#as being the reason why all the hour systems are based in twelve

[bogkeep]

my thesis probably doesn't need to be longer than like, 2k-3k words total, i can stick to a reasonable scope, i don't NEED to delve into the origins of the babylonian sexagesimal number system to write about the prague astronomical clock

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Another nonsense prompt:

Romana, drunk on ginger beer: Please explain to me why?

Rose, equally drunk of hypervodka: Why what?

Romana: -vague gestures at the Doctor-

Setting, Doctor, and Rose’s reasons are to your discretion based on whatever mood you’d like to create.

thinky, i loved loved loved writing this prompt (i'm really enjoying trying out romana's perspective lately!) and since the other ones you sent have been coming out angsty, i made sure to fluff this one up. i also chose twelve as my doctor, just to heighten how thoroughly cracky this situation is. i hope you enjoy it (in spite of it being unedited)!!

(click here to read on ao3.)

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Their bodies had ended up at sharp ninety-degree angles, through no fault of Romana's.

No, she laid all the blame squarely at the little human girl's doorstep. It was she who had withdrawn a bottle of hypervodka from one of her borrowed coats, out of a cheeky trans-dimensional pocket—as if any Time Lady worth her particulate wouldn't notice that kind of unsanctioned jiggery-pokery—and it was she who had suggested they go and search out some ginger beer to get them on equal footing. And in the end, it was she who was responsible for all those generous pours.

(On the other hand, it was Romana who had chosen to drink them, which did leave her shouldering a bit of blame. But only a little. The rest was all Rose.)

As she gazed up at the ceiling, Romana reflected on the nature of their situation as it now stood. Or rather, tilted.

The girl had been travelling with them for some time now. It had been a bit of cleverness in the basement of a London shop that brought her into the fold. (Only several hours prior, Romana herself had come aboard. In retrospect, she didn't know why she'd expected a little bit of a time to settle in again—it had been so long—before they took on anyone else, but she was rather miffed at the Doctor's speed and enthusiasm in inviting Rose along.) Yet Rose earned her keep in more than just the ordinary sense.

Though she was clever—and good in a crisis—she was also equipped to be a generally good travelling companion when they were not in danger. She was funny, and open, and very warm. Her nature tended towards unassuming compassion, she was a charmingly low-maintenance passenger, and it was clear she was utterly devoted to the Doctor, absurd as the concept seemed.

Really, that was the incongruity. The piece that Romana could not make sense of. Much as she’d come to care for him, the Doctor was brash, and absurd, and secretive. He was frequently rather self-involved and occasionally quite stupid.

He was, in every respect, the opposite of his lone human companion.

And yet…

The blurred ceiling overhead warped further as Romana turned her head to look at the girl, her hair crinkling, fanned out over the carpet of the media room. From above, they probably looked very silly, laying with their heads together on the floor, their legs kicked up against the back of the large sofa.

This had been Rose's doing as well: she'd been repeating with great enthusiasm something (she at least believed) she'd heard the Doctor say, something about circulation and higher brain function, and Romana didn't have the hearts to tell her that she wasn't sure about the human circulatory system, but it was certainly not how Gallifreyans operated. And when Rose insisted they try it—whatever it was—she'd gone along with it.

So, they'd kicked their legs up, and now they just sort of remained, wiggling their toes and giggling at nothing, waiting for their "heightened brain function" to begin.

All that seemed to be happening was Rose's cheeks going progressively pinker.

Meanwhile, the girl was chattering on about how the Doctor had promised to take her somewhere new, a place where dogs had no noses. Romana finally spoke up.

"Please explain to me… why?" she pronounced, with—she thought—impressive clarity.

Rose's ramble stopped mid-stream, and she tipped her head to the side. "Why… what? Why wouldn't they have noses?" She scrunched her own, which was sort of button-ish, not unlike Romana's. "I don't know. Hadn't thought about it, actually. Not sure I want to."

"No, not the—not the dogs, you silly girl," Romana laughed. (It was not a cackle; she did not cackle.) "I meant, why do you…?" She made a kind of vague gesture over the back of their heads, to where the Doctor was currently sound asleep—or possibly just unconscious—atop a pile of couch cushions, which had been commandeered from their much abused sofa.

His face was slack. It was highly probable he'd soon begin to drool, if he hadn't begun already.

Romana winced. "I mean, isn't he…? Well, that is…" Her faltering, intoxicated vocabulary made her huff in irritation. "Why do you… when he's so—?"

"Tall?" Rose finished. Romana was alarmed to see the girl's smile turn quite giddy, her glazed eyes taking on a dreamy, half-lidded quality. "He is, isn't he?"

"Well, I suppose."

"And he's got great hair. All those silvery curls…"

"Yes, well—!"

Rose's shoulders rolled, as if she meant to yawn and stretch and sink into a blissfully warm bath. She sighed contentedly. "I love him, I think."

"You do," Romana said. Her disbelief seemed like it must have been evident to anyone less totally inebriated.

But Rose didn't so much as bat an eyelash.

"Don't think, actually. I'm sure. Have been for a while. Is that stupid?"

"Probably," she answered honestly. "He's an idiot, Rose, a very clever idiot."

"And he's too old for me," Rose said, nodding her seeming agreement. "And he's a bit careless sometimes. About people… 'bout everything."

Romana frowned.

"But I think those times are when he needs us most. He was alone so long, before you and me." Rose turned her head, eyes briefly sharpening in wakeful attention. "You knew, didn't you?"

"Knew what?"

"How lonely he was. That's why you came back, isn't it?" Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if it was only obvious. But it wasn't obvious at all. Rose went on. "He lost his daughter… what was it, two—three hundred years ago? He's always vague with the details. But her name was Jenny. He lost her to another world, sounds like, and he's been alone ever since. Lifetimes on his own, just floating."

Rose gestured with her hand, floating tracing an arced path over them. Her pink, glittery nail varnish caught the light, flickering like nebulae viewed through a fractured telescope. It became clear to Romana that she was extremely drunk, and her vision was impaired.

But her reasoning was less fragmented.

Concern for the Doctor was not, in fact, why she'd come. There hadn't really been a "why." She'd been lonely, and rather bored, as Leela was off on a mission with Narvin that she probably wanted to know nothing about. BIut really, she'd just wanted to go. And so, she'd contrived a way to stumble upon him.

And in so doing, she'd stumbled the both of them right into the Autons, and the Nestene Consciousness, and a twenty-first century shopgirl with a strong moral compass. From there, the adventures, as always, seemed unending—fast-paced and almost predictable in their unpredictability. They skated through danger, always risking a burn or a scrape or a loss and always emerging on the other side, triumphant and weary, minds refreshingly emptied.

She'd been caught up in it all, she had to admit.

But somehow, Rose had found time in the madness to extract these insights. To see through the Doctor's bright and shiny façade. And to fall utterly in love.

It was so—Romana's brow furrowed, her lips pursed—it was so… human.

And despite herself, she laughed. (She did not cackle; she absolutely did not.) Shaking her head, she reached a hand out to pat Rose's arm.

"You dear thing," she chuckled. "You know you're entirely too good for him."

Rose flushed. Her head was beginning to take on a rather tomato-esque colouring. Romana decided it was probably best if they got up.

Behind them, the Doctor made a sound—half gasp, half snuffle. When Romana looked back, he was blinking owlishly at them, watching them rolling about and cautiously beginning the process of becoming vertical. It was rather slow going.

"Good morning, Doctor," she greeted. She spoke loudly, with an abundance of artificial cheer.

"I wasn't sleeping," he insisted in a husky tone. "Were you sleeping?" (His accent—Scottish, an affectation Romana did not quite understand the purpose of—seemed to have been enhanced by his little nap, and his hair was flattened on one side. But at least there was no sign of drool.)

Rose pushed up to her knees, and Romana could only watch in amusement as she crawled over to the Doctor, stretching out a hand to help him up. His eyes, when they met Rose's, came alive—a brilliant, reflective blue which seemed to contain an unfathomable depth of feeling.

She shook her head. There was nothing to be done now. If Rose was in love, at least the Doctor seemed equally (if not more) besotted with his resident human.

They would almost certainly break each other's hearts.

But if they didn't…

If they didn't, she believed they might very well be the stuff of legend.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

thank you for the prompt, dear! and to send further prompts, drop me an ask.

[theserpentsadvocate]

@mehlsbells: In terms of the main 'why did he end up doing time for a lesser charge' - could California's "three-strikes" law have had something to do with it? Pleading down might have lessened the overall effect an assault conviction had on his record but still resulted in jail time as it added to his aggregate?

Based on what I've seen, I don't think so? The main sticking point is that I don't think he could have hit three strikes between becoming a legal adult and graduating, since we know he turns eighteen sometime in S1, and doesn't miss any 'arrested for a felony' amounts of school in S2. (And I'm reasonably confident his juvenile offenses wouldn't carry over, at least not that way, although maybe lodessa can set me straight if I'm wrong.)

Although, god, that law! Especially back then! It's not like I had illusions about the American carceral system before I started doing research for all the fics I'm writing, but now? Jesus Christ. Marijuana is a Schedule One drug??? What are they DOING down there??

@lodessa: It’s possible he never cleared his probation from when he was a minor (which we can assume he did have given Keith talking about him getting picked up starting at twelve or whatever and having worked with a lot of kids in that situation what you have to do to get off probation is way more demanding than to not get in it to begin with) and that it converted to adult parole (which does happen sometimes) as a result that probably was in the process of being dropped but isn’t after his arrest.

Okay, I am using this, it is possibly the only thing that makes everything make sense, you are a godsend.

And I do think that makes sense - he must be making some kind of effort to stay out of (legal) trouble in the first half of S2, because while he's definitely committing crimes, he doesn't appear to be getting arrested (presumably he's being careful because he's now an adult), so I can see him being about to get out from under the carry-over when he gets arrested for murder and then it's so much for that.

(Also, when you said it was hard to get off probation all I could think about was reading 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU in high school and how Rob wouldn't date Jess for the whole series because she was too young and he was on probation and then in the final book it turns out he just broke into the swimming pool after hours.)

@skwire696: did you settle on a retcon for your story(ies)? i feel your frustration. research makes you feel crazy with the inconsistencies!

Well, the, um, 'good' news is I have so many in the works that I can try out a bunch of options. I'm definitely stealing lodessa's suggestion for at least one, and I'm probably going to throw option three at my Jade/Eli series because they deserve nice things for once, he can not have a felony rap in that one. There are two where I probably will keep option two, because the felony is useful for character or plot reasons, but if it gets in the way or gets too depressing I reserve the right to scrap that part. :)

And I do have one AU where things diverge between S2 and S3 while he's still in prison, so for that one I'm going to go with canon Veronica not having paid a lot of attention, because the divergence results in AU Veronica being way more involved in the details of his life. And then they kiss.

Although technically the shipping is just a mechanism for her to be involved in Ophelia's life. I swear.

Anyway, I guess that means the solution I found is to kind of glare at Rob Thomas and go ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ , but, like, really aggressively.

So I’ve been doing a lot of research (or, more accurately, I’ve been doing cursory research fairly often) for the seventy-million Veronica Mars fanfics I’m currently writing, and I’ve run into a… difficulty. The fic that actually prompted this post wasn’t even related to the Thumper thing even peripherally, like it doesn’t even happen in it, but what can you do.

Here’s the thing: under California law, assault is the attempt to hurt or cause harm to someone by an individual with the capacity to actually cause that harm (e.g. throwing a rock at someone and missing, trying to punch someone who dodges). Actually harming someone is battery (e.g. you knock someone out and hide their drug money inside their motorcycle).

Now we, the audience, know that whatever someone might feel morally*, Weevil isn’t legally guilty of murder – he committed battery, and that’s probably all Lamb can prove, because he has witnesses to that part. But he has witnesses. He should have Weevil over a barrel on the battery charge at least.

But here’s the sticking point (or one of them): Veronica says, canonically, that Weevil ‘pled down to assault’ (and he seems to agree with her). So… why did he end up doing time for a lesser charge?

Answer One: The writers messed up.

Okay, so this is a very unsatisfying answer, and I’m rolling my eyes at myself about it. But still: it’s very common for the general public to gloss ‘assault and battery’ as one thing, or to use ‘assault’ to refer to battery charges, doubly so since, in a non-legal sense, the word ‘assault’ does include (legal) battery. Probably whoever wrote that line assumed that they knew what ‘assault’ was and just didn’t double-check.

(And they also didn’t bother to brush up on the difference between a felony and a misdemeanour and whether you can be on parole for a misdemeanour (answer: no), but I’ll get to that.)

But that doesn’t help square everything up with canon (unless you’re the kind of person who can say stuff like ‘that line doesn’t make sense so I’m ignoring it’, which I… am not, generally speaking), so more productively –

Answer Two: Veronica messed up

Veronica’s attitude toward Weevil isn’t always great in season three, trending towards dismissive on several occasions, and she is, technically, a member of the general public, so maybe she just said assault and meant battery, and he did go to prison for battery and not assault. This would track with him still being on parole – well, at all, but notably about halfway through season three, when Veronica wants to meet with the PCHers – and mentioning his parole officer multiple times. (Simple assault is a misdemeanour and has a maximum sentence of six months; parole, unless there is a glaring hole in my Googling, is only for felonies. Nothing he does to Thumper, as far as I can tell, would qualify as felony assault – he doesn’t use caustic chemicals or a deadly weapon, and he definitely doesn’t throw anything at a moving vehicle.)

Misdemeanour battery, on the other hand, appears to have a maximum sentence of a year, and a battery charge would leave the possibility of a felony open: aggravated battery, or battery causing serious bodily harm, is a ‘wobbler’, which means it can be filed as a misdemeanour or a felony, depending on the circumstances, and ‘serious bodily harm’ includes loss of consciousness. (This would also mean he very well could be a convicted felon, which of course has implications for the rest of his life beyond just having a record. I don’t actually want this for him, obviously, but if you want the felony for fic reasons, or to explain the repeated parole references, that versatility is there.)

The only problem is, Veronica is not a very likely person to make this particular mistake. Her dad spent most of her life in law enforcement and she’s very well-acquainted with most law enforcement (and much legal) procedure, she regularly interacts with the sheriff’s department, and she commits enough illegal and dubiously legal acts herself that it’s in her best interest to be familiar with these kinds of distinctions. (Although she’s still very much protected by being a middle-class white woman – she can do things like tasing obnoxious frat bros in The Rapes of Graff without worrying overmuch that she’ll be arrested on misdemeanour battery charges, even though it would absolutely qualify.)  Also, she clearly made the effort to look into how his case played out, since she’s the one who brings all this up, and she appears to have tracked him down at the car wash deliberately, so it would be kind of bizarre if she then got the offence wrong. This one is convenient, but in the end it’s a hard sell and I don’t think I buy it.

Answer Three: Weevil didn’t plead down from murder to assault, he pled down from battery to assault.

Lamb’s case for murder probably isn’t all that great. It makes for terrific oomph when you are deliberately arresting someone two minutes before he’s supposed to graduate, like an absolute monster, but what does he have, really? Two kids who saw Weevil knock Thumper out with… a cloth? Or something? and take a bag of… something. (And leave.)

So this proves battery, it strongly implies robbery, and given Thumper showing up under the ruins of Shark Stadium it certainly suggests murder, but that’s not going to stand up in court. Assuming the autopsy can conclusively determine which ones are from the stadium collapse and which aren’t (admittedly a big if), Thumper’s likely to have injuries from the beating the Fitzpatricks gave him that Weevil is (per the prosecution’s own witnesses) not responsible for and which were incurred after his attack on Thumper. The kids also saw him leave Thumper’s unconscious body and walk away with the bag of money, so – dead to rights on battery, but iffy on murder. The other PCHers can testify that he had motive to kill Thumper, but they might well not be willing to, for a whole host of reasons. Weevil is absolutely smart enough to establish himself an alibi for the entirety of the time after his attack on Thumper, and that would make Lamb’s case very difficult, as does that fact that Weevil literally didn’t kill Thumper, and so there’s very little forensic evidence to be found that would be damaging to him.

(Honestly, even if the charge was murder, and he pled down to assault or to battery, the fact that they offered him that also suggests the case was flimsy. Rich, white, even-more-innocent-of-the-actual-murder Logan only got offered manslaughter in the plea deal for Felix’s murder.)

So if this is it? That is a ton of reasonable doubt. And that’s before Cliff gets up there and points out that Eduardo Orozco was a known gang member and drug dealer and had all kinds of opportunities to make the kind of enemies who might have chained him up in that stadium (which is not only true but also… basically what did actually happen). In fact, typing this all up, I’m kind of pissed Weevil did any time at all.

Add to that the fact that both eyewitnesses are kids, who are notoriously unreliable on the stand… Yeah, I can easily see the DA deciding a murder charge won’t stick. But they have him on battery! …Wiiiith most of the proof being those notoriously unreliable child witnesses. So maybe they drop the murder charges, get him on battery, and then offer him a deal. On their side, they don’t have to worry about those kids holding up in court; on his side, well, if they threatened to file the aggravated battery charge as a felony, he’s looking at the difference between a year at most in prison and a possible four-year term with all the attendant miseries of being a convicted felon for the rest of his life. And he definitely can’t afford a better lawyer than whoever’s available from the public defender’s office. So it’s reasonable to decide that going to court is too much of a gamble, and just take the deal. This also explains how he’s out so quickly, since it cannot be more than three months since he was arrested when season three starts – but if he pled right away and got a light sentence (since it’s his first adult conviction), that might make sense.

The main problem with this one, even though I really like it, is that, well, there are the repeated references to him being on parole. Weevil himself could just be glossing probation as parole, I suppose – ‘don’t tell my parole officer’ makes a better joke than ‘don’t tell my probation officer’ – but Veronica also says he’s on parole in President Evil, which is an unlikely mistake for her to make if he’s not on parole, for all the reasons outlined in Answer Two, especially in what is literally a presentation for her criminology class. (Of course, in that same presentation she refers to him ‘assaulting’ Thumper, so who knows.) Most damning is the entire B-plot of Wichita Linebacker, which makes it clear he is indeed on parole, since if he doesn’t get another job he’ll go back to prison.

(And I suppose ‘pled down to assault’ is kind of a weird way for Veronica to phrase it in this case – but not utterly bizarre, and she’d be unlikely to spell it all out like that, since she doesn’t know she’s on TV and that line is supposed to be letting the audience know why he’s not in prison.)

Answer Four: Veronica was just guessing

I’ve always read the scene in Wichita Linebacker as her finding him on purpose, especially since she doesn’t actually stick around to get her car washed, which is why I also tend to assume that she’s either recently looked up his case or been following it from the beginning and would know what the charge is. (She doesn’t appear to be surprised to see him, either.) I also just… like to think that she’d care enough to follow up on him.

But it’s also possible that she really is just at the carwash for carwash-related reasons, and she’s just… guessing about the reasons he’s out already. In this case, she might have said assault, and he acknowledges this as correct even though the actual charge was battery, because he figures it’s close enough, and she’s got the general idea, anyway.

This covers more bases than anything else, although it still doesn’t explain why she implies he’s on parole for an assault charge during the criminology presentation, at which point she would definitely have done the background to know it was battery and not assault, but mostly I don’t love it for character reasons.

Anyway. If anyone wants to hit their heads repeatedly into this particular wall with me, I would love to hear your thoughts.

*and I’m inclined, personally, to say that the moral responsibility for Thumper’s death is pretty much on the Fitzpatricks, and it’s not like he didn’t know who he was getting into business with

[alstroemeriadissonance]

Under the emergency lights. (NSFW)

I wrote this bit on candlelight, as we were kicked off the grid by a particularly bad storm. We were off the grid for around 5 days and it was just... Bad. I had to cope with it the best way I know how (smut lol)

Warning: NSFW. Marius, Vyn, Rosa PWP action. With some talky bits.

This is based on my own prompt here! It's a monthly prompt thing for the ToTNSFW sub.

I got two others lined up (one is a Secret Santa scheduled to be published on Christmas Eve, and the other the 100 flowers sequel that I'm struggling to finish on mobile. Data and internet is slowly getting fixed so hopefully I'd be up to my usual Vyn/smutposting schedule soon-ish.

This bit is barely edited due to time limit and availability of data. Ahaha...

It all happened in what seemed to be a stroke of sheer bad luck.

Or luck, depending on perspective.

The overhead LED fixtures in the NXX Headquarters conference room flickered for a bit before they went out, prompting the emergency lights to kick in.

The conference room fell into dim lighting; just enough illumination for the occupants to see each other, but not enough for them to get any work done.

"Oh shit. Not now," Marius blanched.

"Hmm?" Vyn put down his tablet. "It is but a power outage. I assume our servers are well protected from power surges for when the electricity gets back online?"

Rosa blinked, having experienced her first power outage for years. "Uh, Marius...is this something we should be worried about?"

"It should be only a minor annoyance, Rosa," Vyn said as he gathered his papers laid out across the glass table, then looked at Marius, who seemed to start sweating bullets. "Unless there is something we do not know, which is worrying Marius so?"

"Er. Yeah. I sort of fucked up," Marius said.

"Spare us the guesswork and lay out in simple terms what exactly is the nature of this fuck up," Vyn said, lips pursed.

"We're going to be trapped here for, um, half a day."

"What."

"What?!"

Rosa quickly stood up from her seat, and rattled the handles of the electronic doors that separated the NXX Conference Room from the corridor. They did not budge.

"Oh no..." she groaned. "There's still a pile of work waiting for me in the office..."

"The doors will not work, Rosa," Vyn stated the obvious. "They are electronic, and for security reasons they are designed to be impregnable for cases where malicious actors aim to break in by cutting off power to these premises.

He then turned to Marius. "Marius von Hagen," Vyn began, now tapping his slender fingers onto the glass tabletop. "Outline to me, explain to me why is it that I am to be trapped here in my own estate for twelve hours?" His irritation was barely contained. "Moreover, why PAX will not do a search of their acting CEO's whereabouts for the twelve hours that he is unaccounted for?"

Marius took a deep breath. "Yeah, well. R&D just finished with the security fortification I requested of them for this area. Specifically the server room, and since this conference room is pretty much connected to it, I also had the conference room covered with this...new security feature."

Vyn only raised a silver eyebrow, prompting him to continue.

"The security feature is--well, if you know what a Faraday cage is. I essentially converted the server room and this conference room into one big Faraday cage."

"I am familiar with it," Vyn said. "I also looked into a installing a similar feature here. But I fail to understand why this will translate into us being trapped for a full twelve hours here."

"Because. I also tinkered with the automatic security alerts just recently. Specifically, those alerts that flag us whenever we're cut off from our own servers. Which is happening now, because it looks like the Faraday cage system has kicked in."

"How is all that related to this power outage?" Rosa asked, having finally found her voice.

"I...just remembered that I had Engineering conduct remote repairs for our network and power cabling," Marius muttered quietly. "I mixed up the dates. It's scheduled to last twelve hours."

"So. If I understood you correctly, Marius, you have scheduled a 12-hour power outage, just when you have scheduled a test of technology designed to cut us off from the outside, and moreover, you have chosen this period to fuck around with the automatic system alerts that would have alerted someone from outside of our predicament." Vyn said, moving on from tapping the table to spinning his pen with his fingers.

He then continued. "Please tell me someone like Luke can tell what is going on,

"Please tell me, that after some time has passed there should be some indication to our colleagues outside that we are missing, which would then trigger a search that would hopefully include this building."

Marius looked like he wanted to tear his hair out, but instead only combed his hair between his fingers. "Luke would, only if he was specifically looking for us."

"How about your staff in PAX?"

Marius buried his face in his hands. "Today...is a Friday."

"Yes."

"I specifically told Vincent yesterday that if I go off the grid on a Friday to not go looking for me for 24 hours. I was getting tired of all those invitations to party on Friday, okay?"

"Alright, so neither Luke or PAX can be depended upon to come looking for us, barring certain conditions." Vyn's voice came slow and measured, hiding his sheer annoyance if it weren't for his eyes that screamed of bloody murder clearly visible despite the dim lighting of the emergency lights.

"Remind me to murder you on a Friday evening, little von Hagen."

"Get off my case will you, Vyn?" Marius grimaced. "What about you? Aren't there anyone in your research center who'll come looking for you if you don't respond in twelve hours?"

"It just turned six in the evening, Marius. It is almost my usual time to clock out of the facility and my staff respects my personal hours. They will not be contacting me until after nine in the morning tomorrow."

Vyn looked rather resigned. "What about you, Rosa? Anyone you have an appointment with tomorrow?"

"You know it's with you, Vyn," Rosa said, slumping back onto her chair.

"Well at least you are fourteen hours early for our date."

"I'm never late, Vyn." Rosa tried to smile at Vyn's attempt to make light of their predicament, but it only turned out strained and half-hearted.

"Ugh. Fuckit. This is what you all guys get for overworking me." Marius propped his feet up the glass table and made himself comfortable. It was going to be a long wait, so might as well sleep some of it off...

===

"Hahh...Vyn, not now..."

"Shh." Sounds of kissing. "Why not?"

"Because we may wake him up--ah--yes--"

"I fail to see the problem." More kissing. "I do not care if we make him uncomfortable." Sounds of a swivel chair creaking under movement. "Ahh--I am in my own estate, and I refuse to let others dictate how I should act in my own home.

"It is his just deserts for trapping us in here."

Marius was already awake for a few minutes, and it took those few minutes for him to register what was happening within the conference room.

His eyes were not yet opened, but he could clearly hear Vyn and Rosa going at each other.

And they were not exactly being subtle about it either.

Rosa's gasp, and the moist, lewd sounds that followed it, already gave Marius a graphic depiction of what the NXX psychiatrist and their junior lawyer were doing in the same room as him.

Jesus fucking Christ. Is Vyn fingering Rosa right here? Right here?

Marius felt the crotch of his pants tighten uncomfortably.

Rosa moaned--whatever it is that Vyn did to her, it was something that made her forget there was a third person in the conference room with them.

He couldn't bear it anymore. "Um. Guys?" he said, voice raspy with his own arousal. "I'm here. If you don't cut it out, I'm going to have to join in on the fun."

Marius then dared to look at Vyn and Rosa's direction, his eyes rewarded with the sight of Rosa in a state of undress, draped over Vyn, who was still fully clothed, sitting on a swivel chair.

"Damn, Missy. You look damn good."

Rosa gulped, her face flushed--yet she did not exactly cover herself.

Marius thought he imagined it, but did Rosa look like she was...turned on when he looked at her?

Vyn confirmed his thoughts. "Rosa," he asked her, "Are you excited by Marius being here?" He cupped her cheek, and gently prompted her to look at him. "Your pupils look even more dilated, pet," he whispered. "And..."

Squelch.

"Ah, Vyn...no!" Rosa moaned yet again.

"You are positively drenched. Even more so." Vyn proceeded to slowly <fuck> Rosa's slit with his long fingers. "See? You are wet, my dear Rosa. Are you this excited?"

Vyn gave Marius a side-eye, as if reminding his student that Rosa was his, that only he can fuck Rosa and make her sing so lewdly, the same way she was doing at that very moment.

"Shit. Vyn. Are you trying to mess with my head again? Marius groaned, feeling the bulge in his pants get even more uncomfortable. He wanted so badly to touch it, but even Marius still had scruples.

"Mmnh--Vyn," Rosa bit her lip in an attempt to suppress her cries, only to be utterly defeated when Vyn pushed her blouse and lacy brassiere up to gain access to the soft swell of her breasts. He helped himself to a breast, his lips finding purchase around her nipple and sucking on it.

"Ahhh!"

"Fuck it, Vyn!" Marius groaned, kicking the edge of the glass table to let the swivel chair he was sitting on roll away just enough to give him room to stand up.

He then walked over to the couple, and Marius found himself reaching for Rosa's neglected other breast...

...only for Vyn to swat away his hand.

"Do not touch her," Vyn said, his lips still on Rosa's breast. "She is mine, and she has not consented."

"Fuck you Vyn," Marius muttered. "Let's play a game then, then all of us will be willing participants that way, yeah?"

Rosa's breath hitched--and both men noticed.

"I think she likes the idea," Marius said.

"Do you, Rosa?" Vyn whispered. "I did say before that you are most welcome to voice your thoughts. Do you wish to indulge in this kind of play?"

It took Rosa a few moments before she said, in a small voice, "Yes."

"And a game we shall have, then."

===

"Let's make things simple," said Marius. "Just Truth or Dare."

"Heh. Missing your little kid's games, Marius?" Vyn sneered. Then he turned to his lover. "Is that game format to your liking, Rosa?"

"I'm good with it," said Rosa, shyly. "I agree, it makes things rather simple."

"Let's skip the spin bottle. I'll assign turn order: Me first, then Vyn, then Rosa. All good?"

"I am not opposed to it."

"Mm."

"Good." Marius grinned. "Let's start, then."

First Round: Marius

"I pick Truth this time. Quick, throw me a question." Marius said, a tad excited.

"Oh, let me," Rosa said, her passionate heat of moments ago slowly being replaced by a childlike glee. "Who is your crush?"

"Hah, I saw that coming," Marius grinned. "You naughty Miss you." He licked his lips. Well, here goes. "You guys probably expect me to say that Rosa is my crush, which is actually true. But, who said that I only have one crush?"

"Just cut to the chase, will you, Marius?" Vyn said, impatiently. "Well?"

"It's you, Vyn," Marius said outright. "I have had a big crush on you since ever. Surprised?"

"Ah."

Rosa bit her lip, pleased by the turn of events.

Second Round: Vyn

"Dare. I will always pick Dare, so do not even bother asking me." Vyn said.

"Fine, Vyn. I dare you to kiss me," Marius said, with a lopsided grin. "What better chance for me to finally kiss my crush, eh? Do you mind, Missy?" he asked, looking at Rosa.

To his mild surprise, Rosa was looking at both of them with athe unmistakable look of excitement. She wants to see us kiss?

Vyn also noticed this. "Well then. Let us give my Rosa a good show." He reached over to grab the armrests of Marius's swivel chair and pulled him close. "Come here, Marius."

Marius did as he was told; being the taller man, he leaned down towards Vyn, allowing his tutor to thread his fingers through his own dark hair.

Vyn smelled of sandalwood and roses.

Marius took note of this, exhilarated.

And then he felt Vyn pulling his head close to his, finally locking lips with his.

Vyn's tongue tasted nicely of strawberry candy--or is it one of his sweet desserts?--and Marius felt his heart beat fast and strong against his ribcage, threatening to burst out at such exquisite stimuli.

Their tongues slid so sensuously against each other, and Vyn slightly pulled away, only to lick Marius's lips, tracing it with the tip of his own tongue.

Marius felt his cock twitch in his pants. Shit. He's too good. He found himself moaning involuntarily, wanting more...

"That's enough," Vyn breathed softly before he disengaged and pulled back.

"Fuck, that was really great," Marius whispered as he licked his lips, not wanting to let every drop of Vyn's taste on his lips go to waste.

Rosa bit her thumb at the spectacle. She was clearly turned on.

Third Round: Rosa

"I choose Truth," Rosa said. "Do your worst."

"Just a straightforward question, my pet," Vyn began. "I loathe to ask, because I find this type of question rather childish and puerile, but in keeping with the spirit of this game...who else in the NXX do you want to sleep with?"

Rosa blinked. She did not expect such a question to come from Vyn. It was too out of character for him, too vulgar for his elegance, even.

But he was playing the game with them, and that was the most important thing at the moment.

And so Rosa decided to answer truthfully.

"Marius. I wouldn't mind Marius," she said.

"Aww Missy, you "wouldn't mind"? Why does it make me feel bad, like I am just second choice?"

Vyn sighed. "Which you are, obviously. She is my lover, after all."

Fourth Round: Marius

"Alright, Dare this time. What will you demand of Marius von Hagen?"

"Hmm," Rosa hummed. "Let's make things spicy this time around. Strip, I guess?"

It was Marius's turn to blink in surprise. "Missy? I never thought I'd see the day." Grinning, he started to slowly strip off his clothes, starting with his jacket, which was draped over a chair. He then slipped his shirt off his head, showing his well-defined torso and arms.

"Well Missy? You like what you see? Much better than Vyn's huh?"

"Do not push your luck, Marius," Vyn said, threateningly.

"Ooh, scary," Marius threw Vyn a look. "But what if I'm also stripping for you?"

He kicked off his shoes, then undid the buttons and zippers of his pants, letting it pool to his feet.

His thumbs now rode the garter of his boxer shorts. "Well, you guys ready?" He winked.

Not awaiting any response, he bent to slide off his boxers, kicking it off along with his pants.

His cock was fully erect, begging to be tended to ever since he woke up to Vyn and Rosa's indiscretions.

Marius indulged himself at the sight of Rosa's hand covering her mouth as she stared at him; of Vyn's passive, unreadable stare that Marius knew could mean many, many things...

Fifth Round: Vyn

"I, strip?" Vyn asked.

"Yes, Vyn," Marius drawled. "I'm not going to be the only one whose cock is out. So yeah. Strip."

"Very well then," Vyn shrugged off his white coat after tucking the lanyard of his badge into its breast pocket. "I do not mind."

Like Marius, he draped his coat over a chair.

He wore many layers compared to his student; he unbuttoned his waistcoat, folding and placing it on the same chair.

Vyn also removed his collar pins, slipping them inside one of his coat's breast pockets.

Off came his sleeve garters, and he finally started to unbutton his shirt...

"Man, Vyn already took off so many things but he's still fully clothed. It's a wonder," Marius said.

"It is a wonder for someone who does not recognize the importance of dressing appropriately," Vyn said as he slipped off his necktie and shrugged off his unbuttoned white shirt, revealing his pale, lithe torso.

Compared to Marius, Vyn's build could be described as somewhat wiry, full of potential energy built off his core strength no doubt honed by equestrian sports and polo.

"Oh, hey. I knew I did not imagine it when I saw it...you have a beauty mark under your collarbone," Marius said, biting his lower lip.

"Yes. What of it?" Vyn asked as his fingers worked on unbuckling his belt and undoing the zipper of his pants.

"Nothing. I just want to lick it, is all."

"Careful, Marius. You are saying it in front of my lover," Vyn said as his own pants pooled around his ankles, revealing his briefs.

"I don't mind, Vyn," Rosa said quietly. "I wouldn't mind it if you let Marius lick your beauty mark too."

"Really now," Vyn said as he slid off his briefs, his own hard on--perfect in every angle--on full show.

"Shit." Marius stared at it openly. "Even that part of you is pretty."

"Flattery will get you nor your grades nowhere, Marius," Vyn said as he sat on his swivel chair, crossing his legs.

He was completely naked, save for his glasses.

Sixth Round: Rosa

"Truth."

"Aw Missy, you've always been picking Truth," Marius pouted. "Can't we get some action from you?"

Rosa blushed. "I'm sure you can get me to do things if you're creative!"

Marius sighed. "Well fine. Here's a simple question then: What exactly do you want to happen during our time trapped in here, trapped in blackout?"

He then grinned. He more or less knew what Rosa is going to answer.

Rosa took a deep breath. "Threesome. I...I want to experience a threesome," she said, looking at Vyn all the while.

Vyn let out a soft laugh. "Unfortunately for you pet, I am with Marius here. That is such a safe answer; we all know what is going to happen maybe a few minutes from now."

Seventh Round: Marius

"Dare. Come on--we're naked; what do you want me to do?"

Rosa gulped.

"I'm waiting, Missy," Marius licked his lips. "What'll it be?"

"Can...can you give Vyn a blowjob?"

Marius's eyes widened a bit. "Wow. I'm seeing a bit of pattern in your requests, Missy. I never thought you're that type. I like it."

Vyn also gave Rosa a slightly amused look. "Ah. It seems like I have learned something new today."

Rosa gathered her pluck and added, "Yes. I want to see you and Marius have a go at each other. I think its all the tension I see between you two during meetings."

Marius gave Rosa a smile. "Thank you," he mouthed, before kneeling in front of Vyn's chair.

The tip of his tongue flicked at that sweet spot just underneath the cock head.

He was rewarded with a soft hissing from Vyn, and his cock twitched a little.

"Shit." Marius's lips finally wrapped around Vyn's shaft; his tongue relishing the taste and feel of Vyn inside his mouth. Goddamnit. Finally. After all of those times having to endure Vyn's presence alone as he taught him supplementary lessons; all of those times wherein he let his mind wander, imagining how the silver-haired, exotic-looking man tasted and felt in that way...

Slowly his mouth descended to take in Vyn inch by sweet inch, until the tip of his tutor's cock hit the back of his throat.

Marius then felt Vyn's hand on the top of his head, prompting him to move...

Haha. So impatient. He then sucked on Vyn's cock; his tongue massaging the underside of the shaft inside his mouth.

Marius could now hear Vyn pant, and if he strained his ears a little bit he fancied he could hear him moan everytime he sucked on Vyn's cock.

His hand stimulated the base of the shaft that his mouth could no longer accommodate, and pumped it in time with his sucking.

I better get good grades for this, Marius thought as he gave Vyn the same treatment he wanted on his own cock.

"Damn it. I am near, Marius--" Vyn whispered. "You better remove your mouth now, or I will..."

Vyn's words only prompted Marius to suck him harder and faster.

"Fuck." Vyn groaned as he shot his come straight into Marius's throat; some of his white, hot come dribbling along the edges of his student's lips. "Ah..!" He drove his head further into the backrest of his swivel chair.

Marius swallowed, and licked off the remaining traces of sperm off of Vyn's cock and off his own fingers.

"That was way better than expected," Marius murmured.

Eighth Round: Vyn

"There's something I really, really want to observe," Marius said. "For a painting study."

"What is it?" asked Vyn, after having recovered from his student's superb treatment.

Marius grinned. "How a cock looks like, fucking pussy," he said. "I mean yeah sure there's porn, but nothing is better than seeing it in real life, yeah?"

"You want me to fuck Rosa in front of you, you mean."

"Mhm. Though before that, I need you to not move yet. I want to look at a pussy filled with cock up close."

"Heh. Just what painting are you working on now? Vyn asked, as he motioned for Rosa to climb on his lap.

As Rosa clambered over to sit on Vyn's thighs Marius reached over to grasp Vyn's cock, still only half-hard as he recovered from the head he had received earlier.

Marius slowly pumped the shaft, and rubbed its tip against Rosa's wet sex. He licked his lips as he felt Vyn grow harder in his hands. "Oh yeah," he said lustily as he guided his tutor's shaft into Rosa's dripping wet heat.

Marius quietly observed how Rosa's pussy slowly descended upon Vyn's cock, devouring it within her folds; her clitoris hardening, its pink tip tantalizingly moist and begging to be licked...

And once again, Marius knelt in front of Vyn's chair, letting his eyes behold the fucking in action better under the dim emergency lights. His face was so close that both Vyn and Rosa could feel his hot breath on their nethers, his hot breath that added to their arousal.

"Ah, shit," Marius muttered. "Sorry, but..."

He licked, in one motion, the base of Vyn's cock and letting the flat of his tongue run up to the crest of Rosa's clit, which he enveloped with his lips, sucking on it.

Rosa cried out in sheer pleasure, and she started to gyrate her hips, burying her clit even deeper against Marius's lips as Vyn--hissing and at times cursing--fucked her wet inner folds at the same time.

"Oh my god," Rosa moaned. "Oh god."

Marius continued on working his tongue and lips to further help his fucking colleagues reach their peak, indulging himself in such wanton delight that resulted from hearing their moans and cries; with Rosa at times moaning Marius's name out loud all the while being fucked by Vyn.

Marius found that immensely hot.

In one sweet, sweet moment Rosa's cries reached a crescendo, echoed by Vyn's groans as he started to rail her hard and fast, her breasts bouncing every time his cock drove deep into her.

Marius eventually tasted Vyn's come dripping out from Rosa's pussy.

He watched contentedly as the two lovers locked lips, kissing each other deeply in front of him.

Ninth Round: Rosa

"Fine, fine, Dare then," muttered Rosa after Marius--with a bit of support from Vyn--badgered her into choosing Dare instead of the safer Truth.

"Teehee. Missy~"

"I do not like the sound of that, Marius," Rosa murmured.

Marius shrugged. "Isn't it a little bit too late for that, Missy? he said. "I dare you to make out with me."

He looked over at Vyn. "There shouldn't be any problem at this point, yeah?"'

"It is still a sore point for me, but as long as you make it a pleasurable experience for my Rosa, then I will be amenable to it," Vyn said.

"Damn it Vyn, that's just too many words to say "Yes, you can make out with Rosa."

"Just do it." Vyn tsk-ed. "Rosa, you are alright with it, I assume?"

"Uhuh," Rosa said, and faced Marius. "How do we--oh."

Marius picked her up from her seat easily, holding her under her arms, and he deposited her on his lap as he sat back on his chair. "Missy, I finally get to have some one on one fun with you~"

"Under supervision," Vyn reminded him.

Marius smirked. "Yes. Under hot supervision."

"Mhm," he hummed as he brought his lips to Rosa's, enjoying the slight tremble that he could feel on her lips. "Missy, are you nervous, or are you excited?" he asked, his mouth still pressed against hers.

"How about both?" Rosa answered as she licked Marius's lower lip rather impulsively.

Smiling, Marius then trailed kisses down her neck--starting off as small, chaste pecks, eventually escalating to openmouthed ravenous kisses making full use of his tongue and mouth--lingering at that certain sensitive spot where the underside of the jaw met with the neck. He gave it a small bite, and reveled at how Rosa moaned his name out loud in front of Vyn.

"Ohoh, looks like little Missy likes where she is right now," Marius said teasingly, letting fingers brush lightly against her slit.

The tips of his fingers caught her slick, and he did not even press them against her arousal. "See, Vyn? I can make cry out, cream herself, and..."

He slowly slipped in two fingers inside her, the inner walls of her eager sex hungrily sucking in his digits. Marius then pulled out his fingers until only the tips remained inside her, then drove it back inside with such force that made Rosa whimper for more, her hips grinding ever so sweetly against his hand.

"...I can also make her beg for my touch. How about that, Vyn?" He dipped down to suck on one of Rosa's breasts as he fingered her so deliciously.

The man in question was intently observing how Marius fingerfucked his lover, chin resting on hand. "The reason why she is moving her hips in such a manner is due to the fact that you are neglecting her clitoris," he said quietly, focus directed towards Rosa's pleasure. "Do be mindful and give her some relief."

Oh.

"Sorry Missy," Marius whispered as he licked Rosa's earlobe. "Got too excited, you know?"

Marius flicked her sensitive nub with the pad of his thumb. As if by clockwork, Rosa tightened her arms around Marius's neck, moaning and begging for more of that exact same touch as she continued to grind into his hands; driving his fingers even deeper, rubbing his thumb even more firmly against her clit.

"Haha. I can see why Vyn is all over you Missy," Marius murmured as he bit her gently on her nape. "You're so responsive. You effortlessly stroke his ego..."

"In case you were not paying any attention to anything other than your dick, Marius, Rosa is also most inquisitive, pure hearted, steadfast in her beliefs...and lovely." Vyn said, his eyes never leaving how his student was having his delicious way with his Rosa. "I fell in love with her because of those qualities and more. The fact that she is absolutely delicious upon my bed is the veritable cherry on top."

The wholehearted confession delivered in such an inappropriate setting made Rosa pause. "Vyn," she whispered, suddenly conscious of the fact that she was openly cavorting with his student in front of him.

"Do not mind me, pet," Vyn purred, his free hand finding its way to his cock. "I am enjoying your show. Mind, though, that you should ready yourself for when we finally get out." He started jerking himself off as he watched them. "I shall be applying all of the newfound ways on how to pleasure you on my bed.

"Continue," said Vyn, directed at his student as if they were in a classroom setting.

"Damnit Vyn, you really are something else," muttered Marius as he pulled Rosa closer for another kiss.

Tenth Round: Marius

"Dare," Marius said.

They have been going at it for some time now, and he was so absorbed in the experience of participating in a sexual encounter with his two favorite people, Vyn and Rosa, that the fact that he hasn't orgasmed yet, not even once, totally slipped his mind.

Marius prayed fervently that the dare thrown his way would finally bring him the release he now so badly craved.

He was totally wrong. With Rosa still coming down from her fucked-out haze Vyn was left in charge of giving his dare.

"No need to be so worked up, Marius," Vyn said, grinning. "I am not asking you to do anything. In fact,"

Vyn lifted Rosa off her seat, and, with one arm cradling Rosa against him, his free arm knocked all items off the glass table, sending papers, his own tablet, and a couple of mugs onto the carpeted floor.

Gently he laid Rosa face down on the surface of the glass table, her ass dangling off the edge.

"What I am asking you, Marius, is to not do anything, as you watch me rail my significant other senseless onto our conference table," Vyn said, smiling cruelly at his student. "If I catch you touching yourself, or giving yourself relief by rubbing yourself against anything, we will terminate this game. Understood?"

"Vyn, you're scaring me sometimes," Rosa said as she felt him grasp her thighs, lifting them to his sides, the tip of his cock partly lodged inside her at the ready. "Also, you're adding your own rules to the game. No termination if Marius couldn't help himself!"

"What she said!" Marius cried out.

Vyn laughed softly. "Ah, but dearest, this is the only way you can effectively discipline spoiled brats like Marius here. Positive reinforcement. Negative reinforcement. Punishment by removal."

And Vyn buried himself deep into Rosa in one thrust. "Fuck. So delicious."

He proceeded to drive his length in and out of Rosa's heated inner walls with slow, steady movements, each stroke long and drawn out, prolonging their pleasure.

"B-but--aahn--that means--ah! We get to lose--oh god--too!" Rosa moaned in between exquisite thrusts that seemed to drive him deeper into her quivering heat.

Vyn threw a glance at Marius, making sure that the student kept to the conditions he set. "I will make--hahh--it up to you pet, and more--ah, damn--once we get out--"

Marius gulped. The show Vyn put on to torture him was proving to be very, very, effective.

From his vantage point, despite the dim glow of the emergency lights, he could see how Vyn's cock pierced Rosa's lewd flesh over and over, her arousal dripping wetness onto the edge of the glass table.

Vyn's relentless, strong fucking was also producing loud, wet noises that Marius could never associate with any other thing than sex.

The sight and sounds were driving Marius quite mad.

But if I jerk myself, its all game over for me. These horndogs though, they'll probably go at it again in Vyn's room...

Marius clearly agonized, and it was apparent all over his face.

Vyn only sneered at Marius as he fucked Rosa thoroughly in front of him.

"Vyn, I'll get you for this," growled Marius as he sat on his hands, fully determined to not lose out on Vyn's challenge.

Vyn laughed, then placed his palms onto Rosa's shoulders. "I will be rough, my pet," he whispered to her ear as he bent over and braced himself.

His elbows planted onto the table, Vyn started to drive in fast and hard into Rosa with piston-like movements, railing her onto the glass table, his thrusts strong enough to shake its metal frame.

"F-fuck, Vyn," cried Rosa, "This is--aah--too much!"

"I will make it up to you," Vyn hissed as he furiously chased his peak. "Just let me have my way--ahn--this once!"

Vyn was worked up from my teasing beforehand, Marius soon realized. Damn bastard won't even admit it.

"Aaahh!" This time it was Vyn who cried out loud, throwing his head back and pulling out of Rosa just in time enough for him to shoot out ropes of hot white come all over her back.

Fuck. Marius blinked. That was the first time he heard Vyn cry out in pleasure. Or rather, since this was the only instance where he got to be this intimate with his tutor, it was the only time Marius got to witness Vyn lose himself in utmost pleasure.

So hot.

He gulped, and caught himself just before his fingers found his cock.

Eleventh (Last) Round: Vyn

"Dare. I am calling it, as I will be the one giving myself the dare," Vyn announced.

Marius, already testy with the prolonged withdrawal of relief, said, "Great, mister God here just writes up his own rules even though he did not come up with this game in the first place."

"I would suggest you let me finish first before you whine, lest you miss out on this benefit, said Vyn blithely. "Well, are you still interested, Marius?"

Marius sighed. "And what choice do I have, Vyn? Let's hear it. Your dare to yourself."

Vyn walked up to where Marius sat, and in what seemed to be a flash of fey illusion he tenderly ruffled the student's hair, smiling gently down at him.

"You were so good earlier. Let me reward you."

What.

"Um. Has anything possessed you, Vyn?" Marius gulped nervously, the drastic 180 on Vyn's personality sending him spiraling into sheer panic.

He has since learned from his years of knowing Vyn that he can never let his guard down around him. Or rather, Vyn had been training him to act guardedly around people the likes of him, a skill that was essential for someone fated to assume a high position in a conglomerate.

"What do you think?" Vyn asked quietly as he let his fingertips caress Marius's cheek.

"Haha. What do I think? Um." Marius sweated bullets, absolutely taken aback by the sudden reversal of events. "I think you're toying with me again, Vyn. You're a real bastard and honestly sometimes I want to take Rosa away from you, for her own good."

Vyn chuckled. "What if I told you that this is purely for her benefit?"

Marius threw a glance towards Rosa, who indeed was staring them intently, as if watching a show that she had been waiting for years to finally air.

Rosa, who now walked towards them and bent over Marius, planting a small kiss on his cheek. "Mm, you've been a good boy, Marius," Rosa whispered sweetly in his ear. "Let us treat you to something nice."

Oh right. Rosa gets off on watching me and Vyn have a go at each other.

Are they going to...?

"Alright," Marius said, settling himself onto his chair. "Let's see it, your reward."

"Ready, love?" Vyn whispered as he knelt in front of Marius.

"Mhm." Rosa followed suit, sitting on the floor beside her lover, just in front where Marius sat.

Wait. WAIT. Marius gasped.

Are they...?

Vyn's tongue flicked at the tip of Marius's long-unattended cock. Then, holding Marius's gaze with his gold eyes, his lips lightly kissed its tip.

Marius groaned. Shit.

Rosa leaned in and planted her lips along the underside of his shaft, lightly sucking at the skin before stroking the entire length with the tip of her tongue.

They are absolutely double-teaming me. Fuck. Please don't let this be a dream, god, Marius' breathing picked up as he gripped his armrests tightly. He thought of many other words, but he only managed to verbalize Fuck.

The magnificent sensations of two tongues, two pairs of lips, two mouths working his cock sent Marius laughing helplessly, an arm now slung across his eyes now closed to let him drown himself in their sweet, exquisite, hungry touches.

A tongue sliding across his shaft. A mouth swallowing most of his length, sucking along the way. A gentle, warm hand cupping his balls. Two tongues running the length of his shaft. Lips encircling his tip just as a tongue lapped at his base...

"Do you like this, Marius? This positive reinforcement? Are you not glad you have waited til then end for your release?" Vyn asked before taking his student's cock in his mouth once again.

"Shit Vyn--ah, god--if this is your positive reinforcement lets do this every session and I'll pass with honors," Marius said, almost whimpering, close to coming. "I swear I'll graduate with honors!"

Rosa giggled as she tongued Marius.

"Now, now, let us not get ahead of ourselves, Marius," Vyn said as his mouth let go of Marius's length. "I am already spoken for."

"Ah shit, so close," the student groaned.

And then his eyes landed on the two who so sweetly treated his cock: Vyn and Rosa, who gave themselves a deep, sensuous, French kiss...only with his cock between their lips.

The sight completely destroyed him, and Marius came in copious spurts of hot come, only for Vyn to take the tip of his cock halfway as he orgasmed to catch the student's remaining sperm in his mouth.

As Marius was fully spent Vyn pressed his lips to Rosa's waiting own, feeding her with Marius's come.

All this Vyn did as he held Marius's gaze with a lust-filled grin.

"Goddamnit, Vyn," Marius moaned, now convinced that he was, for all intents and purposes thoroughly owned.

"Enter the 90th percentile, and we shall pick up the conversation of doing this again," Vyn whispered before licking the sperm that trickled from of Rosa's lips.

"Shit. You're fucking on."

[homoose]

Winning is a Habit

Hi y’all! Okay sooooooooo this is my first time writing fic??????? Like omg please be nice lmao. I don’t have a beta reader, so if you catch any mistakes pls lmk! I saw this challenge and the world is total garbage, so why not write our own realities????? Ok here goes!!!!!!!!!! Written for @veraiconcos fic challenge

Summary: The BAU gets called to investigate two high-profile murders in a college town, only to find that they are part of a much bigger, more complicated picture. No real pairings, although you could make it happen if you want lol ;) This is an idea I’ve seen floating around the fandom for a little while now, and I really wanted to see it fleshed out. Set around season 4 or 5.

Category: some angst, sort of fluff? I wouldn’t say it necessarily qualifies as an AU, but it’s outside of canon.

Warnings/Includes: some brief descriptions of violence/CM type stuff; mentions of rape (no details)

Word count: 6.1k

———

“Stillwater, Oklahoma,” JJ said, navigating the map off screen and pulling up the crime scene photos. “Two college seniors— Tyler Allen and Leon Williams, star football players for Oklahoma State University— both found dead the day before the playoff qualifier.”

“Do we know the cause of death?” Spencer asked, thumbing through the case file.

“The ME report concluded that both boys died of acute alcohol poisoning,” JJ informed them.

Emily looked up from the file. “And the locals don’t think this could just be a case of college kids having a little too much fun?”

“Before a major playoff game? I doubt it.” Derek leaned back in his chair. “Especially considering OSU’s having a record-breaking season. I’d guess the coach had players on a pretty strict lockdown.” He raised his hands and joined them in a steeple over his chest. “Showing up to a game hung-over— particularly one as important as this— would be a major conduct issue.”

“That, and there was a pretty specific message left on both victims,” JJ added, arms crossed and eyebrows lifting into her hairline.

“On them?” Rossi questioned.

JJ motioned with her hand back to the screen. Six sets of eyes moved over the photo; the words “U LOSE” scrawled in ink across the foreheads of the two men.

“Resorting to murder to win a football game?” Emily asked, eyes narrowed.

“And why use the forensic countermeasure of staged alcohol poisoning, only to backtrack and assert it as a murder?” Spencer pondered, pursing his lips.

“Whatever the reason, we’ve got two dead college students and a definite signature. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch told them, closing his case file.

⧭⧭⧭

“No sign of forced entry.” Derek walked through the entry hallway and into the living space. “Doesn’t look like there was any struggle, either.”

Rossi thumbed through the mail on the kitchen counter and peered around the small space. “Everything you’d expect in a boys’ college dorm room: dishes in the sink, generic decor, general mess. Nothing that stands out.”

“Agents, thank you so much for coming.” A tall man in a dark suit stepped across the threshold of the apartment. He stuck out his hand for Rossi to shake. “Steven Barrett, Dean of Students.”

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi. This is SSA Derek Morgan.” Derek nodded from his place in the living room.

“I apologize for not meeting you when you arrived. We’re dealing with a grieving campus,” Barrett said, running a hand over his face. “I’m actually on my way to speak to the Board, but I wanted to check in with you before. I’m not sure I can be of much help, but I can try to answer any questions you might have.”

“These boys were seniors, but they still lived on campus. Is that typical?” Rossi asked, gesturing around the apartment.

“Uh, yes, it is for student athletes,” Barrett confirmed with a nod. “OSU teams have demanding, sometimes grueling practice schedules. Being on campus simplifies things, allows students to get to classes and practices, as well as utilize the dining halls.”

“Does this building have security cameras?” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. All of our buildings do. I’ll let Campus PD know you’ll need access to the footage.” Barrett’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and punched the button to answer the call. “Yes. Yes, I—I’m finishing up with the FBI now. I understand. I’m on my way.” He ended the call and pocketed the phone. “I’m sorry to leave you, gentlemen. Our top priority right now is supporting our students and community through this tragedy. Part of that healing process is finding out who did this to Tyler and Leon. So anything else you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

Derek shook his head. “I’m glad I don’t have to do that job right about now.”

Rossi gave another glance around the nondescript apartment and sighed. “Call Garcia and ask her if she’s found any other cases that could be related. And let’s hope there’s something useful on that security footage.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Based on lividity and rigor mortis, I was able to put the time of death between 8:00 and 10:00pm on Wednesday evening. The blood alcohol content for both boys was over five times the legal limit. I’ve never seen anything like it,” the medical examiner mused.

Emily looked over the bodies, her arms crossed. “Dr. Saraj, about how much would they have to drink for the level to be that high?”

“When drinking, the level of alcohol in our blood reaches a peak before it drops off after the last drink ingested,” Spencer supplied. “In a typical night of drinking, spread over the course of several hours, the average man can have 8-12 drinks without ever reaching lethal levels. But considering each victim weighed around 230 pounds, they’d have had to ingest approximately 180 ounces of beer or 18.75 ounces of liquor to reach a lethal blood alcohol content.”

Dr. Saraj glanced at Spencer before adding, “Look, this is a college town. Kids drink. But... to have had this much alcohol still detectable in their system post-mortem indicates that these boys drank at least the equivalent of a 30 rack, by themselves, in less than an hour.” She flipped up the first page of the report in her hands, eyes scanning the second. “And the toxicology screen also found trace amounts of ketamine.”

Spencer bent over the examining table and adjusted the wrist of one of the boys with a gloved hand. “Doctor, are these ligature marks?”

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Saraj agreed, nodding. “They’re relatively faint, so I almost missed them. But I found similar marks on both boys on the wrists and ankles.”

“So,” Emily said, gesturing with her hands, “the unsub doses them with ketamine to gain control, ties them up, forces them to drink lethal amounts of alcohol, and then— what?” She looked to Spencer. “Waits for them to pass out before removing the restraints and leaving the message?”

Spencer examined the marker scrawls. “Were you able to determine what the message was written with and if it was left pre- or post-mortem?”

“My guess would be it was written with some type of permanent marker, but I can’t say for sure,” Dr. Saraj said. “We’re analyzing the residue now, and I can send the report your way as soon as I have it. As for when it was written, I couldn't tell you.” She shook her head. “The one simple mercy is that these boys would have been out cold for a while before they died.”

⧭⧭⧭

“I’m so sorry. I know how difficult this is. Anything that you can tell us will be helpful in finding the person who did this,” JJ encouraged softly. “Anyone that Tyler might have had an argument with recently or who he mentioned having problems with?”

“No, no. He was—he was just your typical boy,” Mrs. Allen sniffled. “Playing football and hanging out with his friends,” she said, voice hitching. “Oh my god.” She dropped her head into her hands.

“He didn’t have time to have problems,” Mr. Allen asserted. “He spent all his free time on the field. Coach had them out there for two-a-days until classes started. He’s the quarterback. He was leading that team to the first national title since 1945.” He stood to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “Some lunatic murdered my boy and you’re sitting around talking to us while they’re out there, walking free.”

“Sir, I promise you that we have some of the best agents in the country working on your son’s case,” JJ assured. “But in order to help them do their job, we need to know as much as we can about who Tyler was.”

Across the bullpen, Hotch sat across from Mr. and Mrs. Williams. “Leon was a good boy. Football was his life. He loved being a part of this team. It was the season of a lifetime,” Mr. Williams said.

“We taught him better than to be drinking and carrying on,” Mrs. Williams added.

“Can you think of anything or anyone he might have mentioned recently that was out of the ordinary? Anything that was bothering him or causing him distress?” Hotch questioned.

“He was feeling pressure about the season, but he’s been handling that kind of thing since he was twelve years old.” Mr. Williams shared an almost indiscernible look with his wife. “He got into—into the same kinds of trouble any college kid gets in. Nothing that could have gotten him murdered.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Yeah, baby girl, what d’ya got for me?” Derek held the phone out so that Rossi could listen in as they waited in the OSU security office.

“Well, my handsome knight, I wish I could tell you more but so far, I’m coming up empty with similar cases,” Penelope sighed. “Nothing that matches our alcohol poisoning M.O. or the signature. I just expanded the search to surrounding states, and I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Anything on our two victims?” Rossi asked.

“Now that’s where it gets interesting,” Penelope mused, tapping the fluffy end of her pen into the palm of her hand. “There’s nothing. Zilch, nada.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes. “And that’s interesting because...?”

“Come on, sir,” Penelope scoffed. “Two young, athletic, good-looking college football stars and there’s nothing at all? Nothing scandalous on social media. No run-ins with campus PD. Not even a write up from an RA.”

Derek tilted his head in thought. “Hotch and JJ said their conversations with the parents told a similar story.”

“Okay, but no one is this squeaky clean, particularly not at a Big 12 college. Everyone has some dirt,” Penelope insisted. “I haven’t found it yet, but there’s gotta be something out there. When I have it, you’ll know it!”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Derek drawled.

“Over and out!” Penelope jabbed the button to end the call.

The OSU officer waved them over with his hand. “I’ve got it queued up to 6:24pm. You can see the boys here,” he pointed on the screen at the two victims, “entering the north entrance of the dining hall.”

Derek leaned toward the monitor. “So they leave practice, come through the dining hall for dinner. When do they leave?”

The footage sped up on the screen, then stopped. “Here. 7:01.”

“Rossi, you seeing this?” Derek slid his eyes over.

Rossi nodded. “Is there any way to enhance these frames?”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “Not on this system. Honestly, the camera quality isn’t great. I’ve been trying to get them to invest in an upgraded OS, but you know—budget woes. Your analyst might be able to do more.”

“It’s not going to matter.” Derek sighed and straightened up. “She’s careful of her angles.”

“I couldn’t find them on any grounds cameras, but they pop back up entering the dorm. Here, at 7:12.”

“All three of them,” Rossi noted. He looked at Derek. “And like you said, she’s discreet.”

“They all go upstairs to the apartment,” the officer continued, “but only the girl leaves. At 8:43.”

⧭⧭⧭

“We have a witness from the cafeteria that confirms that the boys ate with a dark-haired young woman in a red coat,” Hotch said, arms crossed. “But other than those two details, the witness couldn’t recall anything else and said they’d never seen her before.”

“So we’ve got the two victims entering their apartment with an unknown woman. They’re upstairs for an hour and a half before she leaves,” Emily recounted.

Derek stood with his hands on his hips. “And in that time, she manages to dose and gain control of two boys that are more than double her size and funnel a lethal amount of alcohol into them. Now the question is why?”  

As the team converged around the conference room table, a uniformed officer entered into the doorway. “Agent Jareau? There’s a possible witness—says she might have some new information.”

JJ nodded to the team and moved to the doorway. A petite young woman stood in the center of the bullpen, wringing her hands. When her eyes landed on JJ, she let her arms fall to her side. As JJ approached, she motioned with her hand for the girl to sit at the closest desk. “Hi, I’m Jennifer. I heard you wanted to speak to someone about this case. Can I have your name?”

The girl nodded. “Um, I’m Cassie. I saw the announcement you made. About the woman in the red coat. I heard you say that she had brown hair. Is that true?”

JJ cocked her head slightly. “Yeah, the witness and security footage we have shows a woman with dark hair walking with Tyler and Leon. Why do you ask?”

Cassie’s eyes darted around the bullpen, and she drew her arms tightly over her chest. “I just— um—well, I—”

“Would it help if we moved somewhere a little quieter?” JJ suggested. When Cassie nodded and stood, JJ placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and directed her toward an empty interview room. Cassie sat in the chair farthest from the door, and JJ sat opposite her. “Is there something you wanted to tell me about the woman? Or is it something else that’s on your mind?”

Cassie let out a long breath. “When I heard that they were dead, I— I was relieved. That sounds awful, but it’s true.”

JJ tread lightly over her next question. “You felt relieved. Why was that?”

Cassie looked directly at JJ. “I’ve been looking over my shoulder everywhere I go for the last seven months. I won’t have to do that anymore.”

“Can you tell me more about what you mean?”

Cassie took a breath and closed her eyes for a long second, before opening them and continuing. “There was a huge party in the spring. I mean, there were, like, hundreds of people there.” Cassie’s eyes went wide. “I never go to parties like that. But it was the end of the year, and my friend—well, I went with my friend. She got invited.”

“Were Tyler and Leon at this party?” JJ asked.

“Everybody was. I mean, everybody who’s somebody at OSU was there. We saw them right away. The whole team was there, but people treated those two like kings.” Cassie looked down at her hands. “We were drinking... a lot. At some point, Laney and I got separated. I tried calling her phone a bunch of times, but the party was really loud. I—I didn’t want to leave without her, but I was getting really messed up. I had a guy friend from one of my classes walk me home.” She swiped at her eye with the back of her hand. “Laney didn’t get back until the morning. Her clothes were all torn up, her hair had... blood in it, and she—she had a bruise under her eye.” She looked up at JJ, eyes shining with tears. “They raped her. I left her behind, and they raped her,” she whispered.

JJ reached across the table for Cassie’s hand. “Cassie, I’m so sorry. What happened to Laney was not your fault, or hers. Do you understand me?” JJ paused before continuing. Cassie looked down. “Do you know if she reported it?”

Cassie nodded. “I’m the one who went with her to the infirmary. They did a kit and confirmed it. When we went to Campus PD, they did nothing. Said Laney was wasted, and there was no one that could back up her story.”

JJ squeezed her hand. “So there was no official report filed?”

Cassie laughed coldly. “Oh, they wrote a report. I think if we ask them to, they have to. But they wouldn’t name Tyler or Leon in it. Said they didn’t want to ‘give legs to any gossip.’”

JJ’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “Where’s Laney now?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie shook her head. “She didn’t come back to OSU this fall. I haven’t really talked to her since—” She looked at JJ. “I can’t get the image of her out of my head. How she looked when she came through the door that morning. What they did to her… I’m not sorry that they’re dead.” Her eyes were shining with rage. “People knew what happened… and no one did anything. And those two were still the kings of campus.”

⧭⧭⧭

The team absorbed the new information quietly. “So Garcia was right. They did have something to hide.” Derek’s phone buzzed. “Speaking of. Hey mama, you’re on speaker.”

“I hope you’re all sitting down,” Penelope warned. “I expanded the parameters of my original VICAP search to include the surrounding states. No hits on suspicious deaths by alcohol poisoning. However, the U LOSE signature? Seven hits across Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Kansas.”

“So our unsub’s been traveling across the South—” Emily started.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Penelope continued. “Just to double check, I expanded the search area to the continental US. Our unsub has been busy. Over 30 murders with this signature, all across the country, dating back to March 2007. All different M.O.s: gunshot, stabbing, strangulation, you name it. But all with U LOSE scrawled across their forehead in—get this—liquid eyeliner.”

“Anything tying the victims together, Garcia?” Hotch asked.

“All men, mostly white, but all across different ages, occupations, and marital statuses. At first glance, there’s no real connection,” Penelope answered.

“What about on second glance?” Hotch prompted.

“Way ahead of you, sir. I did a little digging.” Penelope shrugged. “Okay, a lot of digging—most of it legal. Every single one of these victims had at least one sexual assault allegation. Some are official police reports, some are HR complaints, some are sealed court records. But in every case, the victim’s cause of death is directly related to the details of the assault records. Women that were held at knifepoint, their attacker was stabbed to death. If they were choked, he was strangled. If they were held at gunpoint, he died of a gunshot wound. Et cetera, et cetera.” Penelope twirled her pen. “The differing M.O.s combined with the fact that the unsub kept crossing state lines kept local PDs and field offices from making the connection.”

“Garcia, can you search OSU PD records for an incident report?” JJ asked.

Garcia tapped rapidly across her keyboard. “Absolutely, sugar, when would it have been filed?”

“It would’ve been this year, sometime at the end of April or beginning of May,” JJ answered. “The victim would be named as Laney Collins.”

After a few moments, Garcia peered through her green cat-eye glasses at the report. “Mmm, I’ve got one incident report, filed on May 7th. And woof, this report is not much to go on. The responding officer wrote a whopping three sentences. According to him, Laney was incapacitated and thus was not a credible witness.” Garcia twirled her pen. “The alleged attackers, who are not named, denied Laney’s account of what happened. Because there were no other witnesses, Officer Thorough deemed that no further action was necessary.” She jabbed her pen in the direction of the screen. “And this, my friends, is why women don’t bother reporting.”

“Good work, Garcia,” said Hotch.

“There’s one more interesting detail from the report,” Garcia continued. “The dean of students signed off on it.”

“So Barrett knew about this the whole time,” Derek fumed.

“And again, people wonder why women don’t report,” Garcia repeated, ending the call.

“So our unsub is seeking justice for women she believes have been failed by the system. We’re looking for a vigilante, carrying out revenge killings,” Rossi concluded.

Derek nodded. “And she’s organized and efficient; she finished with Tyler and Leon in less than two hours.”

“She’s smart and she blends in, doesn’t draw too much attention to herself,” JJ added.

“She’s meticulous and has at least some knowledge of forensic countermeasures, considering there’s no physical evidence tying her to any of the scenes,” Spencer remarked.

“And she knew enough to keep her face off the security footage,” Emily finished.

“Rossi, Emily, and I will stay here and deliver the profile,” Hotch directed. “JJ, I’d like you to speak to the families again, see if they knew about the rape. Reid, Morgan, talk to Barrett and see what else he might be trying to keep quiet.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Makes you wonder just how many people knew what happened,” Derek considered, closing the car door.

“It’s estimated that twenty percent of student victims of sexual assault report it to their university, but less than one percent of assailants receive any type of disciplinary action,” Spencer cited, making his way toward the sidewalk.

Derek shook his head. “And so the victims don’t see the point in reporting it. Your attacker gets to walk around like nothing even happened. Cassie told JJ that she felt like she had a target on her back once they reported Laney’s assault.”

As they walked up the blacktop driveway to the entrance of Barrett’s home, Spencer slowed his steps as he noticed the front door. “Morgan.” He nodded at the door, slightly ajar.

Derek drew his gun and moved ahead of Spencer. He pushed the door slowly open and called out, “Mr. Barrett?” In the foyer were the remnants of a broken vase and a small trail of blood. “Call Hotch, let him know we’ve got trouble here.”

Derek and Spencer worked to quietly clear the rooms, one by one. Derek stopped at the bottom of the stairs and motioned to Spencer. As they started up the stairs, a woman’s voice called out, “Shut up! You had nothing to say before. So now, you’re just going to listen.”

Derek reached the top of the stairs and started down the hallway. He reached the open door where a woman stood, her back to the door. Behind her, Derek could see Barrett, sitting on the floor, blood dripping from a gash on his head. His hands were raised in front of his chest, palms facing out. Derek stopped, his gun trained on the woman, and murmured, “Laney?”

The woman pivoted her body, her short blonde hair whipping around. Derek saw tears in her eyes and a revolver in her hand. “Don’t,” she warned.

“Laney, my name is Derek. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk. I need you to put the gun down.”

“No!” Laney screamed. “You don’t know what he’s done.” She shook the gun in Barrett’s direction, and Barrett closed his eyes.

Derek spoke softly. “I do, Laney. I do know. I know what happened to you. I know that he kept Tyler and Leon’s names off the report. I know that he didn’t help you when you needed it most. I know that he let them get away with--”

“Rape. He let them get away with rape. Because he cares more about reputation and football than what happens to women on his campus. They ruined my life.” Laney turned away from Derek and put both hands on the gun. “They ruined my life, and you did nothing. And then they walked around campus like they were invincible, because you taught them they were.”

Derek moved further into the room, into Laney’s eyesight. Spencer moved into the doorway, covering Derek. “Laney, look at me. I’m putting my gun away.” Derek held his hands up and then moved to holster his gun. “Doing this won’t make the pain go away.”

“How many others? How many other women did he do this to?” Laney let out a painful sob. “If I don’t stop him, it never ends.”

“Listen to me.” Derek took a step closer to her. “Killing him won’t change what happened, Laney. It won’t. Believe me. I know how you feel.”

“People love to say that when they’re trying to shut you up. How could you possibly know how I feel?” Laney spit out.

“Someone hurt me, just like they hurt you. And nobody was there to help me. No one was there to listen.” Laney froze, eyes shifting to meet Derek’s. “I wanted to hurt him, Laney. Wanted to make him feel the same pain I felt. I wanted him to suffer.” He moved another step closer. “I know that those men hurt you, and I know that he let them get away with it. And I am so, so sorry. But you’re stronger than anyone knows, Laney. You are the only person who has the power to help others who didn’t get justice. I have a friend who’s spent her whole life helping survivors, and I know she’d love to talk with you.” He took another step. “You are the only person who can stop it from happening to someone else. You can make sure he’s held accountable for what he’s done. But if you pull that trigger, you can never go back,” Derek warned.

Laney looked at Derek, his hand outstretched, wordlessly asking her to give him the gun. She looked at Barrett, crying and silently begging her to show him the mercy she never got. “I wish I’d been the one to kill them,” she whispered.

The gun dropped out of her hand as Derek stepped forward to catch her. He kicked the gun into the doorway, and Spencer recovered it. “I’ve got you,” Derek said, helping Laney out of the room. “Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Spencer moved to lift Barrett off the ground and helped him into a chair by the window. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer caught a flash of red below the window. He stumbled over Barrett, nose almost pressed to the glass as he stared out. The woman froze, eyes locked on Spencer’s. His mouth opened slightly as he stared at her, bewildered. By the time his brain caught up, she had already disappeared from view.

Spencer turned and raced down the stairs, clinging to the railing as he nearly missed a step. He burst out the front door into the driveway, sprinting around the side of the house. He heard Derek call his name, saw the other SUVs pulling up, but he kept running. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the backyard, and then spun in a full circle, eyes frantically scanning the perimeter.

Hotch approached from the side of the house, gun drawn. “Reid! Are you all right?”

Spencer took a last look, scanned from east to west. “Yeah, yeah. I just—I thought I saw—I thought I saw something.” He shook his head. “Barrett’s inside. He’s got a head laceration, but he’ll be fine.”

Hotch lowered his gun and nodded. “And Laney’s not our unsub. So we’re back to the beginning.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Strauss is asking us to head back to Quantico.” Hotch pocketed his phone and looked at the team. “We’ll move the cases to our watch list and flag the signature for hits in VICAP. From what we know about the unsub’s behavior, we know she’s no longer in the area.” He gestured to the evidence board. “Our best course of action is to keep the profile in our periphery for now. We can do that from the BAU. It’s late. Go to the hotel, get some rest. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“I’m absolutely starving.” Emily slipped into her jacket and headed for the door. “Anybody want to hit up that 24 hour diner?”

Derek and JJ quickly agreed, following Emily from the conference room. JJ turned back, eyeing Spencer. “You coming, Spence?”

“I’m just really tired.” His voice lilted up, almost a question. “Next time, though.”

JJ gave him a look but didn’t press him. “Have a good night, Spence.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He gathered up the case files, not quite ready to put them away.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer’s eyelids felt heavy as he walked through the lobby of the hotel. He really was tired. He blamed the exhaustion for what he thought he saw through the window at Barrett’s. His fatigued mind was seeing things that weren’t there. He practically floated into the elevator and up to his room. Sliding the room key through the slot, the door beeped open and Spencer stepped inside. He flicked on the light and dropped his bag on the floor, loosening his tie as he walked toward one of the sling back chairs sat by the window. He paused just before he reached the chair, his gaze lingering over something on the desk. A note hastily scrawled on hotel stationary.

623.

Spencer lifted the note with two careful fingers. “623?” He turned it over, looking for the rest of the message, but the paper was blank other than the number. He lowered the note, and his eyes landed on a small plastic card where the paper had rested on the table. Not just a card. A room key.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer stared at the door of the room. Room 623. He turned his head and slowly looked up and then down the hallway. He took a breath and raised his hand to the door. He knocked in the familiar rhythm: five knocks, pause, two knocks. He pressed his ear close to the door, listening for any movement inside. When he heard nothing, he knocked again; the same pattern, but a little louder. He listened again. Nothing. Spencer felt a bead of sweat creep down the nape of his neck. He thought about turning around, about walking back down the two flights of stairs to his room and getting into bed.

Instead, he pulled the keycard from his pocket. As he lifted the card with one hand, he used his other to raise the strap on his holster. He held his breath as he swiped the card through the slot and heard the beep of the lock. Drawing his gun from the holster, Spencer slowly turned the handle of the door.

The room was mostly dark. Only the yellow glow of one of the bedside lamps illuminated the space. Spencer stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. Again, his mind said to turn around. Yet his feet carried him further into the room. He could see now that the sling backs were facing toward the window. There were two glasses from the mini bar on the table between them.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” a familiar voice mused.

Spencer startled and then swallowed audibly, a cartoon character realizing he’s in serious trouble. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“You can put the gun away,” she continued. “Really. Come sit down, Reid.”

Hearing her say his name sucked all the air out of his lungs. He closed the remaining distance between them, staring dumbly at her perched in the armchair. She gave him a small smile, warm despite the nervous energy in the air. “Hey, Reid.”

“Elle.” Spencer sunk into the chair across from her. “I—I thought I was seeing things. Earlier. At Barrett’s.”

She studied him quietly. “This hair is a good look for you.”

“Thanks,” Spencer blushed, smoothing down the hair at the nape of his neck. He quickly dropped his hand. “It was you then.”

“What was me?” Elle asked innocuously.

“You were at Steven Barrett’s house today. In the yard.” Spencer folded his hands to keep from wringing them. “You were wearing a red coat.”

Elle lifted one of the glasses to her lips, taking a sip of the clear liquor, ice cubes rattling. She swallowed and gestured to the other glass. “Have a drink.”

“I, um, I don’t drink anymore.” Elle raised an eyebrow. “A lot has happened since… the last time I saw you.” Spencer smoothed his hands down the tops of his thighs. “You were there today. Elle, did you—are you…” He wasn’t even sure what question to ask.

Elle ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. She was quiet for a long time. Spencer fidgeted in his seat, but stayed quiet, waiting. Elle set the glass down.

“Do you remember that night in Dayton? In the hotel room?” Spencer looked at her pointedly. Elle let out a laugh. “Sorry, I forgot who I’m talking to; of course you remember.” Their eyes met. Spencer felt she was looking right through him. “You told me that I’d won. That because Garner was dead, and I was alive, I won.”

“Elle—” Spencer started.

“You asked, Reid. This is my answer.” She screwed the cap off the bottle of gin. Pouring the remainder of the bottle into her glass, she continued, “It took time, but I started to feel safe in my own home again. I could close my eyes without seeing his face. I could take a shower without bringing my gun.” She downed the rest of her glass. “When I killed Lee, I gave that same freedom back to the women he’d raped. They could exist in the world knowing that he would never hurt them, ever again.” She smiled ruefully. “And it felt… good. It felt right. And after years of having watched people be destroyed by monsters… I don’t know. It was just something I had to do. To bring that freedom and that safety back to other women who had been hurt and broken and alone. To destroy their monsters.” Elle looked at him then, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I don’t expect you to understand or approve. But the answer to your question is yes.”

Spencer took a breath and asked, “Why’d you put the key in my room? You could have just… disappeared.”

Elle shook her head. “I chose this. I knew what I was doing and what it would mean. Most of the time, I’m fine, great even. Because being able to give these women justice is the greatest gift. But with this work, you can’t really keep anybody close. No holidays or birthdays. No dates or girls nights.” She shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to see what would happen. What the boy genius would do.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer admitted.

“Well, that’s a first.” Elle smiled, but Spencer could see apprehension in the rigidness of her shoulders, in the slight bouncing of her leg.

“I should probably arrest you,” he considered.

Her leg stopped. “You probably should.”

Spencer looked down at his hands. He ran his fingers up to the crook of his elbow, ghosting over the scars there. His mind raced from memory to memory: Elle on the train car; Tobias Hankle standing over him; Elle in the hospital bed; the needle in his arm; Elle in the hotel in Dayton; the click of an empty chamber.

“Elle, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for telling you that you’d won.” She was motionless, staring at him. He continued, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what it was like. To be consumed and overcome by a memory.” Now it was Spencer’s eyes that shone with tears. “I didn’t know that the trauma could… fester in your brain like an infection that you can’t get rid of. I don’t know if winning is even possible after something like that.” He rubbed his hand under his eye and cleared his throat. “It was an awful thing to say. And I’m sorry.”

Elle tipped her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “All’s forgiven.”

Spencer reached out and gently grabbed Elle’s hand. “I’ve been so tired recently. I thought I saw something through the window at Steven Barrett’s house. But when I did a perimeter check, I didn’t find anything.” Elle dropped her head back down and turned to look at him. “We’re headed back to Quantico in the morning. We’ll, um, be keeping tabs on VICAP hits on the signature.” Spencer gave her hand one soft squeeze before standing. He let a small, bittersweet smile move over his face.

He made it to the door before he heard her voice again.

“If I asked you to stay, would you say yes?”

Spencer swiveled back to look at her, the door just barely open. Elle’s arms were crossed over her chest. Her eyes were dark and wide and full of storms. “Just for a little while longer?”

Spencer turned and moved his eyes up the length of the doorway, considering. He heard Elle let out a breath. His own breath stuttered. He closed the door softly. He put his hands in his pockets and turned back to her. “I’ve got a little while.”

[joachimnapoleon]

Berthier Appreciation Post

Today (20 November) is Berthier's birthday, so a little tribute to my favorite under-appreciated Administrative Cyborg is in order.

So in no particular order whatsoever, here is a list of reasons why I have such a soft spot for Louis-Alexandre Berthier.

-He was something of a child prodigy and was formally appointed a topographical engineer in the army on 1 January 1766. Berthier was born in 1753. He wasn't yet thirteen when he became an engineer. His military service couldn't be considered "official" until his sixteenth birthday, which was when he received his lieutenant's commission. By the age of 26 he had served not only as an engineer, but as an infantry lieutenant, a cavalry captain, and then as a staff officer.

-In 1780 he went to America with his brother Charles to participate in the American war for independence. This was not only his first real experience with upper-echelon staff work (under General Rochambeau), but also his first combat experience (a skirmish with English dragoons on 19 July 1781; Berthier's horse was killed from under him, but Berthier killed his assailant and was cited afterwards by his commander for distinguishing himself).

-His god-tier organizing capabilities. His staff, one biographer writes, "ran with the precision of a Neuchâtel pendulum clock." He was able, at any given moment, to provide Napoleon with up-to-date figures for any division, brigade, or regiment in the Grande Armée. He created an elaborate filing system that was capable of fitting in a single coach, which biographer Andrew Roberts describes as "one of the edifices upon which the [Austerlitz] campaign was based." He perfected a personal cabinet system initially invented by Desaix, to which Napoleon would frequently go in order to view the maps with which troop positions were displayed with colored pins. Berthier mastered the maps of every theater of war, coordinating the movements of the various corps of the Grande Armée in such a manner as to ensure against potential logjams on the same road. Writes Las Cases, "The Emperor, on his campaigns, had Berthier in his car. It was during the journey that the Emperor, going through the order books and status reports, decided on his plans and ordered his maneuvers. Berthier carried out the orders and the various details with admirable regularity, precision and promptness."

-Though most known for his work as chief-of-staff, he still displayed courage on the battlefield when the time came. He led a cavalry charge at Rivoli on 14 January 1797, and also distinguished himself at Montebello; his biographer Rauber writes that Montebello was "his battle as much as Lannes's." He also suffered a wound to the arm at Marengo.

-His almost superhuman indefatigability. He could stay awake for days at a time if need be, when his work was particularly pressing. "Berthier could keep his head clear after twelve hours of taking dictation," writes Andrew Roberts, "on one occasion in 1809 he was summoned no fewer than seventeen times in a single night." (Keep in mind he was well into middle age by this point.) He worked tirelessly and without complaint, and expected the same of all his staff. Another biographer writes, "He demanded, and obtained, that everybody work according to the rules he had set himself. It is said that he never conceded anything with grace, but that what he refused was refused with harshness. But there is another side to the Berthier: the good-humored man, more often than not laughing off any adversity."

-He endured the Russian campaign and its brutal retreat at the age of fifty-nine, and still held up better than men who were decades younger than himself. To his wife, he wrote on 21 December 1812 that "I have rheumatic pains in my right arm for the first time. My gout is still leaving me alone. I suffer a lot from the excessive cold, but I am still the one who puts up with things best in the army." It was only around January of 1813 that his health finally began to dwindle to the point where Napoleon finally gave him permission to return to Paris. He had written to his wife on New Year's Eve in Königsberg that "I am very weary, to tell you the truth: but I still keep up my morale and my energy.... You have expressed your views on my remaining with the army: as for me, mon amie, my health needs a rest.... I want to get to know my children, and make them love me. For the sweetest joy of life, especially when one grows old, is to be loved. Today, I enter my sixtieth year: you see what a dashing husband you have!"

-He was one of the least ambitious of the marshals. Though Napoleon heaped honors and titles on him, Berthier never actively sought any of them. He was generally apolitical throughout his life; his primary driving factor was a sense of duty. His biographer Charles Raeuber writes that Berthier "never pretended to be anything else but Napoleon's servant."

-He put up with so much abuse from Napoleon it's not even funny. He was essentially the primary scapegoat for everything that went wrong on a campaign. Most of the time, Berthier was able to shrug off Napoleon's cutting remarks, often burying himself in his work as a coping mechanism. But eventually the abuse took its toll. As Napoleon's moods grew ever more sour over the years, Berthier came in for increasingly cruel treatment; his relationship with Napoleon eventually became so bad during the 1812 campaign that Berthier stopped taking his meals with the Emperor when he could. At one point, Napoleon's secretary Méneval found Berthier "alone at his table with his head buried in his hands. On being asked what distressed him, he burst out with quite unusual vehemence: 'What is the good of giving me an income of 1,500,000 francs, a fine house in Paris, and a magnificent estate, to inflict on me the tortures of Tantalus? I am being killed with hard work. An ordinary soldier is happier than I.'"

-He had a certain talent for diplomacy and a wonderful knack for "softening the blow," so to speak, when it came to relaying Napoleon's displeasure towards unruly subordinates. His missive to Bernadotte in the aftermath of the latter's failure to support Davout at Auerstadt is a perfect example: "However upset the Emperor might be, he did not want to speak to you because, recalling your long services [to him], he was worried he might torment you, and the consideration he has for you, has decided him to keep silent." This particular talent of Berthier's was especially useful with some of the more sensitive marshals (like Murat), with whom Napoleon's harsher remarks were often counterproductive.

-His legendary ménage à trois. He fell head over heels in love while in Italy with a married woman, Giuseppa Carcona, the Marchioness of Visconti. During the following campaign in Egypt, he carried her portrait with him, and would erect a separate tent in which he would set up the portrait surrounded by candles; this tent was off-limits to everyone except the one person whom Berthier couldn't stop from entering it: Napoleon, who delighted in violating the sanctity of Berthier's shrine to Mme Visconti. Later on, Napoleon strong-armed Berthier into marrying; shortly after the marriage, Mme Visconti's husband died, and Berthier mourned what might have been. But he wasn't to be deterred. Somehow he managed to persuade both his wife and Mme Visconti to share a home together with him. And the two women actually became good friends.

More praise for Berthier:

"When all is said and done, Berthier remains the outstanding chief of staff of modern and contemporary times, a professional of the very first order, a highly talented executive, and a powerful worker, endowed with an exceptional sense for grasping the essentials in any given situation."--Biographer Charles Raeuber

"The man who should surely be studied, if not emulated, by every aspiring staff officer."--Biographer S.J. Watson

"No one else could have replaced him." --Napoleon

Works cited:

Raeuber, Charles. Duty and Discipline: Berthier, in Napoleon’s Marshals, edited by David Chandler.

Roberts, Andrews. Napoleon: A Life

Watson, S.J. By Command of the Emperor: A Life of Marshal Berthier

[historic-old-guard-lover]

How many languages and which of them would the cast speak if we’re going to be completely historically accurate ?

This a great question that I can’t quite answer, but I spent six hours researching to give it a shot. I think that there’s a broad range of plausible languages and you’ve got leeway to choose how many. The first part is that different people have different affinities for languages. Some people can speak ten different languages fluently (or near-fluency), while others will struggle juggling three different ones in their brains. The range in the languages can affect this, too: it’s easy to mess up between similar languages. I personally have trouble speaking Spanish because in the middle of the sentence, I’ll drop a French word without even realizing it. The same thing doesn’t happen to me in other languages like German, though. By the same token as I’ve discussed before, similar languages are easier to learn. Going from English to Russian with the Cyrillic alphabet? More difficult than English to French, which makes up about a third of modern English. These are languages that are still in the same family (Proto-Indo-European, PIE), though, so it holds nothing to the difficulty of going from English to a language like Mandarin.

I’m breaking this answer into two parts: 1) how many?; 2) which ones? and I’m going to get carried away because I’m me so it’s below the break to spare you if this comes across your dash and you’re not a nerd...

PART 1: What’s a realistic number for them to speak?

I think that each member of the old guard probably has a certain number of languages which they’re comfortable with, a few more that they can understand/get by in, and a few that they may only know phrases from. The number of each isn’t the same for everyone. The average human being is able to speak ~1.5 languages. The most talented polyglots can speak upwards of 50 languages, maybe one guy even spoke 65 (mostly I want to mention he loved translating the phrase “kiss my ass”). This hyperpolyglot, Kreb aka “Kiss My Ass” Stan, had his brain dissected after his death and it showed a lot of “abnormalities”. That leads neuroscientists and me to believe that being able to study and learn 65 languages is either 1) a major skill that rewired his brain because he was flexing it so much; or 2) very abnormal and facilitated by his brain differences. Since their powers don’t make them stop being limited by the human brain (they can forget), I would say that it is unlikely that one of them is fluent/near fluent/comfortable in more than ~65 languages.

Getting past twelve languages is considered a feat, so I think only Andy, Quynh, Nicky, and Joe could be anywhere near the upper-bounds of languages. Remember, these hyperpolyglots spend their entire lives studying languages and often need refreshers. The members of the Old Guard don’t have the luxury of reading grammar books all day, and they also have to remember a bunch of combat training. You can argue that a lot of fighting is “muscle memory” aka located in the cerebellum and nowhere near language processing areas, but there’s still things like math, navigation, etc. that they need to remember. I doubt they have a list of their safe houses just lying around. The older members can speak more languages by virtue of being around longer and having that time to learn, but if we’re being realistic they should probably speak no more than ~45-55 languages comfortably. This doesn’t mean that they only *know* that many, but the other languages would be more like bad high school Spanish in America than able to wax poetic. Aside: that Joe is able to be poetic in what is AT LEAST his fourth or so language is very impressive and we should talk about that more.

How Many Each Member is Maximally Proficient In/Knowledgeable Of at the end of the film/Opening Fire comics run:

Lykon (comics): proficient in ~15, knowledgeable of ~30*

Lykon (movies): proficient in ~45, knowledgeable of ~80*

Andy: proficient in ~50, knowledgeable of ~100**

Quynh | Noriko: proficient in ~51, knowledgeable of ~90**

Joe: proficient in ~30, knowledgeable of ~80

Nicky: proficient in ~30, knowledgeable of ~80

Booker: proficient in ~10, knowledgeable of ~30

Nile: proficient in ~2 (maybe 3), knowledgeable of ~5

*In the comics, he is younger than Andy and Quynh and I assume he dies young. In the movie, it is strongly implied that he was the oldest. The reason why his numbers are not larger, however, is because at some point there were fewer languages as humanity had not dispersed as much as it eventually did. He’s also long before written language which facilitates learning for most people. RIP Lykon.

**I’m not saying that Quynh is smarter than Andy, just that she comes after written language and it should be slightly easier for her to pick things up. I’m giving Andy access to more languages, however, because PIE alone covers Europe, Central Asia, and South Asia. More on this later.

PART 2: Which languages would each of them speak?

I’ve covered this question a little in a previous post that was broadly about proto-indo-european/Andy-centric (check it out if you want), but I’ll give a broader survey of each character here.

A Quick Aside on Lykon: We don’t know enough about this character, and the fact that the comics and movie diverge so sharply does not help at all. I’m going to headcannon that he was from Eastern Africa, where most archaeologists agree that modern humans first appeared in the Horn of Africa aka modern Ethiopia and Somolia and neighbors, and predates Andy by ~3,000 years. For future purposes below and assuming a birth date for Andy in the range ~5,000BCE - 4,000BCE, this puts his birth at around ~8,000BCE - 7,000BCE. This is wild speculation, however. Maybe the early immortals should be spaced by warfare types (Stone Age, Bronze, Iron, Steel?) or maybe they pop up once a cultural region reaches a certain historic point or maybe they just sorta pop up and then live for six or seven thousands years. I’m working off the last assumption because it’s the simplest. The only thing I’m certain of is that Greg Rucka probably didn’t sit down and think this pattern through. If I’m wrong, oh well. I’m mad at him for all his historical inaccuracies. With dating from ~8,000BCE - 7,000BCE, I’m having trouble finding a name for the cultures that scientists/historians know were living there at the time. It’s probably because the region has been continually occupied since the first humans, which one can safely assume makes abandoned and undisturbed sites hard to fine.

A Quick Aside on Quynh | Noriko: I like the film better, so I’ll be working with Quynh. If there’s enough interest, I can add on Japanese for Noriko. I’m going to date Quynh to be ~1,500 years after Andy (maybe this should be the new date system, before Andy “BA” and after Andy “AA”). This puts her in the time range of ~3,500BCE - 2,500BCE which could place her in either the Đa Bút neolithic culture of modern-day Vietnam or the Phùng Nguyên bronze age culture of modern-day Vietnam. Those names are archaeological in nature, based on the location where sites have been found and dated to those ranges.

Other Origins: Because we have diverging cannons, I’m going to just state the backgrounds that I’ve assigned. Joe is from 1066CE with a background in the Arab-controlled Maghreb (more specifically, modern-day Tunisia and Northern Algeria). Nicky is from 1069CE with a background from the Italian maritime republic and city-state of Genoa. Booker is from 1770 southern France. Nile is from 1994 Chicago in the United States. Andy is from ~5,000BCE - 4,000BCE in the Caucasus (modern-day Georgia and Azerbaijan) or the South Western Eurasian Steppes, probably the Shulaveri-Shomu culture assuming that location.

The first language everyone learned, their “mother tongue” or “native language” is one that they definitely speak. It’s the language that they think in and would be hard-pressed to lose. This even includes now-dead languages, because, again, it’s the one that they learned to think with. Of course, it is possible to lose a language when you have no one to speak it with if you wanted to do something tragic, but I think that these things are too deeply ingrained for it it to happen by accident.

What Each One’s First Language Would Be:

Nile: American English, possibly African-American Vernacular English (AAVE) at home

Booker: Provençal/Occitan, possibly “standard French” (school and other places outside the home)

Nicky: Genoese Ligurian/Zeneize

Joe: Tunisian Derja/Tunisian Arabic/Tunisian, and possibly one of the dialects of the native Zenati language group based on where more precisely you place him

Quynh: Proto-Viet–Muong (which isn’t well documented because it’s so old)

Andy: Proto-Indo-European (PIE), but if you’re curious the Classical Scythian Language for which she is probably named is only off by a factor of 10 (4000 vs 400 BCE) *cue distressed sighing*

Lykon: Proto-Cushitic (also suffering a lack of documentation from being old as heck)

Other than their first languages, what else they learn depends on where they go. People learned languages back then for the same reasons that they do today: to communicate (and to read, after the invention of writing). 

Additional Confirmed or Likely Cannon Languages:

Nile: Spanish because of the American school system for sure. French is listed on the IG account, but she probably speaks only Spanish or French to a degree of fluency, definitely one better than the other. Very Basic Pashto, which we see her use some obviously-memorized phrases with in the film.

Booker: The IG promo things asserts that he knows (modern, standard) Italian and Greek. Why not? He also probably knows Spanish depending on where more specifically in southern France he is from. He’s probably also picked up on at least Very Basic Arabic from Joe and Nicky, but actually learning the language would take commitment from him. He also clearly speaks English.

Nicky: Other Italian dialects, and it would be fairly easy for him to have picked up modern Italian. He definitely reads Latin. If he was from a wealthy family, he probably also speaks Greek. If he was from a trading family, he probably speaks the trading pidgin of Sabir. The IG account confirms Arabic (vague, but okay I’ll be generous and say modern standard Arabic) and Romanche (they meant to write Romansh). I think Romansh is poorly chosen to characterize him in Northern Italy, but I’m feeling generous. He also clearly speaks English.

Joe: He definitely speaks standard Arabic to have been able to communicate with other Arabic-speakers in Jerusalem.  Genoese Ligurian/Zeneize because of the love of his life, which also means he probably picked up modern Italian at some point. The IG account confirms Farsi (they call it “Persian” *cue screaming*), which works if he was a merchant who traveled far to eastward on the Silk Road...and if you go with the comic cannon makes more sense. I’m going to say that he speaks the Mediterranean trading pidgin Sabir because of his location in Tunisia. If he was from a wealthy merchant family and could afford schooling, he probably learned Greek and maybe also Latin. There’s a good chance that he knows conversational-levels of other native Zenati languages thanks to colonialism discouraging their usage. He also clearly speaks English.

Quynh: We don’t actually know if she speaks English, but it’s safe to assume she does speak at least some of it. She’s probably learned Vietnamese and Mường because of her mastery of their proto-language. Because I see her returning to modern-day Vietnam to fight the Chinese colonization, I think that she might know Cantonese or Mandarin. Based on her travels with Andy, I’d like to propose Greek, Latin, and Mongolian. I’m sure that Andy and her share a language, but who knows which one they were each speaking when they met!

Andy: The IG account says “all,” but I’ve discussed this elsewhere (*major eye rolling*). She almost certainly picked up Scythian and Greek based on her chosen name. Latin isn’t as likely as you’d think, but is possible. I’d like to think that she’s also partial to learning Russian (or some earlier form of the language), Mongolian, and Armenian. Based on her travels with Quynh, I imagine that she speaks Cantonese or Mandarin and Vietnamese or Mu’o’ng. There is some mystery language shared with Quynh, too. She also clearly speaks English.

Lykon: I really don’t know enough about him to hazard any guesses. He should share at least one language in common with Andy and Quynh. If his date of death is ~2,000- 1,000 BCE like I’m supposing, there’s a good chance that he only speaks one or two currently-named languages. Sorry, OP.

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 20 - Just Kids

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, what consequences?, 4.9k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19

All too soon, two very familiar colors filled the back of the van. Alex’s heart immediately submerged into the dark ocean it always went to in despair, knowing they were all screwed this time. He could already see Bobby pulling onto the shoulder - they didn’t need the sound of sirens to tell them what was up. Willie still seemed like he wasn’t all present, and Alex squeezed his fingers and shook his hands to bring him back to the now. They had really hoped it wouldn’t happen. None of the guys could’ve anticipated the alarm, or that Caleb would be in town when they definitely thought he was gone, or that everything would go wrong.

Not knowing didn’t matter, though. Hours later, all five of them sat inside a holding cell at the LAPD, heads bowed as none of them dared to make eye contact with each other. It was early morning by the time all of them had been processed, and they were all varying levels of exhausted. The time passed at a frustratingly slow pace, although there was no way of telling what time it was. Thankfully, they were the only ones in the cell at the time; if there had been other inmates it would’ve sent Alex’s nerves past their threshold. A guard sat just outside a doorway to the rest of the station while another sat directly outside the cell.

Alex was tempted to wrap his arm around Willie’s shoulders, since he remained dissociated, but the eye contact from the officer sitting across from them was too unsettling. He didn’t like the thought that came through his mind - the one that made him feel like an even worse criminal, even though he knew he wasn’t. Stubbornly, Alex fought to push the feeling away, and settled for putting a hand on Willie’s shoulder. There was almost no reaction, but then Alex saw his brown eyes flicker in his direction and that was all the peace he needed.

“It’s my fault, you guys,” Reggie murmured, barely peering up from where his head hung dejectedly. “I was just so caught up in getting back - ”

“It’s not your fault, Reggie,” Bobby interrupted him gently. “He was waiting for us.”

Luke didn’t speak. His eyes couldn’t leave his empty hands. Alex almost couldn’t look at him; it was a sad image.

They had all been so sure that Caleb was finally out of LA, never spoke about their plans at the studio, had been so careful about the way they acted around him - there was no way. There was just no way that he could’ve been so ready to show up just as they were trying to get the master copies of their album out of his hands. And worse, now Alex had dragged Willie into it, and the guilt mounted even higher from there.

A female officer approached the cell with a clipboard, not bothering to look up from the page she had her eyes glued to.

“Bobby Wilson?”

Bobby raised his head at the sound of his name.

“You have an older brother here to pick you up,” she said monotonously. “You’re free to go.”

The door to the cell was opened and Bobby made his way out in slight confusion. He threw a conflicted look back toward Luke.

“Did he say if I was taking anyone with me?”

“He came for Bobby Wilson and Bobby Wilson only.” Her tone shut down any further questions that he had. Looking back apologetically, his shoulders slumped as Luke shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke said, although not as assuring as he likely wanted to be. “I’ll be fine.”

Alex watched as Bobby’s eyes lingered for a few seconds on Reggie, who was still hunched forward with his gaze fixed on the concrete floor. It seemed so uncharacteristic for him, but Alex understood he was probably shutting down at the mere thought of returning home. The emotions ran high enough in his home as it was. They hadn’t really been given options as for who got called when they’d been brought to the police department. Finally, Bobby turned and took the car keys and wallet that had been confiscated and disappeared.

Luke moved closer to Reggie and put a hand on his back, and he began muttering something to him. They were just far enough away that Alex couldn’t properly hear what they were saying.

“Sheldon’s gonna be so freaked out when I get home,” Willie spoke suddenly. Alex turned to see him finally looking around the cell, fully aware of his surroundings.

“Hopefully he’ll be okay,” he assured. “They can only hold us for up to twelve hours; that’s what they said.”

Willie looked at him and nodded, eyes once again immediately training themselves onto empty space.

“How are you doing?” Alex asked carefully. Willie didn’t move his eyes, but he appeared to be brought back into focus again.

“I just have all these images running in my mind,” he said. “Things he did. Things I did. He decided to pretend I was dead rather than deal with my existence. It’s like he was already trying to bury me by taking away any connection to my past. Sometimes I wonder what I was like before the accident. What if I deserved this?”

For a minute, Alex merely sat with his jaw agape, as if he’d been slapped upon hearing what Willie was saying.

“Wha- ? No. Willie, that can’t be right,” he started. “You couldn’t possibly deserve any of this, no matter what happened in the past.”

Willie shook his head.

“I was in the foster system, Alex,” he argued. “From the few things I know, I was passed around a little bit. Caleb was someone who took difficult kids; he had a reputation with social services. I wanted him to be the bad guy because I got a taste of something better, but when I look around, Alex? I have no one to call. Not even family.”

It was the first time Alex had seen tears well up in his eyes since the night at the Stratosphere, but he felt that any comfort he wanted to offer wouldn’t be accepted. All he could do was look back at this beautiful boy who deserved far more than he believed, brow furrowed in silent protest. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Willie had a point. There was a possibility that the guys’ dislike of the man had become biased based on Willie’s story, as unintentional as it may have been. Still, Alex refused to believe that it was because Willie was the real menace.

“Look, we may never know the truth,” he started, trying to look at him as directly as he could. “But I’m the one who got you here; I take responsibility for that. And sometimes having someone to call doesn’t mean they’re there for you.”

Willie gave him a look that was mixed, but he mostly read concern. Frankly, Alex wasn’t sure what his own parents’ reaction would be, but he didn’t dare hope for any sort of understanding.

“Reggie Peters?” The same female officer approached the cell again with her clipboard.

Reggie turned away from his conversation with Luke, sucking in a nervous breath.

“Your mother is here to take you home; you’re free to go.”

Pressing his lips together anxiously, Reggie simply bowed his head as he was escorted out the same way Bobby had been. Luke promptly spread himself out along the bench, pulling his beanie over his face.

For a while, Alex let his mind wander as he kept his hand resting on Willie’s shoulder. What Willie had said made him want to reevaluate the whole situation with Caleb. It wasn’t that he thought Willie was as bad as he said he was, but it stood to be examined. He remembered the difference between his short first impression of the man at the diner, and the second time he’d seen him. He even remembered his own reasoning - how it was possible that Caleb could come off as so severe while running a diner but maintain such charisma while serving guests.

A pang of memory also came as Alex had noted he didn’t seem like a straight man and after months of actually working with him there was even greater evidence toward that notion. It had been what made Alex want to trust him in the beginning. Finding an adult figure who offered him a break from being constantly vigilant about the way he naturally felt had been a blessing. Not even Alex could ignore that. However, something still told him that just because they had that in common didn’t make Caleb trustworthy.

“Luke Patterson?” All three boys looked up in surprise when they heard the officer’s voice a third time. Luke clutched his beanie to his chest, confused most of all as he sat up from the bench. Instead of announcing who had come for him, the officer stepped aside as two familiar faces came toward the cell.

Julie Molina and her Aunt Victoria looked at the boys, both with stern expressions.

“Julie?” Luke uttered in surprise, standing up from the bench and slowly moving toward her. 

Folding her arms, Julie had her eyes fixed on Luke with a brand of disappointment that appeared to burn like acid. She flashed the same look toward Alex for a moment and he was duly stung. Luke could make all the sad, pleading puppy faces he wanted, but ultimately was struck dumb by knowing he had no room to speak.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Julie told him, the chastising tone not to be missed. Luke’s face fell and he hung his head, looking back toward Alex with a similar apologetic look as Bobby had given.

Alex caught Victoria also looking at him. It was still stern, but more in telling him she was let down. Why it compounded his already guilty feelings even more, he couldn’t understand. Her expression changed, however, as she looked at Willie next to him, as though she were trying to recall where she recognized him. Immediately forgetting his guilt for a moment, Alex perked up and subtly pointed a finger toward him, mouthing the name “Willie!” to her. She looked at him incredulously, and it was a shame the officer was already escorting them out with Luke, because he was sure she had questions.

“Was that Julie’s mom?” Willie asked. Startled, Alex looked at him and cleared his throat.

“Ah, no, that was her aunt,” he told him. “Her mom is still in the hospital.”

“Oh,” Willie replied, casting he gaze to where they had left with a look of empathy. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed.

For the second surprise that night (morning? Alex couldn’t tell), and for the fourth time, the female officer returned.

“William Taylor?”

Willie looked at Alex in utter perplexity, and then back at the officer.

“Um…” he began saying. Before he finished, Flynn came around the corner accompanied by a woman both boys assumed was her mother.

“Hey big bro!” she said in a highly exaggerated tone, sending them a gigantic wink with a grin that was very out of place. “Looks like you messed up big time mister!”

Willie could only stare back in shock. Alex was too busy trying not to laugh at her poor acting skills. It was so obvious that she and Willie weren’t family.

“Hey...sis,” Willie said finally, still unsure what was happening just then.

Holding onto the bars and leaning close into the holding cell, Flynn dropped the grin immediately.

“Julie tipped us off and Alex’s parents aren’t coming, so we’re doing you guys a big favor,” she said to them in a low voice, laying on the irritation and topping it off with a tilt of her head and a smile that suggested murder.

Promptly, Willie stood up and was let out of the cell, still looking at Flynn and her mom in bewilderment. Alex sat with his hands folded in uncertainty.

“Him too,” Flynn’s mom nodded toward him. The officer opened the door for him and Alex sighed as he came out, realizing just how high his nerves had really been while sitting there for the past few hours. He could suddenly feel the blood rushing into his fingers again.

As he and Willie followed Flynn and her mom outside, he wasn’t surprised that his parents had opted not to come get him. If he guessed right, his father would’ve refused to go in some backward attempt to show tough love, and his mother would’ve been barred from going herself to show she agreed with the choice. Both he and Willie thanked Flynn’s mom as they sat in the back seat of her van.

Flynn turned around in the passenger seat as they drove off and Alex knew what was coming.

“How many times am I gonna save your ass?” she directed at Willie.

“Language, honey,” her mom warned. Flynn rolled her eyes, but backed down a little.

Willie smiled nervously at her.

“Third time’s a charm?” he offered with little confidence.

“There better not be a third time,” she cautioned. “Seriously, what were you thinking?”

Alex opened his mouth to respond but she put up a hand.

“Actually, save it. Anything I have to say is just what Julie will say to you guys later, and she’s the one who’s really mad at you. Right now, I’ve got permission to skip school and I’m not gonna waste it lecturing you two.”

Sharing a look with Willie, both boys were happy to at least not have to endure Julie’s wrath right that minute. It was only imaginable what Luke was going through at the moment.

“So, how did you know I was there?” Willie asked.

Flynn leaned back into the correct position in her seat and took in a deep breath.

“Julie’s aunt is supposed to be on sabbatical, but apparently she can’t stop doing little bits of work here and there. She’s an investigator. Anyway, I guess she was doing something at ungodly hours on a Sunday night for God knows why, and she was already in the station when Sunset Gets-Caught-Being-Stupid was brought in. I guess she tried to make sure nobody called the Pattersons because she promised Julie she won’t, and she found out there was a fifth kid with no emergency contact so she had Julie call me, and I had to wake up at six-thirty this morning to an angry Julie and while I, for one, don’t care that you were trying to steal something, the way y’all did it was just so dumb, I can’t even stand to look at y’all - ”

“Okay, we get it,” Alex interrupted.

“But the important thing is,” Flynn continued. “We can’t take you guys home. Sorry.”

“Wait, why not?” Alex asked.

“I have one hour before I need to be in the office,” Flynn’s mom told them. “So I’m putting my girl in charge of you two for the day.”

Flynn looked back at them smugly.

“Oh, I’m putting you two to work,” she said, not hiding how much she enjoyed being in a position of power.

Alex could only gesture with his hands in a manner of saying “ah, well,” and sighing in acceptance. This was loads better than dealing with his parents for the time being. And Willie seemed to have finally broken entirely out of the strange trance he’d been in ever since they’d seen Caleb.

“Do we get a nap first?” Willie asked. “‘Cuz we’ve been awake all night.”

Flynn’s eyebrows shot up in realization and she flopped back into her seat again with a sigh.

“That’s fair.”

It was well past noon by the time Alex opened his eyes. They had thanked Mrs. Taylor and then immediately passed out on the living room couch. Barely gaining his bearings, he found Willie still zonked on the opposite arm of the couch. He couldn’t help but admire his sleeping form, so much calmer than any other time he knew. The sunlight streaming in from the blinds glanced perfectly off his cheekbones and highlighted the rich brown tones in his hair. Alex had been struck by how handsome he was from the second they met at the diner, but he’d hardly gotten a moment to properly appreciate how beautiful he was.

Somehow there was something so lonely about him that brought an ache to Alex’s chest. Their conversation from earlier replayed in his mind. Willie really seemed to believe he didn’t belong anywhere when the only thing Alex wanted in the whole world was to keep him tightly in his arms. He really hoped to show Willie how much he meant to him some day. 

“Oh my god, you are so in love with him,” he heard Flynn saying as she stood at the edge of the living room. He was too tired to give a proper response and could only turn to her still wearing a look of fondness. “Oh my god, stop, you are so precious!”

All Alex could do was lightly chuckle in return. Flynn tilted her head adoringly.

“And to think I was there from the beginning,” she reminisced.

Alex had a realization hit.

“I never said thank you, did I?”

She shrugged.

“No. But now you get to pay me back by doing all the chores my mom left for you.”

Heaving a sigh, Alex sank back into the couch and pressed his lips together, already reeling from exhaustion.

“Yep,” he muttered before reaching over and grabbing Willie’s hand, gently shaking it to kindly wake him up.

“Sheldon...stop,” Willie groaned as his tired face pinched together against the light. Alex giggled as he leaned over and tried shaking his shoulder instead.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said in a low voice, watching as Willie’s eyes fluttered open and immediately gazed back into his face. The absolutely enamoured smile that spread from cheek to cheek as he took in Alex’s face framed with his hair hanging down was more than Alex could take, and he felt honest-to-God butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey,” Willie murmured, his voice a pitch lower than usual from being asleep with just the right amount of vocal fry. It took all of Alex’s strength not to smother him right there on the couch.

“I really do hate to break this up, you lovebirds,” Flynn told them. “But it’s time to get to work!” She clapped her hands and the boys clambered off the couch, still sharing admiring looks at each other. She led them through her house, listing off the many things her mom had demanded: cleaning bathrooms, weeding the garden, and mowing the lawn were all there.

“And last but not least,” Flynn was saying as she led them upstairs. She flung the door open to an unfurnished room with bare walls and plastic covering the floor. “Painting!”

Alex saw Willie’s face transform from bleary task mode to shining with joy at the prospect of getting to paint. He wasn’t sure what it was, but everything Willie did was making him fall even further in a way he hadn’t thought possible. They were doing household chores for heaven’s sake. It made him consider doing all the rest of the chores just to let Willie do something he enjoyed. After seeing his reaction to Caleb, Alex thought it would lift his spirits more than anything.

“I say we divide and conquer then?” he suggested, putting a hand on Willie’s shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. Willie tore his eyes away from the unpainted walls to give Alex a puzzled look.  Before he could ask questions, though, Alex simply looked him directly in the eyes and nodded toward the room before them, insisting he stay and paint without saying a word. He saw Willie’s expression soften and one corner of his mouth turn up in a delighted smirk once he understood the message.

“Okay,” Willie muttered to him, facing the bare walls with newfound glee.

Willie watched Alex head back down the stairs and he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend as much time with him as possible - looking into that angelic face as he’d woken up had spun his head more than anything else in his life - but it was just the thought of how he was suddenly in Alex’s world and it was so...different. It vaguely reminded him of hanging out with everyone after the show at the Pearl, but it appeared to be so much deeper and so tight-knit. Julie and Flynn and their families went so far as to stick out their necks for the guys when they really had messed up, and it wasn’t even an obligation. Even being made to do housework for people who were still practically strangers to him felt like he was being taken in with open arms. He had the intruding thought that he’d eventually wear out his welcome.

“So, are we painting everything the same?” he asked Flynn, rubbing his hands together. Flynn wagged a finger and smiled with excitement.

“No,” she teased. Going over to a corner, she lifted two cans of paint, handing one of them to him. Looking at the swatch smeared on the top of the lid, Willie smiled to see a lovely teal, and then sunflower yellow on the can in Flynn’s hands.

“Oooh yes, these are some good choices,” he said, rolling up a sleeve with his free hand. All the worried thoughts could be put aside as they began popping the lids off and mixing the paint. “Have you got a hair tie I could borrow?”

“There is something about a boy asking me that question that just feels amazing,” Flynn commented as she briefly headed out to fetch one. Giggling at her remark, Willie lifted the paint mixer and watched the color drip into the can in fascination. There was something familiar about the notion of painting that made him wonder if it was something he’d done often before. Before forgetting. Would putting the brush in his hand unleash some kind of muscle memory or sense of nostalgia for something he didn’t know he had? Flynn returned with the hair tie and handed it to him, and he immediately pulled his hair back into a small bun.

“Alright, so these walls are gonna be the teal green color,” Flynn instructed, pointing toward the walls furthest from the window. “And these over here are gonna be yellow. I’ll start with the yellow and meet you at the corner, sound good?” Willie nodded at her as she moved her paint supplies over to the opposite side of the room, putting her braids up into a ponytail as well.

“Copy that,” Willie replied.

Once the paint was all mixed they got to work, both silently focused on the task at hand. For a while, all that could be heard was the repetitive swipe of brushes against the texture of the wall. There had been no sweeping rush like Willie imagined, but a gentle comfort quickly took over as he watched the color fill the empty space. He heard a loud buzzing outside and for a moment, peeked out the window to see Alex steady at work mowing the lawn below.

“So,” Flynn started, almost making him jump as he turned his attention to her. “It looks like our skater boy likes to paint; do you do art too? I saw your face.”

Chuckling, Willie hadn’t realized he’d gotten himself stuck in a situation that warranted friendly banter. Out of all of Alex’s friends, though, she was the one he’d seen the most, now that he thought about it. Despite how aggressive she had appeared at first, he really enjoyed her energy.

“Yeah, actually I draw. A lot,” he told her.

“Nice!” she nodded. “What kind of stuff do you draw?”

“People...places,” he said thoughtfully as he continued painting. “Memories.”

Flynn kept nodding, her expression becoming more pensive. “Cool.... Memories are interesting. Did you do a lot of cool things when you were little?”

Willie chewed on his tongue for a minute, realizing she still didn’t know. Even now that he’d been away from Caleb for a while and Alex’s reaction had been so kind, sometimes speaking of his amnesia still felt like something that wasn’t allowed. Regardless, it was a pretty important detail.

“I actually don’t know,” he stated. Flynn’s eyebrows knit together in response. “I was in an accident a little over a year ago, and I don’t remember anything - well, I remember a few things, but not a lot. Whatever I can figure out, I try to draw it so it stays with me.”

She gave him a long sympathetic look. Every time it was different; Alex had been a little shocked but then really sweet, Bessie had merely brushed over it like it wasn’t anything crazy, and now Flynn had her big brown eyes staring with such sadness in them. Again, he wondered how much he had really lost along with his memory. It seemed to be a thing everyone else could properly mourn, knowing the difference, but he couldn’t no matter how much he tried.

“That’s really awful,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Willie only nodded, accepting her words.

“It sucks, but I manage,” he said. They both resumed painting after noticing they had stopped for a moment.

“I mean, you made it here, which is pretty amazing,” Flynn told him. “Well, not here as in we just picked you up from the police station, but you know, you left Vegas and have your sweet job at the record shop.”

He shrugged, trying to be casual. Those thoughts were getting to him today in a way they hadn’t ever before. The ones that said he was still messing everything up anyway. He was just in a different city with a different job. It was great that he’d miraculously found Alex, which had been his entire goal, but now that he’d passed that step in his plan, life went on. And it hadn’t really become so different, now that Caleb had his hands on things again. There were still so many questions about that as well, because he really did wonder if maybe he had made everything out to be worse in his mind. Caleb had been his guardian for three years and Willie was one of numerous kids - he couldn’t be that insidious, could he?

“I said, ‘you’re dripping paint on your shirt!’” Flynn repeated to him, enunciating loudly and snapping him out of his train of thought.

“Oh,” he started, looking down at his now ruined shirt and then continuing to work on the wall. He could live with it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I just keep thinking.”

“Uh huh. Whole lot of nothing to think about in there.”

Willie shot her a slightly wounded look. She rolled her eyes.

“Sarcasm, sorry. Looks like you have so much on your mind you can’t even function. So what’s up?”

He looked at her, unsure where to begin. It was great that she seemed easy to trust, because it made him less hesitant about talking, but he didn’t want to turn the painting session into something else. His mouth betrayed him though.

“I just keep thinking that maybe I have everything wrong and I brought all the guys down with me,” he confessed. Flynn didn’t respond, but listened quietly. “I met Alex and it was amazing! And I got it in my head that maybe being here with him would make everything better. But it looks like I’m just a bad influence.”

Flynn had nodded along until that last sentence, to which she tilted her head and squinted.

“Hold up,” she said. “Alex told me Caleb was your guardian, right?”

Willie nodded.

“Who also told Alex you were dead for no good reason?”

He nodded again.

“And you think you’re the bad guy here?” She had set down her brush and placed her hands on her hips.

Taking in a deep breath, Willie prepared to explain.

“Well - ”

Flynn simply held up both hands to shut him up.

“Willie. Buddy. You’re just a kid.”

You’re just a kid.

The words echoed around in his brain for a little bit as he let them settle in. She was right. Somehow he’d lost sight of that.

“You made some mistakes, I get it,” she continued. “But you’re not the bad guy. You’re still figuring things out. Actually, you know what I first thought of you? Well, actually, my first thought was that you were some creep who was trying to get into my friend’s concert, but after that, you know who I saw? A really good guy trying to show someone he cared. And bad people don’t do that.”

For a long time Willie just stared back at her in amazement. Somehow Flynn had managed to completely obliterate any other self-deprecating thought he had. It was the most human he’d felt all day. There was a sticky thud as his brush landed on plastic and he rushed to throw his arms around her.

“Oh!” she cried in surprise, slowly accepting the hug in return and patting his back. Willie squeezed her tightly and then stepped back, chuckling to himself as a small wave of embarrassment hit.

“Julie has good taste in friends,” he told her. “You’re really good at those pep talks.”

Flynn beat her chest with her palm and graciously took the compliment.

“Thank you.”

Willie picked up his brush again and continued working. He almost laughed when he had the thought that while he technically already had a boyfriend, Flynn was his first real friend. He was going to make that count.

[takaraphoenix]

Sally Jackson choice safety over stability in terms of how she'd take care of her child. Both her and Percy faced years abuse by the hands of one man. Does this make her a good mother who was in over her head or an unprepared one making an impulsive decision?

You found the one hot take even I haven’t dared say aloud yet, because I think it may just be my most unpopular opinion in this fandom. One thing everyone in this fandom seems to agree on is the “universal truth” that Sally Jackson is the best mother in the history of fictional mothers. So, here’s my hot take:

Sally Jackson is not that perfect mother the fandom pretends she is.

Sally during the series? Presented as a loving and good mother. But to get to that point? Pre-series Sally is not written as a good mom; she’s written as a plot-device with the things the author needs to happen in mind and not the motivation of a good mother who prioritizes her child’s happiness and safety in mind.

And I’ll back that claim up with three ways in which Sally has failed Percy as a mother. Not just once, but repeatedly, for years.

But before we get into that, I’d like to switch what you said first. Sally Jackson chose stability over safety. Sally chose the stability of keeping her child at her side over said child’s safety. She made an inherently selfish decision that was not with her child’s best interest and overall safety in mind.

Now, the first - and most obvious one - is Smelly Gabe.

And before I can elaborate on that, I need to clarify one very important thing here, before anyone goes “don’t blame the victim!” on me: Sally Jackson is not a victim; she’s a fictional character. Fictional characters can be written as victims, but they are not autonomous people who make their own choices; their choices are very deliberately made by their author for them. And I want to look at the choices that went into writing her this way, writing her story this way.

Real abuse victims get stuck in abusive relationships for a variety of reasons and they don’t get out of them for equally various reasons. Most of the time, it’s something like “he was so sweet and kind at first, but by the time he showed his real face, it was too late” (and, as a note to that; Percy describes Gabe as having been nice to them for a total of thirty seconds before showing his real face. Now while that is, of course, and exaggeration, it still goes to say that Gabe was pretty much upfront about what kind of person he was).

I’ve never heard one start with “he was the most disgusting, grossest man I could possibly find”. Sally Jackson chose this man. Not just in the way one picks a partner. She went out there and chose the stinkiest, grossest man.

It was a deliberate choice on Riordan’s part to have Sally choose an abusive relationship over sending her son away for his own safety. And this decision did not keep Percy safe; Percy Jackson was abused in his own home, by a horribly stinking man, for six years of his life. That’s not keeping your child safe.

The choice was not made to keep Percy safe; the choice was made to keep Percy with Sally. It was inherently selfishly motivated; she didn’t want to send him away, she wanted to keep him with her.

Sally loves Percy, she loves him dearly and fiercely, I’m not arguing that. But that love led to her not wanting to let go of him. And sometimes, parenting means making tough choices, sometimes loving someone means you have to make a tough decision.

In this case, the “tough decision” is presented as Sally bravely putting up with six years of abuse at Gabe’s hand. That’s the narrative chosen by the author.

But the actual “tough decision” would have been to send Percy to Camp Half-Blood, where he would have been safe. That’s the tough choice a mother would have had to make to keep her child safe.

That’s the tough choice the parents of most of the year-rounders have made. Mister Beauregard sent his daughter all the way from Paris to New York to give her this safety. The distance alone guaranteeing he wouldn’t see her for years potentially - because flying between New York and Paris is not necessarily easily affordable for everyone. Sally’s option was to send Percy to a camp that’s literally one and a half hours away. She could have still seen him, he could have easily visited her.

But her solution was to mask Percy’s scent by marrying a stinking, gross, abusive man.

Let me just stretch once more: Sally’s choice did not keep Percy safe. Sally’s choice made their home unsafe. It brought the danger and pain into their home. It may have moderately protected Percy from monsters - until The Lightning Thief kicked in - but it did not keep Percy actually safe, because it put him into a different kind of danger and through a different kind of pain.

For six years. And, this is where the “not a real person but a fictional character” thing comes up again, because this isn’t a woman where one choice leads to a date with a man which leads to a relationship which leads to abuse that she doesn’t know how to get out of anymore. She is a fictional character whose journey was set out to end with her being in an abusive relationship.

And we also don’t know why she didn’t get out of it. She’s not a real person, we don’t know if she was so scared of Gabe that she didn’t know how to leave, if her lack of a support system is what led to her not leaving him, or if it was the motivation of not giving up Percy. The real, actual reason is that Riordan wanted to keep her in there and keep Percy out of the loop until he was twelve and The Lightning Thief could happen. Because she was able of getting rid of him as soon as the truth unravelled and Percy met camp.

And I’d like to use the way she did that to drive back home just how bad Gabe was, just how bad the situation Sally and Percy were in for six years, really was.

She murders him. She flat-out murders him. Both, her and Percy, together. This twelve-year old child who we meet and get to know as kind and not... not a murder-child, is ready to kill a man. That’s how badly Gabe abused them; both of these kind people chose murder to get rid of him.

And it’s just something I’ve never gotten over. Riordan really made the decision that his protagonist’s mom would rather get them both into an abusive home than give Percy up to camp. That was his decision; there could have been other ways. One thing that would have made this seem less like a deliberate choice would have, for example, been Sally not knowing about camp.

If she was a desperate mother, who saw no other options? That’d have made the situation different too. But we know Sally knew about camp. She knew there was a place she could send her son where he would be safe from the monsters, but she decided against that, she decided that she wanted to keep him close, at any costs - and the cost was six years of abuse.

I do not think that this decision should be framed as a heroic sacrifice, because the fact that she knew of an actually safe solution and decided against it was inherently selfish. She did not put up with six years of abuse for selfless reasons because there was “no other way”; there was, she knew that, but the author didn’t want her to take that.

Sometimes, the sacrifice is letting go of your child. And, as mentioned before, she wouldn’t have let go of him for good - camp is in the same bloody city as she is living. Literally one and a half hours away from her.

Now on to the other two ways in which I think Sally Jackson failed Percy.

For one, the lies about his father. Now, real people who are left by their partner with a baby, they can pick whatever to tell their kids whenever. But, again, this is a fictional character and the author makes the decision for her. And this, again, was a decision made solely based on the end result; Riordan needed Percy to not be in the know by the time The Lightning Thief came around, even though from a character-perspective, telling Percy the truth earlier would have been the logical and right decision.

If your kid is a demigod who is attracting real actual monsters with his scent alone? Percy started really attracting monsters when he was six years old and for the next six years, Sally didn’t disclose the truth to him; not about monsters, not about his father, not about the fact that Percy may have powers.

Percy attracted so many monsters that it led to Sally getting married to Gabe. That’s how badly he attracted monsters. Which also implies that Percy must have seen monsters. We get to see in The Lightning Thief just how much Percy thinks he’s going crazy with the things he sees. And that’s  been going on for six years too - six years and in those, his scent only got stronger.

This, again, isn’t just one decision she made. This is a decision she made every single day over and over again. The decision not to tell Percy about his father, the powers, the simple reassurance that he’s not going insane, that monsters are real. This was Percy’s reality and it would obviously only become more and more of an issue the older Percy got, but every single day, she chose not to tell him, to let him believe not just a lie but also steadily that he was going crazy.

And it’d have gone a long way if he had just known. Even with Gabe in their life, even if she hadn’t made the choice to send him to camp at age six, it’d have helped him so much to know the truth and be prepared for this life.

Because this wasn’t just an issue of “the guy left me, I don’t want to talk about it with my kid”, this was inherently about, once more, Percy’s safety. Knowing what to watch out for, knowing the thing you should watch out for is actually real, are huge factors in Percy’s safety. Having him as well-prepared as possible.

She knew his father was Poseidon. It’s not even that she had sex with some dude, not knowing who he was. She knew he was Poseidon. She knew what Percy’s parentage was, she must have observed the slow development of Percy’s powers over the years.

But again, she chose to leave him in the dark about it. He could have been well-prepared by age twelve. Read up everything on Poseidon, experimented with potential powers he may have, understanding why the fishes in the aquarium are talking to him and that he is not actually hearing voices, learning.

But that’s not useful for the author; Riordan wants an unprepared Percy who can be used to introduce this world to the reader.

The choice to not tell Percy the truth about his father and about being a demigod was made deliberately and, again, not in Percy’s best interest. And in this case, there really is no other interpretation left aside from “the author needs it to happen this way” - with Gabe, there is the legitimate argument that she may have been at one point just an abused woman stuck in a relationship with no out because we don’t know enough to know what her motivation and situation were exactly - but there is... no benefit at all in lying to Percy about this, no reason for it.

The moment he first started being in actual life-threatening danger because monsters came after him, it became a pressing matter to tell him what monsters are, that they are real and why they are after him and to prepare him for it.

Which brings me to the third instance.

She never prepared him - even just in a mortal manner. Even if we let the first two - the marriage to Gabe and the lies about his father - stand as they are, Sally could have done something very simple to prepare Percy for his life and to help keeping him safe.

Self-defense classes. Judo. Martial arts. Sword-fighting classes. Whatever.

Many parents teach their kids these kind of things from a young age. Parents whose kids aren’t in constant danger of being attacked by monsters. One of your first parental instincts should be to teach your kid to be safe; to protect themselves. Give him the means to fight back.

So, that’s it. That’s the three very vital and important instances in which I think Sally failed Percy as a mother; not just once, but repeatedly, for years.

Instead of sending him to a safe place where he could learn about his heritage and learn control of his powers as well as learning how to fight the monsters after his life, she chose to marry an abusive, smelly man whose scent would mask Percy’s. Probably. Hopefully. But it didn’t really, not all the time. As shown by The Lightning Thief and monsters coming after Percy. And Percy starts to think he’s crazy, because at no point did she tell him about the monsters, and at no point does he really know how to fight for his life, because at no point did she put the means to defend himself into his hands.

No. No, I do not think that those are the decisions a good mother would make. Those are decisions the author made because he knew the starting point of his story and he knew where Percy’s character needed to be for that.

The thing that’s glossed over are the choices Riordan implicitly made Sally make. To get to this point for Percy, at age 12, he had to make Sally repeatedly act against Percy’s best interests and deliberately not tell Percy the truth or teach him way to stay safe. So he masks those choices by putting on a framework that’s meant to make you only look at her suffering and the outcome, not the choices that led to it. That was Riordan’s choice and he framed it in a way that the fandom ate up and celebrates, when... neither Sally, nor Riordan, had do to that. There was another option on the table and, if Riordan had sat down and thought hard, I’m pretty sure there would have been more options.

The bottom line, what Sally’s parenting comes down to in the end, is that she and Percy got stuck with an abusive man for six years, because she didn’t want to send him to an actual safe place, she spent six years essentially gaslighting Percy about the things he hears/sees by not telling him the monsters are actually real and she repeatedly left him in unnecessary danger by not giving him the means to defend himself in any way whatsoever. And those are not signs of good parenting, not in my book.

But it’s just so much easier to ignore all of that and pretend that blue candy and trips to Montauk are the end all be all and that Sally’s fierce love for her son is the most defining trait of parenting. I know that. Most of the time, I’m right there with you - I love fanon!Sally, I love to pretend she’s the best mom ever and never did anything wrong, because I know the decisions are inherently made by Riordan and are a by-product; I know he wants her to be a good mother, I know throughout the series, he writes her as a good and loving mother.

But if I have to be honest and if I look at the whole text, including the implications of their past, canon!Sally isn’t that good of a mother.

[roguerogerss]

A Hard Day’s Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You’re just about to go to bed, when you get an unsuspected visit from a certain supersoldier. 

W/C: 2.2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood/injury, language, fluff.

(A/N: Hello again! Here’s another Bucky fic bbys! This has been unfinished in my drafts for the LONGEST time, and I finally got around to finishing it! Thank you so much for the support on ‘Safe Haven’! It really means the world to a small blog like me that people r enjoying my shtuffff. If you enjoy, pls remember to like and reblog! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!)

--------

It was three in the morning, and the sky had gone a shade of dark blue when I finally decided that maybe it would be a good time to sleep. I was notorious for not turning the TV off before going to bed, and that night was no different. It was a comfort thing, even though I was fully aware that it was racking up electricity bills, and that I’d be sorry for it at the end of the month.

When I rounded the corner, from the hallway to my bedroom, the only source of light was coming from the still-open curtains, which I didn’t bother to close before getting changed. No one was awake, and I figured that, if anyone was, they might as well have looked. I set an alarm for ten, even though I knew that I would blank it and wake up closer to two in the afternoon anyway, and then I lay on my bed and looked at the ceiling.

It was quiet, peaceful, tranquil. I enjoyed being awake at ungodly hours because it meant that, while I was awake, the world was asleep. I felt superior, like I’d beaten the system and was on an entirely different wavelength from the rest of New York City. Like the birds that I could hear in the distance were my only concerns, and that they were the only ones who truly understood me in of myself. I could’ve laughed at myself for sounding so philosophical in my own head, but I didn’t.

The silence was soothing and unbroken until, was that? No, it couldn’t be. Grunts? Groaning? My face contorted as I listened to whatever the noise was getting closer to my window. It didn’t so much as scare me, it was more worrying. I sat up just in time for my window to be slid open from the outside, not noticing the blur of silver metal and flesh in my state of panic. I was on the verge of picking up the lamp that sat next to my bed to whack the creature with, before the all too familiar figure hopped onto my windowsill and the fear that I was feeling was alleviated.

Bucky motherfucking Barnes.

He held his hands out to me, like he was surrendering, but he still had this grin on his face that he knew could make me melt. I hated him for not knocking, even though I knew that he didn’t knock, that he never had and probably never would. He simply let himself in, and, most nights - all nights - I was okay with that.

“Hey.” Bucky said. He said it so passively, like he hadn't just climbed twelve floors so that he could crawl through my window. Like he hadn't just done it without breaking a sweat. Like this wasn't the first time I'd seen him in almost a month, and it wasn't nearly four AM.

"What are you doing?" I sighed. I sat back down and admired him in his place, with his back against the window frame. He was attractive at all times, from all angles, but I liked him best in the low light of the early hours of the morning. The hollows of his cheekbones and jaw seemed more visible, chiseled, and his skin seemed perfect and unflawed. It was almost like the scars and blemishes that he'd acquired from past missions and suchlike simply ceased to exist. His eyes seemed brighter, more blue, with the way that the dim light reflected in them.

"I know you're probably mad." He pulled one knee up to his chest, circling his arms around it, and stretched his other leg out so that his foot was touching the other side of the window frame. "I don't expect you to be fine with me. Was on a mission, three weeks long, that's why I haven't been around. I know it's late, but I needed to see you as soon as I could."

I stayed quiet as I tilted my head back to look up at the ceiling. There were little patterns on it that I hadn't noticed before. They were faint, because the building was old, and I tried to decipher what they might be. I made a mental note to myself to try to figure out what they were at some other point.

"I would've called, but I was pretty badly hurt and tired most nights. Thought seeing me like that might've upset you." Bucky continued, but I still didn't speak. I didn't want to. I thought maybe I wanted to be mad, wanted some reason to be, but now that he'd given me nothing, I decided to do the same.

"Can you say something? Anything, please?"

I took a shaky breath. It was supposed to be deep, long, but my lungs felt shallow and like they had shrunk in capacity. "I would've liked it if you'd called. Would've been nice to see you."

I was being cold with him and I knew that I was, it was no coincidence and certainly no accident. My eyes were still fixated on the ceiling, trying to concentrate on the unknown patterns instead of Bucky. "Would've been nice to see me?"

I nodded, feeling stupid and like I could've cried, and Bucky scoffed in response. "Tell me, you think it would've been nice to see this?"

Bucky's flesh hand went to the side of his burgundy shirt, which I had seen before, and pulled it up just enough for me to see a large, swollen, red gash on his side. I knew that he'd been slashed by a knife, just from the look of it, but I looked away because I didn't want to see it.

I blinked down at my lap, and shook my head, at a loss for words and really just wanting to go to sleep. It was getting light outside, the intensity of the bird's screeching and bickering becoming increasingly more as the conversation went on.

"Of course you don't. Why would you?" Bucky sounded angry, like I'd personally offended him by not wanting to see the obscene laceration to his side.

"You could've still called. It's not obligatory for you to show me your wounds, in all of their glory."

"I heal overnight, sweetheart. If you get in a fight with someone, and they pull a knife on you, you're always left with more than one cut. And let's not forget that we never had any time to shower, so I was all dust and dirt and dried blood, plus a few stab wounds. Couldn't speak for a week, either, stabbed in the base of the neck and severed my vocal chords. Dr Cho managed to fix 'em up." Bucky had been staring out of the window, at the sky, which was orange and blue due to the rising sun, for the entire time that we'd been speaking. He hadn't looked at me at all, like he was trying to keep his composure and, if he saw my face, he'd lose it.

"Tell me, honestly, would you have wanted to see me like that?" I loved his voice. It was raspy and deep, but still managed to relax me, even when his words were harsh. Hearing him speak took me back to countless nights in my bed, when I'd be woken up by nightmares and Bucky would lull me back to sleep by simply telling me one of his stories from the 1940s. I was like a baby, latching onto his every word until they blurred together, became one, and I fell asleep in his arms.

"You could've texted." I said, lamely.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." I was done with the argument, and I made that clear in my voice and in my words. I wasn't unbothered by the situation at hand, that he hadn't visited, or called, that he'd seemingly forgotten about my existence and fallen off the face of the earth for three weeks, but I was so tired. All I could think about was going to sleep, but I wanted Bucky to be there beside me when I did.

"Are we okay now?" There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and a smirk adorned his face as he took his first look of the night in my direction. It wasn't a big gesture, but the look that he had about him made my heart flutter and beat erratically within the confines of my chest.

I smiled and lay back on my bed, with my hands clasped over my abdomen, ankles crossed, and head lulled back into the white pillows that were placed at the headboard. "Get changed and come here." I pointed to the white dresser that sat at the foot of my bed, and Bucky knew that I was asking him to stay the night, but he didn't seem to want to leave.

He got up, and I heard the heavy thumps of his combat boots against the floor. His footsteps were so loud and it was so late that I was sure that the couple who lived in the apartment directly below mine would complain about the noise the next morning. I heard Bucky opening the drawer, the one that was inexplicably his drawer, and I propped my head up on my hand to watch him.

He peeled his shirt off, inspected the gash on his side — which was already beginning to knit itself shut — and then discarded of his cargo pants and black boots somewhere on the floor of my bedroom. I didn't mind, instead, I watched the muscles in his back flex deliciously as he pulled on a pair of basketball shorts that I kept for when he stayed over.

I had one of his shirts, but he didn't bother putting it on for whatever reason, tiredness or just a general lack of desire to wear one. "It's rude to stare." He turned around, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he crawled towards me from the end of my bed.

Bucky placed a hand on my stomach, hiking up the big shirt that I was wearing so that he could press a kiss to the space above my belly button, the space below it, my hipbones over the pink and white cotton panties that I had on, the insides and outsides of my thighs, the backs of my knees. And then he pushed my legs open and lay between them, sighing as he buried his face in my chest.

One of my hands found his long, dark hair, which was freshly washed and smelled like apples, and the other found his jaw, clean shaven, soft.

"It's four in the morning." My fingers massaged Bucky's scalp while I stated the nonsensical words. I was unaware of what they were supposed to mean, what I wanted him to take from them, but I allowed him to interpret them in whatever way he wanted.

"Mm." Bucky hummed, like he was content or half-asleep, and then he propped his chin lightly on my stomach and looked up at me through his thick, dark lashes. His eyes were so striking that I couldn't help the way that my breath hitched, the way my tongue came out to wet my bottom lip, the way that I felt like butterflies were going berserk in my stomach. "What, you wanna sleep?"

“If that's not too much to ask." I giggled, watching intently as Bucky's eyes flicked over my face and his lips twitched in a tiny smile. He shook his head and kissed my collarbone, before rolling off of me and onto his side. I turned over to face him, and he held my face in his hands and smiled.

"'Course not. I haven't slept properly in weeks." He tugged my face towards his, looked at me with that lopsided grin that set butterflies loose in my stomach, and then captured my lips with his own. It was a sloppy kiss, one that indicated how tired we both were, but it felt nice. Nice to have him back, nice to have finally stopped arguing, nice to be laying in his arms. It just felt nice.

Bucky pulled back, as if to admire me in all of my half-asleep-messy-haired glory, and grinned lazily. “Goodnight, beautiful.” He dragged the comforter up to both of our chins and pulled me close, kissing me on the forehead then. “Sweet dreams.”

I sighed happily, the relief of Bucky being there making my heart swell. It was the same relief that came with Bucky’s return from any mission, whether it was long or short, or whether he had contacted me during it or not. I’d missed him - I always missed him - as much as I liked to pretend that I didn’t.

But he was home, he was here, and he made it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere.

[blushing-starker]

Listen. I know it's been done before. But @starkermoodboards and I were sighing dreamily at starker when I had a miniature epiphany. A lot of content revolves around Peter being mafia boss Tony's lover and not taking part in the illegal business, and I am here for it. It's an amazing concept that I appreciate wholeheartedly. I just decided to shift the dynamic and see how it played out.

The man who runs the sandwich shop can't pay up because his daughter had a rollerblading accident? No problem, Peter will leave her flowers, fill the hospital room with teddy bears and extend the due date. You missed the meeting because pay day came in from the day job and you blew it on beer and cocaine? The kid, usually seen smiling and laughing with nearly everyone, doesn't appear all that threatening. Barnes does. But then this beanpole from Queens decks you so hard two teeth go flying. Consider the due date changed. There are now twelve hours on the clock before Peter comes by to collect. Hiding makes it worse. Tony's enforcers, particularly Peter, Clint, Wade and Pietro, love when people run for cover. It helps keep them in shape and breaks the routine.

But then a new boss rolls into town, a so called Killian (Iron Man 3, I can't remember the name) that tries to steal Pepper and his customers. None leave Tony, of course. Those with small businesses, the little guys, appreciate how compassionate Iron Man is. Even the people that often see Peter's knuckles up close don't turn on him; the prices are  extremely fair and the Starks' always go through with the deals. So this peacock decides to challenge Tony for the throne. It's a political suicide, a new comer daring to impose upon such an honorable house. Not only that, Tony's been in Queens for decades and he's never once betrayed those that were loyal to him. The man had helped the city become a thriving community, often offering assistance to the people while the government's hands were tied. To challenge Tony was to challenge the principles of the entire system. Thing is, it was technically allowed.

The laws state that any person who believes they have fair reason to challenge another member may do so only if the ensuing fight is overseen by the council. There is no room for competitors to initiate wars based on faux insults. Tony couldn't take out Killian's safe house as retaliation for the challenge. Killian was unable to bomb the Stark headquarters to establish dominance. It was the mafia, not an anarchic society. There was order to these types of things.

Peter arrives early with the team, sweeping the area and making sure the ring hides no lethal secrets. He's been to plenty of these fights, but Tony hasn't been challenged in nearly two decades and the man almost never has to fight someone when there are bodyguards to be found everywhere. Nonetheless, the older enforcers can easily recall the last time Anthony Stark was in the ring and they assure the young man Killian will be out like a light after the boss steps in. They wait, silent and solemn, eyeing the competition for any threats or tricks. The men on the other side are from neighboring cities, names hazy but reputations sparkling. There will be no illusions today. Except from the jester with slicked back hair and a haughty attitude.

The insults rain down and they don't flinch. This behavior is inappropriate, for there is honor among thieves and devils. If one is to seriously fight, one keeps quiet and stays with their own. Most fights that occur between opposing families are mere squabbles, friendly rivalries that keep the atmosphere thrumming during boring weekends or holidays. Barnes has a hobby of coaching Steve in the ring after work and Natasha tends to employ her knife throwing skills against Clint's bow and arrow. They would fight members of the same family for fun, for fuck's sake. But no matter the cause or how drunk people were, insults were looked down upon.

It starts with their abilities as enforcers. Peter stares straight ahead at the wall, they all do. The Stark members were considered some of the fiercest fighters by the community, matched only by the legendary Black Panthers. The little boy criticising their skills does not know how in the wrong he is. But he's a quick learner. The tone shifts slowly, and shift it does. Ten minutes before Tony arrives, his rival begins claiming how incompetent and worthless he is. That makes every person grind their teeth simultaneously.

Whether or not you were a member of the Starks did not matter. It was clear Iron Man was an efficient leader ready to help the entire city evolve into something better. So when Killian leans towards Peter, boasting how he'd do a much better job of ruling, him, a nobody that can't even follow the protocols, the kid very nearly rips him a new one. But that is not allowed and a Stark enforcer does not break a law unless absolutely necessary. He would not bring dishonor upon his job, his fellow coworkers, his family; he would not tarnish the Stark name, let alone allow this weakling to get the better of him. Peter loves Tony and he'd let Bucky put a bullet in him if he ever harmed his boyfriend in any way. Not only had Tony saved his life, he'd shown Peter a better reality that let him thrive. He'd shown the young man how to love himself. Taught him he could be loved by another without anguish souring the relationship.

He was Tony Stark's right hand man, one of the best bodyguards in the mafia. Not just a powerful enforcer either. Peter was more than a Stark; he was the goddamn Spider and that meant something here. Before Stark dropped into his life like a fallen angel, Peter Parker ruled the ring. They considered Ben Parker's nephew a legend years ago, a warrior that could go head to head with the best without dying. Fighting against people like Black Widow and the Winter Soldier had earned him his reputation. Every knocked out tooth, jagged scar and black eye made it clear to all: he was a menace unwilling to break for anyone. Becoming Tony's lover and enforcer only resulted in more respect, but the community hadn't viewed Peter as strong for the first time when he exchanged kisses with the Iron Man. They realized the kid was strong the second he looked Bucky in the eye and grinned at the challenge.

(Peter guessed that's why they get along so great. Buck was a puppy. A lethal one that could rip your arm out, but still a puppy to him. The older of the two appreciated being seen as more than just a good fighter.)

Peter vows not to break. And then Killian is claiming he could breed Tony's bitch, show Peter how a real man fucks. The man gets so close he tastes the spit that comes flying two seconds later.

"Tony Stark is unworthy of his seat. And he sure as hell doesn't deserve such a pretty little thing like you."

It's sneered at him, Killian smirking at him wildly. The whole place changes, white tiles morphing into shades of red and Peter wants.

Barnes snarls at Tony's rival with eyes gone dark, Natasha lets out a hiss reminding him of rattlesnakes and the two russian speakers pounce at the same time. If Clint and Steve weren't so attuned to their family and strong as hell, Killian would be sliced ribbons decorating the floor. All in all, a fairly restrained reaction. Peter's proud of Nat and Bucky for not killing the man on the spot. Makes a mental note to get them new punching bags and cover Clint and Steve's shifts should they need the extra hours.

Killian doesn't move from his spot when the room becomes alive with furious shouts of indignation and Peter has to admit it's impressive. But this is a child, and children respond best to the monsters hiding in the closet, not the ones standing in the light. So Peter thinks about the audacity this creature has, insulting his lover, criticising decades of hard work and dedication, diminishing their relationship and in the process implying that his fellow enforcers were just pieces of meat to satisfy lust, inadequate at their jobs. For to attempt to dishonor or belittle one enforcer meant questioning everyone's competency. Not only that, this scum thought Peter was nothing but a whore. He hadn't fought enhanced assassins just so an arrogant dick would take one look at him and dismiss him as a threat.

Peter doesn't raise a hand or growl or yell or shoot him. He could, the council would see it as fair. After all, Killian had insulted all aspects of Peter's life. Doing any of that wouldn't lead to Killian being beaten, though. And Peter wants him to submit. So Peter smiles and the Spider comes out to play.

By the time Tony arrives, his baby has two buttons undone and a single strand of hair out of place from where he stands in the ring. He knows an enraged Peter when he sees it.

The crowd parts for him, bowing slightly and falling quiet. Only the bosses held in high esteem get such a treatment and it's been years since the community behaved in such a way towards him. The Stark heir was arrogant, but he'd always preferred that the people's respect be shown in a different way, one more subtle.

The bowing reminded him too much of his father's reign, the silence that would engulf him as a child and choke the air out of his lungs with the pressure of Howard Stark's legacy. No matter where they went, the roar of nothing followed. Besides, he was always trying to remind the community that they were all equals. Tony was only in his position because of the people that chose him, the people with the actual power.

So for them to actually bow as low as possible and simply cease conversing, knowing how much Tony abhors the sight, it tells him just how deeply Killian fucked up.

By the hate found in Barnes' face and Nat's curled fist, his rival must have hit a little too close to home. But the man was still alive, leaning against a marble column. Which meant Peter, his genius lover, had somehow initiated a course of action that would lead to satisfaction for all those here. The mafia was made up of untamed creatures. For a hundred people to agree not to rip an intruder's throat when the man had so obviously comitted a heinous act, Peter must have pulled out the big guns.

He settles next to Steve, but all his enforcers surround him anyway. In fact, every person in their side of the room shifts closer. It warms his heart. He'll let them break Killian when this is done, show his appreciation for their care and protection.

Well. If Peter actually leaves something to break.

A body slides out of the ring, ends up at his feet. It's a man the size of Thor, someone living two cities over. The tattoos on his right hand are what clue Tony in. Peter's played fair. The guy will need all his teeth replaced and that scar will definitely make a lovely crisscross pattern on his face. Bruce and Strange are already there, dragging him to a corner filled with more groaning bodies and hard working nurses disinfecting wounds. Each man will showcase those scars proudly. They went against the Spider and lived to tell the tale with proof right on their bodies.

He counts ten. Turns to find Peter staring at him, expressionless face morphing into the one he's most familiar again. A grin confirms his suspicion; his darling isn't even sporting a bloody lip. The grin he gives in return appears instinctively, pride overflowing and resulting in Tony Stark beaming at the Spider. It's both unsettling and a relief. The community was used to a happy Peter so the interaction helped remind them who the Spider was. That familiar sense of comfort vanished because Jesus, Tony Stark was beaming.

"Feeling merciful, sweetheart? Giving them a minute is twenty times longer than usual." His tone is light, not wanting to imply Peter has gotten slow or rusty. Sure, it's been a while since his boyfriend was in the ring, but you don't offend the Spider when he's already in a bad mood.

Steve and Bucky tense up, eyeing Peter in case they need to fight him out of the ring. If he gets even more pissed, Killian's men don't stand a chance. Tony could stomach murder. Peter couldn't. The enhanced soldiers prefer the possibility of bruised ribs to Peter with a heavy conscience.

His boyfriend doesn't twitch and Tony thanks whatever entity exists for giving Peter some self control.

"Figured it'd be best I don't get the suit too dirty. May is always complaining about getting the blood stains out. It hurts her hands so I'm trying to help out. If I take the jacket off, the shirt will stain faster."

God, Peter could really pull at his heartstrings without meaning to. He falls in love with him a little more.

The eleventh man tries to catch Peter and tackle him to the ground. The kid just slides to the right, drops down, sweeps the guy off his feet and knocks him out with two punches. It's the loveliest thing Tony's fucking seen and he's thankful Jarvis is taking pictures. He settles the sunglasses onto his lapel, happy to let the A.I immortalize this moment from that vantage point.

"I'm gonna guess what's going on and you'll stop me if I'm wrong, right?" Peter nods and Tony is ridiculously happy for the chance to do this in front of Killian.

He glances at Nat, sizes up Barnes, reads Peter's posture and Steve's facial cues and just knows.

His father used to hate when his only child pointed at things before analysing them. Found it too mundane, or some shit like that. Tony makes sure to point at Killian with both index fingers.

"You were disrespectful to my people. That's common with you. They shouldn't take anyone's insults, but they can and they did. The council probably thinks they were exemplary, hell, Fury probably thinks they were the textbook definition of good. But you kept pushing. Just poking at their buttons. Because it's Peter in the ring, you're little stunt turned personal. You insulted him, his family, me. If it had been one of the others members, Peter would have cut you a nice scar. But tradition is tradition. Even if he could have challenged you, which he could have, Peter would have stepped aside in that case. The recipient of the insult should have a role in the fight. You pissed him off before I got here. Thought he was weak. The last person to be that naive learned how ridiculous that assumption was when Peter beat their ass."

Peter had knocked Tony flat on his back when he'd made a comment about frail sheltered boys not knowing how to fight. He hadn't seen the kid fight before that; hadn't processed the fact that soft looking Peter Parker was the menacing Spider. That was two years ago. Not a single soul has thought Peter weak since then. Until now.

"The law states your men can take your place against your rival. Which is honorable if you're at a disadvantage. Broken bones, flu, life handing you shit right before the day of the fight. It isn't really put in practice, though, because the council knows how hard it is for everyone to synchronize their schedules for a second round if there are problems. They plan weeks ahead of time to ensure participants are in perfect condition. You seem to be just fine. Putting your men in danger by having them take your place against Peter just for the hell of it, just so you survive, sounds like what an idiot boss would do. If you had courage, you'd fight Peter. You'd fight me, but I doubt you're man enough."

The taunting does its work. Tony knows Peter can just knock him out before Killian even gets close. He could switch with his lover, but Peter needed to establish his reputation once again, make it impossible for any to doubt his abilities. By saying Killian is a coward, the Stark heir challenges his claim of being good enough for the throne. No mafia member would accept his reign if they knew Killian lacked bravery. Well. They already knew this, it just needed to be finalized so the council could have it all in record.

The man has just witnessed what happened when Peter wished for destruction and justice. He could get in the ring, be knocked out and none would laugh. The community would talk about it, but they never mocked the loser. Killian would be seen as an incompetent asshole that at least had courage. If he refused…

Every Stark enforcer/member grinned when the peacock snarled and entered the ring. Until a butterfly knife gleamed and slashed through wool, cotton and flesh.

It feels odd, being stabbed. You'd think the cold blade would send goosebumps everywhere, but Peter doesn't register the cold. Would he be cold if the blade was bigger? Or if Killian hadn't been holding the knife for an hour? He knows his reaction is ridiculous. Who the fuck was wondering about the temperature when they had a knife piercing their abdomen?

Although, it could be the shock. Yeah, he remembers Bruce's lessons on the effects of stabbing. Natasha had also reminded him of the shock, so at least that's a normal symptom. What isn't normal are his other ... responses to being stabbed.

"Are you gonna need this back?" is asked sweetly, nearly sickly so. The Spider has a thing for contrasting aesthetics . Being a little shit while a knife is rearranging his intestines does not sound common, but Peter takes pleasure in behaving oddly.

Killian gapes at him, mouth wide and eyes wider. He shakes his head, careful not to jostle Peter too much. Not like it matters much. There's a metal arm dragging him to safety, sliding over the ring's edge and onto a stretcher. Bucky is being as gentle as possible, he knows. It still feels horrible to move and have the knife shift in time with his breathing. Nat is there to rip open the suit, nails clearing the area around the intrusion and Doctor Strange appearing with antiseptic and everything Peter needs. He loves the Doctor.

And yes, definitely in shock. As he's being wheeled away to the med corner, there's a roar similar to that of a lion and Peter catches sight of Tony leaping at Killian. His clothes, jacket, vest, shirt and wife beater lay in a heap by Steve. Tony's expensive shoes are guarded by Sam. The shoemaker was a nice woman. She bought him a churro once. After that, his boyfriend would always buy his shoes at her store. Peter appreciated Tony helping out the little people. It was nice being what society thought was a bad guy while not actually being a bad guy. Like capitalist loving jerks like Brad. The room's spinning a bit and oh look, sparkly lights.

Afterwards, Jarvis shows him pictures of Killian, explains how the man landed in prison five days after the fight. The council had convened with their counterparts from five different cities. All had tales of Killian's horrible behavior. It wasn't hard to call in a few favors and dump him in jail. It was a bit hard to recognize him, though. Tony had gone berserk and no self respecting person was going into the ring to drag him off his rival.

Killian played dirty, so his boyfriend had first claim to fight while Peter was being treated. Steve and Bucky only hauled him away when five minutes had passed, not wanting their boss to have more blood on his hands.

Peter himself only remembers the dull sting of a needle meant to calm him, Nat's gentle cooing and Sam wiping away the sweat near a disheveled curl. Bruce and Strange had murmured assurances during all of it, careful to work on Peter away from Tony's eyes. If Iron Man thought he'd lose his lover, Killian would've been dead in two minutes.

He'd woken up a few hours later, Tony sitting by his side and sobbing. His boyfriend was sniffling as he wrapped Peter's hand in bandages. Apart from the new scar on his stomach, only his knuckles were slightly bruised. Even so, the mafia's most efficient leader was tenderly applying antibiotic cream to the tiny nicks, letting enough space between bandage and skin for the area to breathe. Tony had never once been violent with him, but Peter thinks this is the first time he's seen his boyfriend be so gentle.

The angle was odd and uncomfortable with him being unable to bend much at the waist. That didn't stop the legendary Spider from kissing Iron Man softly, barely there whispers filling the centimetres between them.

"I love you, Tony. And I'd do it all over again for you. I love you, I love you, I love you 3000.

Alright, here we go! My mind associated Killian's body with Yinsen's name and I've no idea why, but here's the correct version.

[gulfcoldtransport]

Refrigerated Truck For Rental Companies in Dubai | Gulf Cold Transport

Refrigerated Transport Dubai

In addition, they are large-capacity vehicles, which is why a large amount of food and products can be transported.

At Gulf Cold Transport we offer you refrigerated trucks in Sharja of various models. If you are looking for one, don't hesitate to trust the best.

Big companies choose Frozen truck for rent in Dubai

                           At present, it is estimated that only 15% of small businesses opt for renting services. However, more than 68% of large companies do so because, in addition to being a comfortable service, it is very profitable and economical for them. One of the main advantages of renting is that 100% of your spending can be deducted from the income tax return or in the corporation tax. Therefore, even if your business is more modest, you should not stop evaluating an option that, as you can see, is the favorite of many large companies due to the economic advantages it brings them.

Premium vehicles Freezer truck

                           On the other hand, in Gulf Cold Transport rentals there are no differences between the vehicles that we sell, rent or hire through renting: all of them are new or pre-owned vehicles, which have all the necessary features to carry out refrigerated transport with total quality. If you have a restaurant or a catering company, check out this option that can be very beneficial. Vehicle substitution Refrigerated truck Our renting service also offers complete vehicle maintenance, including a replacement vehicle in the event of a breakdown as well as a guarantee for the entire period of the contract.

Change, cancellation, and right to purchase Freezer truck in Dubai

                              And if you still need more reasons to try this option, you should know that the renting service does not force you to use the same vehicle during the entire contracted period, but that you can change the type of vehicle group at any time, in addition to canceling the service or have the right to purchase once you have completed the rental contract.

Refrigerated truck rental, we know that one of the great challenges that companies like ours have to face is to change the mentality of many SMEs that still do not launch themselves to enjoy the economic, fiscal, and logistical advantages that renting services have.

Undoubtedly, for small businessmen and self-employed workers, the option of renting chiller vans is very positive if we consider that they will avoid paying insurance, registration, taxes, maintenance, repairs ... If your business needs this type of vehicle, why don't you dare to try this modality? Call us!

Refrigerated truck For each product in Sharjah

                            It should be noted that not all vehicles are suitable for transporting perishable goods since they must maintain the temperatures that they establish so that the properties of the food remain safe and suitable for consumption. For this reason and based on the rules we can differentiate different types of transport vehicles:

Isothermal Chiller truck: vehicle whose body is built with insulating walls, including doors, floor, and roof, which limits the exchange of heat between the interior and the exterior.

Refrigerated vehicle: an isothermal vehicle that, thanks to the fact that it has a cold source, makes it possible to lower the temperature inside the empty box, and then to maintain it for an average outside temperature of 30 ° C to -20 ° C as a maximum.

Freezer truck for rent in Sharjah: chiller vehicle that incorporates a cold segregation device, and allows, with an average outside temperature of 30 ° C, to reduce the temperature inside the empty box and to keep it permanently between 12 ° C and -20 ° C, this depends on the type of vehicle. Calorific vehicle: isothermal vehicle equipped with a device that generates heat, and that allows the temperature inside the empty box to be raised and then maintained for at least twelve hours, without refueling at a practically constant value and not less than 12 ° C.

The conformity control of special vehicles used in the international transport of perishable goods must be done before they are put into service and periodically thereafter.

The importance of refrigerated trucks in Dubai

                            Many times, you have heard it but you do not know what a refrigerated truck is. It is a closed box model that is refrigerated, as its name suggests, and keeps the merchandise inside at a low temperature. Although there are different systems, the simplest consists of the incorporation of specific ice for this.

Just as we cannot live without a refrigerator to maintain and preserve the good condition of our food, we cannot do without a refrigerated truck in Dubai that allows us to transport products over long distances in UAE. To prevent the ice from melting inside the freezer truck, condensed and refrigerated nitrogen is used inside a cylinder. There is a valve that releases the steam and thus also manages to cool both the container and the food itself.

Refrigerated truck for rent in Abu Dhabi

                           In refrigerated trucks, it is allowed to regulate the temperature so that, although there is a temperature of 25 or 40ºC outside, inside there may be temperatures of up to - 40ºC, although it is usual for it to range between - 35 and 22ºC. Refrigerated trucks seek to keep the cargo cold throughout the trip, which is why the merchandise must enter the truck already refrigerated, avoiding sudden temperature changes.

Through these vehicles we can transport fresh food from one point to another in the territory, maintaining the properties we want and supplying with efficiency and professionalism.

Advantages of our refrigerated vehicle rental system

Our refrigerated truck rental service in UAE has become one of the most demanded by our clients as it adapts much better to their needs and their pockets. But if you are still not very clear if it is worthwhile to carry out this type of contracting, perhaps this post can clarify your ideas since in it we tell you all the advantages of resorting to the renting of refrigerated trucks. Thus, you will have enough information to be able to opt for this or another of the modalities available in freezer truck rental.

[anotheronechicagobog]

The Crackship Sails To Molly’s-I’m Not A Nurse - Rheese - Connor Rhodes x Sarah Reese

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

A/N: My second Halloween fic, and my first Rheese fic, hope you guys like it!

Warnings: swearing, mention of drugs, mention of how Halloween has been oversexualized, Protective!Ethan, seriously he threatens him and it’s a little intense

Sarah used to love Halloween. Her favourite nanny, Katya, used to be a seamstress and so she would hand make Sarah’s costumes. Sarah had loved it so much that she’d actually gotten the older woman to teach her how to sew, something that came in handy later in life for suturing, and she had been making her own costumes since Katya left to pursue another career. But as she got older new problems arose. Starting at fourteen she was expected to dress in... Revealing costumes. And Sarah did not like that, first of all, it was disgusting to expect women to dress in ‘slutty’ costumes, and second, it was appalling that the expectation was pressured on them so young. So the magic of Halloween she’d loved as a kid shattered, she didn’t even dress up for the holiday anymore unless it was for a costume party where she knew it would be appreciated. That Halloween, she was working in the ED. Even worse, it was the night shift. That meant the usual hell of calling time of death and cranky nurses, while also dealing with drunk morons who use Halloween as an excuse to fuck shit up.

Most of the usual ED staff wasn’t scheduled that night, they were here during the day which had been bad enough, but Sarah, Ethan, Connor, and Ava were all working doubles. Ethan was still avoiding April after their breakup and Noah was helping move her stuff out of their apartment that night before heading to Molly’s, Connor had requested it for some unknown reason, and Ava stayed because she and her girlfriend had gotten into a bad fight but she was using a patient’s touch-and-go condition as an excuse. Sarah downed her sixth coffee before stepping back out into the pits of hell. Connor wasn’t in the ED, probably went back up to the cardiology wing to help with Ava’s patient. Their relationship had improved drastically when Ava figured out she’s gay. It wasn’t something that was accepted in South Africa so she repressed it, even in Chicago, until she met Emily Foster. Ethan was sitting behind a computer with nurses bustling behind him, glaring at his computer screen. Sarah suspected it had less to do with whatever he was reading and more to do with whatever Doris was gossiping about right behind him.

Doris was an excellent nurse. Intelligent, experienced, and sympathetic when necessary. Unfortunately her sympathy did not extend to the other staff at MED whenever they were going through something gossip-worthy, read: deeply personal and often heartbreaking. Sarah had a basic amount of respect for her, but it didn’t expand past more than that since she heard her call Natalie the ‘ice princess’. The woman lost her husband and then found out she was pregnant a month later, had to deal with her mother-in-law constantly, all while continuing her fellowship, and Doris couldn’t say anything nice about her? And while she was right behind her. Another flaw of Doris’, she rarely kept stock of where anyone was in the ED at any given time so she usually ended up supplying MED’s gossip mill right in front of whoever it was about. It was distasteful, really.

“Dr. Reese, incoming, you’re going to treatment three.” 

“What do we have?” Sarah’s eyes began wandering them patient’s body, taking mental notes, as she listened to the debrief from Sylvie Brett and Gianna Mackey. “Male, 24, laceration on the forehead, we stopped the bleeding, but he lost consciousness once at the scene and three times on th way over. He was in a bar fight.”

“Okay, transfer on my count, 1, 2, 3. Good, thanks guys, be careful tonight.”

“You too, Reese.” And with that, the two paramedics left leaving her with a drunk patient and a couple of nurses. Sarah went through her usual checklist of examinations based on the physical exam, questions answered by the patient, and information from the paramedics. “Can you tell me your name?”

“My name’s Brad, am I terr yous anytingting yous wans tas know.”

“Well Brad, my name is Dr. Reese, does anything hurt?”

“Non, non, nona, yous a nurse, ot a-”

“I assure you Brad, I am a doctor, now can you please tell me if you’re feeling any pain and where?”

“Nursh, yous nursh. Where you fish nets? Ans I wants yous boobies.”

“Okay, let’s get him to CT and run a tox screen, his bandage is good for now and the wound is clear, I’ll stitch him up after we run the tests.”

“SOW ME YOUS BOOBIES!”

“... Are there any male nurses available?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of Reese’s night went like that, drunken fools, high morons, and an absolutely swamped ED. Brad shockingly did not have a concussion, and was refusing to let Sarah stitch him up and send him out. She would have just let him sign out AMA, but his tox screen came back with copious amounts of alcohol and ecstasy in his system, so she couldn’t under good conscience let him sign out and leave without the proper treatment in his state. So he was moaning and groaning about... Everything and kept demanding a ‘real’ doctor. “Hey Sarah.” She turned to face him, her shoulder relaxing as she signed in relief at the sound of his voice. A beaming smile graced his features that immediately made Sarah’s day and she really wished that they could just stay like that for the rest of shift. Or eternity, either would do.

“Hi Connor, how are things up in cardiology?”

“Good, good, they don’t really need me up there so I came back down here. Were you scheduled for just the ED tonight or neuro aswell?”

“Just the ED for tonight, I’ve been putting in more hours up there recently so Ms. Goodwin suggested a couple of doubles to catch up.”

“Ah, hey have you seen the movie ‘Knives Out’ yet?” Connor had tensed slightly, and was giving an odd amount of attention to an old coffee mug sitting on the nurse’s station, and a nervous look drained onto his face as he glanced between Sarah and literally anything else. Honestly it bummed Srah out a little, working with Connor was the only silver lining she had while working the graveyard shift, and she’d be lying if she said that her heart didn’t hurt a little everytime Connor looked less than ecstatic. She’d also be lying if she said she wasn’t head over heels in love with him.

“No, I just haven’t had the time! I have to keep running out of the room anytime my housemates talk about the movie so I don’t get any spoilers.”

“I still haven’t seen it either, maybe we could make a day of it, grab some dinner at that Thai place you like and then head over to that theatre by Navy Pier to watch it?”

“You know what Connor, that sounds like a great idea.” And just like that, Connor perked up, his smile was back and so was Sarah’s.

“Really? I mean-”

“Nursh! NURSH! NURSH REESH!” Connor cocked his eyebrow in annoyance un the direction of Brad’s room. Both at the interruption and at the language the man was using.“I keep telling him I’m not a nurse but he just won’t listen to me. And he’s in detox right now so we can’t discharge him yet.”

“Do you want some back up?”

“No, I’m good Connor, but thanks.” So Connor stayed in place as she drifted over to treatment three, his lips pursed together in worry. “Reese’ll be fine, man, she can take care of herself. And did I overhear incorrectly, or did you FINALLY ask Sarah Reese, third year ED and neuro resident, out on a date?”

“... Shut up, Choi.” All the other man could do was let out a boisterous laugh, while Connor didn’t really appreciate that all the attention was on them now, or that he was being mocked for finally addressing his feelings, Connor had to admit, he hadn’t seen Choi laugh in a while, let alone so sincerely. So he cracked an embarrassed smile and chuckled along with him. “I’m happy that I won’t have to see you looking after like a lost puppy, but in all seriousness, Reese is like a little sister to me. I you hurt her I’ll string you up by your toes and make you eat your own kidney.” Choi’s eyes had gone completely devoid of amusement, they were hollow and dead serious, at that moment Choi looked how he did whenever he had to think about his time overseas. A pang of fear fluttered through his chest. “I’ll- ahm- I’ll keep that in mind.” Connor forced himself to break eye contact and Choi nodded definitively. The tension still hadn’t dissipated by the time Sarah got back. “You know, I used to love Halloween. I used to handmake all of y costumes. Now? Hate. It. Women are expected to dress in ‘slutty’ costumes, and everytime I work the day of, before, or after Halloween I get idiots who will ask why I’m not in my ‘proper uniform’, and some more idiots who are far to handsy. I just can’t wait for this shift to be over.” 

“I take it Brad is being a little too friendly, then?”

“Yeah, I just have to keep thinking ‘only one more hour, only one more hour’.”

“And you used to make your own costumes? They must have been great!”

“They were! When I was twelve I was Medusa, fourteen I was one of the Beauxbatons from ‘Harry Potter’, Poison Ivy when I was sixteen, I had a lot of awesom costumes over the years but those were my top three. Oh! I saved pictures to my phone, hold on.”

“Well why don’t you still dress up? You clearly love it, and those costumes are amazing.”

“Other people have certain expectations for Halloween, as I mentioned before, and I started to get a lot of negative attention for it. So unless I’m going to a Halloween party that hasn’t been thrown by horny teenagers masquarading as adults, I just don’t dress up anymore.”

“I’m sorry Sarah. It’s a bit too late for this year, I think you’ve inspired me to throw a Halloween party next year.”

“Connor, you don’t have to do that just for me.”

“I know, which is why I’ll also be doing it for me. I used to like Halloween too, but like you said, it just gets so... Pervy when you grow up. I think it’d be really nice to have a Halloween where I can get excited about costumes again, it used to be my favourite part, too.”

“I’ll right, well I’ll keep my calendar open. For that one day, three hundred and sixty-four days from now.”

“That’s great. I loo forward to it.”

“And as for our ‘Knives Out’ date, would you be free for it tonight?”

“Uh...” Connor was taken aback, he had asked her out, yes, but he wasn’t sure if it actually came across as a date. And he was too nervous to ask himself because he really liked Sarah, she had become one of his best friends and she truly had carbed out her own spot in Connor’s heart, something he welcomed. “Unless... You didn’t aske me out and I just and I just made everything super awkward...” Connor could see Sarah start to internally chastise herself, so he gently grabbed her elbow before she could walk away, hope blooming inside of him. “I did ask you out on a date, and tonight sounds perfect.”

“Really?” Sarah smiled up at him and Connor couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he did to be lucky enough to have her in his life. “Yeah, really.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you later tonight, Connor.”

“Yeah, you will.” And twenty minutes later, after both of their shifts had ended and they were free to go, they left smiling, excited for the future and not despising a mutually memorable holiday as much as they did going in.

[dayseternal-blog]

Summary: Naruto and Hinata join the Twelve Guardian Ninja of the Land of Fire's Daimyo.  (But not really.)  Their mission is to smoke out the rat among them who's selling political secrets to insurgents, while making sure the other Guardians don't figure them out.

Neither can tell when their acting became so convincing.

A fake relationship canon-divergent AU.

Rated E for eventual shameless smut.

Written for @naruhina2020 March - Bodyguard Theme

Chapter 1: Introduction: Motives

She’s called for a mission at an expected time, about 9:00 in the morning, rather than some odd hour of the night.  Whatever it is, it must not be a real emergency.

He uses the rooftops to get to the Tower, as is his preferred route these days, rather than get caught up in conversations with groups of giggling girls.

She enters the Sixth Hokage’s office, surprised to see that Shino is not already there before her.

He makes his way through the hall, wondering who he’ll be partnered with, or if he’ll have a partner at all.

“He never knocks,” Kakashi laments, and right on time, the door swings open.

He excitedly wonders aloud, “Who am I working-”

She honestly can’t remember the last time she worked with Naruto.  Their skills are too similar.  Close combat.  Sensory.  And he’s simply too good to need anyone with the same specialties as him.

“Hinata!  You’re my partner this time?!  This is going to be great!”  He’s not going to fight over stupid things like he does with Sakura, Kiba, and Ino.  He’s not going to be overworked with Lee and Tenten, who are both used to a level of workouts that no one else has been conditioned to enjoy.  He’s not going to be creeped out by Shino.

Shikamaru’s his usual partner.

But Shikamaru’s been out on a ridiculously long mission.

“It must be a tough one if I’m partnering with Hinata,” he casually observes.

She doesn’t say it out loud, but obviously, if Naruto’s on the job, the mission must actually be some kind of emergency.  A or...S-rank. For Naruto to say that something’s going to be tough...

“Yes,” Kakashi starts, hands folding together, lackadaisical attitude turning serious.  “An extended S-rank.  Estimated for a month or longer.”

They kneel before the Fire Daimyo, officially pledging their loyalties to a man who’s never known mud on his cheeks, never seen a comrade fall, perhaps never even broken a sweat in his life.  Yet somehow he carries far more political clout than their own Hokage.

Not our Hokage, Hinata corrects herself.  Or at least, she needs to pretend that she’s no longer a shinobi of Konoha.

They’re Guardians now.

On paper and in the assessing eyes of their new peers, their abilities and bodies belong to the Daimyo, to fight and protect this leader with their lives.

She can feel their judgement boring into the top of her head.  Unlike Naruto, whose reputation precedes him, she’s often underestimated.  Small.  The only kunoichi in the room.  She’ll be tested in some way by the others.  But she’ll do whatever it takes to gain the other Guardians’ trust, and, eventually, smoke out the conspirator among them.

“Uzumaki Naruto.  Hyuuga Hinata,” the Fire Daimyo addresses.

They stand at his call.

“Starting from today, you no longer serve just the interests of Konoha.  You are now shinobi of the Land of Fire.  You lay down your lives for me, you lay down your lives for the entire country.”

In the corner of her sharp vision, she can see Naruto bristling.

It’s no secret that Naruto has never held high regard for this man, whose decisions did very little to help during and after the war, who refused to fund Sakura’s mental health initiative for children, who seems to always defer to the loudest voice in the room.  

If he could, he would tell the daimyo to stick his little speech up his ass.  But he can’t fail, here, now, already, only a few minutes into their undercover mission.  Kakashi made it a point to make clear that he didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but himself...but that he still had to show some level of respect to their political leader.  While they’re out here in the capitol, the daimyo is their only contact to Konoha, the only one who knows of this charade.

After all, he commissioned them.

The reasoning being that the daimyo didn’t want to stir distrust among the remaining Guardians.  They had already caught two informants on their own.  Morale among the rest was high now.

But the daimyo had suspicions that there might be another hiding among them.  Rather than having them turn against each other, he decided that this was an outside job.

And if this man fails to make a good decision in every other area of being a leader, Naruto needs to make sure that at least in this, they do not fail.

Failure could mean a coup d’etat.

Civil War when the rest of the shinobi world is at peace.

They can’t let that happen.

“Your accomplishments and track records in your career thus far have marked you as the strongest and most loyal to our nation.  You join the ranks of the most elite shinobi in not just the country, but in the entire world.  Here you stand among the greatest, and your names will forever be remembered for your service to me.”

Hinata keeps her face placid, not difficult at all for a Hyuuga.

She can only hope that Naruto’s doing the same.

But based on the furrowed brow of one of the Guardians, who steps forward, holding the branded waistcloths out to them, she can deduce that Naruto’s not doing a very good job hiding his thoughts.

They take the waistcloths, tying them on in the same way as the others.

The kanji for Fire emblazoned on their hip, meant to announce their status.

It’s a recognition that neither of them need, but Hinata knows she can’t ignore its meaning.

The ten Guardians who stand lined up before them, gathered from across the country, really are the best, on par with at least her own skills, and needing to take down even just one of them qualifies as an S-rank mission.

They haven’t even left the main office yet when four of the Guardians who were meant to show them the ins-and-outs of the administrative buildings turn them into an empty hall.

“So you think you’re better than us?” snarls one, a bulky man by the name of Geiiro.

“They’re Konoha shinobi.  What did you expect?” laughs Tacchi, his pretty features marred by a long, raised scar cutting through the side of his head.  “Konoha’s Hero, Saviour of this World,” he sneers.  “It’s all gone to his head.”

Naruto holds his tongue.  It was his mistake to not hide his dislike of the old man.  These men are not his enemies.

At least not right now.

Geiiro huffs, “If you have no interest in being out here in the real world, then run back to your ‘hidden’ village.”

Naruto raises a brow at that.  He didn’t know that that’s how the outside villages see Konoha.  But he knows they suffered damages just as much from the war, if not moreso.  And they don’t pledge the same prided allegiance to their country’s Hokage.

If they want to rant, he’ll listen.  He’ll learn.

The tallest of the group, Eizan, steps forward, cocking his head, eyes trailing over her.  “And what about the Hyuuga princess?”

They both tense.

She expected to be tested, but not quite so soon.

“So it’s true what they say.  For you to have accepted a position here…you were replaced by your younger sister,” murmurs Hukukane.  He stands in the back, hands on his hips like a casual observer.

Like a long-range fighter.

She doesn’t care about her sister taking the helm for the clan.  She hasn’t cared about that in a long time.  But she pays careful attention to the men before her, their formation, their “relaxed” stances.

Was this planned from the start?

“So she’s trying to prove her worth to her clan here?” Eizan laughs, earning smirks from the others.  “Pretty little princesses should play at home-”

Her eyes flash up to his, just as his hand grabs at her chin.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!”  Naruto’s rasengan is only centimeters from Eizan’s chest.

The warping chakra is close enough to exert the pressure of a fist pushing against his skin.  

He glares furiously at Eizan, even as the edges of his senses tingle at the knowledge that the others have taken on their own cautionary stances.  “She doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone!”

“Naruto-kun,” she tries, as calmly as she can, hoping she has just enough force in her voice to remind him to stay calm, too.

But Naruto doesn’t budge.  If he doesn’t make a point now, then what else might they do to her?  Eleven men and only Hinata?  Why aren’t there any other women in this group?

It’s just another reason to hate the current daimyo.

“So that really is why he’s here,” Hukukane interrupts.

“Yeah,” Eizan agrees, frowning at the jutsu threatening to burst a hole in his body.

“We all have reasons to be here,” Geiiro says.  “For us, not part of Konoha’s shinobi system, this is a steady job.  Money to send home to our families.”

Naruto reluctantly turns his attention to him.  But he doesn’t back down.

“Money for my younger siblings,” Tacchi adds on.

“I send money home for my wife’s aging parents,” Hukukane continues.  “Believe us, we don’t like the daimyo’s decisions much either.  But he’ll pay us to protect him.  So long as we keep him alive, we have income.”

Naruto turns his attention back to Eizan.  What their stories have to do with this guy touching Hinata, he still hasn’t figured out.  But he’ll let Eizan explain.

“I never had a family.  The Guardians are my family.”

That’s something Naruto can understand.  Still doesn’t excuse the guy from touching and insulting Hinata.

“My family has no room for secrets.”  This time Eizan’s eyes gain a fire that wasn’t there before.  “What are two Konoha shinobi doing here?”

Hinata answers quickly, knowing these men are certainly sharper than they initially seemed.  This confrontation was all a ploy to get them to reveal themselves.  “We wanted to gain insight on affairs outside of Konoha.  Our actions are limited within the village’s walls, we’re under constant surveillance.  We only interact with other Konoha citizens and the occasional visitors or people we meet on missions.”

“For a Hyuuga to say that, certainly that makes sense,” Hukukane responds.  “We figured that.  They say clan lives are stuffy.”

“Naruto-kun,” Hinata tries again.

He lets his rasengan disperse.  He lets a second pass before he finally steps back, closer to Hinata than before.

“Relax, Naruto,” Eizan starts.  “None of us are stupid enough to touch your woman.”

She can’t help the reactive heat that touches her cheeks, even though she knows the obvious implication completely flew over Naruto’s head.

A glance over, and she can see only a contemplative distrust on his face.

“Sealed a goddess, ended the world war, master of the Kyuubi, next in line to be Hokage?  We couldn’t think of any logical reason for someone like you to leave Konoha to join us,” Eizan continues, suddenly conversational.

“But love can make even someone like Naruto make irrational decisions,” Geiiro barks out with a laugh.  “You two don’t have to keep your relationship a secret.”

“What?” Naruto asks, trying to catch up with the shift in atmosphere.

Hinata flushes even worse than before.  She thinks to correct them, but that would only earn worse scrutiny on their reasons for joining the Guardians.

They can’t let them know they’re here on a mission.  Any one of them could be another spy for the insurgents.

So...maybe she needs to play along.  Even if it’s mortifyingly embarrassing.

She just has to make sure Naruto understands, too.

She swallows her own fears.  And steps up to him.

She has to choose her words carefully.  She still doesn’t know what abilities the other Guardians might have.

She closes her hands around her mouth, leaning in toward his ear, knowing it’ll look intimate to the others.

“Hinata?” he asks, finding her pressing against him.

“They know we’re lovers,” she whispers.

“W-what?”  He steps away, eyes wide.  “Hinata-”

She grabs his hand with both of hers, keeping him from backing away too far.  “It’s okay.  It’s better if they know.”  She looks hopefully into his eyes.  Hoping that he catches on.  Hoping he doesn’t say anything in denial.

He just stares at her, mouth wide open, attention shifting down to her hands firmly around his.  She’s acting really touchy with him.  She said they’re lovers when they’re not.  Hinata doesn’t usually act like this, so why-

“You really don’t have to hide it.  We don’t operate on the same rules as Konoha,” Tacchi explains.

She nods, pretending to agree with him.  She blushes harder with what she wants to say next.  But she has to make him understand.  “Naruto-kun,” she calls, as sweetly as possible.  It sounds so embarrassing.  Like she’s really trying to catch his attention.

He looks back up at her, eyes growing wider still at her flirtatious tone of voice.

“This way, maybe we can spend more time together...”  She looks as meaningfully as she can into his eyes.  “...alone,” she adds on, in a whisper.

The other Guardians start laughing and hooting.

She’s flaming red, she knows, she doesn’t remember the last time she felt so hot.

He can see the vibrant color on her fair skin, but he can also feel the searing heat pressing into him from her hands.  He realizes she’s incredibly embarrassed.  She’s not under some genjutsu or trying to play a trick on him.  She’s pretending.  So that they can meet to talk about their mission.  “A-aah, yeah!!” he stutters out, embarrassment belatedly catching up with him.  “W-whatever you want, Hinata!”

“He’s whipped!” hollers Geiiro.  “Poor boy’s got it bad!”

She smiles in relief, trying to ignore the teasing of their new comrades.

He looks down, suddenly very, very conscious of her hands around his.

She lets go of him quickly.

“You two can hold hands!” Geiiro continues, laughing harder and harder.

Hinata shakes her head furiously.  She got her point across, and she needn’t embarrass either of them any further.

And by Naruto’s blushing grimace, she knows she really embarrassed him.

[leam1983]

It’s the end of the work week and, well...

I’m having thoughts on labor culture.

My father was born in 1958. He lived as the son of an absent father of five children who had no ability to truthfully express his love and care, and who instead chose to bury himself in work as a means to display his commitment. My paternal grandfather made and sold mattressees and died quite young of a cancer strain that today would’ve seemed benign. He was described as a hard worker, either up to his neck in his business or wanting just a scant few hours per day to himself. It made an aloof lover out of him and a distant father - who still loved his wife and children to bits but who felt emotionally castrated in a sense, as were men of the era.

The family consensus is that his work killed him.

My father is now 65 and survived a bout of Non-Hodgkinian Lymphoma. The oncologist and anyone with half a brain agreed that stress was the culprit. Early on, Dad had the family as an excuse for his tendency to overwork. He had to provide for us, after all, and garnish my mother’s meagre savings. All she has is her government-issued pension plan, while my father does have his own pension as a retiree of the City of Montreal’s Real-Estate Appraisal service. Considering, he felt obligated to pull a heavier load to bring in more, so they’d have better investment opportunities. Later on, he kept working out of a sense of fealty and attachment to his division, breaking out of retirement during the pandemic to join the work-from-home team. He wanted to help techs and city officials find ways to bring more of the traditionally snail-mail-based parts of the system online so the city’s Land Management service wouldn’t be paralyzed by COVID-19. What was supposed to be a single month turned into four, which turned into twelve.

By the end, they were begging him to stay on the team and to pull longer hours. We’re talking twenty hours per day, in some particularly grueling stretches. That means being logged in by breakfast and scarfing bagels down with Urban Design techs on Zoom instead of your own family, or having supper with your boss because she needs a play-by-play of the situation to stave off her executive anxiety.

Long story short, I didn’t see Dad much during the first wave. His reasoning was that he’d eventually stop, pool all this cash, and chuck it into his and Mom’s Registered Retirement Savings Account - with maybe an extra two thou or so in case the country reopened enough for their postponed trip to Cuba to take place.

Guess what? His zona flared up and he ended up with odd, shingly bumps along his scalp which to this day the local dermatologist grimaces at and tentatively has us dab with cortisone cream.

Mom, though? She’s a retired and registered nurse with a self-negating streak and a chronic propensity to undervalue her own physical ailments. Someone who quite literally understands the pain of busted hips on a clinical level because she was trained in Gerontology - and also someone who refuses to schedule an appointment with her GP and who inexplicably self-medicates with white wine.

As for me, I’m a 37 year-old man with a paycheck I consider massive with its meagre six bucks above the minimum-wage threshold - someone who chose to shack in with his folks until the current crisis ends and who therefore has a history of a single, willingly terminated apartment lease that originally began in the Planned Housing market. The apartment I want is basically a Barbie doll house for adults, a gleaming fantasy I’ll never have enough capital to touch unless I feel like trying my hand with criminal applications of my skills. The apartment I can get right now is a shithole, and I have the audacity to think I deserve a shithole that at least wasn’t someone’s former cockroach den.

Now here’s the kicker: I value my sanity and my health. I know my mental stamina levels and I know from experience that after working seven-point-five hours per day with the occasionally shorter Friday, I’ve found my limit. I could invest more if I worked more, yes, and I’m already in a better position than my parents, retirement-wise. I’ll never be rich, but I’m already set to be comfortable, provided I don’t spend my golden years trying to make it as an unsponsored TechTuber or anything else that’s equally ludicrous.

Where that’s a problem is in the toxicity this is generating. See, I have the gall to slide my daily schedule later so I can start at an hour that fits my biological clock and ends at an hour where I’m at my most creative. That means the folks saw me spending my pandemic mornings on Animal Crossing while Dad was trying to wrangle Excel spreadsheets for non-tech-savvy fellow Boomers while preventing the dog from eating his meeting notes. That means they guzzled vinho verde like it was Kool-Aid after seven while I made sure to find more concrete means to distance myself from work - ideally ones that didn’t involve functional alcoholism.

Naturally, what was bound to happen, happened: Dad soon spent his evenings calling me shiftless or “unwilling to commit”, while I was stuck watching him miss all the cues his stressed-out body were sending him. We already had Trump’s last desperate months and a global plague to handle, I really didn’t want my work to turn into more of a nuisance than it already is. I already love the people I work for and hate what I do (repeating the family cycle, it seems), but I’ve at least decided to give myself ample Me time every single day. 

I’ve paired that with smaller, if consistent portfolio investments, along with a few new habits I wanted to get into to stay saner. Dad pulls crosswords or plays competitive chess in the wee hours, while I usually lay down to meditate around midnight and fall asleep by 1 AM at the latest. I’m half-expecting my father to pull a Tyler Durden and to sneer at me, at some point. “Self-care is masturbation,” he’d probably say.

Looking at classifieds for rentals, it’s obvious that the entire system is predicated on abuse. Work yourself down to the therapist’s office, right down to the fucking bone, and you just might earn a half-decent retirement because nobody’s taught you to invest incrementally. Nope, Society seems to say, you’re supposed to buy, buy and buy some more, until you realize you have ten years left to start from scratch!

I remember Dad’s face on my eighteenth birthday. “Why would you want a Disability Care Savings Account, Brain? You just turned into a legal adult by Canadian standards - you’re in no rush, right?”

I told him the real gift I wanted for my birthday, that day, was a ride to the family’s Financial Investments counsel. I pulled up the PDFs I’d printed out and filled and brought them over. From then on, if I dropped a penny in my nest-egg, Ottawa would drop another one. If my share grew, so did the government’s. In the twenty-odd years since, it’s expanded exponentially.

Dad thought I’d done this to have a big cushion by the time I’d retire. Mom thought I’d done this in case my disability worsened and I started requiring equipment or physical assistance. Honestly, my dumb, if slightly prescient eighteen year-old self figured I’d rather spend my time reading or playing video games than working. I knew I’d need something to help cushion my admittedly low career-related ambitions. I might throw several thousands at a new computer every seven to eight years, but that’s because I’ve saved them up for just as long, little by little. I have no vices beyond what sillicon offers and what you’d find in the pages of a book and don’t exactly need a big ‘ol, stonkin’ humidor stuffed with conoisseur stogies.

I have a shoebox with a poked-out Ziploc bag and a sponge, with a handful of joints and a few Santa Anas I got off of a buyer’s pool from work. Five of us occasional chair-bar goons pooled cash together on Cigar Chief and cushioned prices with a single, shared and massive order. I’m nowhere near rich, but assuming the housing market can catch its breath eventually, I’ll be able to live modestly - with one or two markers of occasional luxury I’ll have chosen.

I have a shittier job than my father has had and I’ve chosen to be happier than him. It’s just sad that the usual response elevates overwork as the supposedly one, true way to leave a mark in society.

No, Dad. I don’t want to die while my own cells eat me alive, I want to die blazed out of my fucking mind, happy because I’ll have had time to enjoy my friends’ company and to finally make some sense out of Kerouac’s Subterraneans or to figure out what the fuck is going on in Joyce’s Illiad. I’ll die crusty as shit and fulfilled as a Pop Culture jockey, because I’ll have either finished Persona 5: Golden in my lifetime or I’ll have watched the entirety of the MCU’s output before Disney finally manages to kill their golden goose.

I want to die decades from now, feeling like I at least owned my choices and didn’t spend my time tethered to someone else’s professional expectations of me.

[theskyexists]

notes

I’m reading a memory of empire and a couple of nitpicks:

- if they expected Yskander (an old name for Alexander! ha) to probably be dead, why not prepare his imago for this moment?

- why not invite Engine to the Ambassador’s own quarters?? why go out to a restaurant? if that is not the right etiquette - so much so that risking getting caught up in a bombing is acceptable - remark upon it?

- does Lsel station (or something) not have its own direct messaging technology? can it not be limitedly integrated with the city? if not, remark upon it?

- why doesn’t the ambassador have her own vehicle? remark upon it!

- i do enjoy Mahit as the arch character, but she seems highly paranoid - if this is based in her reading of literature - remark upon it!!! why would they know to sabotage her imago if there’s no reason to think that they knew Yskander had one?

- Ironically enough, the most unemotional and sharp character really seems to be Mahit - when culturally the Teix value that so much - apparently

- the court seems incredibly small for a Court the size of a city, a Capital the size of a planet and an Empire the size of galaxies.

- LOL Mahit is very clearly attracted to women. first Three Seagrass and now Nine Adze

- i dont feel like i really know Mahit yet - there’s slightly too much tell over show in this - and i find her longings for Yskander’s help tiresome when for the few minutes he’d been with her - he didn’t seem very helpful at all - and we don’t get any info on how he was for those three months of integration

- shouldn’t three seagrass know who summoned an Ambassador? hers?

- why does Mahit keep thinking in terms of prisoners and hostages? this all seems very dire when i’m barely convinced of the urgency of the threat to herself or to her people - there’s no indication that they will be annexed

- i think it was a very poor choice to introduce us to this fascinating piece of technology and its existential implications and a major character i was just warming up to - and then throw it away for a significant part of the book.

- the pace is also absurdly unrealistically quick, she spills her state’s most important secrets within a couple of HOURS - and for what? for Twelve-Azalae’s wholesome motivations of looking into a murder ?? (AND DID SHE REALLY NOT GET BRIEFED ON WHETHER TO HIDE THAT??? WHAT)

- I like how language is such a big deal here but there isn’t even a mention of translation technology

- the rules of the game are very unclear and thus the stakes become unreal. this makes the political ‘intrigue’ seem total child’s play. or - as noted by Mahit, something from literature. But what would be ‘actual’ intrigue?

- Mahit seems quite averse to the work of being an ambassador - and only delights in the City minimally when she canonically loves the Teix

- why didn’t ambulance personnel attempt to check up  on Mahit after she survived a damn bombing??

- we’ve already had a flashback to Yskandr becoming blood band - why isn’t Mahit smart enough to interpret it?

- why would infofiches pile up after one day of absence when they could get through 3 months of them in one afternoon

- then we get a hugely interesting communiqué and the narrator doesn’t explain it!! godDAMN

- So Yskander DID have standard access to his own electronic database and information technology. then why the FUCK wasn’t Mahit offered anything of teh sort???? why doesn’t she think about that??

- The Empire as entity also doesn’t seem to particularly be hostile to her (or her people) - if only arrogant.

- Why the FUCK did the councillor send a message to the Ambassador that is DEAD ????? for the ‘sabotaged replacement’ to read????

- Why didn’t Yskandr arrange for important political news to reach the councillors and prospective successors???? like idk - Imperial succession??? like - ok, no broadcasts from the empire but like - specialised information to specialised people???

- Why would there be only a genetic child successor and thus unsuitable when they have the technology to make children reliably and thus at exactly the right time?

- I do believe that they should have emphasised the taboo on recording memory from people for the Teix - otherwise it fits right in with an automated AI system running people’s lives yes? it is repeated that the empire is opposed to neurological enhancement - but why? i can’t remember. and all the people told so far have not shown a sense of disgust

- the City only RECENTLY became an AI mind?????????? in the last twenty years????

- would have liked to know more about Teix hostage culture before in order to understand Mahit’s constant reference to being a hostage

- ‘she knew him too well’ - WE DON’T KNOW YSKANDR AT ALL!!!! He went and disappeared instantly and you never refer to their early days together! cool concept weird execution

- ‘Did you really think you would be leaving?’ - what is Ninth Adze’s goal here? Sure - if they tried im sure Adze could block Seagrass’ ability to open her own personal doors. SO WHY DID Seagrass think she could rescue Mahit???. But more importantly - what is it about Mahit and her miners stations that is composed of MAYBE a hundred thousand people - that makes her so important as to keep hostage?

- i really do like the conversational back and forth

- why not thoroughly shake Seagrass for not filling her in on so many relevant details??? like - the City is an AI - it makes mistakes, there are bombings etc.