#She's just trying to survive/live/get the job done. This can be examined later (preferably never)

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

this is kuron to me.. i dont have a specific au in mind, this is just kinda how this guy always is(or at least how he is in my head lol)

You are so fucking right!!! Kuron is like, "I can either deal with clone identity crisis or gender identity crisis and honestly? I am going to ignore both of them right now"

[devnicolee]

Anniversary Blues

A/N: just some slight angst then fluff... idk, this is random but I decided my weekend needed some of our favorite Mountain King. Enjoy!

M’Baku x Reader

"Leave us!" you called out, authority reverberating throughout the throne room as you marched down the center aisle to your husband's throne. Like a hunter eyeing its prey, you only had eyes for the man sitting tall and proud at the front of the room as weeks of building frustration propelled you forward. You were so distracted that you did not really pay the rows of soldiers much attention. You tried to be understanding for over a month now. But this was the final straw. You finally had enough.

The chatter in the room ceased almost immediately as the men and women around you looked from you to her husband, waiting for the leader of the Jabari to speak. He simply looked at you with confusion. If you hadn't known him as intimately as you did, the flicker of annoyance and frustration that passed behind his brown eyes would have gone unnoticed. But you noticed and like gasoline to a fire, your anger exploded.  

Once you reached the front of the throne room, you sighed deeply at the sustained presence of others in the room. You turned to find the group gathering their things at a painstakingly slow pace, not with the haste you required and demanded. 

"Are you all suddenly hard of hearing? I said: Leave. Us. Now. Do not make me repeat myself again."

As the Queen of Jabariland, you were known for your gentleness, your compassion, and empathy. The calm to M'Baku's fire. In your two years of marriage, most had never even heard you raise your voice. This was uncharted territory and no one needed to hear or see anything else. They quickly scampered, scurrying from the room as if they were trying to escape a literal fire. You waited for the heavy wooden doors to slam shut behind the last person before you turned back to your husband.

"What is the meaning of this Y/N? I was in the middle of a meeting."

"I know. A meeting that was more important than our anniversary?"

M’Baku’s heart fell into his stomach. That was today. His eyes studied your body, taking note of the black skin-tight dress (his favorite) covering your shape, the makeup on your face and the small gift-wrapped box in your hand. He hung his head, guilt rushing through him, as he remembered the private chef and dinner you planned in the city to celebrate two years of marriage. Though he would never admit it to you, your anniversary had not even been on his radar before you reminded him of this dinner. And it didn't stay on it long because he quickly forgot to add it to his calendar. 

"Y/N… I am sorry. Today has been hec-"

You raised your hand to silence him. His excuses had long grown tiresome, you were not interested in them anymore. "Is everyday not hectic for a chief? That does not excuse broken promises, M'Baku. You are a man of your word, are you not? That is certainly one of the reasons I married you... because you are trustworthy and reliable. So, you are going to need to do a whole hell of a lot better than that." You were not angry that your husband was busy, there was no leader on Earth that was not burdened with too much. And since rejoining Wakanda, your already overflowing workloads had only grown larger. But this was not an ordinary evening, he was not just missing dinner in your private quarters or movie night. It was your anniversary, your night to celebrate your love and commitment to one another, your night to make each other a priority.

"I am sorry, Y/N. I will make it up to you, I promise."

"'You'll make it up to me?' How? When? It is not like you are ever home," you retorted. Your eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as you tried to stop tears of anger from falling before you took a deep breath and continued. "We barely see each other. I fall asleep alone almost every night. I wake up alone every morning. I eat alone, I am basically alone in this marriage. When will you carve out time in your busy schedule to make it up to me? I mean... I just asked you for one night." Your voice trailed off as your anger dissipated and hurt seeped in. 

"I am trying to run an entire tribe, Y/N!" M'Baku said defensively, frustration taking over as his pride could not tolerate an attack from his own wife. " I can't always be with you! And it is unfair for you to be angry at me every time I have to prioritize our people." 

You almost considered just turning on your heels and walking out the door as you listened to him. You knew exactly what moment you were approaching in this argument, his voice steadily rising to the point where he simply shuts down and refuses to listen or see reason any longer. You let out a deep sigh, trying to calm yourself before attempting to explain your position again. 

"I am not asking for always M’Baku! I mean Hanuman! At this point, I am not even asking for sometimes. Merely occasionally. It is not about one dinner. It is about you being emotionally and physically unavailable for over a month. I understand you are running a tribe but lately, it seems like you do not have time for me at all."

For the most part, you had enjoyed a union of marital bliss for the last two years. No real issues, no real arguments. Your marriage and the foundation of your marriage were seemingly solid and unshakable. But something shifted in the last month. Your husband stopped being your husband and he became your coworker. Your marriage stopped being a marriage. It was as if someone extinguished a fire and robbed you of all the intimacy you required to survive. If it did not pertain to a council meeting or tribal business, M'Baku carved out no time to talk to you, much less spend time with you. You had not gotten married to be lonelier than you were before. 

You could justify the late nights, missed dates, lack of intimacy to a point... He gave you many excuses but you made them for him as well. You tried your best to bury your frustration and disappointment, pretending like rarely seeing your spouse did not bother you. Because you did understand he served a higher purpose, his responsibility to your people was too important. But, last week, everything changed for you. You started viewing his absence differently, examining whether he actually had time for you or the little ones he desperately wanted. How could you be a successful couple... successful parents if you existed as co-workers and not as husband and wife? 

"I cannot ignore my responsibilities to be with you every second Y/N! You knew that when we got married." The bark and anger of a scorned chief now fully coloring his words.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I am simply asking you to remember you have a wife, other obligations outside of these four walls," she argued, gesturing around his throne room. "When was the last time you asked me how I was doing or asked me something unrelated to being chieftess?" you listed. "You claim to want a family but how? When you barely have time for me?"

"That is enough!" He yelled, his fist banging loudly on the arm of his throne as his hubris and exhaustion made him unwilling to continue listening to his wife's very valid criticisms of his behavior. "I said I was sorry Y/N! I will not apologize again. The Jabari are my obligation first and foremost. We can discuss this later in the Golden City when you have calmed down and can see reason."

You scoffed, knowing there would be no later. Tomorrow morning, you were both supposed to head down the mountains for meetings and King T'Challa's birthday party. You saw the jam-packed agenda the Queen planned for the week; there would be little time to breath, let alone have private conversations.

"No! Go by yourself!" Your mind conjuring up the only consequence you could think of.

He immediately shook his head, almost scoffing at your assertion. "Absolutely not. First, your presence is required as chieftess. And second, I am not leaving you here alone for a week."

"It would not be any different than the last month. I will not go down the mountains to smile and put on the show of the happy chieftess when I am everything but happy. You want to be alone? Fine. Enjoy doing your job alone." You turned on your heels to leave him, ignoring the rage painted on his face. However, before you took a step, you whipped back around.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Happy anniversary Lord M’Baku," you stated stiffly, voice void of the love and adoration it usually held for him. You tossed the box at him before you walked out, leaving him alone.

***

You sighed as the masseuse kneaded your tense shoulders and pounded into your back. You preferred M’Baku’s massages… his gentle touches melting away all the tension you housed in your muscles. Usually those massages turned into less medicinal activities, which made you crave them even more. You missed that, especially now, after being deprived of his soft, sensual touches for a month now. But this was a fine alternative for when your stress levels ran too high. The tranquility and meditation was short lived when the shrill sound of your beads, a recent gift from the Wakandan Princess, rang out loudly. You lifted your head to see who was calling before slumping back down angrily. 

I should have known who it was.

Three days had passed since your argument in the throne room, three days since you had spoken to your husband. You ignored his 50 calls a day, they were nonstop and incessant. You knew it was not rational to be this angry over one missed dinner but you stood firm in your position. You refused to speak to him unless he was calling to apologize and promise to change his behavior. Any other conversation was useless

The ringing continued, leaving you frustrated. It was over. Whatever relaxation you hoped to get from this would not be achieved with him bothering you. You politely asked the masseuse to finish up. When she was done, you covered yourself in a thick navy blue robe before calling out to Amari, who stood on the other side of the door. 

"I think I would like to go to the market to do some shopping. Can you prepare the carriage?" you asked when he poked his head into your bedroom door. 

"Are you sure, my lady? There is supposed to be a storm tonight. Lord M'Baku told us to ensure you were safe while you were alone."

You cut your eyes, "My husband does not dictate my movements around my kingdom. This is as much my dominion as his. We will make it back well before the storm. So please, prepare the carriage," you responded coolly.

"Yes, ma’am," he answered, retreating to make preparations.

Less than 20 minutes later, you were off on the winding roads down the mountain for much needed retail therapy.  You knew you would find no real comfort or answers in the racks of clothes but it was the only thing to keep your mind off your very real problems at home. But you figured it was a necessary trip either way, you would need new clothes in a few months anyway.

***

"Lord M’Baku, I was sad to hear Lady Y/N was not able to attend," Nakia offered as she and M'Baku shared an embrace at the entrance of the banquet hall.

"W-well yes, she was sad that she could not attend either. However, she was under the weather and we both felt travel was not in her best interest," he lied, fidgeting with the cuff links on his suit. He was not a fan of lying but admitting to his King that he upset his wife so much that she refused to come did not seem like a better option. 

"Understood. We are happy one of you was able to make it and perhaps we can all get together soon for dinner. The next time you both can make it down the mountains?" T’Challa offered, as he took Nakia's hand again. M'Baku caught the subtle motion with the corner of his eye and a tinge of sadness blossomed inside as he tried to make it through the night without his partner in crime. 

"Y-Yes, that is a great idea. Happy Birthday again, King T'Challa. Will you excuse me?" He saluted his king and queen before finding his seat. He was not in the entertaining mood, nor had he been in the socializing mood any moment since his arrival. He had not really realized how much he relayed on you to survive these hellish events until you weren't there. You made every meeting and event more tolerable, you knew exactly what to say or do, how to charm the right people. His fingers picked at his beads as he contemplated stepping out onto the balcony and calling you. He knew you would likely not answer, like the other 100 times that day. But he needed the silent treatment to end. He missed his wife. 

It only took the length of the ride down the mountains for him to see the error of his ways. Your words echoed in his head every night and free moment since the blow up in the throne room. He wasn't listening then, but he heard the words loud and clear now. He had been absent and unavailable. He could see the path littered with broken promises and miscommunication that led you both to this exact moment. It was entirely his fault. He could always count on you, you never missed a beat, never failed to be present for him. And he was unable to be that for you. He spent most of last night brainstorming ways to make it up to you immediately and ideas to balance his schedule to make more time for you in the future. 

His desperation to go back home showed through the Jabari King's sulkiness the entire evening, only engaging in conversations directed at him with short responses. His internal debate on whether to call you raged on as he listened to the leader of the mining tribe drone on and on about something uninspiring. He feigned interest in her story until his head guard raced up to him.

"We need to return to the mountains. There has been an accident!" He kept his voice low, as to not attract too much attention, but he failed to limit the frenzy, urgency and fear coloring his words. 

Confusion clouded his eyes as he looked up at Dakarai, trying to understand what accident could warrant interrupting an official ball. No one paid the two Jabari any mind as they mingled and danced among themselves. "What kind of accident? Surely the warriors and Lady Y/N can handle it?"

"No! Lady Y/N was in an accident," he stressed. "In her carriage, it hit ice coming up the mountain. She is hurt, the healers are tending to her."

Dakarai was unable to conclude his thought; M'Baku was out of his seat and racing toward T'Challa the nanosecond he heard your name. He resisted the carnal instinct to strangle his guard for wasting precious time and not leading with the critical information first. He caught T'Challa's attention with ease, the King abandoning his conversation immediately at the site of M'Baku's face. M'Baku didn't take a breath as he explained the situation and excused himself from the remainder of the week. 

"Take the Royal Talon. Ayo can have you there in under 20 minutes. Ayo," he motioned for the Dora soldier who arrived at his side in seconds. "We are praying for her. Update us when you can."

M'Baku nodded and shared a salute before he marched quickly behind Ayo. They were loaded in the Talon and zooming toward the snow-capped mountains of Jabariland within five minutes. He paced up and down the small ship, praying silently for her health as it zoomed toward home.

***

M'Baku ignored any and everyone he passed as he ran through the Lodge to your private quarters. He threw the heavy double doors of his bedroom to find you in bed, chatting with his private healer. The healer was replacing a bandage on your head gently when M'Baku approached him. You were listening to the healer tell a story about his daughter while patiently staring around the room. You wanted this examination to end so badly, you were exhausted and just wanted to rest. 

However, your face lit up when M’Baku walked into the room. You felt bad, the clear anxiety etched in his eyes. You both connected eyes and you offered him a small smile, mainly to reassure him that you were indeed ok. You were in pain, sure, but given the state of the carriage when the guard helped you out, you were just thankful everyone walked away. 

“Lord M’Baku, I am glad you were able to get here so quickly. Lady Y/N is going to be fine. No need to worry,”  the doctor prefaced quickly, getting the important information out of the way. “The head wound was pretty bad, which caused a bit of panic. But otherwise, all the injuries will heal with time. And the baby is doing just fine as well, Glory to Hanuman. A strong heartbeat.” He turned to address you, “You are certainly lucky, Lady Y/N. The damage could have been significantly worse.”

M’Baku let out a deep sigh of relief, he was so elated to hear that you were indeed alright that he almost missed his last statement. “T-thank you. Th- wait. The baby?” He turned from the doctor to you, waiting for confirmation. If you weren’t so tired, you would have hit yourself in the face for forgetting to tell him not to mention the baby. 

“Surprise?” you offered quietly, with a tentative smile on your face. 

The healer’s eyes widened and he bowed his head, “A-ah… M-My apologies, Chief M’Baku. Lady Y/N found out last week. I assumed you knew.” 

M’Baku smiled politely, mainly to assuage the man’s obvious guilt at spilling his wife’s secret. Of course now, your anger the other night made so much more sense. He, not only missed your anniversary, he ruined what would have been a life-changing surprise. “No need to apologize. S-she had not gotten the chance to tell me. B-but thank you. Could we have some alone time please?” 

He bowed to both of you before quickly exiting, leaving the two of you alone.

“You are supposed to be in the Golden City,” you smiled softly, as you pushed yourself up into a seated position. 

“Well, the well-being of my queen is my top priority, my only priority. When you are in trouble, I come running.” He walked up to you and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. 

You grimaced silently but held on to him as tightly as you could with one arm in a sling. While you would have loved different circumstances, you hadn’t been in his arms in so long. Your body filled with warmth like he was hot chocolate on a cold day. He shifted and pulled you so you were curled up in his lap, your face buried in the nape of his neck. You stayed like that for a few minutes before he leaned back to look at you. His finger lifted your chin as he examined the bruise growing darker on your cheekbone. 

“None of it is that bad,” you promised. “It is my own fault. Amari warned me not to stay out too late, that a storm was heading through. I lost track of time because… I-I didn’t want to come back here and be alone. I missed you,” you whispered, your fingers played in his beard as you spoke. You had every intention of making him sweat originally but now that he was here? You just wanted to be close to him. “I thought we would make it back in time. Thankfully no one was seriously injured. I am sorry, it was reckless of me.” 

M’Baku shook his head, “Don’t apologize to me my love, this is all my fault. You were right, I have not been the present or attentive husband you need. I get so wrapped up in the tribe and obsessing over every little detail, I lose sight of the bigger picture. I couldn’t last 2 days without you. I am in love with you and I know I can’t do this job… this life without you. You were right, my head hasn’t been here with you and certainly not enough to start our family. I am just sorry it took so long for me to see that. Can you forgive me?” 

Part of you was hesitant to forgive him so quickly. After all, actions did speak louder than words and recognizing your faults did not mean his behavior was going to change. You picked at your nail beds as you responded, “I will always forgive you, my King. I-I j-j-just need to know you are there, you know? I thought about it and I shouldn’t have waited until it built up to say something. If we are upset or disappointed, we are supposed to speak up… talk. And I didn’t do that. I am sorry too.” 

Silence fell over you both for a few moments before you spoke up, “This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out by the way. I had this cute onesie and everything. That was the gift I threw at you.” 

M’Baku’s loud laugh rang out through the bedroom, “I don’t care how I found out. You have made me the happiest man in the world, Y/N. I swear on my life, that you and our child are my first priority, now and always.”

“I will hold you to that,” you giggled as he peppered your face with soft kisses. He picked you up and carried you to the bathroom. He sat you down and filled the oversized bathtub with your favorite bubble bath and hot water. 

“How about this? After the bath, we can pick a movie to watch tonight and a few more for tomorrow?”  

You paused as you tried, pathetically, to strip off your clothes with only one arm. He turned and chuckled before helping you. “What do you mean tomorrow? You still have meetings in the Golden City?” 

“No I do not. T’Challa will understand. I am all yours. I told you, you are my priority.”

“I like the sound of that.” M’Baku helped you into the tub and slid in behind you. You laid against his hard chest, your eyes lulling closed as his finger traced patterns into your stomach. His lips placed soft kisses on your neck. 

“I love you… more than anything,” he said quietly. 

“I love you more.” 

Tags: @muse-of-mbaku @jellybean531 @destinio1 @skysynclair19 @ashanti-notthesinger @gloriousgam3r @archivistofwakanda @leahnicole1219 @mygirlrenee @dramaqueeenamby

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 5, chapter 6

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Content warnings: None

The golems faced off against one another, three rocky shapes grappling and striking at each other, the sound of stone on earth rising up into the brisk morning air. Nihlathak observed, circling the demonstration with interest. Blaise leaned against a rocky outcrop, arms crossed over her chest, watching the barbarian elder. He had taken them to a spot further down the mountain that hadn't seen battle in some time, so it was just the three of them.

"Impressive," Nihlathak said eventually. The approval sparked a flicker of warmth in Morgan for a moment, before he remembered that the barbarian had been speaking with Icharion. There was no knowing what they had discussed, but this praise couldn't be trusted. Nihlathak continued his examination. "You control each one separately?"

"Yes."

"And you can turn any earth to your command?"

"More or less," Morgan said. "Soil is easiest. Sand is harder. Stone is harder still."

"Ice?"

"Impossible. For me. That's water, not earth. Different elements require different magic."

Nihlathak looked down at Morgan's left arm. "What of flesh?"

"Not so different from soil. But I could never do this to another person."

"Ah, yes, your laws." Morgan did what felt like an adequate job of keeping his face impassive. They weren't his laws to follow any more. Perhaps Icharion hadn't mentioned his departure from the Order during their previous conversation. That was another small kindness, he supposed.

"There are more reasons than that," Morgan said carefully. "It was very complex work. And a golem will only respond to the one who created it." The appeal to practicality was probably the best argument for Nihlathak, he thought. No need to get into the other specifics.

"So if my own arm was... what did you say, irreparably damaged? Even if you could fix it for me, you would have control over its actions."

"Yes."

Nihlathak snorted. "Rather have no arm at all, then. Still. Yours. Is it any better than it was?"

"Better?"

"Stronger, faster... you know, better."

"The golem part is more resilient," Morgan said after a moment's thought.

"It's a lot stronger," Blaise piped up. "Remember Diablo?" Nihlathak's eyebrows shot up.

"Yes, that was-"

"You turned your arm into a sword and stabbed him in his big stupid face. It was the best thing I've ever seen," she declared, and the warmth flared back to life. Morgan met her beaming smile with a small one of his own. Blaise may have been exaggerating for effect, but at least he could trust there to be a kernel of truth behind her compliments.

"Resilience," he repeated. "And leverage." Blaise rolled her eyes. "It's no stronger than the rest of my body. Just a little more solid. I wouldn't want to use it that way in most circumstances. Remember how much trouble I had with the shield," he reminded her.

"Diablo?" Nihlathak was staring in disbelief between the two of them. "I heard whispers of his defeat - that was you?"

"Sure was," Blaise confirmed. "Haven't been telling that story much, though. Where'd you hear it?" She gave him a steady, evaluating look.

Nihlathak waved his hand. "I cannot remember where every story comes from. But this is great news! Surely now we will prevail!" His gaze fell back on Morgan. "Especially if you can help me with a... special task. I trust you can be as efficient with your attention as you are with your words."

"What would you have us do?" Morgan asked. He hoped it would be something challenging, something he could really focus on. Nihlathak glanced back at Blaise, whose arms were still crossed, before answering.

"There is a mighty sword, a twin to my own blade. The two of them together are imbued with such power as to make slaying Baal as easy as slaughtering a lamb. It was stolen from us long ago, but marvellous things have been happening ever since you stepped into my city. If you can find the twin sword for me, I would be able to overcome any obstacle, even the Lord of Destruction himself! But if the tales are to be believed, it now lies in the depths of the frozen river caverns, and I fear you may have trouble with your golems there."

"I would have to see the area to know for certain," Morgan said. It didn't sound like an especially difficult task, which was disappointing. But on the bright side, it was also something he had experience with, which meant he'd likely be successful. It would be good to accomplish something finite, tangible.

"If you know where it is, why don't you just go looking for it yourself?" Blaise narrowed her eyes at the chief elder.

Nihlathak's brow wrinkled. "I am the last chief elder. I have many responsibilities. I must attend to my people, my city. I cannot even take the time to grieve the other elders properly. I cannot spend all my time down in the caverns."

"So you would take us off the battlefield, where we can help your people, to hunt for a sword you've heard a story about." Blaise was acting a little strange, Morgan reflected. She didn't generally seem so combative. He wondered what was causing it. He would try to remember to ask, later.

"Do not dismiss stories so easily, girl. The sword is real enough. My own blade is proof of that, passed down from the Ancients themselves! It was quenched in the warrior blood of Bul-Kathos. It has yet to fail me in battle. And now that we find ourselves in such great need, its twin has resurfaced! With both swords, our victory would be certain!"

"I mean, our chances are looking pretty good already. Your people are strong and determined. This is probably going to be the easiest one yet. Right, Morgan?"

"The numbers are in our favour this time," he agreed. "But Baal has been more elusive than his brothers. We should still be cautious."

"What, like he's going to sneak away again? He wants to play king of the mountain badly enough to make a run for it, and we're going to crush him before he gets there. Simple."

"You are very sure of yourself," Nihlathak said, sneering.

"We took down Mephisto in Kurast and then we followed Diablo to Hell and killed him in his own sanctuary," Blaise returned the sneer, squaring her shoulders as she came closer. "And that was just the two of us. So yeah, I'm sure of myself. Of us," she amended.

"Please stop," Morgan said. They both ignored him, focused on each other.

"What a shame you couldn't have come to us a few days sooner," Nihlathak snarled, not backing down. "Your accomplishments might have swayed some of the other chief elders while they still lived. But they all died to protect Harrogath and I will not let their sacrifice be in vain."

"And somehow you survived all of them, huh? Just lucky, were you?"

"What are you saying, outsider? They were my friends, my kin! You think you can just walk into my city and-" Nihlathak moved to lunge forward and Blaise mirrored him. They both bounced off of the wall of earth Morgan raised between them.

"Stop," he repeated. They gave him matching glares. "Fighting amongst ourselves serves only chaos," he pointed out. "I may be able to find this sword quickly. I have some experience searching for magical items. How large are the caverns?"

"Vast. Miles of underground paths, like a maze. If it was easy I would have done it already," Nihlathak scoffed.

"You said your sword has a similar enchantment?"

"Yes, just not as strong on its own."

"May I examine it?" Morgan brought the wall back down slowly. Blaise shot him an annoyed look but stepped back, crossing her arms again. Nihlathak stared at her pointedly as he unsheathed his sword before presenting it peacefully.

Morgan held his hand out over the sword. It was impressive, large enough that he would have had to use both hands to even hold it, though the barbarian wielded it easily in one. The blade was decorated with a series of runes, slightly worn by years of use and honing but still visible. But when he touched it with a questioning wisp of magic, there was no answering resonance. There didn't seem to be anything magical about it, not even in the gems inlaid in the hilt. He widened his focus briefly - yes, Nihlathak had other magical items on his person, but the sword wasn't one of them.

"This sword isn't enchanted," he said. Nihlathak took a step back.

"What are you saying?"

"I don't feel any magic on your blade," Morgan explained. "I can sense the enchantments on your amulet, some of your rings, something in your pockets, your boots," he enumerated. "There's none on the sword."

"You're full of surprises," Nihlathak said slowly. "So you mean to tell me that you can tell if something has magic in it, but you can't feel the power of our runes?" He pointed to them one by one. "El for swiftness, Sol for strength, Dol for fortitude, Lo for vitality..." He trailed off as Morgan shook his head. "Well. You will just have to search the normal way, then. A man such as yourself must have an eye for details."

Morgan frowned. "If I can't sense the magic on the sword, I have no advantage. My eyesight isn't all that good, and any of your people could search faster than me. I'd be more use on the battlefield with my golems."

"I cannot put my trust in just anyone. The sword is a powerful weapon." Nihlathak's face grew suddenly serious. "Power does things to people. Even when you think you know them."

"You don't know us at all," Blaise said. "How is that any better?"

"I know I can trust a necromancer not to take part in the petty squabbles of men." Morgan tried to keep his face neutral at that, despite the pull in his chest. "You, I don't know," Nihlathak continued, flapping a hand dismissively in Blaise's direction.

"Icharion arrived before me. And he's probably faster. Why not ask him?"

Nihlathak hesitated for a second, then spread his arms wide. "I like you better!"

Blaise snorted. She was right. That seemed an unlikely reason. As far as Nihlathak would know, there wouldn't be much disparity between their skills or attitudes. But, as ever, there was one obvious difference.

"You would prefer I find the sword because you know I won't use it. If it's a twin to yours, it's too large for me to wield."

"See, that's why I like you better! So clever."

Morgan considered. Blaise had proven over and over that she was capable of besting even the strongest demons, with very little help. She didn't need the extra assurance of Nihlathak's aid, with or without the additional sword. But although the previous day's battle had been reasonably good, the aftermath had proven much more difficult to bear. A more solitary pursuit might take less of a toll. And the children of Bul-Kathos put great stock in symbols, according to Cain's findings. The sword could represent something important for the whole clan, not just Nihlathak. Finding it could help to bring them a little light to combat the darkness of the losses they'd endured so far.

"Let us talk it over. In private." Blaise's tone indicated this was not a request.

"Fine. I have other matters to attend to anyway. Find me when you've reached a decision." Nihlathak gave Blaise one last dark look before turning back towards the waypoint. Morgan waited in silence until he had gone through, leaving the two of them alone.

"You don't trust Nihlathak," he observed.

"Not as far as I could throw him," Blaise said.

"Why?"

"I've been talking to some of the warriors. They don't trust him either, and they've known him all their lives. He won't discuss what happened before we got here, but it's really suspicious that he's the only surviving elder. There were six others, all of them strong. Something isn't right."

"He said the other elders were his friends. He could just be grieving." Grieving those recent deaths, the people they could have met and maybe even helped if only they had been able to come a little sooner. If they hadn't had to wait for him to slowly recover. Again. Morgan looked down, leaving the rest of that thought unvoiced. Blaise caught on to his train of thought anyway.

"Hey. Hey, no. No. Don't start this. There's nothing we can do to change whatever happened before we got here. And we came as soon as we could."

"If-"

"No if. There is no way we could have gotten here in time to save them. Listen to me, Morgan. A hundred little things could have gone differently, but they didn't. Don't waste your energy thinking about things you can't change. We have our own battle to fight right now, and I need you with me."

Morgan pressed his lips together. That lie was meant to make him feel better, but it was too transparent for that. She didn't need him, not really. There were dozens of hardy warriors already intent on beating Baal back down from their mountain. Competent, skilled warriors. Ones she wouldn't have to save from peril, ones that wouldn't slow her down.

"Besides," she continued, "that sword story is clearly a load of crap. Why would he need another sword if the one he already has is so great? And why doesn't he have anyone he can trust to find it for him? You'd think there would be at least one person, he's the chief elder. It's suspicious. Not to mention the captives we picked up yesterday. Since when do demons take prisoners like that? This whole thing stinks."

It did stand to reason that someone in an important position would have at least some people he could trust. If even Morgan could manage to collect a couple of friends, surely a person as socially inclined as Nihlathak would have someone he could trust. But perhaps only one or two, and perhaps they had died in the siege. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. However, thinking on his own friends, particularly in the context of demons taking prisoners, something else occurred to him.

"I can't feel the enchantment on Cain's scrolls either."

"What?"

"They hold magic. In the runes. It doesn't resonate like other items."

Blaise wrinkled her nose. "So there's a chance there might actually be something to his story."

"There could be."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to go with me. If I go looking for this sword. You work well with the war party."

"So do you, and I'm not going to make you search through some sort of awful frozen cavern on your own. Let's go talk to Deckard, see if we can sort this out."

[wickednerdery]

The Three Musketeers [FanFic]

Title: The Three Musketeers Author: @wickednerdery​ Pairing: Reid/Ethan/Lil Foyet(friendship), Barbossa, Pintel & Ragetti Rating: Teen/Mature Summary: When best friends Spencer Reid, Ethan Bellamy, and Lil Foyet work together to get one over on a patron at a Tortuga tavern they all get more than they bargained for. Notes: Right, so this piece is almost 10 years old, lol! But some y’all wanted to read my Criminal Minds/Pirates of the Caribbean crossover stuff so here’s the first piece; it’s something of a prologue to a larger story I was working on and takes place well before the first movie. (Notes of characters at the end.) There’s some violence and adult themes involving children, also it’s WAY longer than most pieces I write nowadays lol!

“It be too late to alter course now, mateys!” ~ Barbossa, PoTC:Curse of the Black Pearl

Little Spencer Reid was a scrawny boy of eight with greasy hair that fell into his eyes as he spun his head this way and that making sure no one was watching too closely. This was his job in the crew, given to him by Ethan who promised it was the least dangerous one there was. So far that had held true. This stuff always made the boy nervous nevertheless, but they were starving and without money to pay so what choice did they have? That and the other two stressed that it wasn’t exactly stealing, per say, if the person was too drunk or otherwise busy to take care in keeping an eye on their goods. Ethan snapped up some bread and rum from the sailors in the tavern who were too busy with their company for the night before he saw the jackpot. Set beside the dark boots of an imposing man was a basket containing apples. Good apples, ones ripe and ready for eating. The temptation was too much, but Ethan wasn’t about to just grab and dash…he was smart, he always examined, staked out, a target first. This target, the man with the bushel of fresh apples, was imposing even while sitting. A large hat kept much of his face in the shadows, but Ethan could see a bushy beard and long, dark, auburn hair held back loosely with a strip of leather. He was significantly older and it looked like the years at sea had already begun to ravage the man leaving scars and sunspots about the face and body. Still, he was a finely dressed man and wealthy enough to keep the monkey on his shoulder dressed better than most those Ethan saw on the island itself. The teen boy slipped past the man onto where his other crewmember, Lil, leaned by a post keeping watch as well. She turned her face to him and arches a brow. “Well?” “I need ya,” Ethan said simply before drawing the young girl’s gaze to the man with the apples. “On it faster than he’ll be on me,” she teased a touch before giving Ethan a kiss to the cheek and heading over to the man and his monkey. Like the boys Lil had grown on the island of Tortuga the child of a pirate and a woman…in her case a whore already dead at the hands of a jealous lover. Whether from guilt or just plain pity the madam allowed the small girl to live in the brothel even after her mother’s murder. So Lil was raised in brothels and even at ten capable of working seduction skills enough to catch the eyes of drunken sailors and distract them for Ethan to steal. That was how it all worked. Little Spencer kept a sharp eye, she a tempting manner, and Ethan a fast hand. They’d done this all long enough to avoid capture when working together and, for Ethan and Lil, to have no real fear in it. Only Spencer held the fear, just as only he held the knowledge of the immorality of the behavior. Ethan watched as Lil sauntered over to the man, shifted herself into his eye-line, and held his gaze with stormy eyes and teasingly quirked lips. There was always something strange about Lil; how she carried herself, demanded and got attention from all those around her. She was a force and even at twelve Ethan knew she’d only become more so as she developed into a woman. It was as frightening as it was exhilarating. The young man’s gaze then trailed to his frail runt of a friend still loyally keeping lookout for all of them. Spencer was the virtual opposite. Small, meek, and ever unsure in his steps the eight-year-old was more of a comfort to Ethan than anything exciting. Spencer kept him and Lil anchored to their abilities, stabilized in their emotions, and reigned in from their impulses. Altogether Ethan imagined they were a complete person – heart, mind, and guts – and without the other two he wasn’t sure any would truly survive. Ethan turned back to the target with his monkey and waited until he got the signal from Lil (a thrumming of fingers on the wooden table) before he tucked his frame in the shadows of swinging lanterns and jostling bodies to snap up the booty. He stuffed a small bag kept on his hip with apples before grabbing one more in hand. He moved out in the next rowdy crowd that passed and headed towards Spencer with a grin, showing off the apple in his hand. The monkey’s shriek came first, then a string of curses from its owner and a shot from a gun. “RUN!!” Lil screamed to her boys as she grabbed a knife up off the table and slashed at the target. The man cursed, struck out, and knocked the girl to the floor. “Ethan?” young Spencer’s eyes became saucers as his older friend started a full dash to him. “Run!” Ethan grabbed Spencer’s arm and the two boys began to move as fast as their legs could carry them out into the crowd that was the streets of Tortuga. Spencer could barely keep up, tripping over his own legs and those of others. “Ethan, what…” he couldn’t get the words out as his friend began to virtually drag him. “Ethan…Lil…” What had become of their third party? Had the man gotten her? Was she okay? Ethan took a sharp turn, grabbing hold of a fruit cart and pulling it down as he did. The curses from the vendor followed them, but what was more important was that sounds of a scuffle did as well. The man with the monkey was now busy arguing with the vendor. At the second shot heard young Reid let out a squeak of nerves. He wanted to eat, yes, but not get shot in the process. The fact that Ethan only seemed to enjoy this, the danger of the chase, just made him more nervous. “Ethan…Ethan, maybe we should, uh, just give the apples back and…beg pardon?” The older boy pulled the younger into an alleyway and dropped his voice low. “Men who shoot first and ask later don’t pardon, Spencer.” “Wha-what about Lil, Ethan?” The older boy almost smiled. “Lil can care for herself, Spencer, you know that.” “But –“ “I think he’s a pirate,” Ethan’s adrenaline had already forced a switch of topics. “A proper one?” As opposed to those lowlifes who boasted without ever making good that littered Tortuga in greater numbers than the whores. Ethan nodded. “The only way we get out of this is to run, hide, or try and parley.” “But…we’re not pirates.” “Not yet,” the older boy smirked some. Both boys had parentage in piracy, but only the elder wanted to carry on the legacy. Spencer Reid saw his father’s piracy as a form of abandonment; William Reid preferred theft on the high seas to his family and the youth had no interest in becoming like him. Spencer aimed to use his intelligence for good, to help others, and never to bring misfortune. The truth was he wasn’t comfortable stealing, or even keeping watch over Ethan and Lil when they did, but there weren’t many options being the only son of the Mad Woman of Tortuga. Ethan felt differently; the bastard son of pirate legend “Black Sam” Bellamy he wanted nothing more than to share in the life. He adored the stories he heard from the sailors, Navy and pirate alike, and hoped someday there’d be stories told about him. Being a pirate sounded thrilling and he could never understand how his friend saw it differently. While he had a set of morals, it was already skewed towards piracy. Young Bellamy did what he had to in order to survive, to thrive, and had ease about him when it came to the underhanded and devious. Spencer sighed some. “Can’t we just hide then? I can’t keep running like this.” He hadn’t the physicality of Ethan. “Fine, you hide,” Ethan pulled out a few of the apples and stuffed them into his friend’s pockets. “Keep these with you.” “Where are you going?” “We should spilt up anyway,” Ethan replied simply. The truth was Ethan sort of still wanted to continue the chase though. Hiding wasn’t his style except as a last resort. Spencer frowned, “Oh. Okay.” “Just…stay in the shadows and tuck yourself behind the pigs outside The Faithful Bride, okay?” It was where they usually met up at the end of the night if they didn’t spend all the hours of the day and evening together. “Aye.” Ethan smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you. You and Lil.” Spencer just nodded then watched as his friend dashed off out the other end of the alley. The small boy stayed hidden where he was for sometime before he began to take back routes to the pigsty, searching for their Lil as he did. *** Ethan took a few more sharp turns and random routes before he realized there was no one chasing him anymore. The young man let out a sigh that bordered on disappointment as he looked at the apple that, miraculously, had remained in his hand. He took a bite, savoring the juice that exploded into his mouth with the piercing of its skin before swallowing it down. The chase was over, time to enjoy the spoils. Ethan set his teeth into the apple again as he began to head out towards the water’s edge. He was half through the last alley and his apple when a dark figure appeared, blocking his way. Perched on the figure was the outline of a monkey that screeched at him angrily. Ethan froze a moment before he stepped back and turned on his heel to make another run for it. No dice this time as two others blocked his way. A tall, thin, fellow partnered with a stout one who held his pistol out and at the ready to fire. “It’d be unwise to make yer run, boy,” the monkey-man remarked just on the edge of amused. Ethan spun back. “Parley!” “Parley?” one of the two groaned behind him. The man before Ethan just laughed some as he began an unhurried approach to the teen. “Ye got no right to parley lest ye be a pirate, boy.” “Well, I am,” Ethan insisted stubbornly to the man he now realized was the leader of the crew. The moonlight caught blackened blood on the man’s face from Lil’s knife and Ethan stepped back with shaken nerves. “By birth, anyhow.” “’Ow’s that?” the skinny one spoke up almost curiously. Ethan’s back hit the stones of a building as the three pirates closed in. “My father is Black Sam Bellamy, surely you’ve heard of him.” The three men and one monkey looked at one another seeming to debate the lad’s truthfulness and their next step before the leader gave a cackle. “Right then boy, I’ll give ya the privilege of parley. Now what’s it ye need to say?” “I’d like to say it to the captain.” “I be him,” the man replied simply as his monkey grinned. “Captain Barbossa of the Cobra. Now…” Barbossa closed in on the thieving boy, made the oozing blood on his face something Ethan’s eyes couldn’t avoid as he brought a pistol up under the boy’s chin. “Speak!” Ethan shook under the hot, rageful, breath of the pirate captain, but spoke nevertheless. “I wanna join your crew.” It was the one thing he could think of that might prevent his death and finally get him what he always wanted…a chance to be a real pirate. The two men to his right seemed stunned, the monkey ticked its head in utter confusion, and Barbossa simply leaned back a touch to appraise the bold youth. “How old are ye, lad?” “Thirteen, sir. Captain. And I’m still growing.” In truth, from malnutrition and general poor living conditions, the twelve-year-old Ethan hadn’t even truly started growing. “I know plenty about ships and I learn fast. I’d make a good member of your crew. A loyal one too.” Barbossa considered the offer in silence as he continued his appraisal. True, the lad was slight in build, but being on the cusp of puberty and given enough food he had plenty of room to grow. Ethan’s fast hands and quick thinking could certainly be of benefit as well. “Ye ever worked a sword or pistol?” “No, Captain,” Ethan confessed with a touch of shame. “But I’ve fought by hand, with small blades, and won more than once. More than I’ve lost.” The monkey gave Ethan a smile that announced Barbossa’s decision before the man did. “Ye owe me payment for my apples and for the handy work of that lil’ lass o’ yers. You’ll work it off on my ship.” “Yes sir.” Then Ethan looked to the other two pirates before his eyes went to the bloody gash of the captain’s. “The…the girl…” “Yers, yes?” Barbossa smirked some. The boy avoided the question, worried what an answer could bring to Lil. “She alive?” The monkey heaved out the squeals of a laugh with the men. “She were when I left her,” Barbossa grinned out. The man hadn’t the time to trouble with the girl much beyond the slap. “Now, ye pay off yer debts…” Barbossa gave a wicked smile, “and we’ll see if ye ‘ave what it takes to be a true pirate after that.” “Aye Captain,” Ethan smiled back, not seeing the evil glint of Barbossa’s eyes through his own excitement. “I’ll do ye proud, I swear it.” *** Lil rolled herself under a table after the hit, playing possum until the coast was clear. The bar now emptied of her troubles the girl picked herself up off the floor and began to examine her state. Her straw-colored hair was more wild than usual, her hands red with pirate’s blood, and her cheek still stinging but otherwise she was fine. She’d live to fight another day without troubles or worry. After wiping her hands on the cloth bits that were her dress the girl grabbed an unattended bottle of run from a table and a lost apple off the floor before heading out of the tavern as she drank and ate. Whatever the boys might think, this was a victorious night in Lil’s book. The girl wandered for a bit, adjusting her posture to appear her most non-threatening and uninteresting in hunched shoulders and hung head. She swung the bottle back enough times that her legs grew unsteady as she approached their usual meeting spot, The Faithful Bride. There were no signs of her boys so she began to call out to them. “Spencer! Ethan!” A mop of scraggly hair poked up from behind a few of the pigs where they dozed in slop and their own filth. “Lil?” Reid’s voice mixed equal parts relief and concern. “Aye. Where’s Ethan?” The younger shrugged as he worked his way out to street where Lil remained, bottle and apple in hand. “He said he’d meet us here when he could. Are you okay?” As he got closer, out in the lights trickling from the bars and brothels around them, he could see the angry red handprint across Lil’s face. “I’m fine.” Lil had gotten far worse over the years and the pain still there was dulled by liquor now. “You get anything to eat?” “Oh, yeah,” Reid’s lips curled up a touch as if he remembered his pockets had been stuffed with his share of the apples. He pulled one out and started to eat. “What should we do now, Lil?” Lil finished her apple and tossed the core to the pigs before offering her friend some of the rum. The boy declined with a shake of his head to which the elder girl shrugged, drank some herself, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before finally answering. “I say we wait it out till dawn, then start searching.” “Okay.” Because Lil refused to sleep in the muddy shit of the pigs the two children tucked themselves in the doorway of a closed shop nearby. Lil laid herself across its length and had Spencer rest his head in her lap for comfort as he curled up into himself. Despite those instincts that told Lil her little friend was too weak to survive, that being rid of him would be the wiser thing for her to do, she kept him as close as she did Ethan. Something about the weedy boy was precious to her, something that went beyond his advanced intellect. It was his innocence, that purity of the soul he clung to even as those closest to him – Lil and Ethan – willingly discarded or had it torn from them bit by bit each day. She did not understand how or why Spencer held to it, but the fact he did fascinated her. The young girl began to run her fingers through Spencer’s hair as she hummed, then sang. “We extort and pilfer, we filch and we sack, drink me ‘earties, yo ho…” *** The morning brought nothing but sun and angry hollers from the shopkeeper for the little urchins to be gone from the front of his store. Too tired to do anything more Lil and Spencer left without argument and took to roaming the streets in search for any signs of the eldest of their crew. They came across none. Ethan had simply vanished in the night. When they reached the whorehouse where Lil stayed the girl offered Spencer a share in her tiny attic of a room, but the boy declined. He wanted to be home, to see if his mother was all right and if perhaps Ethan had somehow ended up there or at least left word somehow. “Lemme know if he did?” the girl requested as the sun lit up the colors of bruising on her cheek as it rose higher in the Caribbean sky. “Of course.” Lil smiled bright and bubbly a moment, then nodded a touch before heading inside. No one was waiting up for her, no one worried or cared. The morning crowd of exiting men simply walked around her as she made her way up to her straw heap of a bed to sleep. By the time Spencer reached home his mother was to ill to even speak with so the small boy took to wandering out in back of his shack of a house. There were no signs Ethan had stopped by in the middle of the night; the only sign of his best friend’s existence at all was Iggy, their shared pet iguana, relaxing in the shade of the foliage grown wild on the property. “Hey Iggy,” the eight-year-old noted with a frown as he settled onto the ground. The iguana seemed to sense one of its owners, or smelled the fruit, as he crawled out into the sun over to Spencer. “You seen Ethan?” The iguana made a gutteral noise in reply. “Thought not,” Spencer replied back before pulling out one of the apples and biting off a hunk. He took half into mouth and pulled the other half out to hold out to Iggy. The iguana snapped his jaw, taking the apple from the boy’s fingers. “Guess it’s just you and me now.” The iguana tilted his head some as he chewed. Reid sighed some already missing his friend deeply. Spencer only had two, Lil and Ethan, and now one was missing. He worried too…had Ethan been found? Had he been jailed or, worse yet, murdered over their group-effort theft? Lil didn’t seem concerned, but then she very rarely was. In all his years of knowing the girl Spencer couldn’t recall a single time she’d cried or even shown fear. Not when that drunken lout had tried to take her behind one of the taverns, not when she’d been whipped for stealing, and not last night when the monkey-man caught them. Spencer bit his lip, looked down some, and let his wavy locks fall into his face as he debated crying over the seeming loss of his friend, his best friend. He shook with the thoughts of it. Then he felt the rest of the apple being yanked from his possession. “Hey!” the boy snapped to attention as Iggy scurried away with the last of the trio’s prize. The last thing Ethan had given him, the last memory of his friend before the older boy vanished in the Tortuga night. Spencer wanted, needed, that last bit of apple back. “Stupid iguana! Stupid…blimey…bloody…” the boy cursed aloud as he made chase, tripping over rocks, roots, and his own feet in attempts to catch the animal. He skittered to a stop when the lizard dived into a hole in the dirt that the boy couldn’t follow him into. “You’re just like Ethan, ya thieving bastard! Stupid Ethan!” Exhausted and enraged the boy lay by the hole and began to cry. “Stupid Ethan,” he muttered, face and fists in the dirt, until he drifted off to sleep with the tropical sun beating down him. "Friends hold both the power to excel your life, or destroy it." ~ Adam Murphy

I took some of the background given to Barbossa in the books based on PoTC to use to my own advantage. Ethan is from Criminals Minds Season 2, Episode 18, “Jones” - I grew insanely attached to him, he ended up in many pieces lol - and Lil Foyet is an OC daughter of serial killer George “The Reaper” Foyet from Season 4-6 (mostly?) who’s also in my Criminal Minds Noir AU “Living for the Night” on my AO3.

Those Who May Be Interested: @lady-crowned-with-stars​ @chibiyanai​ @ultrarebelheart​ @holykryptonitekitten​ @darcee74​ @lareinedususpense​ @poetic-fiasco​ @star-spangled-pan-with-a-plan​ @dreatine​ 

[hangonimevolving]

Inside Out and Upside Downs

Hi all.  Thought I’d update on various and sundry agenda items going on in my life.  Never a dull moment ‘round here.

HEALTH

Firstly, let’s talk about my innards.  There’s been a whole lot of activity going on with regard to my innards of late.  Thanks to the excitement of my Disney flu adventure and my New Years ICU party, I am now the subject of a great deal of medical speculation and attention, from a variety of parties.  I have a standing weekly blood draw and appointment on Thursdays with my hematologist (fancy word for blood doctor) to monitor my platelet levels, and other misc blood-related information that concerns immunoglobulins and weird, mysterious things like that.  I have had two appointments, as well as a momma-jomma lab workup, with a rheumatologist (fancy word for doctor who specializes in autoimmune issues).  I’ve had an appointment to set up care with a brand-new-to-me primary care physician.  And in the middle of all of this, I decided that since I’m going to be in/around the hospital so frequently, I might as well do a short course of physical therapy for my ankle - I never got around to doing it, so now is the time.  So that’s a recurring weekly appointment on Tuesdays.  I’ve also got random other crap, like a random head MRI happening tomorrow, and I’m sure there will be random tests, scans, and studies that random doctors will order at random times, and I’ll have to fit it into the schedule.  I am being thoroughly examined, inside out.  And with all of these medical opinions, appointments, tests and what not - in the last 24 days, there has been NO concrete diagnosis or evidence about why this whole thing actually happened.  There are several theories, the two most likely of which are a) I have an autoimmune disorder.  Well, we already know I have one autoimmune disorder (a not-so-bad one, called Graves Disease/hyperthyroidism, which I was first diagnosed with in 2006, and which involves your own body perceiving your own thyroid gland as a foreign object, and attacking it with antibodies).  But now there is some evidence that I may have a second one, possibly a more problematic one, that is causing my immune system to overreact to normal viruses and things, and go on self-destructive rampages against my own platelets.  Dumbass immune system.  Now, what IS this second autoimmune disorder?  THAT we don’t know.  Because, the rheumatologist ran that momma-jomma test I was telling you about, and all that showed up is this one value called a positive ANA test which indicated “daaamn, there’s something f%^ed going on in this lady’s immune system!”  It was a very high positive result.  But, the specific tests to identify antibodies for known issues like lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, etc. were all negative at this time.  So.  To be continued with that whole theory..... 

Then there is theory #2, which is b) maybe this whole thing really WAS just the flu.  Maybe the strain of virus I got was really bad, and it resulted in such a pronounced war that it just took a toll.  Dunno.

Anyway.  We’ll obviously be following this medical mystery with my innards closely the next few weeks.  Oh, and one more thing: so my platelet levels are sorta trending down.  At hospital discharge, I was at like 313K, then the next week it was like 250K, then 180K, and yesterday, 146K.  They’re going to keep monitoring, and the hope is that the downtrend will plateau at some point (preferably above 30K), and then it will start to climb up when my own bone marrow gets its shit together and starts producing new platelets.  If that doesn’t happen - I’m looking at more IVIG infusion treatments.  So let’s see how it all goes down.

WORK

A second area of activity has been my job!  The spring semester at Uuuu! started on January 13, and I am teaching two courses this time around, for the first time since 2016.  I am teaching my studio dance course, per usual, but I also agreed to a late plea for help from my former department to teach a lecture/discussion course that I’ve taught jillions of times before, but haven’t done in about four years.  It feels good to be back in classroom teaching mode.  The course meets three times a week, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.  So I’m quite busy, leaving the house around 8 am to drop the kids off at school, then getting back behind the wheel and making the hour-long drive to campus, arriving by about 9:30 am and teaching my two courses back to back.  I have a big huge hike between my classes too, because they’re on opposite sides of campus, so by the time I’m done teaching, it’s about 12:20 and then I have this big long hike back to my car, then the drive back home, and I arrive around 1:30 pm.  I grab a bite to eat, then at 2:45 its time to get the kids.  Then three days a week, they have their extracurricular activities after school, so I’m shuttling them to those things.  Then Tuesdays and Thursdays, all my medical appointments, which have been taking the majority of my mornings and early afternoons.  Phew!  This is all a far cry from about a year ago, when I had several mornings a week to go for a long run, either in my neighborhood or at the local state park, and I was training intensely twice a week with my Spartan SGX coach.  I’ve had to seriously curtail my working out - I took a spill on my first run following the hospitalization, and the entire family freaked out about my putting myself at a bleed risk if I were to fall, bump myself, or otherwise get an injury, even a minor one, while exercising.  This has been a huge crimp in my style, not working out - and if I weren't so busy with teaching, I think it would seriously depress me.  But I keep telling myself its only temporary, and soon we’ll have some answers to my situation, and I”ll be able to get back into it.  Till then, I’m trying to get back into meal prep and eating clean, and doing some mild exercise like light jogs and walks, light weight training, etc.  

ADULTING

My mention of weight training is perhaps a segue to this next update, which I’ll keep brief and annoyingly vague.  I am going through some painful adulting right now, that makes some moments feel like I’m being swallowed up by a tsunami.  I’m gonna survive... but, yeah.  I’m wading in the flood right now.  

Okay, now for some miscellaneous updates.  Mainly so I can post some pictures.  This has been very text-heavy for my tastes.

MISC

On the topic of clean eating..... did you know that both papaya and pomegranate are natural platelet boosters?  Supposedly.  I’ve been doing a lot of research on foods and other natural ways to help boost my platelet production, and these were the top two foods that were consistently mentioned on platelet disorders blogs and forums.  I confess I’m not a big fan of these fruits - but I’ve tried to put my tastebuds aside, and incorporate them into every day.  Happily, papayas are widely available in the Miami area year-round. 

I’ve handled the pomegranate thing by buying 100% pomegranate juice, and making cocktails of pomegranate + papaya juice (which is papaya pulp mixed in pear juice).

On the topic of foods and eating well - here is my guilty indulgence of late.  I ADOOOOORE ramen bowls.  ADORE.  And I know they are the opposite of low-carb and healthy.... but I have been making a ton of them at home lately.  I try to make them as healthy as I can, by 1) only using half of the ramen spice packet that comes with the noodles - this cuts the sodium to a tolerable amount (plus I drink lots of water), 2) I sautée minced garlic + approximately one full cup of shiitake mushrooms + approximately 1.5 full cups of baby spinach leaves in a dash of olive oil, and add to every bowl I make (mushrooms are full of B-vitamins and, alongside garlic, are huge immunity boosters, and spinach is full of iron and calcium, and is a good thing for me to be eating to make my blood sort itself out) , and 3) I often either crack an egg over the entire boiling mixture right at the end, or I add in sliced hard-boiled egg for extra folate and protein.  And I sometimes add in a handful of raw shredded carrots right at the end, for a little crunch, color, fiber, and beta carotene.  I *think* that I’m doing my best to make this indulgence food a little healthier, and tailored to my specific medical situation.

Soup has been a huge craving of late, because we had a surprising cold spell in Miami.  It got down to 39F day before yesterday!  That’s probably the coldest its ever been since we moved to Florida.

Afternoon snuggle time was especially snuggly - Dey and I were huddled for warmth!

My ability to run and work out at a high intensity may be somewhat muted at the moment, and this has been sort of a hard mental adjustment for me.  But I am trying to get outside and do things, because it makes me feel better, and also I imagine the vitamin D is good for me.  The other day, I was feeling pretty dumpy and blah - so I did something that for some reason I’d been putting off, “saving” for a special occasion, whatever.  I cut the tags off of a brand-new Spartan licensed active top that I’d purchased on Cyber Monday, put it on, and went for a light 2-mile jog in the neighborhood.  I felt silly in a way of making a big thing of it in my head - but the truth is, it lifted my spirits.

What else... Oh, this was exciting!  GUESS WHAT, dudes.  On Monday, I saw a real live MANATEE in the lake behind our house!  I could hardly believe my eyes.  A neighbor had reported on our community WhatsApp group just the day before seeing a manatee from her backyard.  She posted a picture of it, which I am shamelessly going to post here.  The manatee I saw, about 24 hours later, was different - it was considerably smaller than this one, I think probably a juvenile (not quite a baby, but definitely not humongous like this one).  But it was swimming slowly near the sea wall that abuts our backyard, munching on some sea grass just like this big manatee.  I did my best to run into the house and call the kids to come out as quietly as they could to see it - I think they caught a tiny glimpse, but our footsteps must have spooked it, because it definitely swam away quickly.  I hope we’ll see it again!

Photographic evidence that we are LEGIT Floridians who hang out with manatees :)

Last but not least - on the topic of water creatures, gotta give a shout-out to my Vev, who “leveled up” at his swimming lessons this week to Junior Swim Team!  The swim school has about 10 levels through which kids have to work to get to this point, and in the last ~18 months, Vev has completed them all.  I was somewhat nostalgic and verklempt when he got his ribbon this time - I feel like it was only yesterday that we took him to swimming school for the first time, where he screamed bloody murder and cried the entire duration of his 25 minute assessment, clinging desperately to his teacher and feeling panicky about letting go in the water.  How far he’s come!

(by the way, Dey is also doing wonderfully at swimming, and is only like 1.5 levels away from his own Junior Swim Team ribbon).  

So some of my life is inside out and upside down right now, it is true.  But some of it is Upside-Up.  I work hard EVERY day to focus on the Upside-Up, and what a treat it is to see.  These kids, the sunshine I get to enjoy here, the afternoon snuggle times, delicious food that also is good for me.... net balance is that life is good, I’m still alive and kicking, and everything is gonna work out fine.

Toodles!

[contraloci-blog]

Fool Me Once - Ch. 6

Felix survives the fall. Locus leaves Chorus.

One way or another, though, they’re still going find each other.

AO3

Ch. 5...Ch. 7

Ch. 6

A'rynasea’s tight quarters didn’t make for comfortable living. Only the ship’s bridge was suitable for human occupation – everything else was taken up by the most souped up engines and weapons that a ship this size could accommodate.

Normally, Locus didn’t mind it. A'rynasea wasn’t meant to be used for long voyages anyway, so its tight quarters was a problem that lasted for only a few hours.

What he hadn’t foreseen in its design was how awkward first-aid was without a helping hand. Locus pressed gauze into the torn stitches on his shoulder to stem their bleeding, and examined the medical equipment at his disposal. He had everything short of a fully-equipped clinic, but a surplus of equipment didn’t alleviate his problem.

Locus turned to examine himself in the wall mirror again. The anesthetic left him feeling disconnected from the process, as if he were watching this happen to someone else. He had four major stitches, running from the base of his neck to the middle of his back, holding together lacerations gained after shrapnel from the Tartarus cut through his suit. Three of them were still whole after that small tussle in the jungle.

One, however…

Locus gently touched the split stitches on the span of his shoulder. He’d need to pull out the torn stitches and salvage the rest before it could pull apart. If he let this tear continue down his back, then it would be impossible to fix on his own.

And explaining the problem to Dr. Joanes would be… preferably avoided.

Felix could have done it, Locus thought.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

“Jesus Christ,” Felix muttered as he pulled the suture closed, “aren’t you the one who’s always nagging me about being more careful?”

“Your aid isn’t necessary.”

Felix slapped Locus’ hand out of his way. “Yeah, right, and who’s going to fix up this giant fucking gash in your leg?”

“I can –“

“Don’t even start,” Felix said and gave the needle a small yank. He smirked at Locus’ soft gasp. “Stitching yourself only works in the movies. Just get over the soldier bullshit for, like, two seconds and let me do this.”

Locus’ mouth pinched as Felix bent over his leg. At least the stitches so far were neat and uniform. When Felix offered no more smart commentary, Locus relaxed enough to lie back against the pillows.

He would never be sure when exactly he fell asleep.

Two hours later, he woke up alone with his leg propped up on a pillow, the stitches complete, and covered in a blanket that hadn’t been there before.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

He mopped up the blood oozing down his chest and picked through the medical cabinets with one hand. He found the needle and thread. A bottle of rubbing alcohol. A canister of biofoam to be on the safe side. Two small clamps that he didn’t know the exact purpose of, but would be handy for holding his skin together.

“A'rynasea,” he said as he used the clamps to pinch together his skin.

The ship chirped.

“Is this ship equipped with a tutorial on stitches?”

“Please specify the type of stitches,” chimed the ship’s on-board computer. “Do you mean stitches that regard sewing, needlework, embroidery –“

“Medical stitches.”

“I’m sorry, that is not available.”

Locus paused his task of threading the needle with his teeth and one hand. Why… didn’t the ship have that kind of information? “…does this ship have information on any kind of stitching?” he asked slowly.

“Tutorials on basic needlework are available.”

He pursed his lips and looked at himself again. His shoulder was practically split open now. If it weren’t for a frankly unsafe amount of anesthetic, he’d have passed out from the pain. And if he didn’t treat it himself, he’d have to go to Dr. Joanes.

“Bring up the basic needlework.”

“Certainly. Please specify which.”

“How many are there?”

“There are two thousand and seventy three tutorials on basic needlework available on this ship’s computer.”

“Why?” Locus blurted before he could reign himself in. He dipped the needle and thread in the alcohol.

“Well, it appears that during installation of the computer, Engineers Ramsey and Clyde –“

“No, that wasn’t a request for more information. Bring up… bring up a tutorial for a basic stitching pattern to connect two… materials.”

“Certainly.”

A tutorial appeared on-screen. Locus squinted at it and sighed.

The split stitch was on his right side. He was right-handed.

He picked up the needle with his left hand and measured where he needed to start. This was going to be a long day.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

It took him an hour to finish the job. In that time period, the anesthetic wore off enough that his eyes began to water from the pain. To counteract it, Locus injected a local numbing agent into his arm.

Most of his right side promptly fell out of operation within five minutes.

On the bright side, he no longer felt the pain. On the less bright side, half his body lagged behind the other half. At least his body matched his mental state now.

Locus stumbled to the bridge like a particularly uncoordinated sloth and slumped into his chair. The lights of the technicolor console swam headily.

Luckily, A'rynasea had autopilot and the coordinates for Camp 10-B was already punched in. Locus passed out before the ship was even airborne.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

The hour’s flight to A'rynasea passed by in the blink of an eye. Locus had only meant to rest his eyes for a few seconds, but he was already here.

The ship settled down in the jungle like an invisible bird of prey. Locus pulled on clean clothes, tiredly shaved off stubble, and attempted to look a little livelier than he actually felt. The bruises, bloodshot eyes, and gaunt cheeks staring back at him told a different story. The numbing agent had mostly worn off, though his right eye retained a small droop.

He looked more like someone’s battered spouse than a mercenary.

It would have to be good enough. Locus left the armor behind for a different face.

Sam wore frayed baseball caps and flannel. He carried a crossbow for protection that was loaded with handmade bolts. His pants were faded jeans torn at the hems and his cowboy boots had seen better days. He wore his long hair down, but braided it when the situation called.

Sam didn’t look like Locus. He didn’t look like someone who hunted bandits either, but Locus was counting on that impression. For some reason, people trusted Sam a lot more than they trusted him.

“A'rynasea, stay,” he ordered, swinging out. “Mode – cloak and signal blackout. Respond if called.”

The ship chirped affirmation. Locus pulled his crossbow up higher and trudged in the direction of Camp 10-B.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

“We do get new faces around here. But that’s not really a new thing – it just happens, y’know? We had a couple caravans come in yesterday, a wounded soldier got taken in, uh… I think a few families moved in and out – 10-B is pretty close to 10-A and 10-C, so. It happens.”

The busy marketplace of Camp 10-B’s main agora pulsed with the overwhelming noise and commotion of the day crowd, and Locus hunched deeper into his seat. His head hurt, the tea he was drinking tasted terrible, and his paranoia was ticking higher by the second, but he endured it for the mission.

Gordon, the man who operated the tea stand, continued to talk at him. Locus listened to the man prattle on quietly, well-practiced in letting chatty people handle all the talking.

He didn’t have a habit of yelling in frustration, at least, so the urge to snap at him was low. The information he provided wasn’t interesting. It certainly didn’t mention three people in search of medicine.

“How is the bandit problem?” Locus asked in between sentences.

“- and we have – oh, what? The bandits?” Gordon made an expression of distaste. “Well, you know how it is. Some people fight during a war. Some people try to survive that war. And some people just…” he pitched his voice lower as if to impart a secret. “Some people just go crazy.”

Locus’ grip on his crossbow tightened.

Gordon didn’t notice. “And these bandits? Well, they’re basically all the nuts in society who suddenly have the power to act out. So they run around, stealing, and killing, and hurting good people because they can. Dogs, all of them. Nothing but dogs. I know people who lost family to them.”

“…have you seen any?”

“Actually, now that you mention it,” Gordon said, leaning back, “they’re showing up less and less lately. Sometimes we find some in the woods, you know? Injured, tied up, babbling crazy-like about some invisible man in armor – too much dehydration, I’d say.”

“Good to know,” Locus said quietly. He dipped his head, letting his hair fall in front of his face. The concealer he had hid his scar decently but it was two shades too light for him, so he ended up looking mildly blotchy. It wasn’t bad enough to draw the stares that his scar did, but up close like this, people started noticing. What people noticed, they remembered.

Locus stood up, unsatisfied with what he got. The bitter tea sat in his gut like a stagnant puddle in a pothole and his headache spiked up something fierce after Gordon’s careless words. Idling here and gossiping wouldn’t get him anything. He needed to find someone responsible for the medical supplies here. Perhaps they would know more.

“So, Sam, what is it you’re doing again?” Gordon asked.

“Hunting,” Locus answered and left the tea stand.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

“What do you need me for?” asked the woman he’ been directed to. She was black, with long dreads tied back into a ponytail, and wore army fatigues. A pistol hung at her hip. She held herself like a soldier, but she didn’t look like anyone Locus knew from the Feds.

“Are you Doctor Ayesha Hailey?” Locus asked.

“I am,” the doctor confirmed. She looked up from the crate she had been organizing. “What is it?”

“My name’s Sam,” Locus said awkwardly, sitting down on the upturned crate next to her. “I am looking for a few people. There should be three of them. They were looking for medicine. I thought they would be here.”

“Three people, huh?” Hailey looked contemplative. Then she peered at him. “What for?”

“I know them,” Locus said, which wasn’t a lie, not really. “Wanted to find them.”

Hailey stared at him for a moment. Locus shifted his weight from one leg to the next, then looked away. His hair fell in front of his face.

“There were a few people, yeah,” she said after a pause. “Said they wanted antibiotics for a friend. They were willing to pay in cash which I found a little strange.”

“That sounds like them.”

“Mhmm. Go check the temp residentials. People who’re here for a short time stay there.”

“Thanks.”

He moved to leave, but she held up her hand. “Wait.” She opened her mouth to say something, paused, and her eyes flicked over his face again.

Does she know? Locus tensed, wondering how he would stifle her if she screamed. Was she from the army? But they never saw my face, she can’t –

“Squad 104th?” she asked and Locus’ train of thought screeched off its rails.

That was something he hadn’t heard in a long time. Preferably, he would never hear it again. His jaw set as he turned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, sorry,” he heard her say. “I thought you looked familiar.”

He didn’t remember meeting her before.

But that was the thing about being former UNSC. Old memories sprung up where they were least wanted.

∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙

[solarbird]

Old Soldiers, Chapter 13: feeding the spiders

AO3 link

"Good girl," Amélie cooed to Ourson, her little black tarantula, a surprise gift from Lena the previous Christmas. "Back into your habitat. I will give you two crickets, one at a time."

She'd spent an hour cleaning Ourson's tank, replacing the soil, cleaning the little shelters where the spider liked to hide, scrubbing the shallow water dish, making sure the spider-safe plants were healthy in their hidden pots. The curlyhair didn't really need, or care, about the plants - but Amélie liked how it made the enclosure look more real, more like the Costa Rica from which the species originally came.

"I think you will be moulting soon," Widowmaker said, quietly, more to herself than to Ourson, who surely knew the truth of it better than her keeper. "I should make sure you are happy before you begin." The large spider did not need very much care, really - as pets go, Lena picked a nicely low-maintenance animal - and Amélie did more than really necessary, and enjoyed it.

"Go on," Widowmaker said, prompting the spider to the ground. It took a moment, but Ourson figured out that this was her home, and stepped lightly onto the new bedding. A moment later, and then there was a cricket, and she pounced, frighteningly quick, surrounding it with her legs and stinging, venom paralysing her prey in moments. Amélie cooed again, "oh, you were very hungry, weren't you? Well, there will be another once you are finished with the first."

When she was very young, Amélie had a fear of spiders, which she now found a little embarrassing, and more than a little ironic. But that was long ago, before she knew herself how to sting.

"Amélie!" shouted Lena, bursting in from the landing pad's exit corridor. "I'm home!"

The Widowmaker replaced the habitat's lid and turned to her lover, smiling the broad smile reserved only for her, and spread her arms wide. "Come to me, cherie!" The two women collided and spun around in the common room that they'd started thinking of a little bit as the family room, which is fairly silly for a Talon base, but not untrue despite it. "I am so happy to see you again." She leaned back and looked into Venom's brown eyes. "I see you've been dropping the sniper kit - have you checked in with Dr. Mariani yet?"

"Nah," said the junior assassin, "I wanted to see you, first." She kissed her wife, gently. "I've missed you so much. Overwatch is wretched. Please tell me we have a mission this week, I want somethin' to go right."

The spider chucked. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry." She returned Venom's kiss, and pet her head gently, running her fingers through that mop of hair. "A mission - pleasantly, we do, and it should be stimulating. I was saving that news for tomorrow, but... what happened?"

"Lemmie get checked out by th' doc first," said the occasional sniper. "It's a long story."

-----

"You're doing well," said the Sicilian doctor, from behind her scanner console. "Could you shift your eyes the rest of the way back, please?"

"'Course, doc." Lena pushed the last of the gold out of her iris. "How's that?"

"Very good. Dilate your pupils, let me check the cornea? Thank you." The doctor had Venom look across eight compass points as small white lights danced around Lena's vision. "All very good. No visual centre confusion around the lack of blind spots?"

"Nothin' I've" - she chuckled - "...seen..."

Dr. Mariani smiled. "Yes, yes, your jokes are terrible. But your eyes are not. Shift dilation back to baseline? Thank you. Yes, everything looks very good."

Venom blinked a bit - shifting her iris felt like nothing, but somehow, dilating and undilating her pupils still felt just weird.

"Well, this is all, ah, very healthy," she said. "There is one thing, but - do not worry, this is not a health question, you are fine. Did you use your chronal accelerator as Mockingbird?"

"Yeaaaaaaah," said the assassin, stretching the "a" sound. "Sorry. I knew it might mess up your data collection, but when Angie pulled that little demonstration of hers, I just... wasn't ready for it. I teleported across the room."

"I thought so. Quite understandable, from what you described." She smiled wistfully. "I wish I could've seen it myself."

"Some of the data got messed up?"

"Eh, there is a... very small bias shift. I can, ah, compensate, yes. It is probably from the slipstream - unless you happened to be near a powerful antineutron entanglement array at some point."

"Wot's that then?"

"A big hummy thing, might make you tingle."

Lena laughed. "Amélie didn't go with me on this one, doc."

The doctor smirked. "I didn't think so. But I understand, your ambassador friend, he is a scientist, yes? He might have one."

"Might do. Want me to ask him?"

"Eh," she waved her hands, "it is not important. I will remember it can happen." She closed the padd and shut off the scanner. "Your blood chemistry is perfect, your metabolic tests are exactly on track - you'll feel warm for a little while, like usual, eh? And hungry in, ah, probably a few hours. Drink extra water until you feel the hunger. Good?"

"Yes'm. And... thanks for comin' out on such short notice."

"It is no problem, I want these readings for my own work, you know. Thank you for letting me take them." She backed away from the examination table and motioned to the door. "Now, shoo, get out of here - I want to make the last ferry home."

"Roger that. Thanks, doc!"

-----

Venom fanned herself as she sat on the couch, back up to her normal temperature, and feeling it. "Terrible, yeh?"

Widowmaker - sitting across the low driftwood-grey coffee table, apart from her wife until she fully recovered - frowned, and shook her head. "I do not know where even to begin." She cast about, and picked one topic of the many. "I would not think one of Gabriel's plans would be so fragile. I know that no plan fully survives first contact with the enemy, but still."

Lena nodded, and drank from her rather tall glass of water. "It's not all his fault. The intelligence wasn't accurate, and those weren't ordinary Los Muertos street rats, but t'be honest - we were sloppy. And y'can't be sloppy like that."

"I hope you, at least, hit your shots," the elder sniper said with sardonic amusement.

The younger assassin snickered. "'Course I did, luv."

"So now, it is our turn?"

"Nope. I've agreed to give 'em another shot."

"When you voted against even the first?" She gave her wife a thoughtful look. "I am surprised."

Venom frowned. "I... I didn't want to. I moved to hand it over, in fact. But..." She ran her hand through her hair. "Y'shoulda heard Mei. You'd understand if y'did. Her whole team got left to die in Antarctica..." She shivered. "I'm not the only one who wants t'see him pay. She just wants it done all out in the open."

The spider hummed, and sipped at her afternoon glass of wine. An Italian table wine, a bit sweet, but not so far as a dessert wine, with hints of almost apricot. "Public justice, courtroom justice - but there is no small amount of revenge to that, as well."

"I dunno?" Lena said, sipping again from her water. "Mei..." She looked over at her wife with half a smile, not sure how to put together the words, realised she was trying to say two things at once, and picked one. "She's not like that. She reminds me of... who I used t'be, y'know? I used to believe in all that a lot more than I do now - and I don't want to be the one to take it from her."

Amélie gave her a knowing look across the top of her wineglass. "You know the only justice he'll face is whatever we deliver ourselves."

"Oh, yah, I know." Lena leaned back against the couch. "If I thought tryin' him would do any good, I'd maybe have different ideas - no matter how much I hate him. But they'll rehabilitate that bastard in nothin' flat. You and I both know it. People like him never get what's comin' to them."

The spider smiled. "Which makes this exactly the sort of job you like us to take on."

"Not so sure of that, either. You haven't seen the video yet. Lemmie show you."

She replayed the Amari video, highlighting the key points, and then her own, more recent video, showing the identical outcomes. "We'll need Angie's help to take him down - keep him from doin' this trick - and even she doesn't know how to make that happen yet. Figurin' it out's gonna be hard work. I don't think she'd do it to help us kill him - but for Overwatch, for a capture? She'll sort it in a week."

Widowmaker frowned. "That is indeed a complication. But I can't imagine even the best nanosurgeons could restore an adequately pureed brain, and I have some delightfully messy rounds."

Venom's grin returned, this time properly wicked. "Maybe. I like the idea. But I'd rather not risk it - you didn't see her revival demonstration." She frowned, and maybe even shuddered a little. "That was scary, and I know from scary. If he can do that..." She shook her head, and put it out of her mind. Why ask for trouble?

"It sounds to me like we should get her and Doctor Mariani together sooner, rather than later." She pointed with her wineglass in the direction of the base's medical laboratory. "Even if it's not on our preferred terms."

Tracer took another sip of her water. "I did get her to admit she's not ageing."

Amélie hummed, a little pleased sound. "So, at least, that much was accomplished."

"Yeh. Baby steps."

"So. The plan is that we let Overwatch fail again..."

"I'm gonna do my level best to help 'em succeed. I have to. But yeah, assuming..."

"...then we know how to kill him. But if we're wrong, and they take him into custody? Can you live with that?"

"Then..." the junior assassin scowled. "Then... I suck it up. Overwatch hands him over to the ICC, they score big political points, which'll help keep PETRAS act pressure down to a simmer. He gets off light - least, for a while, 'till he's out of the news." She smiled a very hungry smile, "And then, when everyone's forgot him again, we take him out for good. On the quiet. Everybody wins."

Widowmaker smiled. "Ah - the best of both worlds. Finesse, across time."

"I can in fact time-travel, love." She took another big draw of water, and felt her stomach shift. "Oooh, there we go. There's the ol' appetite. I am peckish. Feel like dinner?"

"I thought you would never ask."

[mystic-heads-blog]

Your Favourite Character(s) - @mysme69minutes Time: About 62 minutes c: This one’s 1499 words. I really enjoyed writing it, because man I’m here for queer Jaehee. Though I have to admit I don’t really have a favourite Mystic Messenger character per se, because I’m utterly in love with all of them lmao 

Jaehee was at peace as she flipped through the pages of her diary. It’d been quite some time since she quit her job as Jumin’s assistant and started her own place, which was clearly evident in her writing. The writing at the start of the journal seemed rushed, the things she wrote down often regarding work, but now.. now everything had calmed down. Of course, since the coffee place had become quite popular, there was still a lot of daily work. The difference was that this work she really enjoyed doing, and that she had someone by her side that she loved.

Looking back, I think I never really had any friends. I didn’t have the time to socialise, not besides the work I was always swamped in. Of course, there was the RFA, sort of a family – but even that I’d joined solely because of work. Now they feel more like friends than they did then. I think MC changed us all, that she allowed us to be able to understand each other.

Those were words she’d written just a few days before. She flipped a few pages, a slight frown appearing on her face as she read.

I’m not sure what to do. I’m not unexperienced in the field of love: I’ve dated before, back when I still had the time. I’ve had crushes even when I didn’t, though the word ‘crushes’ feels too juvenile for me to use – I wouldn’t know what else to call the feelings, however. Maybe because I never really got to develop any of it further. Regardless, all feelings I had were always for men. So why do I feel this way now?

These were words she’d written today.

Without doubt, Jaehee was happier now than she was before, but she was also confused. In a short time, MC had become her best friend and her business partner. But now that more time had passed, Jaehee found herself feeling differently towards her, feelings she associated with romance now being associated with MC. Of course, she hadn’t told MC this yet – but she didn’t really know whether she should, either. It wasn’t like she objected to the idea of being with a woman romantically per se. It was more that.. she’d never thought of herself in such a situation.

Jaehee was interrupted from her thoughts by the ringing of her doorbell.

Right, MC and her had agreed to watch some of Zen’s musicals together.

She closed her diary and put it on the table, standing up to open up the door. A smile immediately replaced the previous frown upon seeing her friend, and she returned the hug MC initiated.

“Hey! How are you?”

They’d seen each other just yesterday at work, but MC never failed to inquire to her well-being. It was a relatively new feeling for her, someone actually caring, but definitely not a bad one.

“Come in,” Jaehee started as she moved aside, closing the door after MC. “I’m fine. Though I still somewhat have to get used to having Sundays off,” she added thoughtfully. Then she remembered her manners. “Take a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

“You really need to stop being so formal with me, Jaehee,” MC complained, although she was smiling. “I basically live her at this point.”

“You do come over quite often,” Jaehee agreed. “But why would that mean I shouldn’t keep my manners as a hostess?”

MC laughed, shaking her head.

Jaehee was confused, tilting her head to the side.

“Let me be the hostess today. You take a seat; I’ll get us something to drink. Coffee?” MC started towards the kitchen, then turned around.

“Only if it’s okay with you, of course.”

It felt a bit uncomfortable, but Jaehee took her previous seat on the couch. She was unsure how informal people generally were in other people’s houses, and when it was okay to make yourself at home. She didn’t mind MC making herself at home – but letting MC take care of her.. Was that appropriate?

Apparently noticing her hesitation, MC approached her. “It’s okay if you do mind, you know.”

“That’s not it,” Jaehee said with a frown, lightly biting her lip as she tried to figure out how to phrase her thoughts. “But when in my house, shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you?”

“That’s usually the case, but close friends generally lose the formalities that come with being a ‘guest’ and ‘hostess’ in each other’s houses,” MC smiled as she spoke, the way she always did. “So this was mainly an attempt to get you to relax more when I’m around.”

Nodding at the clarification, Jaehee then agreed with MC being the hostess for the day.

Ten minutes later, they were settled on the couch with both a cup of coffee and a pastry, one of Zen’s musicals playing on the television.

Usually singing along more boldly, Jaehee was now keeping the volume down as to not disturb MC’s enjoyment of the musical. It’d been long since she had memorised all the lyrics. Actually, with a bit of effort Jaehee could recite the entire scripts of most Zen’s musicals along with the actors. Now she was distracted from her singing and joining in due to a giggle from MC, however.

As she stopped her singing, MC spoke. “No, please continue! You have a lovely singing voice.”

“Really?” Jaehee asked, turning to face MC as the musical number continued on tv. “It couldn’t compare to Zen’s.”

After musing for a few seconds, MC shook her head decisively. “No, I think I like your voice better. But I may be a bit biased.”

“Why would you be biased?”

“Because I prefer you over Zen as a person,” MC admitted.

Jaehee felt a blush creeping over her face. “I thought you two got along.” Her voice was almost a whisper, as the thoughts from before MC showed up re-entered her mind.

“Yeah, we’re friends,” MC agreed. “But I’m closer with you than I’m with him. He’s passionate in his acting and pursuing his goals in life – to the point where it’s inspirational – but so are you. And you are humbler about it. Being humble is attractive.”

As the blush intensified, Jaehee made sure to avoid eye contact. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was coming from, or where it was going, or whether she wanted it to keep going, honestly. But staying silent would be rude, so she answered.

“Thank you. I couldn’t have done anything without you, though.”

At this MC frowned, moving closer to Jaehee and making her face her. “That’s not true, Jaehee. Look where you got all by yourself. You had a steady job, a nice group of people around you, and you did voluntary work for the RFA in order to help people. All I did was encourage you to pursue happiness, or to live instead of survive.”

The proximity made it hard for Jaehee to focus, her cheeks feeling as hot as the Jalapeno pepper currently being mentioned in the musical.

And then she spoke, her hands covering her mouth immediately after. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Now MC was the one blushing, though she didn’t move away.

Was that a good sign?

Jaehee didn’t know what to do, her hands lowering to rest in her lap and her eyes cast down to examine them in order not to look at MC.

MC didn’t speak, but turned back to watch the television. As she did, Jaehee saw her hand approaching hers, then saw and felt warm fingers wrapping around her own.

Jaehee didn’t think she’d ever stop blushing, her eyes now closing. How was she supposed to act in this situation?

“.. MC?” She said after a while, finally gathering the courage to look up.

MC was smiling as she faced Jaehee again, though her cheeks were still redder than usual. “I’m sorry. I was trying to think of what to say, but.. They say actions speak louder than words.”

As Jaehee didn’t react, she continued speaking.

“I know I’m in love with you, Jaehee.”

Butterflies seemed to try and break out of Jaehee’s stomach, forcing their way out through a bright smile. She was still speechless, something she was unused to, but the blankness of her mind was merely because of surprise. And happiness.

“If you’re still unsure, we can just take it easy. Like this, holding hands. Is that okay?”

Jaehee nodded, now she being the one to turn away to face the television again. She.. could get used to this.

It was silent for quite a while before she spoke again, her gaze still fixed on the musical. “Thank you.”

“What for?” MC inquired, tilting her head to the side questioningly as she looked at Jaehee.

“Everything.”

And those were the last words they spoke for the duration of the rest of the musical, as they watched it in peace, big smiles on their faces and their fingers intertwined.

[itispossibleihaveissues]

This Night - Chapter 2

TITLE: This Night AUTHOR: Mikimoo RECIPIENT: tristen84 PAIRING: JayDick RATING: Mature WARNINGS: Off screen Non-Con, murder of innocent young people, violence SUMMARY: The Red Hood and Officer Grayson are on the same case. A small misstep has far reaching consequences for them both. 

Chapter 1 is here

Fourteen hours later saw them scoping out the bunker holding Ruiz. Lying in the undergrowth and watching through night vision goggles they argued extensively about the best options to gain entry. Between them, they had eventually figured out the only possible way to infiltrate the building when they were low on pretty much everything, and one of them was running a fever and could barely walk. 

But hey, they had faced worse odds. Apparently one year Dick had gone into Blackgate alone, while suffering from the flu and he had come out okay. Although he could actually walk unaided on that occasion, which had probably helped.

But they were committed to this madness, so they had to make sure they did everything right – there wasn’t going to be another chance.

The plan was pretty simple and involved relying on far more luck than Jason was comfortable with. Each of these outposts had a command center, a hub where all the surveillance equipment was. It could be manned by two to four people and from there, the guards and gang members could be directed toward any threat. If they could get Dick in there, he could guide Jason to Ruiz and simultaneously send the guards to the opposite side of the compound. Then Jason and Ruiz, who hopefully could walk under her own power, would fetch Dick and they would escape into the jungle. Simple.

If they survived that, then they would head for the rendezvous point, where maybe they would get picked up by a friendly Merc, or maybe get shot to death, depending.

Just to be clear, Jason hated this plan. Even though he had helped come up with it.

 They intended to take the electrics out, using the dark to improve their chances. As Jason had lost his helmet and his mask to the gang, and his high spec night vision goggles to the river, they only had his lightweight emergency spare to work with. They both needed to have at least a little night vision for their separate tasks, so they carefully cut free one of the lenses for Dick, and Jason wore the other one as it was intended. Only using one eye to shoot was risky so he planned to use a flashlight where ever possible. They had rigged up the second lens for Dick using a combination of fast drying glue from Jason’s kit and the elastic from his boxers. Never let it be said they weren’t experts in improvisation. Dick seemed extremely amused to be wearing a part of Jason’s underwear on his head.

Jason would never understand that guy as long as he lived.

The first stage went surprisingly well, despite a minor spat on the merits of murdering the guards, versus just incapacitating them. Jason reluctantly capitulated to avoid stressing Dick out further, although his terms had rather a lot of scope – he promised he wouldn’t kill during this operation, unless it was necessary to save a life – that could give him a little wiggle room and left plenty of space for coming back and annihilating the whole fucking lot of them after he got Dick and Ruiz out safely.

 They made the command center with little trouble �� a fact that made Jason nervous; the theme for this whole mission had been that if it’s too easy, then disaster is sure to follow.

Mostly Jason was concerned about leaving Dick when he was barely mobile.

The infection, while having been slowed by the antibiotics was both painful and weakening - to the point where he could hardly go two paces without needing to lean on Jason. The added pressure on the wound from attempting to walk was causing enough discomfort that Dick was sweating profusely, his face set in a grimace.

But his options were to leave Dick, or try to carry him down the dark corridor to wherever they were keeping Ruiz, and that was not going to happen. It didn't mean he was happy about it though.

 He adjusted his earpiece. At least they had comms. Who knows what they would have had to construct if they hadn’t?

“Dickie-Bird to Jay-Bird,” Dick said over the line. “Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear, asshole. Now shut up,” Jason muttered, making his way carefully down the dark passageway.

Dick directed him, using the plans he had on the tablet, and the security cameras. There were a few tense moments when Jason had to crouch down and stay silent as guards ran past – directed towards a fake disturbance elsewhere – but otherwise the plan went smoothly.

There were two guards on the door to the cell they hoped Ruiz was being held in, and Jason thought he did an admirable job of not killing them. Although he hit them hard enough to cause permanent brain damage, Dick didn't say anything over the comm line – maybe he didn't realize, or maybe he didn't care. Jason wasn't sure which option he preferred.

“I opened the electronic lock,” Dick said, over the line. “You just have to pick the regular one.”

Jason examined it closely. It was sturdy, but he had picked worse locks when he was barely out of kindergarten.

“Once you're inside I won't have a visual, so keep me in the loop, OK?”

“Yes, boss.” Jason muttered back, as he slid his second pic into place. “It’s not like I haven't done this before, you know.”

“Well normally I get to be there, not stuck in a dark room with computers and trash everywhere. Although this swivel chair is super nice, a proper ergonomic office chair like the ones Tim ordered when he was playing CEO at Wayne Enterprises.”

“I know you like to flap your mouth when you’re feeling anxious, but some of us are concentrating.”

“Whatever. You can pick locks in your sleep, you're just being difficult. Do you think they ordered this chair in specially? Like, does one of the bad guys have a bad back or carpal tunnel or something, so needed some extra support?”

Jason ignored him, although he could feel his face trying to smile. He ruthlessly tried to stop it though, he had to at least pretend to still have some dignity.

“Do you think they ordered it from Ikea or somewhere? Or is there a special store for criminal underground bases -”

“I'm in,” Jason interrupted, and Dick fell silent. Jason realized he was probably worried about what Jason might find behind that door. Was Ruiz alive? Had she been tortured? Was she mobile? Their chances of escaping this place fell dramatically if she wasn't. “I'll bring her out,” he said, with more confidence than he felt.

He opened the door slowly. The room was dark, but the light from his torch illuminated a similar set up to Dick's cell. A broken chair was propped against one wall and a mattress lay on the floor. Cuffs hung from the wall and Jason's senses pinged with alarm before he even finished registering something wasn't right.

He dodged down and away as he sensed movement to his left and narrowly missed being brained by a chair leg. Ruiz swung again, and he caught the blow on his upraised arm. The impact made him stumble and drop his flashlight, but he managed to catch her before she could go for his face again.

“Ruiz, stop! It's Grayson's PI friend, I've come to get you out!”

She stopped struggling but he could feel her muscles still tense and ready to fight. He moved them slightly, so the light from his fallen torch caught his features.

Her breathing was harsh in the sudden quiet. “What’s you name?” she asked, finally.

“Jason. I'm going to let you go - don't clobber me.” He stepped back, and she moved away, chair leg still upraised, clutched in her hand. Her knuckles were bruised; this wasn't the first time she had tried to fight her way out.

They looked at each other for a moment, her assessing him; searching his face and quickly skimming over his weird get up – the patchwork of weapons and gear he had on was definitely not the same as the guards and gang members in this place, who appeared to be something of a paramilitary unit.

In turn he gave her a quick visual check for injuries and obvious signs of drugs. She seemed mobile and her eyes were clear so it appeared they hadn't bothered to incapacitate her like they had Dick. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.

“Why did you come back for me?” She asked, suddenly. “Where's Grayson? He was shot.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s alright, for now.” The comms were open, and Jason could hear Dick's breathing in his ear, a little fast with relief, a little heavy with pain, but still strong and comforting. “I got him out first, then we came back for you,” Jason added, when she still looked skeptical.

“We? Even though he got shot?”

“Yeah, he's an idiot that way.”

She nodded and rolled her eyes. It was a very: 'I have had to work with Dick Grayson and he's a moron' expression. Dick seemed to cause a similar series of facial tics and eye rolls where ever he had to spend time with people in a professional capacity. It was weirdly endearing.

“You have a gun?” Ruiz asked, all business now.

“I got three.”

“Give me one.” She held out a hand. Her short fingernails were torn and bloody, and although he wasn't sure if that had happened when she attacked a person or liberated the chair leg, Jason was pretty certain her opponent had come off worse.

“You going to shoot me with it?” he asked. She didn't know him from Adam, and if he had been in her situation, he would be pretty cautious and a little trigger happy.

“Don't be a fool,” she said, “I could never escape without help. And I'm not going to shoot my rescuer, it’s bad manners.”

Jason grinned and handed her his Ruger. He liked Ruiz, and the competent way she checked the gun over gave him confidence that she would provide decent back up for getting Dick out of this place safely.

Apparently finding the gun to her liking, she dropped the chair leg. Jason winced at the hollow echoing sound it made when it hit the stone floor.

“What was that?” Dick asked in his ear.

“Chair leg. We're heading back your way. We clear?”

“Yeah, for now. You might want to avoid the southwest corridor and take the longer route – there's a lot less activity in that direction.”

“Understood,” Jason glanced at Ruiz who was looking at him steadily.

“That Grayson?” she asked.

“Yeah, he’s giving us directions.”

Ruiz nodded. “Where are we going?” She asked quietly, as they slipped back into the dark corridor.

“We're heading towards the central command center to pick up Grayson. He's not especially mobile so we may have to do that literally.”

“Wonderful,” Ruiz said, and Jason smothered another grin, he could actually hear her eyes roll.

 Their plan had been working beautifully. With Dick directing both the guards and Jason, they had avoided any confrontation. However their luck couldn't last. Because the universe just couldn't let him catch a fucking break.

As they turned the corner, the lights flickered on. Someone must have activated a backup generator not attached to the mains.

“Houston, we have a problem,” Dick said.

 Jason growled in response. They were so damn close. And this was supposed to be the easy bit.

“The bad guys have caught on. You have three heading towards you from the northeast and another three already in front of you.”

“They know where we are?” Jason asked, signaling Ruiz to pause. She did so, looking grim and determined.

“Not yet.” Dick's voice was a little strained and there were clattering noises in the background.

“Dick, talk to me. What's happening?”

“They know they've been compromised. They have the command center surrounded, and are switching off my electrics one by one.”

“Fuck!”

“Stop yelling in my ear!” Dick complained. “I may not be able to do any wild acrobatics, but I can deal with this. However, I've already lost my visual of you. You're on your own.”

“Dick, you have a gun, for fuck sake, use it if you have too.”

“Jason-”

“No, Dick. I know you can - you shot me pretty good after all.”

“Yeah sorry about that. Look, I'll use all the tools I have, Jay. Head for the exit, I'll catch you up.”

Like hell that was happening. “Not a chance, Flyboy.”

“Working with you is so annoying!” Dick had the nerve to sound exasperated.

Jason wanted to punch him. “Working with me is annoying? Me? What about you?” He was aware his voice was rising, and had to consciously rein it in a bit.

“Can you please have this domestic another time?” Ruiz interjected, scowling at him in bemusement.

Jason ignored her. “We're coming to get you, and that's final!” he said, trying to keep his voice low.

“Jason, don't be such a stubborn -” And then there was nothing but static.

“Dick?” Jason's heart was pounding. He couldn't cope with going through this again so soon after the last time. His stress levels were through the damn roof. “Dick!” He wasn't really expecting an answer but the silence still felt raw and bitter. “We lost contact,” he told Ruiz, gruffly.

“I heard. We going to go rescue him?” Ruiz asked. She looked scared and angry, and like she'd had more than enough of this shit.

“We're going to try.” More rescues. How many were there going to be, before there was an end to this?

Ruiz nodded and fell into step behind him.