peace and logic. He feels a pang of homesickness, a rare emotion for a Vulcan. "This is... quite fascinating," he says, his voice barely above a murmur. "It is a piece of our shared history, Captain." He looks up at Kirk, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the display lights. "I find myself... moved by these relics of our past."

McCoy notices the wistfulness in Spock's gaze and approaches his friend, his hand resting gently on the Vulcan's shoulder. "You feeling a bit of the old homesickness, Spock?" he asks, his Southern drawl a comforting balm amidst the alien ambiance. "Or is it more like ancestral longing?"

As McCoy speaks, his hand moves slightly, and his index finger accidentally brushes against the bare skin of Spock's neck, where his uniform collar opens slightly. The contact is brief, but it's enough. A sudden rush of emotions floods through them, a torrent of feelings that neither expects. Spock feels the warmth of McCoy's concern, the comfort of their friendship, and the weight of their shared experiences. In return, McCoy is inundated with Spock's complex blend of longing and stoicism, the ever-present undercurrent of his Vulcan companion's deep-rooted emotions. The bond formed by the alien artifact flares to life again, and for a moment, the two men are linked in a way that transcends words.

McCoy's eyes widen as he feels the intensity of Spock's emotions. "Well, I'll be," he says, his voice filled with genuine surprise. "You really are homesick. I had no idea it could hit you like that." His hand stays on Spock's shoulder, offering silent support as the Vulcan navigates this uncharted emotional territory. "You know, Spock, sometimes it's okay to miss where you come from. It's part of what makes us human." He takes a sip from his ginger beverage, his gaze never leaving the Vulcan's. "Or, in your case, what makes you... well, you." He smiles warmly, the lines around his eyes crinkling with affection.

Spock nods, his eyes closing briefly as he processes the wave of feelings. "Indeed, Dr. McCoy," he says, his voice a little rougher than usual. "The bond has provided me with a new perspective on the human condition. It is... illogical, yet surprisingly comforting." He opens his eyes to meet McCoy's gaze, his own eyes filled with a warmth that belies his stoic exterior. "I am grateful for your understanding." He turns back to the Vulcan artifact, his hand reaching out to trace the ancient symbols. "This... this is a part of me that I often struggle to reconcile with my duties here."

The group moves through the museum, each exhibit triggering a new round of discussion and discovery. Yagi and Thrall are particularly fascinated by the display of Andorian battle armor, their antennae twitching with excitement as they examine the intricate designs. Kirk, ever the historian, shares tales of Earth's past, his hands animated as he speaks of ancient battles and great leaders. Spock is drawn to the melodic chime of an ancient Tellarite instrument.

The Tellarite instrument, a complex array of crystalline tubes that resonate with the touch of the player's fingers, calls out to Spock. He steps closer, his curiosity piqued by the alien artifact. The instrument is mounted on a pedestal, surrounded by a faint force field that allows for safe interaction. Spock raises his hand, his fingertips hovering over the crystalline surface. With a deep breath, he gently touches the tubes, his Vulcan mind focusing on the patterns of sound and vibration. The crystals sing under his touch, their harmonious notes blending with the low hum of the museum's ambient soundtrack. The display's interactivity is not just for show; it's a means of preserving and sharing the cultural heritage of the Federation's diverse species.

McCoy watches Spock with a hint of amusement. "I never knew you had a musical side, Spock," he teases, his voice filled with warmth. "Maybe you can serenade us on the ship next time we're in a quiet sector."

Spock glances over his shoulder at McCoy, his lips quirking into a small smile. "I assure you, Dr. McCoy, my musical talents are... negligible. However, the principles behind the creation of such an instrument are quite fascinating." He plays a few more notes, the melody weaving through the air like a delicate web. "The Tellarites are known for their acoustic engineering. This device likely serves a dual purpose as a form of communication and a means of meditation."

McCoy's eyes narrow slightly as he considers Spock's words. "Negligible or not, it's something we all have, Spock. A part of us that's just for enjoyment, not for any grand purpose or logical reasoning. And I'd say that's not so negligible, considering the kind of work we do." He pauses, his gaze lingering on the crystalline tubes. "Besides, I've seen you tap your fingers on the bridge console to the tune of Earth jazz. You might just have a hidden talent there."

Spock's eyebrow rises at McCoy's observation. "While I may not possess the finesse of a professional musician, I do engage in the practice of playing the Vulcan lute during my private moments of contemplation," he admits. "The discipline of creating music aligns with the Vulcan philosophy of IDIC - Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. It allows me to appreciate the harmony within the chaos of existence." He pauses, his hand hovering over the Tellarite instrument. "Though the lute is quite different from this, the principles of resonance and vibration are universal."

Intrigued by the challenge, Spock's hand moves away from the random melody he'd been playing and begins to shape a more deliberate pattern on the crystalline tubes. His fingers dance over the surface, each touch calculated and precise. The notes that emerge are unfamiliar to the human ear, yet carry a haunting beauty that seems to echo the very essence of Vulcan culture. The song is ancient, a melody passed down through generations of his people, a lullaby that once soothed the minds of young Vulcans in the harsh deserts of their homeworld. The melody rises and falls, a testament to the stoic nature of the Vulcans and their quest for inner peace amidst the tumult of emotions.

The museum's visitors, a mix of various species, pause in their conversations, drawn to the alien yet eerily familiar sound. A few Andorians nod in approval, recognizing the discipline and focus required to play such an intricate piece. The humans exchange glances, surprised by the depth of emotion they're witnessing from a Vulcan. Kirk watches with a proud smile, while McCoy's eyes shine with newfound respect for his friend.

McCoy leans against the pedestal, his expression a mix of admiration and wonder. "Spock, that's... beautiful," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I had no idea you had that in you." He takes another sip of his ginger beverage, the warmth of the liquid mirroring the warmth in his heart. "I guess we all have our hidden talents."

Spock's eyes open, and he turns to face McCoy, his hand hovering over the instrument's last chord. "The performance, Dr. McCoy, was indeed flawed," he says, his tone measured yet carrying a hint of self-deprecation. "But the act of sharing it with you is a reminder that even within the rigid confines of logic and duty, there is room for the exploration of the soul." He nods towards the group, his gaze encompassing Kirk, Yagi, and Thrall. "It is a testament to the unity we have forged on this vessel, that we may find common ground in the unlikeliest of places."

As the final notes of the Vulcan melody dissipate into the museum's atmosphere, Spock regards McCoy with a thoughtful gaze. "Speaking of hidden talents, Doctor," he says, his voice a soft challenge. "What might yours be, aside from your unparalleled medical expertise?" The question hangs in the air, a subtle invitation to share a piece of themselves beyond their professional roles.

McCoy chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, Spock," he drawls, "you might be surprised to know that I've got a few tricks up my sleeve too." He steps away from the Tellarite instrument and scans the nearby exhibits. His eyes land on a replica of an ancient Earth medical bay. "Back in the day, we humans had our own way of soothing the soul," he says, gesturing to the display. "Some of us still do." He winks at Kirk, who rolls his eyes playfully. "How about I show you all a little bit of Southern charm?"

McCoy leads the group to the replica medical bay, his stride filled with a newfound confidence. He picks up a wooden flute, a simple instrument that seems out of place amidst the gleaming technology. With a few practiced breaths, he begins to play a lilting tune, one that speaks of open fields and lazy afternoons. The music is a stark contrast to the Vulcan melody, yet it resonates with the same depth of emotion. The bond between them flares once more, allowing Spock to feel the warmth of McCoy's memories, the love for his lost family, and the peace he finds in music.

Meanwhile, as McCoy plays his flute, he senses the depth of Spock's emotions for him. It's a profound realization, a complex web of friendship, respect, and a hint of something more that neither of them can quite define. His music becomes a silent conversation, a way to express the feelings that words can't quite capture. The bond they share, forged in the crucible of their missions and deepened by the alien artifact, has transformed into something beautifully intimate. As the melody reaches its crescendo, McCoy feels a rush of warmth and belonging, understanding that, despite their differences, they're bound by a connection that transcends species and rank. He plays on, the music a declaration of their friendship, strong and enduring as the stars themselves.

Spock, drawn by the haunting melody of the Tellarite instrument, approaches it once more. His long, elegant fingers hover above the crystalline tubes, considering the pattern of vibrations that would harmonize with McCoy's flute. With a nod of respect to his friend, he begins to play, his Vulcan logic weaving in and out of the human's soulful tune. The music becomes a conversation, a dance of intertwining notes that echo through the museum. The Tellarite crystals resonate with the flute's sweet sound, creating a symphony of unity. The bond between them, now a tangible force, seems to resonate with the very fabric of the universe. Spock's eyes never leave McCoy's as they play together, a silent acknowledgment of the shared moments that have shaped their friendship. Kirk and the others watch in amazement, feeling the depth of their connection as the music fills the air, a testament to the infinite diversity and infinite combinations that make up their lives aboard the Enterprise.

As the last notes of their impromptu duet fade away, McCoy lowers his flute, his eyes misty with unshed tears. "Spock," he says, his voice thick with emotion, "that was... something else." He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure. "I think we just gave these museum-goers quite the show, don't you?" He glances around at the small crowd that has gathered, their expressions a mix of awe and confusion. "But, if we're going to keep exploring, we should probably get going before we're asked to leave for disturbing the peace." He chuckles, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Or before I start serenading you all with some good ol' Southern bluegrass."

Spock nods thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving McCoy's. "I would find that quite enjoyable, Dr. McCoy," he says, his voice steady despite the emotional undertones. "Your willingness to share such a personal aspect of your culture is appreciated and intriguing." He steps away from the Tellarite instrument, his hand lingering on the last crystal he'd played. "However, we should indeed continue our exploration. The museum has much to offer, and our time here is limited." He glances at Kirk, a question in his gaze. "Captain, where shall we proceed?"

Kirk, his own eyes reflecting the poignancy of the music, claps his hands together. "I couldn't agree more, gentlemen," he says, his smile wide and genuine. "Let's move on to the next exhibit." He turns to the group, his eyes alight with excitement. "I've heard there's a display on the early days of interstellar travel. I've always had a soft spot for those old ships. They had guts, you know?" He leads the way, his stride brisk, the emotional moment shared between McCoy and Spock lingering in the air like a gentle echo of their music.

The group makes their way to the exhibit on early space travel, the holographic displays bringing to life the tales of daring explorers who first ventured beyond the stars. Kirk's voice fills the space as he recounts the stories of Earth's pioneers, his passion for history infectious. Thrall and Yagi listen intently, their curiosity piqued by the tales of humanity's early forays into the cosmos. Spock, his gaze lingering on an ancient Vulcan ship model, seems lost in thought, his mind racing with the parallels between the past and their own intergalactic journey.

As Kirk finishes his narrative, the group finds themselves standing before a majestic lineup of ancient spacecraft, each one a testament to the innovation and courage of its creators. The vessels are displayed in a chronological order, showcasing the evolution of space travel from Earth's first tentative steps to the sleek and powerful starships of the Federation. Just adjacent to this nostalgic array, an unexpected sight catches their attention: a car exhibit. The gleaming metal bodies and the rich scent of polished chrome stand out starkly against the backdrop of stars and vessels, a reminder of humanity's terrestrial roots.

Kirk's eyes light up at the sight of the vintage cars. "Look at these beauties!" he exclaims, his voice carrying the enthusiasm of a child in a candy store. He strides over to a cherry-red 1968 Mustang, his hand reaching out to stroke the metallic finish. "Now, this," he says with a wistful smile, "this is a piece of Earth's history I can get behind the wheel of."

McCoy rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "You and your fast cars, Kirk," he says, though the fondness in his voice is unmistakable. "But I have to admit, there's something charming about them." He approaches a 1957 Chevy Bel Air, its chrome gleaming under the museum lights. "This reminds me of my daddy's old car," he murmurs, his Southern drawl thickening with nostalgia.

Spock observes the vehicles with a detached curiosity, his gaze lingering on the complexities of their design. "Fascinating," he says, "how your species managed to achieve such rapid advancement in such a short period of time." He steps closer to Kirk, his eyes on the Mustang. "The emotional connection to these... 'beauties', as you call them, is intriguing. They are, after all, merely transportation devices."

Kirk grins at McCoy's teasing and Spock's observation. "Ah, but they're more than that, aren't they, Bones?" He opens the Mustang's door with a creak, sliding into the driver's seat. "They're symbols of freedom, of the open road, and the thrill of discovery." He pats the steering wheel affectionately. "And they sure don't make 'em like this anymore."

McCoy steps closer to Kirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You planning on taking her for a spin, Jim?" he asks, the question laced with a hint of nostalgia and a touch of concern for the captain's penchant for speed. "Because I don't know if I can handle the thrill of a starship chase through the streets of a museum."

The group shares a laugh, the tension of their recent adventures easing for a moment. Kirk's hand lingers on the gearshift before he climbs out of the car. "Not today, Bones," he says with a sigh, his eyes still on the Mustang. "But maybe one day, we'll get the chance to take a real joyride together."

The bond between Kirk and McCoy is palpable as they move through the exhibit, reminiscing about Earth's past. Spock, ever the observer, watches the exchange with a gentle smile, his curiosity about human emotion growing. Yagi and Thrall exchange glances, their own friendship deepening as they learn from the shared experiences of their human and Vulcan comrades.

McCoy turns around, catching Spock's smile, which is a rare sight indeed. His own smile widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth. "You know, Spock," he says, his voice tinged with affection, "you might find it illogical, but there's just something about these old cars that speaks to the human spirit. They're not just machines, they're... dreams on wheels." He steps away from the Chevy, his gaze lingering on the vehicles. "They represent a time when we didn't know what was out there, but we were eager to find out."

Spock nods thoughtfully. "The concept of a 'dream on wheels' is indeed illogical when analyzed," he says, his tone teasing. "But I concede that the emotional resonance is... intriguing." He glances over at Kirk, who's still admiring the Mustang. "It appears that your species finds comfort in the tangible reminders of your past."

"Comfort, yes," McCoy agrees, his eyes misting over slightly. "But also a reminder of how far we've come. And how much further we have to go." He sighs, the weight of his words hanging in the air. "But for now, let's keep moving. I'm sure there's more to see in this place that'll tickle our fancy."

The group moves on to the ice-skating rink, a frozen oasis amidst the warmth of the museum. The sharp scent of fresh ice fills the air, and the sound of blades slicing through the surface echoes around them. Kirk's eyes light up at the sight of the rink, and he grabs a pair of skates with the enthusiasm of a child. "Come on, everyone," he says, grinning. "Let's see if we've still got our balance after all these years in space."

Spock arches an eyebrow at the captain's challenge, his curiosity piqued. "Ice skating," he murmurs, taking a moment to process the concept. "An ancient Terran activity, designed to traverse frozen bodies of water for transportation and later adopted for recreation." He accepts a pair of skates from a museum attendant, his grip firm and precise. "I shall endeavor to participate."

They all bundle up, with Kirk wrapping a scarf around his neck and pulling on a pair of gloves, McCoy tugging on a set of earmuffs that make him look more like a quirky professor than a starship doctor, and even Spock donning a pair of Vulcan-designed mittens that mimic the color of his uniform. Yagi and Thrall exchange amused glances as they watch their human counterparts prepare for the cold, each adjusting to the alien concept of terrestrial winter gear with varying degrees of grace.

Spock steps onto the ice with a calculated grace, his booted feet sliding slightly as he adjusts to the unfamiliar surface. His Vulcan physique, so adept at navigating the corridors of the Enterprise, seems almost out of place in this frozen arena. His eyes narrow in concentration as he tries to mimic the fluid movements of the skaters around him. But as the cold bites at his cheeks and the wind whips through the rink, his footing falters. His arms flail for a brief moment as he feels the inevitable pull of gravity, his body tilting towards the icy ground.

McCoy, ever the Southern gentleman, watches Spock's struggle with a blend of amusement and concern. "Careful there, Spock," he calls out, his drawl thick with mirth. "You're supposed to glide, not fly." He skates over, extending a hand to help the Vulcan regain his balance. "Let me show you how it's done."

As McCoy reaches out to Spock, their eyes meet, and something unspoken passes between them. With a nod of understanding, Spock takes McCoy's offered hand, allowing the doctor to guide him around the rink. Their movements are tentative at first, Spock's stiffness slowly giving way to the rhythm of McCoy's instructions. The human's gentle grip is surprisingly warm against the Vulcan's cold hand, a stark contrast to the chilly air surrounding them. McCoy's words of guidance and encouragement are punctuated by the steady beat of their blades cutting through the ice. Their shared laughter fills the rink, the sound mingling with the whispers of the wind and the distant chime of the museum's exhibits.

Gradually, Spock's steps become more sure, his arms relaxing at his sides. His eyes, usually so guarded, show a flicker of something softer, something that could almost be mistaken for joy. "This is... an interesting experience," he admits, his voice tinged with the barest hint of amusement.

McCoy chuckles, his eyes never leaving Spock's as they glide along the ice. "Jim's always been one for showmanship," he says, nodding in Kirk's direction. The captain, ever the show-off, is weaving in and out of the other skaters with the grace of a natural. "But I've got to admit, there's something about watching him that just makes my heart swell with pride." He winks at Spock, his cheeks red from the cold or perhaps something else. "He's a hell of a captain, and an even better friend."

As McCoy speaks, Spock's grip on his hand tightens ever so slightly, the warmth of his affection seeping through the barrier of their gloves. He's grateful for the mittens that prevent a true skin-to-skin connection, for if McCoy felt the swell of his emotions, he would realize that the doctor's heart isn't the only one affected by Kirk's antics. Spock's own heart feels a pang of despair as he registers the unmistakable affection in McCoy's voice when he speaks of the captain. It's clear that McCoy's loyalties and feelings are deeply entwined with Kirk, and Spock can't help but feel a twinge of sadness, knowing that his own bond with McCoy may never be the same.

Kirk, catching the exchange between his two closest friends, slows his pace and approaches the duo. "What's this?" he asks, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "McCoy, are you giving Spock a lesson in the art of Southern charm?" He skates around them, his movements fluid and graceful despite his teasing tone. "Or maybe you're just showing him how to do the Hokey Pokey?"

Kirk's eyes twinkle with mischief as he suggests the dance. "Come on, you two," he says, holding out a hand to each of them. "Naturally, this comment necessitates a demonstration of the Hokey Pokey. You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out, you put your right foot in, and you shake it all about." He starts the dance, his laughter echoing through the rink.

Spock's eyebrow quirks at Kirk's playfulness, his gaze flicking from McCoy to the captain. With a small sigh, he relents, his movements a study in controlled precision as he joins in the dance, his arms and legs moving in time with the human tune. "I shall endeavor to 'shake it all about'," he says dryly, his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

McCoy rolls his eyes but can't help the laugh that bubbles out as he joins in, his own steps a bit more wobbly than Kirk's. "You're a bad influence, Jim," he says, though his grin belies any real irritation. He glances over at Spock, the sight of the Vulcan participating in such a whimsical dance bringing warmth to his heart. "But I guess even Vulcans need to let loose every once in a blue moon."

Spock pauses mid-dance, his eyebrow arching as he corrects McCoy. "Doctor, it is not currently a blue moon. However, the phrase you are employing is an idiomatic expression indicating a rare or unusual occurrence. The actual astronomical event of a blue moon, which is the second full moon in a single Earth calendar month, does not directly correlate with the concept of 'letting loose'. Nevertheless, I appreciate the sentiment behind your statement and shall continue to engage in this... unique form of human bonding." He resumes the dance, his movements slightly less rigid as he relaxes into the moment.

McCoy chuckles, his cheeks flushing with the cold and his own amusement. "Alright, point taken, Spock," he says, his voice warm despite the chilly air. "But I've got to admit, it's not every day I get to see the two of you cut a rug out here in the cosmos." He throws in a couple of spins, his Southern charm shining through even on the ice.

Spock's gaze lingers on McCoy, his own steps becoming more fluid. "Indeed, there is no actual rug on this ice," he says with a touch of amusement in his voice. "But I must admit, Dr. McCoy, your grace on these primitive skates is quite... human." He nods in approval. "It seems that even in the most illogical of situations, your species finds a way to express joy."

McCoy laughs, his eyes sparkling as he looks at Spock. "Well, now, that's the closest thing to a compliment I've ever heard from you, Spock," he says, his tone teasing. "But I'll take it. Just don't go telling anyone back on the ship that I've got moves like this." He winks, the warmth of his affection for the Vulcan evident in his voice. "I've got a reputation to uphold, after all."

Spock stops his dance for a moment, his eyes meeting McCoy's. "Doctor, your reluctance to reveal your hidden talents is, as you say, 'a crying shame'. The concept of modesty is not foreign to Vulcans, but we do not shy away from sharing our abilities for fear of judgment." He pauses, a hint of challenge in his tone. "I find it unfortunate that you do not feel comfortable displaying your skill in front of others. Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye."

McCoy's smile falters slightly, his gaze dropping to the ice. "Maybe you're right, Spock," he murmurs, a hint of sadness in his voice. "But some things are best left unsaid, or unseen." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "Now, let's get back to this shindig before we miss all the fun." He skates away from Spock, his movements more graceful than ever, as if trying to outrun the conversation.

Kirk notices the shift in McCoy's demeanor, his smile fading. He skates over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Bones," he says gently, "you don't have to hide anything from us. We're all friends here." His eyes dart to Spock, a silent question hanging in the air. "What's going on?"

McCoy shakes his head, forcing a laugh. "It's nothing, Jim," he says, his drawl a bit too thick. "Just feeling a bit... out of place, I guess." He glances around the rink, the joy of the moment fading slightly. "This isn't exactly my element."

Kirk's gaze softens as he looks at McCoy. "You know, Bones, I heard you had quite the experience with the elements back when you were on that crazy mission," he says, his voice low and warm. "Surviving the Trial of the Elements, that's something not everyone can say they've done. You faced the fire, not to mention the air and the water, and you came out on top." He pauses, his hand still resting on McCoy's shoulder. "I don't think you give yourself enough credit. You're made of tougher stuff than you let on."

McCoy's expression relaxes a little at Kirk's words, and he looks up to meet the captain's eyes. "Thanks, Jim," he says, his voice sincere. "But that was different. That was... necessary." He sighs, then shrugs off the momentary sadness. "Let's not dwell on it. After all, we're here to enjoy ourselves." He turns back to the ice, his skates gliding smoothly as he resumes the dance.

Kirk nods, understanding McCoy's reluctance to delve deeper into his feelings. He turns to Spock, who has been quietly observing the exchange. "Spock, I noticed you and Bones had a bit of a tête-à-tête over there. Everything okay?" Kirk asks, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity.

Spock's gaze follows McCoy's movements before returning to Kirk. "The doctor and I were simply discussing the illogical nature of human behavior and the value of humility," he replies, his tone neutral. "It is of no great concern." He tilts his head slightly, considering Kirk. "However, I find it interesting that you use the term 'tête-à-tête', Captain. It implies an intimate or private conversation, which is not typically associated with a public setting such as this."

Kirk chuckles, the sound echoing through the frosty air. "Well, Spock, even in the most public of places, good friends can share a private moment," he says, his eyes twinkling. "But let's not leave our new friends out of the fun." He gestures to Yagi and Thrall, who are watching the dance with bemusement. "Why don't we invite them to join us?"

The Andorian's antennae twitch with excitement as they watches the three officers. "I would be honored to participate in this...Hokey Pokey?" they say, their voice a mix of curiosity and amusement. They steps onto the ice with surprising grace, their antennae swaying with the rhythm of the music.

Spock nods, his own curiosity piqued by the cultural exchange. He approaches Yagi, his skates crunching against the frozen surface. "The Hokey Pokey is a human dance, designed to encourage unity and light-heartedness," he explains, his voice a soothing baritone. "Allow me to demonstrate."

Spock gracefully extends his hand to Yagi, guiding them through the steps with a calm patience that belies his own unfamiliarity with the dance. "You put your right antenna in, you put your right antenna out," he intones, his movements precise and deliberate as he demonstrates the gesture. "You put your right antenna in and you shake it all about."

As the laughter and music fill the air, the group decides that their time at the Cosmic Carnival of Wonders has been sufficiently filled with wonder. They exit the ice rink, their cheeks flushed from the cold and their spirits lifted from the shared camaraderie. The aroma of various interstellar delicacies wafts through the fairgrounds, reminding them of the vast tapestry of life and cuisine the universe has to offer. Kirk, ever the opportunist, suggests they grab some of the Carnival food before they leave. "We've got a transporter ride home, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy some snacks," he says with a wink.

They meander through the crowded stalls, the vibrant colors and alien sights a stark contrast to the pristine white of the ice rink. The sounds of sizzling meats, bubbling stews, and the distant laughter of children blend into a harmonious cacophony that seems to resonate with the very essence of the Starfleet's mission: to explore, to understand, and to bring together diverse peoples under the banner of peace. Kirk's eyes light up at the sight of a stand selling something that looks suspiciously like cotton candy. "Now, this is more my speed," he says, already reaching for his communicator to order a plate.

McCoy shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips as he watches Kirk's childlike excitement over the sugary treat. "Hold on there, Captain," he calls out. "I've got my heart set on something a bit more... substantial." He looks around the carnival, scanning the various delights. "Ah, I know what I want," he says, his eyes landing on a stall frying up golden spirals of dough. "Some funnel cake. Now, that's a taste of home."

Meanwhile, Yagi and Thrall, the Andorians in their party, are drawn to the scent of something fried and sweet, their antennae twitching with curiosity. They approach a vendor selling corndogs, the smell of the deep-fried dough and the savory aroma of the meat inside piquing their interest. The vendor, a Tellarite with a knowing smile, hands them each one, explaining the Terran delicacy with a series of gestures and grunts that somehow manage to convey the delight of the first bite.

Kirk, noticing the kettle corn vendor, turns to Spock with a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, Spock, this stuff is the epitome of Earthly indulgence," he says, holding out a warm, sugar-coated kernel. "You really should give it a try."

Spock takes the offered kettle corn with a nod, his curiosity overcoming his Vulcan stoicism. He brings the kernel to his mouth, the sweet and salty flavor exploding on his tongue. His eyebrows rise slightly, and he chews thoughtfully. "It is... an unusual combination of flavors," he says, swallowing. "But I concede that it is not entirely unpleasant."

After considering the unique taste of the kettle corn, Spock approaches the vendor and places an order. "I shall partake in this human delicacy," he says, his voice calm but with a hint of excitement. "One large bag, please." The vendor nods and begins filling a bag with the freshly popped corn, the sound of the kernels hitting the paper a comforting backdrop to the laughter and chatter of the carnival. Spock accepts the bag with a nod of thanks, his eyes never leaving the food as he contemplates the human penchant for such simple yet delightful experiences.

McCoy watches Spock's reaction to the kettle corn with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Spock, I've got a proposition for you," he says, holding up a piece of funnel cake dripping with powdered sugar. "How about a little interstellar exchange of goodwill?" He waves the cake enticingly. "I'll trade you a bite of this heavenly goodness for a handful of that corn you've got there." His Southern drawl is thick with the promise of a good ol' fashioned barter.

Spock raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching upward slightly. "Very well, Doctor," he says, extending the bag towards McCoy. "Your proposal is... illogical, but I am willing to indulge in this cultural exchange." He watches as McCoy eagerly takes a handful of the corn, his eyes lighting up with the same excitement Kirk had shown earlier. Spock takes a bite of the funnel cake, his expression one of focused consideration before he nods in approval. "Your Earth confection is quite... palatable," he admits, his voice holding a hint of surprise.

Spock's cheeks flush, though the darkness of the carnival night hides the telltale sign from his human companions. For a Vulcan, sharing food directly from one's own hand is an act of intimacy, and Dr. McCoy's sudden and unsolicited dive into his kettle corn bag has caught him off-guard. He feels a brief surge of... something akin to embarrassment, but quickly suppresses it. He clears his throat and turns his gaze back to the fried spirals of dough, his mind racing with the implications of such a gesture. It's clear that McCoy sees this as nothing more than a friendly exchange, but for Spock, it's a moment that pierces through the armor of his Vulcan stoicism, leaving him with a peculiar sense of warmth that he can't quite explain. He takes another bite of the funnel cake, his thoughts swirling like the sugar on the fried dough.

McCoy, seemingly oblivious to the significance of his gesture, chews on the kettle corn with gusto. "See, Spock, you can learn to love our strange human ways," he says, wiping a smudge of powdered sugar from his chin. He looks over at Kirk, who's watching the exchange with a knowing smile. "What do you think, Jim?"

Kirk's smile widens as he watches his two friends share the sugary treats. He's the first to speak up, his voice filled with the warmth of shared memories and newfound experiences. "I think it's great, Bones," he says, popping a piece of cotton candy into his mouth. "I've always said that the best way to understand a culture is to share in their food and their laughter." He looks around at the diverse group of aliens and humans that make up the carnival crowd. "And it seems we're all doing a pretty good job of that tonight."

With the night winding down and their bellies full of interstellar treats, the four Starfleet officers decide it's time to head back to the Enterprise. They say their goodbyes to the carnival, the lights and sounds of the games and rides fading behind them as they make their way to the transporter station. Thrall, his eyes shining with a newfound respect for his comrades, chooses to stay behind, eager to return to his farm and share the tales of his adventure with his Andorian family. Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Yagi step onto the transporter pad, the hum of the machine enveloping them as they dematerialize.

[vague-humanoid]

“We Cannot Work under these Conditions” - Austin McCoy on the Radical Vision of the Black...

In this episode we interview Austin McCoy to discuss his piece “'Disorganize the State': The Black Workers Congress’s Visions of Abolition-Democracy in the 1970’s", which Austin wrote for the Labor and Employment Relations Association’s publication A Racial Reckoning in Industrial Relations: Storytelling as Revolution from Within.

Austin McCoy is a historian of the 20th Century United States with specializations in African American History, labor, and cultural history.  He is currently working on two books:   The Quest for Democracy: Black Power, New Left, and Progressive Politics in the Post-Industrial Midwest and a cultural and personal history of De La Soul.

The conversation allows us to once again return to the current of radical anti-imperialist, anti-colonial, anti-racist labor organizing that emanated from organizations like DRUM (the Dodge Revolutionary Union Movement), the League of Revolutionary Black Workers and - the focus of McCoy’s essay - the Black Workers Congress.

In this episode we talk about the BWC’s radical vision, which McCoy describes as in the tradition of what W.E.B. Du Bois called “abolition democracy.” And we discuss some of the organizing history of the various individuals and organizations associated with the League of Revolutionary Black Workers as well as what happened to their vision over time.

We recorded this discussion on December 18th of 2023 so while we discuss the solidarity that these revolutionary Black organizers had with Palestinians and discuss the UAW’s ceasefire call and their proposal to examine divestment, there are some notes that are important to add as we release this discussion almost a year later (a delay that is entirely my fault).

The UAW has endorsed Kamala Harris despite her role in the genocide of Palestinians and her refusal to call for an arms embargo and they did so with no concessions whatsoever on that issue. This stance by the UAW in this moment in many ways reflects the very currents of racist and imperialist union organizing that groups like the League and the BWC were organizing against. So while we can talk about the folks within the UAW who organized for those statements and resolutions within their union as operating within the traditions we discuss in this episode, it is important to note - at least in my view - that the UAW as a whole has ultimately shunned that radical legacy and replicated the historical role of the labor aristocracy in this moment as they and other major unions in the US have done over and over again.

Nonetheless, I do think that it is important to not dismiss the power or potential of labor organizing in moments like this, even if that potential remains unfulfilled. I think about the lessons that Stefano Harney and Fred Moten pull from people like General Baker when they called us to “wildcat the totality” several years ago.

I’d like to send much appreciation to Austin McCoy for this discussion. If you would like to support our work please become a patron of the show for as little as $1 a month at patreon.com/millennialsarekillingcapitalism

Links and related or referenced discussions:

Our two part conversation with Herb Boyd about this period and the League of Revolutionary Black Workers (Part 1, Part 2)

 "Finally Got the News" (film about the League)

Some archival documents related to the League of Revolutionary Black Workers (visit FreedomArchives.org for more)

Our discussion with J. Moufawad-Paul on "Economism" which deals with some of the imperialist and racist trends within the labor movement (and within Communist or Socialist approaches to organizing the labor movement within empire at various times).

[peacesells-imbuying]

I read somewhere that Andy McCoy actually CANNOT shut his yapper and it resulted in a lot of people not liking Hanoi Rocks because of it. So Sami Yaffa with a girlfriend who doesn't tolerate Andy's bullshit. Like he starts talking MAD SHIT about the dumbest things and Sami and the rest of the band are silently BEGGING HIM to shut up so Sami's girlfriend just goes: "Andy. Shut the actual fuck up. Nobody cares." And can it be like multiple situations of it happening in different places. It can be about stupid stuff too 😭😭😭

FUNNY. 🦕 didn’t know what he would talk about 😅 Hanoi Rocks fan come back pls ❤️‍🩹 masterlist WARNING: ANDY BEING A YAPPER!!

Being close with Hanoi Rocks and being Sami girlfriend was everything you could ask for. Except for one thing. Andy. No bad blood but the fact he never shuts up. Never.

Situation 1 - car ride.

We all were hanging out at the park everything was going great. Razzle was chasing Sami, Nasty was with Mike and you while Andy was being Andy. An hour or two pass by everyone sits down in the car as Mike drives back.

Everything was perfectly fine until Andy decided to open his mouth.

“I don’t get why we the fuck we haven’t gone to America.”

The whole car went silent. See, everyone loves him but can’t stop his talking like an off and on switch.

“Can’t we just get our own tickets? Besides we could be hella famous. Imagine all the things we could…”

Andy continued on. Rolling your eyes, you tried your best to block out his voice by resting your head on Sami’s chest.

“I don’t know man.” Nasty sighs. Andy scoffs not stopping rant.

Situation 2 - after concert

“There needs to be more fucking drinks in this place.” Andy pauses with an eye roll. “Do they think we aren’t going to be thirst? Such bullshit.”

Mike awkwardly shifts wiping away his sweat. “Just ask for more..” Poor Mike you thought in your head.

“Think we should—“ Andy says ignoring Mike. You coughed out loud getting him to shut up.

Last Situation - record studio

The newest music “Underwater World” they recently recorded was great. But someone just had to say something.

“Man, this is shit. Nothing is working out. Mike maybe if you sing a bit lower, Razzle hit the drums harder. Sami more bass. Nasty play the guitar harder. Also think we shouldn’t keep the lyrics, change it a bit.”

You had enough and apparently so did everyone, they silently begged for him to shut up.

“Andy. Shut the actual fuck up. Nobody gives a fuck about your opinion at the moment. This song is already amazing, you’re going to ruin it.” You scoff and rolled your eyes.

“fine. I warned you guys but whatever. I’m out.”

No one protested or called him back. Mission accomplished.

“We dodged a bullet.” Sami laughs at your comment with a kiss.

“Thanks babe.” You gave an smile and they all continue to mess around.

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.2)

They accidentally hurt you (Part.2)

You're accidentally hurt during a moment of loss of control by your powerful partners

Characters: Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Ororo Munroe, Mystique, Magik, Colossus & Sunspot

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

Being in a relationship with Pietro Maximoff was like living life at lightning speed—quite literally. His world was always in motion, and being with him meant constantly adapting to the rapid pace of his thoughts and actions. But beneath his fast-talking, sometimes brash exterior, you found someone who was deeply caring, even if his way of showing it was a little unconventional. He adored you, always racing back to you after a mission or zipping out to grab your favorite food when you were feeling down. But sometimes, Pietro’s powers got the best of him.

Today had been one of those days. It started out fine—Pietro had taken you on a whirlwind day trip to Paris, as he often did, running across the Atlantic in the blink of an eye. You had laughed as he effortlessly carried you through the streets, dodging between pedestrians, never once bumping into anyone. The two of you had spent hours exploring the city, grabbing pastries from the corner café, and watching the sunset by the Seine.

But on the way back to the mansion, something went wrong.

Pietro, in his typical rush, had underestimated just how tired he was. He carried you back across the ocean, but this time, his focus slipped for just a second. That second was all it took.

One moment you were in his arms, the wind whipping through your hair, and the next you were falling. The blur of the world slowed into a terrifying clarity as your body hit the ground. The impact knocked the breath out of you, and pain flared through your side. For a moment, everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, Pietro was there, his face pale with fear. He was kneeling beside you, his hands hovering over you but not touching, as if afraid his very presence would break you further.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, his usual confidence and swagger gone, replaced by sheer panic. “Oh god, I—I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t thinking—”

You groaned, trying to push yourself up, but the pain in your ribs made you gasp. Pietro’s hands immediately shot forward, but then he froze, torn between wanting to help and being terrified of making things worse.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve never… I didn’t think this would happen. I’m so stupid! I—”

“Pietro,” you gasped, forcing a weak smile. “It was an accident.”

He shook his head furiously, his silver hair falling into his eyes. “No. No, it wasn’t. I wasn’t careful. I was too fast. I always do this—”

“Hey, stop.” You reached out, grabbing his wrist to ground him. “I’m okay. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

His eyes, wide and filled with guilt, locked onto yours. For once, Pietro didn’t have a quick comeback, didn’t have a joke or a grin to deflect. He looked devastated, as if the very thought of hurting you had broken something inside him.

“I’ll never forgive myself for this,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You… you’re everything to me, and I… I hurt you.”

You gently pulled his hand toward you, resting it over your heart. “Pietro, I trust you. Always. This was an accident, and it could have happened to anyone.”

Pietro’s face crumpled, and he leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. His lips trembled against your skin, and you felt his breath hitch.

“I’ll be more careful,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll never let this happen again.”

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

Being with Wanda was like stepping into a world where magic and reality blurred together. You were always mesmerized by the way her crimson energy glowed at her fingertips, the way she could bend the world to her will, her power immense but her heart so fragile. You’d been through a lot together, and you’d come to understand the weight of her power, the burden she carried with each spell cast, each alteration of reality. But despite her best efforts, sometimes things spiraled out of control.

Today, it had started as a simple, quiet day in your shared apartment. Wanda had been in a particularly good mood, her laughter filling the room as she practiced her magic casually. She’d been making small changes to the space—coloring the walls with a wave of her hand, rearranging furniture with a flick of her wrist, changing a painting on the wall just for fun. You’d always admired how natural her magic was to her, as if it were an extension of her being.

"Look at this!" Wanda giggled, twirling around as she summoned a cluster of glowing red orbs that danced in the air between you. You smiled, watching her joy with an affectionate gaze. She was so radiant when she let her guard down, when she allowed herself to play without worry.

You reached out, trying to touch one of the floating orbs, but suddenly, her expression shifted. Something flickered in her eyes—panic, uncertainty—and the magic faltered.

Before you could react, the energy exploded outward in a burst of chaotic force. You were thrown back, your body slamming into the wall with a sickening thud. The wind was knocked out of you, and pain seared through your back and head as you crumpled to the floor, dazed and disoriented.

“Y/N!” Wanda’s voice was filled with horror as she rushed toward you, her crimson energy quickly dissipating as she knelt by your side, her hands hovering over you. “Oh my God, I—are you okay? I didn’t mean to—I lost control—”

You winced, trying to catch your breath as you pushed yourself up, but every movement sent sharp pain radiating through your body. Wanda’s hands trembled as she touched your arm lightly, afraid to cause any more harm.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—my magic—”

“It’s okay,” you croaked, even though you were still catching your breath, your body aching from the impact. You managed a weak smile, reaching up to touch her hand. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

But Wanda’s face was pale, her green eyes wide with guilt and fear. “No, it’s not okay. I can’t control it sometimes, and this is exactly what I was afraid of. I hurt you. I could have—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her gloved hands to her face, her shoulders shaking.

“Wanda…” you breathed, slowly pulling yourself into a sitting position despite the pain. You cupped her cheek gently, brushing away a tear that had escaped her lashes. “You didn’t lose control. It was an accident. I’m fine.”

She shook her head, her chest tight with emotion as she looked at you, her guilt weighing heavily on her. “I could have done worse. What if next time it’s worse? I can’t live with myself if—”

You silenced her with a soft kiss on her forehead, your touch gentle but grounding. “You won’t. I trust you. We’ll work through this. You have more control than you think, Wanda. I’ve seen you do amazing things, and I know you can handle this.”

Her tears slowed as she gazed at you, her heart swelling with love and guilt, her hands carefully cradling your face. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always be so careful. I promise, I’ll never hurt you again.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back, leaning into her touch, knowing that together, you could face anything—even the occasional chaos of her powers.

Charles Xavier (Professor X)

Your relationship with Charles Xavier was built on a deep, unspoken understanding. His mind was a marvel—brilliant, compassionate, but weighed down by the burden of leading the X-Men and carrying the future of mutantkind on his shoulders. You loved him for his wisdom, his kindness, and his unwavering dedication to his ideals. But with his incredible psychic abilities came risks, especially in moments when his concentration slipped, when the weight of his mental strain became too much.

The day had started like any other. You had been sitting across from Charles in his study, watching him as he went through a pile of documents. His brow furrowed in concentration as he read over reports from Cerebro, the faint hum of the machine in the background. You could tell he was tired, the mental strain from constant use of his powers weighing on him. He rarely admitted it, but you could always sense when he needed rest.

"Charles," you said softly, setting your book aside. "You’ve been working too hard. You need a break."

He glanced up from his papers, offering you a small, tired smile. "You worry too much about me," he said, though the affection in his voice was clear. "But I appreciate it."

Before you could reply, something shifted. Charles’s expression grew distant, his eyes glazing over as his mind seemed to drift away. You had seen this before—when Cerebro pulled him into a deep telepathic connection, when his mind traveled across the globe in search of new mutants.

But this time, something went wrong.

A sudden, sharp pain lanced through your head, so intense it felt like your skull was being split apart. You gasped, clutching your head as the psychic intrusion overwhelmed your senses. Images flashed before your eyes—disjointed, chaotic thoughts that weren’t your own. You tried to scream, but no sound came out, your body wracked with the intense pressure of Charles’s mind accidentally invading yours.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.

You collapsed into the chair, gasping for air as the pain ebbed away, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache. Charles was immediately by your side, his wheelchair rolling quickly to you, his face filled with horror and guilt.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I—I didn’t mean to—are you alright?”

You blinked, trying to clear the lingering fog from your mind as you looked up at him. His hands were trembling slightly, something you had never seen before. The great Charles Xavier, always calm and composed, was visibly shaken.

“It was an accident,” you managed to say, though your head still pounded from the psychic overload. “I’m okay.”

Charles shook his head, his guilt written plainly across his features. “No. I wasn’t careful. I—my mind slipped, and I hurt you. I should have been more aware. I…” He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

You reached out, placing a hand over his, trying to convey your forgiveness through your touch. “Charles, it’s okay. I know you would never hurt me on purpose. I’m fine. Really.”

He looked at you with such sorrow in his eyes, the weight of centuries of knowledge and responsibility pressing down on him. “I could have done much worse. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I would never… I would never want to harm you.”

“I know,” you whispered, squeezing his hand gently. “You’ve been carrying so much. It’s no wonder your mind slipped. But I’m not afraid of you, Charles. I never will be.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “You are far too forgiving, my love. I don’t deserve it.”

“You deserve everything,” you said softly, leaning forward to kiss him gently on the lips, reassuring him with your touch. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone. Let me help you.”

He gazed at you with such deep gratitude, his hand brushing your cheek softly. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you whispered, knowing that, no matter what, you would always be by his side.

Hank McCoy (Beast)

You’ve always admired Hank’s intelligence and his unparalleled kindness. For someone so physically imposing, he was remarkably gentle, both in mind and heart. Being with him had been a gift, his endless curiosity and deep compassion bringing a unique sense of warmth into your life. You loved watching him in the lab, his mind constantly at work as he balanced his brilliant scientific endeavors with his more primal, physical side.

Today was no different, except for one thing. He’d been stressed recently, working long hours in his lab to perfect a new serum, one that could enhance mutant abilities without adverse side effects. He was meticulous, often pushing himself too hard, and you could see the toll it was taking on him.

“Love, you’ve been at this for hours,” you said, leaning against the doorframe of the lab, watching as he adjusted some delicate equipment. His large, fur-covered hands moved with surprising precision. “You should take a break.”

Hank glanced up, his glasses slipping down his nose as he offered you a weary smile. “I’m almost finished,” he said, his deep voice rumbling with both affection and fatigue. “Just a few more calculations, and then I’ll join you for dinner.”

You sighed, knowing how hard it was to pull him away when he was so focused. Still, you couldn’t help but worry. “Don’t push yourself too hard,” you said softly, stepping closer. “I don’t want you to burn out.”

He looked up from his work, his blue eyes softening as he reached for your hand, pulling you close. “You always know how to take care of me,” he murmured, brushing a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I promise, just a little longer.”

You smiled, resting your head against his broad chest, comforted by the steady thrum of his heart. But as you pulled away to give him space, something unexpected happened.

A sudden crash echoed through the lab. One of Hank’s devices, an experimental generator, sputtered and sparked. Hank reacted instantly, his instincts taking over as he lunged forward to stop the malfunction. But in his haste, he misjudged his own strength.

Before you could react, his powerful arm swung out, hitting you square in the side. The force of the blow sent you flying into a nearby table, your body crashing against the hard surface. Pain shot through you, sharp and unforgiving, and you crumpled to the ground, gasping for air.

“Y/N!” Hank’s voice was filled with horror as he rushed to your side, his hands shaking as he carefully lifted you into his arms. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t see you—are you alright?”

You winced, trying to catch your breath, the pain in your ribs making it hard to move. “I’m… okay,” you managed, though your voice was weak, your body trembling from the impact. “It was an accident.”

Hank’s face was a mixture of guilt and fear as he cradled you against his chest, his large hands carefully checking you for injuries. “I’m so sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—sometimes I forget how strong I am.”

You could see the anguish in his eyes, the way his self-loathing threatened to consume him. He had always been so careful with you, so aware of his strength and size. To have hurt you, even by accident, was his worst nightmare.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek, your fingers brushing through his thick fur. “I’ll be okay, Hank. It’s not your fault.”

But he shook his head, his eyes filled with regret. “I should have been more careful. I—” His voice broke, and he pulled you closer, his arms trembling as he held you. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, trying to soothe his guilt with your touch. “I trust you,” you whispered, your voice filled with love and reassurance. “I’ll always trust you.”

Hank held you close, his heart aching with both love and guilt, knowing that he would do everything in his power to make sure this never happened again.

Emma Frost

Being with Emma Frost was never simple. She was a woman of many layers, her sharp intellect and cold exterior often hiding the vulnerability and passion that lay beneath. But you knew her better than anyone. You’d seen the cracks in her icy façade, the warmth she reserved only for you. Emma was fiercely protective, but she also had her moments of weakness, and today, that weakness had shown itself in the worst way.

You were in the Danger Room, watching her train. Emma was skilled, both in her telepathy and her diamond form, and she took pride in her ability to protect herself and those she cared about. You had always admired her strength, but you also knew how much pressure she put on herself to be perfect.

“Darling, you don’t have to push yourself so hard,” you called out, leaning against the control panel as she finished a particularly brutal round of training simulations. “You’re already incredible.”

Emma smirked, her blue eyes glinting with amusement as she sauntered over to you, her body shimmering as she shifted out of her diamond form. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she purred, though there was a hint of tension in her voice.

You raised an eyebrow, sensing something was off. “Are you okay?”

Emma hesitated for a moment, her confident demeanor faltering ever so slightly. “I’ve just been under a lot of stress,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. “There’s… a lot on my mind.”

You stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. I’m here.”

For a moment, Emma softened, her gaze meeting yours with a vulnerability she rarely showed. But then, something shifted. Her telepathy flared without warning, a sharp, unintentional burst of psychic energy hitting you like a tidal wave. Your mind was flooded with overwhelming thoughts and emotions—fear, pain, anger—all tangled together in a chaotic storm.

You cried out, clutching your head as the psychic intrusion tore through your mind, leaving you gasping for air. The pressure was unbearable, your thoughts splintering as Emma’s powers overwhelmed your senses.

And then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

Emma’s eyes widened in horror as she realized what she had done, her hands shaking as she reached for you. “Y/N,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I… I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”

You staggered, still reeling from the psychic onslaught, but you managed to steady yourself, your heart racing as you tried to catch your breath. “It’s okay,” you said, though your voice was weak, your body trembling from the aftershock. “It was an accident.”

Emma’s usually composed expression crumbled, her icy exterior shattering as guilt washed over her. “I hurt you,” she said, her voice filled with self-loathing. “I swore I’d never let that happen.”

You reached out, gently touching her cheek, your fingers tracing the sharp lines of her face. “It wasn’t your fault,” you whispered, your voice filled with understanding. “You were overwhelmed. I get it.”

But Emma shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I should have been stronger. I should have controlled it. I—” Her voice broke, and she turned away, her shoulders tense with guilt.

You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around her from behind, resting your head against her shoulder. “Emma, you don’t have to be perfect. I love you for who you are, flaws and all. I’m not afraid of you.”

She closed her eyes, leaning into your embrace as the tension slowly melted away. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You smiled softly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You deserve everything.”

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

Ororo was breathtaking in every sense. From the calm in her voice to the ferocity of her powers, she was like the perfect storm—gentle and violent, all at once. You had fallen in love with her grace, her wisdom, and the way she treated you like the calm at the eye of her whirlwind. But even the most controlled storm can lose its way, and today, you found yourself caught in the middle of one.

It was a bright, peaceful afternoon at Xavier’s mansion. Ororo had been training in the backyard, working on perfecting her connection with the elements as she often did. You sat nearby, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin, the rhythmic sound of the wind responding to her commands soothing your nerves.

“Be careful, love,” you called out with a teasing smile. “You know how you get when you push yourself too hard.”

Ororo’s golden eyes met yours, her lips curving into a soft smile. “I’ve got everything under control, darling,” she reassured you, her voice like a summer breeze, carrying with it the sweet scent of rain.

You relaxed into the moment, watching as she raised her arms to the sky, commanding the clouds to shift, the wind to change direction. You were used to this—Ororo playing with the elements like a conductor leading an orchestra. But today, something felt off. The air grew heavier, the skies darker, and a sense of tension filled the space around you.

Suddenly, without warning, a crack of thunder split the sky. You barely had time to react before a sudden gust of wind, stronger than any you’d ever felt, slammed into you, knocking you off your feet. You hit the ground hard, pain radiating through your body as the wind continued to rage, swirling around you with an almost tangible fury.

“Y/N!” Ororo’s voice broke through the chaos, panic evident in her tone.

She was by your side in an instant, the storm vanishing as quickly as it had come. You groaned, trying to push yourself up, but the pain in your ribs made it difficult to breathe. Ororo’s hands were gentle but frantic as she helped you sit up, her face pale with fear.

“I didn’t mean to—oh, Goddess, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she touched your cheek, her fingers soft against your skin. “I lost control for just a moment. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You winced but managed a small smile, reaching up to place your hand over hers. “It’s okay, Ororo,” you said, though your voice was weak. “It was an accident. I’ll be fine.”

But Ororo shook her head, her eyes filled with guilt and self-reproach. “I should have been more careful. I never should have put you at risk like that.” She pulled you closer, her arms wrapping around you protectively as though she could shield you from the storm that had already passed.

“I trust you,” you whispered, resting your head against her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart. “I know you’d never hurt me on purpose.”

Ororo held you tightly, her breath shaky as she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll never let it happen again,” she promised, her voice firm despite the tears in her eyes.

In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of her storm, you knew that she meant every word.

Raven Darkholme (Mystique)

Loving Raven had always been a risk. Her world was filled with danger, deception, and ever-changing faces. But you had fallen for her, despite it all, because beneath her tough exterior was someone you loved with all your heart. Still, there were moments when her powers—her ability to shift and change—created unintended consequences.

Today had been one of those days. You and Raven were in the middle of a mission, something quick and straightforward. But things had gone wrong. In the heat of the battle, you had gotten too close, and without realizing it, Raven had shifted into a form with a sharper edge—literally. Her arm, now covered in razor-like scales, brushed against your side as she fought off an enemy, and you felt a searing pain slice through your skin.

You gasped, stumbling back as you clutched your side. Blood seeped through your fingers, and Raven’s eyes immediately snapped to you. Her form shifted back into her usual self, and for the first time in a long time, you saw fear in her eyes.

"Y/N!" she called out, her voice shaking with an emotion she rarely showed—panic. She was at your side in an instant, her hands already on your wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "I didn’t see you… I didn’t realize…" Her voice was frantic, and the guilt that clouded her expression was unlike anything you’d seen before.

"It’s okay," you said, wincing as the pain shot through you. Your vision blurred slightly, but you forced yourself to smile up at her. "It was an accident."

But Raven wasn’t hearing it. "I’m supposed to protect you," she muttered, her voice thick with frustration and anger—though not at you, at herself. "I’m supposed to be in control, and I hurt you."

You placed your hand over hers, despite the pain. "Raven, it was a mistake. I know you’d never hurt me intentionally."

Her jaw clenched, and you could see the internal battle she was fighting. Raven prided herself on being in control, on never letting her emotions—or her powers—slip. But this time, she had, and it was eating her up inside.

"I won’t let this happen again," she whispered, her voice hard with determination as she pressed her forehead against yours. "I won’t lose control like that again."

You smiled softly, despite the pain radiating from your wound. "I know you won’t," you whispered back, your hand gently squeezing hers. "I trust you, Raven. I always will."

Raven’s eyes softened at your words, and she carefully lifted you into her arms, her movements gentle despite her strength. As she carried you to safety, you could feel the tension in her body, the way she held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

The wound would heal, but the love between you and Raven only deepened. She became even more protective of you after that day, never letting her guard down again when you were near. But through it all, the bond between you remained unbreakable.

Illyana Rasputin (Magik)

You knew Illyana had a complicated relationship with her powers, especially with the dark side of Limbo that constantly pulled at her. Despite this, you loved her fiercely, and she loved you with a passion that could light up even the darkest realms. She was careful around you, more than anyone else, but today, things had slipped out of her control.

You had been helping her train, something simple, nothing too intense. But the energies of Limbo were unpredictable, and without warning, a surge of dark magic shot out from her sword, the edge of it grazing your arm. The moment it hit, a burning sensation spread up your skin, and you let out a gasp, staggering backward as the pain ripped through you.

Illyana’s eyes flared with panic, and within seconds, she was at your side, her sword vanishing into thin air. "Y/N!" she cried, her voice breaking as she grabbed your shoulders, her hands trembling. "I didn’t mean to! I— I lost control for a second!"

You winced, feeling the magic burn deeper into your flesh, but you forced a smile through the pain. "I know," you whispered, your hand coming up to rest on hers. "I know, Illyana. It’s okay."

But it wasn’t okay to her. Her eyes were wide with fear, with guilt. "No… no, it’s not. I should’ve been more careful. I shouldn’t have let this happen." Her fingers traced the burn on your arm, her magic already working to heal it, but the regret in her expression remained.

You could see the darkness lurking just behind her eyes, the worry that she might hurt you again. "Illyana, listen to me." You gently cupped her face, forcing her to meet your gaze. "I trust you. I know you didn’t mean to. This doesn’t change how I feel about you."

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerable side of her that she rarely let anyone else see. She kissed your forehead softly, her lips lingering there as if trying to absorb your pain. "I love you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I never want to hurt you."

You smiled, your heart swelling with warmth. "You won’t. I know you, Illyana. You’re stronger than the darkness."

She nodded slowly, her arms wrapping around you tightly. From that moment on, she became even more protective, determined to never let her powers slip around you again. And through it all, your love for her only grew stronger.

Piotr Rasputin (Colossus)

The weight of Piotr's presence always made you feel safe, but today, that same strength was what had hurt you. You and Piotr had decided to engage in some light sparring in the Danger Room, a regular part of your routine since you liked to train together. Piotr, in his towering, metal form, was always so careful with you, knowing the tremendous strength he carried. But today, something went wrong.

The match had been going smoothly until you tried to land a playful punch on his side, which he quickly blocked. But his reflexes, powerful and fast, caught you off guard. He turned, his metal fist too swift and forceful, and connected with your shoulder before either of you could stop it. The impact was immediate, sending a shock of pain through your body and knocking you to the ground.

You gasped in shock, clutching your shoulder as you struggled to catch your breath. "Y/N!" Piotr's voice was laced with panic as he immediately knelt beside you, his large metallic hands trembling as he reached for you. "I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry. Are you hurt badly?" His deep, accented voice was almost a whisper as his guilt consumed him.

The pain was sharp, but you forced yourself to give him a reassuring smile, though it was more of a grimace. "I’m okay," you managed to say, though the pain in your shoulder said otherwise. You knew Piotr would never intentionally hurt you, but the guilt that filled his eyes was almost unbearable.

"I should never have agreed to spar with you," Piotr muttered, his voice full of self-reproach. His hands hovered over your body, unsure of where to touch, afraid of causing you further harm. "I’m too dangerous. I hurt you. I could’ve—"

"Piotr, stop," you interrupted softly, reaching up with your good arm to rest your hand against his cool, metal cheek. "It was an accident. You’d never hurt me on purpose."

He closed his eyes at your touch, but the pain in his expression didn’t lessen. "You are too precious to me," he whispered, his accent thick with emotion. "I cannot forgive myself for this."

Despite the pain, you leaned into his embrace as he carefully lifted you in his arms. His metal skin was cool against your body, but you could still feel the warmth of his love beneath it. "I know you love me, Piotr," you said, resting your head against his broad chest. "That’s why I know you’d never hurt me intentionally."

Piotr carried you to the med bay, never once letting you go. Even though the pain in your shoulder would take time to heal, the bond between you and Piotr only grew stronger. He became even more protective of you, but the love and devotion he showed was something that would never waver.

Roberto Da Costa (Sunspot)

Roberto’s energy had always been one of the things that attracted you to him. His fire, his passion, his vibrancy—he was like the sun, impossible to resist. But today, that same energy had gone out of control. You and Roberto were training together, as usual, but he had been pushing himself harder than normal, his powers flaring hotter and wilder than you had ever seen before.

You had been standing too close when it happened—a massive surge of solar energy burst from Roberto’s body, and before you could react, the heat slammed into you, knocking you to the ground. The burning pain spread through your chest and arms, and you cried out in shock, clutching at your skin as it stung from the impact.

"Y/N!" Roberto’s voice was filled with panic as he rushed over to you, his hands still glowing with the residual energy from the blast. "Oh god, are you okay? I—" He knelt beside you, his usually confident demeanor shattered as he took in the sight of you, wincing from the pain.

You tried to smile, though it was more of a grimace, as you lay on the ground, the heat from the blast still radiating through your skin. "I’m okay," you said weakly, though you weren’t entirely sure that was true. The burn was painful, but the look of guilt on Roberto’s face was worse.

"I didn’t mean to," Roberto said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I lost control for a second, I swear. I would never… I’d never hurt you on purpose." His hands hovered over you, glowing with warmth but not daring to touch you, as if afraid he’d burn you again.

"I know, Roberto," you said, your voice soft but filled with reassurance. "I know you didn’t mean to."

He shook his head, his dark eyes filled with regret. "I should’ve been more careful. I could’ve hurt you so much worse." He clenched his fists, frustrated with himself. "I can’t believe I let this happen."

You reached up with your uninjured hand, gently placing it on his arm. "You didn’t let anything happen," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the pain. "It was an accident. I know you’d never hurt me on purpose."

Roberto’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled shakily. "I love you so much, Y/N," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know what I’d do if I really hurt you."

You smiled softly, despite the burn, and pulled him closer to you. "I love you too," you whispered back. "And you didn’t hurt me on purpose. That’s all that matters."

Roberto carefully helped you up, his arms gentle but protective as he guided you to the med bay. The pain would fade in time, but the love between you and Roberto only grew stronger. He was more careful with his powers around you from that day on, but the bond between you remained unbreakable.

[girlactionfigure]

The dark-haired girl on the right with the impish smile, her name was Eddie Lou, she was about 8 years old when this photo was taken in 1909. The picture was taken at the Tifton Cotton Mill, Tifton, Georgia. The girls worked there.

The photograph was taken by Lewis Hine, who visited factories such as this mill and took photographs of the children who worked there as evidence for the National Child Labor Committee (NCLC).

In another part of the country, Mary Harris Jones, also known as "Mother Jones", led a march of children from Philadelphia to New York in what would be known as the March of the Mill Children, a three-week trek by striking child and adult textile workers on July 7, 1903.

Children had been forced to work in coal mines and mills, when their fathers were killed or injured, unable to support the families. As a result, many children suffered stunted growth and were injured, maimed. Mother Jones described the children, "some with their hands off, some with the thumb missing, some with their fingers off at the knuckle. They were stooped things, round shouldered and skinny. Many of them were not over ten years of age, the state law prohibited their working before they were twelve years of age."

“Since 2000, for nearly two decades, the world had been making steady progress in reducing child labour,” according to the United Nations. “But over the past few years, conflicts, crises and the COVID-19 pandemic, have plunged more families into poverty – and forced millions more children into child labour. Economic growth has not been sufficient, nor inclusive enough, to relieve the pressure that too many families and communities feel and that makes them resort to child labour. Today, 160 million children are still engaged in child labour. That is almost one in ten children worldwide.”

This is an update of a series of stories that have been posted for Labor Day. You can find those stories in the Peace Page archive or Google the information on your own to find out more.

~~~~~

“Over 100 years ago, the National Child Labor Committee used photos of children doing industrial work to demand change in America. Several states adopted child labor laws, and after much debate and several setbacks, the Fair Labor Standards Act became law in 1938. Its protections included the nation’s foundational child labor laws, including restrictions on the age of workers and hours they can toil,” wrote Michael Lazzeri, regional administrator of the U.S. Department of Labor’s Wage and Hour Division in Chicago

Max McCoy of the the Kansas Reflector wrote today on September 3, 2023:

“After more than a century of progress, you might think child labor is a thing of the past, something we condemn other countries for but that we don’t need to worry about here. Tragically, that shadow army of workers is still with us, and many of those workers are children. These underage exploited are often immigrants . . .”

“In February of this year, a cleaning company was fined $1.5 million for employing children ages 13 to 17 at meatpacking plants in eight states. The firm, Packers Sanitations Services Inc., was the target of a federal Department of Labor investigation that found 102 children working illegally, including 26 at the Cargill meatpacking plant at Dodge City.

“Appallingly, many states are now racing to loosen — not tighten — child labor laws.

“Arkansas, for example, in March did away with the requirement that the state’s Division of Labor had to give permission or verify the age of children under 16 to be employed. Although those under 14 still cannot be employed, the ending of age verification requirements is an invitation to child labor abuses.

“Other states are making similar moves.

“Iowa, for example, has made it legal for teenagers to work in meatpacking plants and children as young as 16 to bartend. New Jersey and New Hampshire have also lowered ages for some types of work. The argument goes that work builds character and that overly restrictive laws prevent young people from fully developing their capacity to earn a living.

“But such arguments stink like the stuff you find on a slaughterhouse floor.”

~~~~~

"In the early 1900s, Hine traveled across the United States to photograph preteen boys descending into dangerous mines, shoeless 7-year-olds selling newspapers on the street and 4-year-olds toiling on tobacco farms. Though the country had unions to protect laborers at that time — and Labor Day, a federal holiday to honor them — child labor was widespread and widely accepted. The Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates that around the turn of the century, at least 18 percent of children between the ages of 10 and 15 were employed," according to the Washington Post.

Mother Jones would say after the march, "I held up their mutilated hands and showed them to the crowd and made the statement that Philadelphia's mansions were built on the broken bones, the quivering hearts and drooping heads of these children. That their little lives went out to make wealth for others. That neither state or city officials paid any attention to these wrongs. That they did not care that these children were to be the future citizens of the nation."

Many industries hid the fact that they employed children. They took advantage of poor families, such as Eddie Lou's family. Eddie Lou's father had died and left her mother with 11 children and no income. Her mother was forced to work at the cotton mill for $4.50 a week. Eddie Lou and four siblings also worked there and they were all together paid $4.50 as well. Eddie Lou and her youngest siblings would eventually be sent to an orphanage because her mother wasn't able to provide for them.

“If we don’t hold the line on child labor, we risk losing one of the things the has sets us apart as a nation founded not only on laws, but of morals,” wrote McCoy. “Of course children provide cheap labor, but business profits should not be the gauge of our society. In addition to the mental and physical tolls that children suffer in jobs that are inappropriate — and can you really imagine a 16-year-old wiping down the bar and asking what’s your poison? — there’s also a danger these children will become primary breadwinners for their families, with their educations coming a distant second.”

The children at the march carried banners that said, "We want more schools and less hospitals" and "We want time to play."

~ jsr

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page

[miss-multifandom-mess]

My McSpirk Master Fic Rec List

A List of McSpirk Fics I Recommend

Sharing a bed, where everyone dreams by LadyPolyester

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 1,692

Tags: Established Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Love in a shower, Mutual Pining

Summary: "Oh, oh come on, Spock, let yourself go!." Jim began tickling the Vulcan and giggled like a naughty child. Spock shuddered and, although he tried to remain calm, he tried to dodge Jim's attacks by rolling on the bed. The captain did not let go of his prey. Suddenly, he rolled harder onto the edge and ended up on the bedroom floor.

Leonard opened his eyes with a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. "Really,Jim,you have a knack for kicking people out of your bed." He rolled his eyes.

A Case Study in Empathic Somnambulism by fleurofthecourt

Chapters: 2/2

Words: 3,185

Tags: Sleepwalking, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Fluff

Summary: Kirk, Spock, and McCoy all end up sleeping in Spock's quarters, but it is not entirely on purpose and, honestly, kind of a problem.

AOS McSpirk One-shots by Klmeri

-> Collection

Words: 163, 258

Tags: Threesome - M/M/M, Established Relationship, Pre-relationship, Humor

Summary: These are standalone one-shots of McSpirk in the Alternate Original Series. Both Established relationship and Pre-relationship!

Could Only Handle So Much by maifai

-> Series

Words: 233,920

Tags: Tarsus IV, Angst, Trauma, Slow Build, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, PTSD, Developing Relationship, Pre-relationship

Summary: Star Trek fics that can each be read as stand-alone, but are also intended to feasibly coincide chronologically.

Prepare for the SLOWEST of slow burns. It's going to take literal years (both irl and in the story). End game will be McSpirk.

love, actually, is: the final frontier by esspresohno

Chapters: 6/6

Words: 15,713

Tags: Romantic Comedy, Ensemble Cast, Fluff, Humor, Holidays

Summary: it's Love Actually, but it's on the Enterprise, and on a starship the 12 month calendar doesn't exist, and it's in the 23rd century so the holidays don't really look the same, but it's Love Actually

ensemble rom com fic with classic Chuhura pining, a ship I invented between Pavel and Ensign Syl (from st beyond), Hikaru and his husband in a loving marriage, Gaila/Scotty with an entirely new Gaila characterization which i also pulled out of nowhere, Spones because i think my own jokes are funny, background Spirk, and a McSpirk finale because i don't write enough of that ship

Emotional, physical, and mental by TFALokiwriter

Chapters: 16/16

Words: N/A

Tags: Humor, Hurt, Trust

Summary: There are three things that can hurt some-one when pushing them to their limits or making them feel pain: emotional, physical, and mental. Sometimes the last part can hurt more than the physical, and sometimes, just sometimes, but perhaps rarely this ever happens, you get the wrong version of the mind inhabiting it.