#do you feel bad because I got passed over for several government jobs because I was on vacation for a few days?

[fruitgoat]

Um….

I don’t want to tell you what to do, State of Oregon. But I agreed not to itemize on my tax return this year and let you pocket that money. You pay for some of my favorite places and some of my favorite people (can we pay teachers like 4000% more?). You even pay for my meds, no questions asked. I signed off my smaller tax refund because I could. And I wanted you to use that money. So why are you depositing three times the agreed amount in my bank account?

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

The unplanned fourth part to my apparently-a-series on Essek Thelyss in the context of real-world espionage (parts 1, 2, and 3), today we look at an aspect of his story that doesn’t always apply in a D&D world: how do you prosecute espionage? 

Psych! That’s not the real question. The real question is: do you prosecute espionage? The answer is a) not as obvious as it might seem; and b) going to differ between D&D and the real world, because D&D governments are storytelling tools and IRL governments are...not.

The benefits of prosecuting espionage are obvious: the interests of justice are served, the person responsible can be punished appropriately and in accordance with the law, the full extent of their crimes are revealed (including potentially exonerating other suspects), counterintelligence gets to chalk up a win, and other people thinking about committing espionage themselves are hopefully discouraged. But there are a surprising number of arguments in the “against” column.

Some agencies that identify enemy assets want to leave them in place for their own purposes. For about 20 years during the Cold War CIA reserved the right to just plain not tell the Department of Justice if they had proof someone was engaged in espionage because they wanted the opportunity to turn them as double agents, feed them misinformation, etc. rather than outing and punishing them (President Gerald Ford ended this arrangement by executive order in 1976). This isn’t necessarily a good idea IRL, but it forms the bread and butter of RPG espionage storylines and is definitely something to think about in a D&D context.

In the real world, ideally someone can only be found guilty of a crime and punished accordingly after a trial, and an agency often finds itself with sufficient evidence to doubt a person’s trustworthiness but not enough hard proof to take to court. In those cases agencies may decide to leave that person in place but cut off their access to classified info. Ironically, sometimes this means promoting them - moving the person into a higher-ranking job in a different area that just so happens not to deal in secrets. Sometimes the asset realizes they’re close to being rumbled and goes along with the effort, maybe taking retirement early or changing jobs before they can be pushed, and the whole matter will quietly lapse without anything so formal as a trial. Sometimes someone makes a mistake and sidelines a loyal, competent employee. That’s a judgement call.

In the real world, ideally someone can only be found guilty of a crime and punished accordingly after an open trial. Given how severe the punishments are for espionage, civilized countries do try to stick to that even though holding such a trial carries risks. Providing proof that someone stole secrets generally requires talking about said secrets, which means revealing classified info in court, which may negate trying to keep the information secret in the first place. They may also not want to reveal in court how they figured out that person was a spy, especially if it was a double agent or cryptographic source that fingered them. In D&D-land where monarchs are common and still wield judicial power, fantasy rulers may hand down whatever punishment they please based on whatever evidence they (or the DM) will accept, so this isn’t as much of a concern.

Even a D&D monarchy that doesn’t have to worry about revealing secrets in court might think twice before publicly punishing a high-ranking spy, though, because the only thing more embarrassing than failing to convict a major spy is succeeding. A government having to admit that its people were compromised, especially high-ranking people, is a body-blow to its standing both at home and abroad. It damages trust in the government, makes the public feel unsafe, and makes allies hesitant to share information lest their secrets be leaked as well. Lower-ranking government employees may think, “My boss is selling secrets, why not me too?” or “Why bother to follow security protocol when some mole will give it all away?” Every decision and contribution made by the asset becomes retroactively suspect, even those that had nothing to do with whatever secrets they leaked. The foreign nation to whom they passed information inevitably gets drawn in as well, negatively affecting those relations. And of course everyone involved looks very, very bad.

All of which leads me to say I think there’s a chance - maybe not a good chance, but a chance - that Essek could privately confess the affair to the Bright Queen without major public repercussions. Leylas Kryn could simply declare him a traitor and order his public execution without justifying herself, but it would raise a lot of questions and none of the answers would help her or the ruling dens; Den Thelyss allowing Den Kryn to unilaterally execute a high-profile member - a child of the umavi - without explanation would stoke ferocious rumors about what Essek might have done and cast a major shadow over the entire den. But publicly declaring what Essek had done also doesn’t do the Dynasty any favors. It makes everyone involved look very bad - how could they miss a spy at the highest level? so close to the Bright Queen herself?? who can be trusted??? - especially Den Thelyss, which might lose its place among the ruling three as a result. Publicly outing such a high-ranking Kryn official as compromised might set off the Dynasty equivalent of a Red Scare, too, since the Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount mentions the constant and well-justified Dynasty fear of agents sent by Lolth to destabilize the Kryn out of sheer spite that they got away from her.

By the time Campaign 2 ended the latest clash between Empire and Dynasty had been settled and neither side seemed to want to stir it up again right away. The fact that both stolen beacons have been returned also bolsters the case for letting the matter lie. A confession from Essek clears up remaining doubt on the Bright Queen’s end - while he doesn’t know every Empire agent in the Dynasty, he can tell her exactly how the beacons were stolen and who else was involved, probably clearing the names of many currently under suspicion. Essek would have to resign as Shadowhand, of course, and leave the Dynasty (at least for a couple centuries), but he never seemed interested in being Shadowhand and he wants to go exploring anyway. Den Thelyss definitely wants the whole affair swept under the rug and would go along with whatever story made that happen. Other than Verin I don’t get the impression many people would miss Essek except as a lost opportunity. I hope they’d give him long enough before leaving Rosohna to pack up his cool leyline-weathervane though. He could totally mount that on Yussa’s tower. Or Allura’s!

And that concludes this particular train of thought re: Essek Thelyss in the context of IRL spies and espionage. Again, all of this is only as relevant to the campaign as the players decide it is, so don’t go giving people crap for being “unrealistic” about their versions of how the beacon trade went down. Frankly the last thing you should want here is realism, because “realistic” espionage is a callous world of deception, manipulation, and general human pettiness with no sense of narrative flow.

None of what I’ve talked about is an excuse for Essek’s actions. But it is a reason. It’s why and how a person entrusted with precious national assets could get into a headspace where it seems reasonable, even necessary, to trade them away to foreign enemies. It’s how a person of otherwise decent character & beliefs can end up committing terrible crimes. It’s why that person might sincerely regret what they’ve done, and not just because they fear punishment. The Warmind Rasputin paraphrases Octavia E. Butler saying, “Misdirected by accident or intent, intelligence can foster its own ecstasies of growth and decay.” In other words: sometimes you get too far into your own head. Without an anchor to reality, without perspective, your own mind gets twisted up. Sometimes you just need a friend (or seven) to grab your arm and say, “Breathe.”

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[benevolentbirdgal]

Purim: a Jewish holiday and wild ride from start to finish

So let me tell you about the absolute soap opera that is the Jewish holiday of Purim. The scene is set in ancient (appx. 4th century B.C.E.) Persia during the first Jewish Diaspora, in the city of Shushan (typically identified in secular sources as Susa, a now-abandoned ancient city in what is now Iran). I’m telling you, as a work of literature (even beyond theological implications for Jewish people), this book has everything: love, drama, royalty, intrigue, ego, plots, irony, mystery, and a strong female lead. 

[some non-slur swearing below]

Ahasuerus, party-loving king of Persia executed or exiled (translations argue) his wife Vashti, and had to find a new queen. Why did he do this, you ask? Well, it really starts with an 180-day party across his kingdom for all his subjects to celebrate the third year of his reign. After that absolute rager, party-bro KA has another one immediately after for a week, this time just for the capital city of Shushan. Vashti was having a woman’s party in her quarters, presumably living her best life, when party-bro sends his top seven yes-men to deliver a message to Vashti. This sleaze-ball wants her to appear at his party in front of everyone, wearing her crown, with the clear implication being only her crown. Vashti more or less tells him to pound sand (I mean, not the literal translation, but that’s the sentiment). 

KA’s advisors convince him that this is not only an offense against the king but also against all the men in the country (ah, the joys of ancient patriarchy and toxic af masculinity). KA writes a degree that women must respect their husbands so he has an official reason to get rid of Vashti. Vashti is soon thereafter out of the picture and the king is short a queen. Whether she was a Wise Lady With A Point Who Got Screwed Over or a Vicious Jew-Hating Adulteress Who Had It Coming has been a matter of furious debate for over two millennia (the Babylonian Talmud and the Jerusalem Talmud vociferously disagree on her). In any case, KA regrets it pretty quick and wants a new queen. 

At the behest of his advisors (you know, since their last advice worked out soooooo well), KA had a big contest/forcible gathering of young women from around his kingdom and a Jewish woman, Hadassah, was the winner.  Hadassah was an orphan raised by her cousin Mordechai in the city of Shushan. Hadassah is more commonly known as Esther, because she changed her name to hide her identity as a Jew (at the behest of Mordechai). In any case, KA decided he liked Esther best and she became queen (it’s specifically mentioned both that he loved her most and that the palace staff liked her because she was nice to them-it’s unclear how much of an influence the latter was). 

Concurrently, a wicked man named Haman was the top advisor to the king and the king would basically rubber-stamp whatever Haman wanted. Haman was a raging Jew-hater-this will be relevant later. 

Some time into Esther’s reign as queen, Mordechai, who has taken to hanging around the gates of the palace to keep in touch with Esther, overhears a plot by two guards, Bigthan and Teresh, to kill the king. Mordechai alerts his cousin, and she tells the king. It’s recorded in the book of deeds and life keeps moving. 

Some time later, Haman decides (after a promotion to head lackey) that he wants all to bow to him as he passes. Mordechai refused to bow to Haman every single day (citing that as a Jew he bowed to no man), and that did not sit well with Haman. So despite being prime minister and presumably having more important things to do, “genocide the Jews” made it to the top of to-do list. He didn’t like them before, and Mordechai refusing to treat him like a special snowflake was something he took really, really personally (totally can’t think of any modern politicians like that, nope). He told KA, who frankly doesn’t seem to ask enough questions, that there was a people disrespecting the king and his laws throughout the land, and could he pretty-please exterminate them. As a bonus, Haman would “donate” 10,000 silver kikar to the royal treasury (modern conversion vary, but all agree this an absurd amount on money). 

KA handed him the royal seal to do so. Haman was feeling lucky I guess so he decided the best course of action was to draw lots to pick the day for the massacre. [Purim is lots in Hebrew, so that’s where the name of the holiday came from]. The message went out to all the provinces that on the thirteenth day of the twelfth month, that they citizens and leaders should murder all of the Jews, young and old, man, woman, and child, rich and poor and take their possessions as spoils. 

As this wasn’t exactly a state secret, the Jews knew and were quite distressed. The planned slaughter was like a year out, but what the actual fuck were they supposed to do? If you lived in Persia at that point that, the empire was functionally your entire world, unless you were fabulously/ridiculously wealthy and well-connected. Having several months notice the other locals and your rules were going to slaughter you and take your stuff isn’t particularly useful when there’s really nowhere to go. 

In Shushan, Mordechai (who, although not explicitly in text, is in oral/Talmudic tradition a leader of the Jewish community) goes into mourning. He dresses in sackcloth and ashes, he weeps, and he fasts at the gates of the palace, as Jews throughout shushan and the kingdom are doing. Esther hears of her cousin’s mourning behavior and tries to send along nice clothes through a messenger, which he refuses. It is then that she learns of the decree. Mordechai (through the messenger) implores her to go ask the king if the Jews not getting murdered could be a thing. Esther explains that she could be killed for approaching the king unsummoned. Mordechai stresses the severity of the situation. Esther agrees to ask the king and tells Mordechai to have the Shushan Jewish community fast day and night (as opposed to just day as prior) for three days, and she and her handmaidens will fast too (no word on what the handmaidens thought of this).

On the third day, Esther bravely approached the king, asked him if she could request something. He said anything, up to half his kingdom (which implies to me that homedude, for all his flaws, was actually into her). Esther invited him to a party, where he and Haman would be the only guests. At the party she asks if she can another request. KA is open to it and she invites him to another party the next night. Party-bro king is obviously down and Haman is tickled to death at this second invitation. 

He goes home to brag to his wife, Zeresh, about the invite and also to bitch about how angsty he is Mordechai is still alive (this angst reignited by passing him on the way home). Zeresh suggests he have fifty-foot gallows built to make Mordechai an example on, with the king’s permission, ASAP. Haman orders the building of the gallows, feeling secure in the knowledge that his bestie the king will execute Mordechai on them. 

Back at the castle KA can’t sleep. He demands a bedtime story from the his records, because those will presumably put him to sleep. The story that gets read, ~coincidentally~, is of Mordechai saving KA’s life. Haman had sidled on up to the castle to speak to the king about killing Mordechai, and the king called him in. KA asks Haman, if he were to honor someone, what should he do? Haman is thinking “this is obvi about me” and tells the king that the honoree should be donned in royal clothing, and ride through the streets on a fancy horse with people someone shouting how great he is. KA is like great, love it, perf, go do that for Mordechai. Haman is not a happy camper but does the thing. After that, he goes home and tells Zeresh about it, who warns him that this is a very bad sign. 

Finally, that night is the night of Esther’s second soiree. Haman and KA attend. The latter offers to Esther anything she wants, up to half of his kingdom. Esther asks that her life, and the life of her people be spared. KA is like “whomst” and Esther revealed it was Haman. At this point Ahasuerus.exe stops working and he takes a walk to the gardens. He comes back to see Haman begging Esther for his life, and KA thinks Haman is assaulting her. Haman was seized by nearby guards.

One of the chamberlains is then like, hey, KA, coincidentally there’s these super high gallows Haman just had built. Why not take care of the problem that way? (The fact that the random nearby chamberlain was like yup, that dude, hang ‘em in the morning, probably says a lot about how Haman treated most people around him, even more than forcing all to bow to him). KA orders it be done. 

Not that Haman was around to be sad about it, but what happened next would have massively pissed him off, as his old job then went to Mordechai. Esther then implored of the king that the degree to allow the massacre of the Jews be reversed. The king couldn’t Cntrl+Z the order to murder-all-the-Jews, but he could issue an order that they could fight back. The proclamation was sent throughout the land, and the Jews were able to prepare. Since the royal decree had been amended, the governments (princes, governors, satraps) largely reformulated their plans accordingly, but plenty of Jew-haters still wanted to use the opportunity. The ability to self-defend meant that the communities weren’t massacred. In most of the kingdom, the Jews were now safe. Outside of Shushan, the fourteenth of Adar became a feast day. 

Shushan was still not safe though. Antisemites were still out and mad (and apparently had not learned from the previous day), so Esther asked the Jews of Shushan to be allowed to defend themselves once more. Her wish was granted, and the Shushan Jews were able to defend themselves once more (so Purim is celebrated a day later in walled cities). 

The story ends with the decision to write it down, and although there some debate on authorship, it is traditionally attributed to Esther herself cowriting with Mordechai. 

Nowhere in the book is God mentioned. Nowhere is there divine intervention (at least not explicitly). Just Jews sticking up for themselves, being brave in the face of mortal peril, and a metric fucktown of chutzpah. 

[heavenunderthemoon]

Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy. 

"Y/N."

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You  doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would've done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren't forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father's life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother's.

"Dad."

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father's abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn't particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of  bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father's face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn't and who was to say that it wouldn't happen to you too?

"Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?" He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father's voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn't composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn't afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C  eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

"I know, I love you too." You didn't know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn't done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would've said.

"I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug." If you hadn't been so worried that you might die soon you might've found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn't mind it. You didn't mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn't mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.  

It's funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

"Remember when I taught you to drive?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn't learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. "There's no use learning to drive when your mother's here, sometimes me, and the metro, it's useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun."

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

"Yeah."

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother's features and the amusement playing on Foyet's, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

"I'm a terrible driver." You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn't seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn't been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn't miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

"You're good enough."

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

"I think that's good enough, right, Y/N?" The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of...mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father's stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn't smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn't ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn't hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

"Don't touch me." You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn't expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

"Wow, you've got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner." He chuckled to himself like he said the world's funniest joke, and you glared.

"Leave them alone." Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. "How about this, how about you go hide, I'll give you a head start, and then I'll come find you."

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. "No." You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother's flesh, yet, you couldn't just leave your mother. You couldn't leave her to die.

"Ah, come on. You're a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren't you guys supposed to be fun?" His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn't have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father's height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn't think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy's girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the 'bad guy' in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought  nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn't think you would ever be able to ignore that.

"Y/N, go." Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother's lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. "Mom, no." it came out shaky, and you didn't have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn't been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That's how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley's ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother's lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl's cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. "Go, baby. I'll be okay."

No, you won't. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother's arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother's hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn't care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

"I- I love you." It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

"I love you too." Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn't feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father's nightstand. It hadn't been touched since you all had moved out.  It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother's quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

"Y/N!" A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother's body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack's old room- eye's scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn't have much time until he was coming after you.

"I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are." He sang out. He must've taken your mother- your mother's body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn't difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn't it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

"I think I'll lay your body right next to your Mom. You'd like that, wouldn't you? So you can be together?" He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack's door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn't known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn't have given the man much thought. You wouldn't have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that's what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father's team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could've been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family's suffering once and for all. You weren't sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren't there before.

"You bitch!"

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn't look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that's for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother's dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn't hear anything that was going on. That he didn't hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You  felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn't dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn't died now. If anything, you might've made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That's why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn't really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn't want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that your mother was dead. It wasn't fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

"Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me."

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn't realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek's. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed...feral.

"Y'N, it's me. You're safe. it's me, it's Derek. Put that gun down." It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn't hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother's body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

"He's dead. Y/N, he's dead." The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who's blood was that? Was that your mother's? Was that Foyet's? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?' He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man's waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

"Y/N!" Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn't been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. "Are you okay, Y/N?"

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn't see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn't even been home very often. Then, you didn't have much of a choice.

You  liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

"I'm fine." You took a hand, running it through the boy's ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

"Let's get you checked out, yeah?"

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Pining and Anticipation

Summary: You work for Starkly Yours, the adult division of Stark Industries, as a PA. A sudden depature leaves you to fill a role you never expected. 

Features/Warnings: Smut; self-doubt; mentions of weight; Oral sex (F recieving) 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Plus Size Reader

Notes: Pornstar AU. 

I did no research for this, just went with it. This will potentially become a series of oneshot series entitled ‘Dress’ 

Request:  “Hi there! I have a request for a Pornstar Au featuring Bucky x Plus Size Reader. In this world, the Avengers are some of the biggest entertainers in the industry. Reader is a staff worker who usually works behind the scenes, fixing lunches and getting drinks. One day, she is asked to work as a fluffer, due to call outs, to none other than Bucky, the cute Pornstar who has been flirting with her. Cue smutty fluff.”

Word Count: 2447

Stark Industries had been a household name for decades. Household gadgets to military weapons, you name it, Stark made it. Upon Howard Stark’s passing in the 90s, his son Tony took up the mantle, making changes to the way the company was run and dropping the weapons for other ventures. Starkly Yours was the adult division of the company, focusing on lingerie, sex toys, and the production of high quality, ethically made porn. Tony Stark was known for keeping a strict code of ethics when it came to that division of the company. No drugs. No alcohol. You could leave at any time and he had ways of disguising appearance for those who didn’t wish to have their true identity revealed.

That technology was a closely guarded secret. Tony had mentioned time and time again not wanting the government to get their hands on it. You didn’t blame him for that, knowing the guilt he carried for what had happened to Sokovia, the home of Wanda Maximoff, who had started working in the adult division a couple years prior. Her story had been one of many Tony had heard over the years. Wanda had started out working as a receptionist in the R&D lab in high school and college, before she graduated and moved to Starkly Yours. Wanda worked alongside you as a PA.

You marveled at the tech Tony had made to conceal identities. It was usually the younger actors and actresses who went that route, the ones who had no intentions of making a career out of being in Stark’s films. It was good money. Tony ran heavy background checks on all staff who worked within the video and image division. Brock Rumlow had once tried to out a girl and that had been the end of his career. You’d never cared for him anyway. He’d hit on you several times, with you rebuffing his attempts each time. You knew about Brock and none of what you knew was good. Last you’d heard he had started on with Hydra Productions, a sketchy production company based in LA. The last time you turned him down he called you names you refused to repeat, making comments on your weight and the fact that your pining for Bucky Barnes was becoming obvious. You never told Tony, not wanting to give Rumlow more of a reason to dislike you. You knew if you had told Tony, Rumlow would have been out the door sooner. 

You had started out as a PA for Tony after he and Pepper had gotten together, with Pepper taking over the day to day of the main part of the company. Tony’s domain these days was primarily Starkly Yours, between the films and the products. You were usually getting the lunches and drinks for the actors, and whatever else they needed. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, the list went on. There were a core of actors at the studio called the Avengers. It was a fun little nickname, after a superhero themed series of videos that had been done. Their personas stuck across multiple films and it had been a moment of marketing genius. 

You were sweet on Bucky Barnes, something it seemed everyone but Bucky knew. Tony had crafted the arm he now had, working with the Wakandan princess who had spent a summer working with Stark Industries a few years back. You didn’t know the details of that exchange, just that Tony knew the Wakandan royals. Bucky’s arm was the only one like it in the world, made of vibranium and other metals. Others in the Stark prosthetic line were modeled after it, but with different metal. You knew the vague story of how he’d lost the arm, but never pushed for more than he was comfortable sharing when the two of you would hang out. 

You glanced at yourself in the mirror. It was hot in New York that morning, summer making itself known with an early heat wave. You were thankful that day’s shoot was indoors, in the air conditioning of the penthouse Stark had just for filming. You had opted for a tank top and a light cardigan that morning but you were regretting your choice. The tank top clung to you in a way that you felt was unflattering. Natasha would reassure you that you were in your head. You never did believe her, or  Wanda for that matter. You poked and prodded at your stomach after washing your hands in the bathroom sink. It was going to be a long day. You took in the image of your face, frowning at the appearance of your chin before letting out a sigh. 

You knew it was going to be a long day. You had gotten a text from Tony early that morning that you might be needed to perform additional duties. You weren’t sure what he meant by that. There was a pit in your stomach that told you that you might not like the answer. Tony would never force you to do something that made you feel uncomfortable, that much you knew. You pulled yourself from your thoughts and headed to where your boss was, talking to Natasha and Wanda. Natasha was set to be in the scene that day, alongside Bucky and Steve. 

“There she is, world’s best PA. Bad news, buttercup. Georgie resigned effective immediately. She got quite the opportunity across the pond in London with Peggy Carter’s new agency and Peggy needed her as soon as possible. That leaves us in a bind because you know how particular Barnes is,” Tony said. It took a moment for your mind to catch up. Georgie’s official job was as a camera tech, but she would, on occasion, act as a fluffer. Bucky was particular about everything, from who he did scenes with to who he’d allow to help him stay in the moment. He didn’t need help often, but Georgie was his go to person. She had been there before Tony had pulled you over to Starkly Yours. 

“What about Nat?” you asked, your voice cracking. 

“He said no. But something tells me he won’t say no to you helping him,” Natasha said with a mischievous smirk on her face.

“Me? Nat, I get near him and the man will be softer than an ice cream cone,” you replied. She rolled her eyes.

“Maybe you can’t see it, but that man has had it bad for you for months,” Natasha replied. You snorted. When you’d started working with Starkly Yours, you’d been seeing someone. He hated that you worked for a porn production company, but you refused to quit. It ended up being the end of your relationship six months earlier, with a parting jabs that stung more than you cared to admit. 

“Nat,” you whined.

“It’s true. He’s always flirting with you,” Wanda noted. You couldn’t disagree there. Bucky did flirt with you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it was more than friendly banter. Bucky Barnes was the kind of guy who could get any woman he wanted. You were sure that woman wasn’t you. No matter how long it had been, your face always warmed when he’d call you doll, honey, or sweetheart. 

“No, he says that shit to everyone,” you deflected. You saw the look the two women shared. 

“You’re up, buttercup. Trust me. He’ll be open to it,” Tony said, patting your shoulder. Natasha practically dragged you down the hall to Bucky’s dressing room. It was more like an actual bedroom. You glanced down at what you were wearing, regretting the fact that laundry day had left you with that damned tank top. ‘There’s no way Bucky will be turned on by this. If anything he’s going to get soft and I’ll be the joke of the day’ you thought to yourself. Natasha stopped suddenly, arriving outside Bucky’s door. You almost slammed into her. She looked you up and down.

“That top looks gorgeous on you. Don’t let him rip it,” she said. You held back a laugh at her comment. Only in your dreams would Bucky Barnes rip your clothes from your body. 

Natasha knocked on the door before you had a chance to back out of it. It swung open to reveal Bucky, his robe wrapped around him. You tried not to stare, you honestly did. But Bucky Barnes did things to you. Sinful, wicked things that would surely make a nun blush. Nuns, think of nuns, you told yourself, hoping your expression didn’t betray you. Oh, the things you would let that man do to you. 

“Bad news, Barnes. Georgie resigned suddenly to take a position immediately with Peggy���s new agency,” Natasha said. 

“Oh?” Bucky asked. That voice. You could listen to it all day. You would take it to the grave how many times you had gotten yourself off thinking about that voice telling you just what to do.

“Lucky for you, everyone’s favorite PA volunteered to assist you. However you’d like,” Natasha said with an exaggerated wink. You felt your cheeks warm again. You wanted desperately for the floor to swallow you whole.

“Did she now? Is that true, doll? You volunteered to help me today?” Bucky asked, his voice dropping lower. You felt your own wetness begin to pool between your legs. 

“Uh...yeah, I uh, I did,” you said, your voice cracking a little as the pitch increased. Natasha walked away, calling over her shoulder “have fun, you two” before disappearing around the corner. You were surprised when Bucky took your hand and pulled you into his room.

You had been in there before, bringing him lunch and occasionally hanging out. He was a friend above all else. His eyes roamed your body and you could have sworn you saw them darken as he did. He placed his hand under your jaw, tilting your head so you couldn’t help but look at him.

“Tell me the truth doll. Do you want to do this?” he asked, his voice low. You swallowed. You had a feeling he was talking about more than just a quick blow job to get him hard before a scene.

“Yes,” you replied.

“If we do this, sweetheart, there’s no putting that back in the bottle. And I’m not sure I can be just friends if we do. I’d prefer to take you to dinner first, but I think you and I can both agree, we are past the getting to know you stage,” he said. You blinked. It felt as though your brain was short circuiting. There was no way Bucky Barnes, one of the most attractive men you’d ever met, was asking you out, and from the sound of it, asking for something serious. You weren’t sure what had come over you before you answered.

“I’m all in if you are,” you replied. He smiled, a toothy grin that you knew was reserved for only you. He moved his hand, opting to take yours as he pulled you toward the bed, and gestured for you to sit. You looked at him, brow furrowed.

“I thought I was supposed to get you hard,” you said. He chuckled.

“Oh sweetheart, you underestimate how much I enjoy what I’m about to do. Our first time is gonna be all about you,” he said. He looked at you as he brought hit hands up to the button of your pants. With a swift nod from you, he undid the button and zipper in one motion, taking both your pants and your panties as he moved down your legs. You weren’t sure when you had lost the flats you were wearing, certain that it was somewhere between the door and the bed. 

Bucky moved to take your shirt off, but you touched his hands, stopping him. He gave you a look, brows furrowed in confusion. Your mind was racing. You didn’t want him to see you fully naked. No. Not Bucky. 

“Doll, let me see you, please?” he asked.

“Bucky,” you whined. 

“Let me show you how you should be treated. You’re gorgeous, sweetheart. And it’s about time someone showed you some appreciation,” he replied. He was smooth. You’d give him that. You pulled at the hem of your shirt, making the decision in that moment to pull it off, leaving you in your bra. You had never seen someone look at you quite like Bucky had in that moment. You’d had partners in the past, people who had loved you, all of you. But no one had ever looked at you like him. Bucky looked at you with such an intensity you thought you would melt. He pushed you back on the bed, having you lay down. He moved between your legs as he pressed gently to get you to open them for him. 

He kissed his way up your leg, taking his time. In the moments, thoughts about stretch marks and your size went out the window. You felt the anticipation, the desire for him to be where you needed him the most. At first contact, you arched off the bed, wanting more. You felt him smirk against you as his tongue moved from your entrance toward your clit. His right hand moved toward your center as he pressed one finger into you.

The sounds coming from you were absolutely sinful. Bucky swore he would do anything just to ensure he’d never go a day without hearing those sweet sounds coming from your mouth. He pressed another finger into you, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he pulled you over the edge. 

And over the edge you fell, screaming his name. You swore you saw stars. As you caught your breath, you saw him, your wetness on his face and him wearing a grin that told you the pair of you were far from done. His robe had since been discarded and you glanced down. He hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t need you to do any of the work. But you still wanted to. God did you want to. 

“Later doll. Tony’s probably going to be knocking on that door any minute now looking for us,” Bucky said, seeing the look on your face. He had plans for the pair of you. Starting with dinner that night. 

The two of you emerged a few minutes later, Bucky with an arm around your waist. Natasha gave you a knowing look as the two of you entered the room being used for the shoot. 

If later that night, Bucky showed you just how much stamina he had, well, that was between you, Bucky, and the walls of his apartment. 

[wisehq]

Mission Debrief: Chapter Forty-nine

...It smells like a goddamn come-back!

Okay, jokes about my inevitable return aside, can we all agree that Steve Jobs look-alike is creepy as sin? The discord sever has passed their judgement; the dude’s definitely a freak- kudos to Endo for making the first character I outright despise, I guess? Anyway, after missing out on the last chapter I’m ready to go full steam ahead on this week’s update!

It was a short chapter thankfully and definitely back-loaded, but there’s still plenty to talk about as always. I’m making triple sure to save my draft as I go this time and I’ve got alcohol at the ready, so let’s fricken do this!

I’m not going to talk much about the assassins; they are all bad men and they are all up to bad things, and that’s...pretty much all we got lol. Evil Franky is probably the most interesting of the bunch to me, but even he didn’t do much this chapter. They were glossed over mostly, so instead I wanna focus on my favorite panels.

Poor Loid, honestly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m reveling in all his misery- it’s just that at this point in the story even I have to relent and say I feel bad how stuck in the middle of everything he is. Anya’s manipulating him (hilariously) and he just can’t catch a break, and on top of all that he still has to play dad like the good little spy he is. That face of his will forever be a mood, and I resonate wholly with his done-ness (also just pointing out that Anya is adorable as ever- SHE’S SO LITTLE!)

Okay, Zeb and Olka...I’ll captain this dam ship myself if I have to. Honestly, this whole development we got out of them came out of nowhere, but I’m not complaining at all. I could see how someone might ship them in earlier chapters, courtesy of  the old tried and true method of “boy + girl + being in general close proximity = love” that we see all the time, but Zeb coming out and being (mostly) outright with his feelings took my completely by surprise. I wasn’t expecting anything between these two, aside from perhaps a friendship born from being forced to escape with one another. I would have been fine with that, but this takes it to a much more interesting level-

-especially when framed within the context of the war, and it’s after-math. On top of the cute moment we got with Zeb and Olka, we got to learn a bit more about how the world was after the fighting stopped. @tare-chan​​ and I discussed a bit about how criminal organizations such as the mafia have historically offered help in times of hardship, and it’s interesting that this is the route Endo took with things (Shopkeeper’s comments about Olka’s family being an honorable criminal organization certainly make more sense now, at least). We also have confirmation that it’s been roughly a decade since the war ended, something that’s touched on a bit more as McMahon returns to rendezvous with the others.

He’s such an enigmatic character. I want to know more about his past and his relationship with Garden. It’s also very interesting how he frames himself and Yor; they’re soldiers, just like Yuri. Whether it’s for the government or shadow government, they fight and die for the sake of Ostania. He truly believes in his cause, and he wholly expects the same out of Yor.

McMahon is cold and calculated. Yor, meanwhile, is soft and earnest. She is wholly outside her wheelhouse; nothing about this mission is like anything she’s ever done before. Personally, as an outsider looking in, I think she’s doing a fantastic job so far. Not only has she kept multiple assassins at bay while protecting three people, she hasn’t drawn any attention to herself in the process. She’s damn good at what she does, but for McMahon that’s not good enough- or rather, it’s not good enough for the mission. She needs to be perfect. She needs to be cold, calculated, and lethal, just like McMahon. She needs to be ready to die to protect Olka and the baby. She needs to be Thorn Princess...and Yor Forger is in the way of that. McMahon sees that, and he warns her; throw everything away, or it’ll all be taken away. Permanently.

Yor’s not dumb. She’s very self-aware, enough so to re-evaluate herself and her performance as of late. She knows that she’s lost her edge, and it’s all because she’s afraid now. Afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of getting found out. Afraid of losing her family. She’s not an emotionless robot anymore, not like the empty-eyed woman we saw her to be in the initial few chapters. Yor has things she wants to protect, things to fight for. In many situations and stories, one would assume that to be a boon- but here it’s not. Her job involves kill or be killed, and worldly ties will only hold you back. It’s a frame of thought that’s kept her among the living all this time...

...but as I said, Yor’s not dumb. She’s thinking, enough to where she’s starting to question why she’s even risking everything in the first place. What’s in it for her? How does her risking her life day in and day out benefit her? She already has everything she could want; people who care for her, and people who she cares for in return. In that sense, being an assassin is- in actuality- a distraction from what she truly desires...but at the same time, she’s too far in. At least at the moment. No amount of fondness she has for her family will get her out of the situation she’s in right now. So then, what to do?

I’ll go ahead and predict that Olka, being wide-awake as she is, will likely give her another pep-talk. She’s no stranger to difficult choices. Likewise, matters of friends and family, and choosing between them an duty, will likely be subjects she knows a thing or two about. At least I hope, anyway. I want more interaction between them, and I also want Yor to come to a deeper understanding of her current state. Deep down she knows what she wants, but she’s forcing herself to comply with everyone else’s whim. Hopefully sometime soon it’ll coming a point where she stops thinking about what others want out of her, and instead focus on what’s best for her- and by extension, the people she cares about.

Here’s hoping we get at least a peak of that next chapter.

In the meantime, though- BONUS!

I’d like to hang this on my wall and title it, “My constant state of mind”

[fridayfirefly]

The Art of Debate

Read on AO3

Written for Timari January Day 29 - Debate Competition

@timari-month-event

Marinette had always had a gift with words. The ability to use her words to convince people to do what she wanted came naturally to her. At the age of five, Marinette convinced her kindergarten teacher to take their whole class to get ice cream. At the age of thirteen, she joined her first debate team and was a crucial part of the winning debate that got her team third place in Regionals. Two years later, she was the captain of her high school debate team, and they were competing all over France. Two years after that, in her last year of high school, Marinette's team qualified for an international debate competition that took them all around the world. The championship debate, between Francois Dupont Academy and Gotham Academy, was to be held in Gotham.

Marinette had faith in her team that they would win. The team of ten debaters practiced every afternoon for months, led by Marinette and her co-captain Lila.

Lila had been an unexpected addition to the team, given that Marinette and Lila had gotten off to a bad start when Lila first joined her class. However, after witnessing Lila so thoroughly convince the class of a lie so outrageous that Marinette could hardly believe that anyone with half a brain would see right through it, Marinette realized that Lila's skills could be put to good use. Marinette offered the Italian girl a deal. If Lila joined the debate team and promised to never use her lies to cause direct harm, Marinette would no longer call her out of her harmless lies. Lila agreed, and quickly became one of their key debaters.

Over time, Lila started lying less and less, as she realized that she didn't need to lie to make friends. Two years after the first joined the debate team, Lila stayed after practice and offered Marinette a deal. Lila would never lie again if Marinette made her co-captain of the debate team. In full faith, Marinette agreed. She had seen the change in Lila and knew that there was a chance that they might even become friends.

"How's practice going?" asked Marinette as Lila joined her at the front of the classroom. Marinette was going over the paperwork for their upcoming championship debate while Lila was running practice. Their team members were hard at work: Aurore and Mireille were debating net neutrality, Kagami and Ivan were debating the right to own firearms, Sabrina and Nathanial were debating the morality of abortion, and Max and Marc were debating the ethics of medically assisted suicide.

"It's going well. I have everyone partnered up, working on either the affirmative or negative position. Then they'll split into either the research group or the public speaking group, based on what skills they need to improve on."

Marinette smiled. "We're going to win this, I just know it."

Lila gave her a devious smile back. "As if I would let us lose."

---

In the hallway of the Gotham Grand Hotel, outside of the ballroom where the debate tournament was being held, Marinette fed US dollar bills into a vending machine. "Diet coke is... A7." Marinette pressed the button and waited as the machine refused to give her the drink. "Are you serious?" sighed Marinette.

"Need some help?" asked a dark-haired boy in a sweater with an iron-on patch reading Gotham Preparatory Academy Debate Team. He was cute, in a nerdy kind of way. Nerdy wasn't Marinette's usual type, but she could see the appeal with the boy in front of her.

"I gave the machine my money but it won't give me my drink, and my debate - our debate, actually - starts in just a few minutes."

"I'll let you in on a secret. You aren't supposed to shake it, but if you do it anyway..." the boy shook the machine, and Marinette's diet coke tumbled down into the tray below.

Marinette smiled. "Thank you! I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng, by the way. I'm co-captain of the team from Françoise Dupont."

"Timothy Drake, but you can call me Tim. I look forward to seeing you debate."

"Thanks, you too." Marinette watched as Tim turned and left, jogging to catch up with one of his teammates, a blonde girl who glanced over towards Marinette with a knowing smile on her face. Any other day, Marinette would have spent a little more of her attention on Tim, but today she knew she had to focus. Marinette had a debate to win.

---

"We live in a world facing an incredible number of challenges. However, there is one challenge that often sticks out among the rest as the most pressing issue, with much debate over its severity. Is climate change the greatest threat facing humanity today? Collège Françoise Dupont, you will be arguing the affirmative. Gotham Preparatory Academy, you will be arguing the negative.

Kagami and Max went up first, two excellent debaters, and while the students from Gotham were certainly good, they were no match for Kagami and Max. Kagami had the self-assured confidence to never show any doubt about the validity of her claims and Max had the raw knowledge to win any debate through the sheer amount of factual evidence he could bring to the table. The first round went to Kagami and Max, giving Françoise Dupont a strong start.

As Marinette high-fived Kagami and Max, she caught a glimpse of Tim out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at her with a look on his face that Marinette couldn't quite decipher - confusion or frustration or some mix of the two. Either way, Marinette didn't particularly enjoy being stared at. She met his eyes and stared right back, narrowing her eyes. Tim looked away, a slight flush to his face. Marinette was left feeling more confused than anything else. Why was Tim staring at her, and why with such an odd look on his face?

Three more rounds of debate followed, with wins alternating between Collège Françoise Dupont and Gotham Academy. The schools were tied two and two by the final round, but Marinette couldn't quite stay focused on the debate. The only thing she could focus on was Tim. Watching him in her periphery, Marinette could see him having a heated exchange with one of the girls on his team, the blonde that Marinette had noticed earlier.

"Focus, Marinette!" hissed Lila. "This is the final round, and you and I are up."

The announcer stepped up to the microphone to announce the topic of debate. "This topic has been in the news a lot these past few weeks, with the introduction of the Superhero Registration Act. Though most news sources consider it unlikely that the bill will pass, it raises the question which you will be debating today: Should the government have a larger role in regulating the actions of vigilante superheroes? Gotham Preparatory Academy, you will be arguing the affirmative. Françoise Dupont, you will be arguing the negative."

Marinette shared a look with Lila, who was already smirking. "No way we lose this one," Lila mouthed.

Marinette nodded, narrowing her eyes at the opposing team. Even if Tim was cute, there was no way she was losing.

The affirmative started the debate, meaning that the team from Gotham spoke first. Stephanie Brown, Tim's blonde teammate from earlier, began with a lecture about a lack of accountability associated with vigilante justice. It was a flimsy argument if you knew where to poke holes in it. Luckily, that was what Marinette was best at.

"It's been universally accepted that superheroes are a necessary part of our current culture. The one job a superhero has is to save as many lives as possible. How are they supposed to complete that one job if there is constant government restriction and intervention? We've all watched for years as superheroes operated outside of the government - this is because superheroes don't need to be regulated. In addition, I would like to ask: in what way do superheroes need to be more accountable? Our world has seen time and time again that the superhero community keeps itself in check. When one superhero starts to stray from the path of good, they are held accountable by their fellow superheroes."

The debate continued, back and forth between Marinette, Tim, Lila, and Stephanie. With bated breath, Marinette waited for the results of the round to be announced.

"The final round goes to... Collège Françoise Dupont!"

"We did it!" cheered Marinette, as she got up to congratulate her teammates. She celebrated with the rest of her team but still couldn't shake her odd feeling about Tim Drake. Something wasn't right with him, and Marinette was going to figure out what it was.

There was a celebratory banquet after the competition, in which the awards would be given out and the organizers would give their speeches. As Marinette entered the banquet hall she was Tim slip out of the banquet hall and into the hallway at the other side of the room. She made the snap decision to follow him, maneuvering herself through crowds of people until she got to the right exit.

As Marinette turned down the hallway, she caught Tim whispering into his phone in the hallway. As soon as Tim caught sight of her he quickly hung up his phone and shoved it in his pocket. Marinette approached him, eyes narrowing. "Why were you staring at me?"

Tim glanced around to see if anyone else was around, then blurted out, "You're Ladybug."

Marinette froze. That was not what she expected to hear. "I- I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"You're the Parisian superhero, Ladybug. It all makes sense - black hair, blue eyes, same approximate height and weight. You're incredibly passionate about superheroes - that's what tipped me off in the first place. To top it all off, you're from the same school that Ladybug has a nearly instantaneous response time for dealing with akumas that arise out of it. I didn't see anyone on your team who fit the profile of Chat Noir, but I guarantee that if I were to snoop around online I could find a picture of you with a blonde-haired green-eyed boy." Tim's rapid-fire analysis left Marinette with no chance to refute his claims.

"You figured all of that out during our hour-long debate tournament?"

Tim nodded slowly. "I'm a bit of a detective, myself. In fact, compared to some of my other detective work, figuring out that you were a superhero was easy."

"You're the first person to ever deduce that I'm Ladybug - including my friends, parents, and Chat Noir himself - and all you have to say for yourself is that it was easy?" exclaimed Marinette.

Tim shrugged awkwardly, seeming to have no words to defend himself. Or perhaps it was because he didn't trust himself to say anything, because he had already revealed more than he had intended to. At that point, Marinette started to make her own deductions. The ease at which he had figured out that she was Ladybug. The fact that he had alluded to making other deductions comparable to figuring out Marinette's Ladybug secret. His knowledge of Ladybug - a minor superhero from across the globe - to the extent that he knew not only her approximate height and weight but her reaction times for akumatizations in different areas of Paris. The pieces started coming together in Marinette's mind. Her eyes narrowed as she accused, "You're a superhero too, Timothy Drake. Or, at the very least, you've worked with superheroes before."

Tim took the accusation even less gracefully than Marinette did, shaking his head rapidly as he backed up a few paces. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I have no idea what you're talking about. Me? A superhero? No way!" Tim ended his babbling with a nervous laugh.

Marinette smiled pleasantly, pleased with herself. Although it wasn't ideal that a stranger knew her secret identity, she now knew that Tim wouldn't be spilling her secret to anyone, not when Marinette had the exact same dirt on him. "I'll see you around, Tim." Marinette whipped around and started to walk away.

"Wait, wait, wait! Marinette!" Tim called out.

Marinette tried to suppress the smile on her face as she walked back into the banquet hall. She was beginning to like Tim, and she could tell that this wouldn't be the last she saw of him. Now, all she had to do was get on even footing with him. Perhaps, by figuring out his secret identity. Which, Marinette figured, wouldn't be too difficult. After all, how many superheroes could Gotham possibly have?

(Cut to: Marinette, back at her hotel room, trying to tell the different members of the Batfamily apart. "How do they all have black hair and blue eyes? How is that even possible?")

[nevertheless-moving]

I always have mixed feelings about Jedi!Leia, like, on the one hand, she’d be SO powerful, and that’d be so cool to see. Literally all I wanted as a kid was to see Leia kick some ass w/ the Force, AND SHE COULD. She’s literally the embodiment of protective instincts and justice. But on the other hand, she’d be SO POWERFUL, and Leia is... an angry person. She has every right to be, too, but that kind of thing doesn’t vibe well with ‘partially-trained powerhouse’. But then on the other side of THAT, her NOT using the force feels like denying an important part of who she is and what she could do, and Leia is the sort to do EVERYTHING SHE CAN for those she loves and feels responsible for.

Do you think she’d do the responsible thing (Anakin could never) and more or less give her powers a hard pass, or do you think she’d figure out some way to make them work for her?

There are a lot of ways to channel the force, right? 

Jedi Knights are trained in the most obviously badass methods, with the clearest physical impacts. But the jedi order had other branches (and I realize canon's probably a mess about those so good thing im overwhelmingly informed by fanon).

I think wanting to be a jedi knight is similar to wanting to be a firefighter or cop- it's a job that's description involves saveing people and ALSO comes with the chance to kick down a door. That's appealing, and necessary sometimes. But unfortunately not all problems can be solved by breaking a window dramatically with a chair, and fortunately there are other ways to do good.

So we've got medicorps- force healing and using that understanding of the living force to direct medical research.

Exploracorps- these are the jedi who probably use the force most in the way that untrained forcesensitives do, but on purpose. the successful spacers are the ones who listen to their 'instincts' and 'gut feelings' when 'something' tells them to drop out of hyperspace now or approach that stranger over there. There's an energy field that binds the universe together. People who listen to it when it's loud or follow it when its twisting around something are probably going to be more successful in general, and that edge is going to be most OBVIOUS in high risk professions.

We've got agricorps-  and kriff as someone whose done hands on conservation and farm work isn't that one dreamy. A trained jedi who can just reach their hands into a layer of soil and over the course of a year speed up nitrogen fertilization and healthy root growth and all those other things that might take a hundred years to make a noticeable impact DAMN. I'm not saying it's as cool as being a knight, backflips and laser swords are objectively cooler but it's definitely as HELPFUL if not way more so.

And then educorps and diplocorps right? That last one might be fandom so let's talk educorps- how do you use the force to teach? If i could read a kids mind to understand what they didn't understand sure maybe it would be creepy but it would honestly be more helpful and less fucked up then all the impacts of repeated testing! Do you have any idea how much less stressful your education would have been if you never had to take a test because your teacher just KNEW what you were struggling with and partnered you with another student and overt the course of a conversation it all clicked into place? If you could just clear the bad vibes out of a classroom with a wave of your hand when something scary happened in the community, allowing children in low income areas to critically think and learn without the interference of a prolonged stress response, thus giving them the opportunity to excel in the way their core world peers do? Karking one generation of psychically enhanced education, just doing that alone, could lift a planet out of institutional poverty.

And then diplomacy, politics. I'm not sure if this a cadet branch of the jedi order or LITERALLY their primary role prior to disenfranchisement and conscription. Either way it's leia's chosen profession pre and post original trilogy, and I'm gonna say she could ABSOLUTELY be doing that as a trained jedi.

Well as trained as any jedi can be at that point in the timeline.

There's one really good au out there about crechemaster anakin. And honestly? If you have severe trauma and anger issues, your culture should probs be encouraging you towards pursuing a career that does not include violence. Maybe before their numbers were depleted and conflicts became increasingly violent, the most volatile jedi were encouraged as far from physical ass kicking as possible, not out of exclusion, but because it's only going to make their problems worse, while creating brand new problems for everyone else. The tendency of the culture I live in to encourage people with violent tendencies to become cops and soldiers has CAUSED SOME ISSUES FOR EVERYONE, INCLUDING THE COPS AND SOLDIERS. Look there's no such thing as a rule that's perfect for everyone but as far as healthy outlets for agression go, vulnerable people in high risk situations are really low on the list. 

Yeah so jedi leia would probably be taught how to Not accidently on purpose kill people with her brain by willing their spaceships to crash into asteroids or screwing with their blasters in a firefight so they consistently miss, or all the other ways she unintentionally but gleefully force murdered people in the original trilogy. 

And then she'd be taught to use her skywalker-bullshit-level powers for politics. 

And holy SHIT.

Do you know how many problems are caused by miscommunication? In international security theory, rational actors pretty much ONLY go to war because of unavoidable communication errors. If you could have a trusted neutral party guaranteeing treaties with demonstable magic SO much less military spending would happen. I'm sorry but that is LITERALLY how the vatican became a political powerhouse. As it lost its credibility, so many wars happened. So many.

And that's just one of the big most clear cut things.

Domestic politics? Government reform? Jedi politicians would be INSANE. I - look.

When a policy workgroup is trying to make a change in a democratic society they genuinely try to use mind tricks. Fearmongering is the easiest- imagine if the nra was able to put a little force suggestion behind the idea that criminals were trying to break into your home and murder your family and if you give up your gun then only criminals will have guns. You're already scared- and now there's a supernatural element pushing it along. 

On the other side of the political spectrum, again, the most successful campaigns uh, also involve fear, the left is just less good at structuring the entire argument in those terms (shame is the more common go to). Pushing the fear that anyone could get sick and lose everything, even you. You could get cancer and lose your job and then you wouldn't have insurance so that's why EVERYONE needs government health insurance. Shaming anyone who does racist shit publically was so effective that racist people started getting so quiet that they accidentally raised way less racist children. 

A jedi would be unbelievably  effective with the 'negative' emotion public outreach, but that might be darkside stuff. 'righteous' emotion driven social change does happen sometimes, compassion is at start of most human rights movements.  

Tho not going to lie anger and shame is kindof what keeps those movements going so...

Jedi Politician Leia using vaapad to reshape the galaxy? 

[marvelousmarvelimagines]

Burn

Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader

Summary - You knew that things were going to change the moment that Captain America walked into you and your boyfriend’s lives. You just hadn’t expected them to change so quickly. 

Word Count - 2.5k

Warnings - None except angst! But I promise it’s a happy ending! :)

Could you say that you didn’t see it coming? That you were blindsided? That you had never expected things to end this way? No. From the moment that Captain America had come knocking on the doorway of your apartment, you knew that things were about to change. 

You could admit that you hadn’t expected it to end so quickly after that. 

“I’ve got to go help him. I feel like . . . I’ve found what I’m supposed to do.” He told you, sitting across from you at your small dining room table. 

 “I thought working at the VA was your calling?” You asked. It was where the two of you had met. You had been working at the front desk there for years now. 

“This is different.” He replied, and you watched as his fingers tapped on the table. It was an anxious habit he had come back with from his two tours. “Captain America needs my help, and I can’t turn him down.” 

“Even if it means losing me?” You asked, your voice a whisper in the air passing between the two of you. 

There was silence for a long time after that. You knew this couldn’t be easy for him. The two of you had gone through so much together that letting each other go had always seemed an impossible thing to do. How would you survive? Even though Sam was the one sitting here, cutting the tie, you knew he was thinking the same thing. 

“Even if it means losing you.” Sam answered. 

And just like that, it was over. 

____________________

The first time you saw Sam Wilson after your break up was almost a year later. The forces of the Universe must have been against you, because it was while you were on a third date with a guy. It had been going okay, you always tried to give it at least three dates before you gave up, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to go anywhere. 

You had a hard time finding any hope about a relationship these days. Not after you had lost the person you thought might have been your soulmate, but you couldn’t sit around your apartment feeling sorry for yourself. You knew he wasn’t. Every once in a while you would get a letter, a postcard, from somewhere across the country, but you never replied. How were you supposed to be getting over him if you were getting reminders of his presence all the time? 

He hadn’t sent a letter this month, so you assumed he had gotten the message, or was too busy saving the world, but then you saw him, sitting at a bar with Steve Rogers, and all the hurt came rushing back like a tidal wave. “Hey, um, can we go somewhere else?” You asked your date, hoping and praying he would say yes. 

“Why? I’ve got us a table reserved and everything.” He told you like it was a big deal, and he had pulled a lot of strings to do so. 

“It’s just my ex is here -” You started to explain, but he cut you off. 

“So?” He asked, giving you an annoyed look. 

Yeah, this relationship was definitely not going anywhere, but you didn’t want to be rude, knowing he had already driven to come into town, and shook your head. You took one more glance at Sam, who hadn’t noticed your presence, and you sighed. “Never mind.” 

This response seemed to please him. He smiled, and gestured toward a booth in the corner. “Go ahead and have a seat, I’ll get us some drinks.” 

It was not your night, that much was for sure. You rubbed your forehead, already feeling a stress headache coming on, and not looking forward to the next at least hour or so. You leaned against the back of the booth, closing your eyes and trying to focus on anything other than the man who you could feel from all the way across the room. You were so lost in thought you didn’t even notice the drink in front of you until your date spoke up. 

“I got you some red wine. I’m sure you’ll find it to your satisfaction.” He said, with a grin. 

You, on the other hand, wanted to grimace. “Oh, thank you.” You replied, once again, not wanting to be rude, and took a sip, trying to fight back a grimace. He was still standing there, and you knew he was assuming that you would scoot over so he would slide in beside you, but you had always thought that was so weird, so you didn’t move, pretending to focus on your glass until he finally sat down across from you. 

In fact, you didn’t even look at him until he cleared his throat, trying to grab your attention. “You look nice tonight.” 

Surprised, but pleased by the genuine compliment, you gave him a hesitant smile. “Thank you, you look -”

“I mean, I’m sure your hair would look nicer down, but -”

Wow. It really was going to be one of the worst dates of your life. 

“She looks great no matter how she wears her hair actually.” A voice interrupted, and your whole body tensed. 

You would recognize that voice anywhere, with the amount of times you had heard it, even though it had been a year since you had heard it in person. You tried to prepare yourself, but there was no way to do so. 

Sam Wilson was not a man you could look at without getting flustered. He looked as great as you remembered, cute smirk, strong jaw, soft eyes, but there was a hint of tiredness, along with something else you couldn’t put your finger on as he looked at you. You wondered what it was, but then decided to chalk it up to him seeing you for the first time in so long. You knew that you were definitely feeling shaken up looking at him, so you imagined he was too. 

Memories of your times together started to cloud your memory as you two stared at each other, and you had no idea how long you were looking at him until your date spoke up, clearing his throat unnecessarily loudly. “Excuse me, we’re on a date.” He spoke up. 

God had his voice always been that irritating, and you had never noticed? “Not a great one from the looks of it.” Sam said, never taking his eyes off of you. 

“Excuse me?!” 

Sam didn’t even spare him a glance. He lifted his arm, and in his hands was a bottle of your favorite beer. “Want to go for a walk?” He asked you, holding it out as an invitation. 

Oh this was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Sam stirred up a lot of emotions inside of you that you struggled to keep in check on a day to day basis. Being alone with him would only bring them to the surface. Not to mention you were on a date, no matter how terrible it was going, and it would be rude to - 

“For old time’s sake?” Sam added, as if he could see your wavering thoughts. 

Ah well, you knew this wasn’t going anywhere anyway. You took the drink from Sam, ignoring the sputtering man at the table, and followed him upstairs and outside to the balcony. 

The two of you sat in silence for several moments, staring out at the city beneath you. Since he had been the one to speak first, you felt like it was your turn, but at the same time, what were you supposed to say? How much you missed him? How sometimes you would wake up in the mornings and forget he was gone? How you had quit your job at the VA because the memories were too much? Sam had been the one to dump you to go on this grand adventure with Captain America. So why was he still sending you postcards and trying to talk to you now? 

“Why did you never write me back?” Sam said, breaking the silence. 

“Why did you keep writing to me when I didn’t?” You asked, avoiding his question as you took a sip of your beer. God that was so much better than red wine. 

“We were together for three years -” He started to say, but you cut him off. 

“Exactly, Sam. We were together until you decided to end it. Do you know how it felt getting those letters? It was like I was getting stabbed, over and over, and you were holding the knife.” You told him, anger rising in your chest. All you had wanted to do was try and get over him, yet here he was, trying to pull you back, like he had tried with those letters. 

When he replied, you could hear the frustration in his tone. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you! I just . . .” He trailed off, and you found yourself getting even more upset, wanting to know what he was about to say. 

“You just what?” You repeated, urging him on. When he didn’t respond again, you couldn’t take it anymore. You put your beer down on the table behind him. “You know what? Keep your beer. When you decide why you wanted to continue to make my life miserable, you can let me know.” You said, tears streaming down your face as you stormed off, doing your best not to look back. 

____________________

There were no more letters. Nothing to remind you that Sam Wilson existed at all until his face was plastered all over your television. 

Criminal, wanted by the government, treason, all scary words that didn’t fit the man that you knew and loved. You knew something wasn’t right, and you couldn’t help but worry about him no matter how hard you tried to forget him. 

Then one night, your phone rang, and when you answered, it was a familiar voice on the other end of the line. “Hey sweet girl.” 

The voice was filled with static, and you knew he couldn’t be calling from a good phone, and you had no idea how far away he was either, but there was no mistaking his voice. “Sam,” You sighed in relief, grabbing your pillow and hugging it close to your chest. “What the hell is going on? You’re all over the TV, and they’re calling you -”

Sam chuckled, like he always had when you started rambling. “Yeah, I bet I am. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.” 

Those words sent a shock straight to your heart. “When you get back -”

“I guess if I come back.” He replied, and in seconds, your anxiety multiplied. 

“Sam . . .” Your voice was calm even though you were not. “What are you doing?” 

“There’s this guy . . . Big, alien guy. We have to take him out, or it’s going to be real bad.” He said, and your fingers tightened their grip on the pillow you were holding. “If something happens, I wanted to answer your question.” 

“My question?” What question? You hadn’t talked to him in so long. What could he have to tell you - 

“I didn’t send those letters to hurt you.” Sam said, and you didn’t dare interrupt him. “I sent them because about one minute after I walked out of our apartment, I realized how bad I messed up.” There was a pause as he waited to see if you had anything to say, but you couldn’t speak. “It thought if I sent you those letters, I would keep you thinking about me. Now I know how selfish that was. This whole damn thing is selfish, but if something happens to me, I wanted you to know I still-”

“Shut up.” You cut him off before he could say anything else, taking a deep breath and forcing yourself to hold back your tears. “Don’t say another word until you come back here and can say it in person.” You demanded. 

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments, but when he spoke, you could almost hear the grin in his voice. “Yes, ma’am.” There was a loud rumble of noise from his end, and when he spoke, his tone was serious once more. “I’ve got to go.” 

“Sam?” You said, stopping him from hanging up. “Please be careful.” 

____________________

Five years had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. For you, it basically had been. One moment you had been standing in line for some takeout, hoping that at any moment your phone would start vibrating against your hip, and Sam would be calling you to tell you that he was on his way. The next you had popped up in the exact same place, that was now deserted, half the people that had been there with you materializing as well. All of you were equally confused, and it took awhile for everyone to realize what had happened. 

In about a week, you were busy moving all of your stuff into a new apartment since your old one was now occupied. Everything had been put down in their various rooms when there was a knock on your door. Letting out a groan, you stood up off the couch, assuming you had forgotten something, and made your way over to the door, not even bothering to see who was on the other side before opening it. 

“Hey,” Sam Wilson said, appearing at your doorway as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

All your emotions came rushing back in a tidal wave, and you threw your arms around his neck, clutching him close to you. At once, he wrapped his own arms around you, hugging you even tighter against his chest. “You’re alive.” You murmured against his skin. You hadn’t known, and you didn’t even know who you could call to find out. 

“I had a promise to keep, didn’t I?” Sam replied, walking you backwards into your new apartment and shutting the door behind him without letting even an inch of space between the two of you. 

“But Sam . . .” You pulled back enough so that you could look into his eyes. “There’s so much going on right now . . . don’t they need you to -”

“They can wait. I’m not wasting any more time away from you.” He said, one of his large hands reaching up to cup your face. “Nothing’s been right since I’ve walked away, and I want to change that right now.” 

Tears started filling up your eyes as he spoke, one of your hands reaching up to hold the one that was against your face. “Sam . . .” 

“I love you.” He said, “and I’m never going to forget how much again.” 

The logical part of your brain said that you needed to make him prove it. See him grovel, all the normal things that a person wishes for after a break up. After all, what assurances did you have that the next time Sam wanted to go on a big adventure, the same thing wouldn’t happen again? 

Your heart, on the other hand, knew Sam Wilson like nothing else. Yes, the possibility was there that he would hurt you again, but the sincerity in his eyes was obvious, and besides . . . 

Maybe it was worth it. Just to keep loving Sam for a little while longer. 

“I love you too,” You replied, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him for the first time in a long time.

It was worth every second apart.

[moonbeam-writing]

Request: “sugino's childhood friend is the student council vp + #2 student. they like e/o but have been on bad terms ever since he dropped to 3-e. she didn't have friends besides him + her cousin maehara so she's sad about it but hides it under a new cold personality,, chairman coerces her into being a student-teacher at 3-e to help kill korosensei + her cold attitude causes problems w/ the class. what if she eventually befriends everyone + makes up with maehara but stays hostile towards sugino 🤔 tysm!” + “ah yes it's the sugino requester here! yes i would like it to have a happy ending :)) thanks so much, i'm looking forward to it!” + “oh yeah it's the sugino requester here again! sorry for the third ask but feel free to add any jealousy related elements 👀 i hope you enjoy writing <3”

— Reconnecting

๑ Requested by a lovely Anon! ♡

๑ Characters: Tomohito Sugino (Assassination Classroom)

๑ Quick Note: Hello, darling! Thank you so much for requesting this! I had a bunch of fun writing this, sorry if it’s a bit long or not 100% like the request, but I feel like I got the major stuff. I really hope you like it!

๑ Warnings: None, really. Just fairly angsty, though, as always, there’s hurt/comfort vibes and a happy ending. :)

๑ Word Count: 3,562

—

(Y/N) (L/N) considered herself to be at the top of the world.

They were exactly where they were supposed to be so far in her life, getting exactly what they wanted and what they aimed for from how much work they put in. (Y/N) may have been one step down from the very top, but they were more than willing to take the place they earned. They were the top girl in the entirety of Kunugigaoka Junior High and there was nothing more satisfying than knowing that, aside from her place on the student council, but even that wasn’t quite the same. High grades came with high status, and in a school as ruthless as this one, she loved nothing more than knowing that the fruits of her own labor were what were keeping her safe.

Granted, it was lonely at the top. No one really liked anyone at Kunugigaoka for the most part. Sure, there were friendships, but all of them seemed either fake or hanging on by a thread. The admiration of others like her or the principal’s son wasn’t all that real, either. That admiration became jealousy and envy in seconds. People were willing to do virtually anything and use almost anyone to keep their grades up. Anything to avoid getting transferred to 3-E, that is. You were doomed if you managed to drop down to the “End Class,” no one had ever heard a story of someone being sent there coming back. It was like a story made up to keep everyone in line, only it wasn’t a story. It was very, painfully real and the stories served their purpose.

     (Y/N) had once had friends with her. She still did to an extent, but it wasn’t the same. Or, at least, they didn’t think it was. There was her cousin, Maehara, and Sugino, her best friend. They were thick as thieves, though, E Class brought separation, putting up a barrier between herself and the boys. The barriers were different for each boy, though.

Maehara was family, close family at that. He was (Y/N)’s first and best friend in the universe. The added bonus of sharing blood, however, was what kept them close. The two had to attend family gatherings, meaning that even if their academic endeavors kept them apart, their personal lives weren’t going to get in their way, either.

     Sugino, however, was a friend. A friend without any family ties or any true reason to seek (Y/N) out, or at least, that’s what he had thought. (Y/N) left things fairly open when Sugino had to switch classes, completely putting her reputation on the line for him. They had always sent soft smiles and friendly winks his way when they passed each other on campus, but they never got any sort of response or reaction. It just created shame and embarrassment on both of their ends.

After a month or two, (Y/N) worked to make herself move on. They couldn’t forget him entirely, nor would she let herself, but they also acknowledged all of the variables that came with Sugino’s new situation. His world was essentially being turned upside down. Everything he had and had known before being shipped up the mountain was being taken away from him and changed. (Y/N) couldn’t even begin to understand what he was going through, and honestly, she didn’t want to. At this point, (Y/N) just wished things could go back to how they were. They missed their best friend, and they missed not feeling hurt by him.

It was only a matter of time until the universe pushed the two back together, though.

Despite being one of the best students and having absolutely nothing to worry about, (Y/N)’s stomach and heart dropped, they were called to the principal's office. (Y/N) wasn’t sure if there ever was or would be a point in time where the man didn’t scare her, but that was the least of her concerns at that moment. They could have been asked anything in that office. They could have been told anything in that office. Anything could have happened, and the worst part was that it likely couldn’t have been something she could share. Even if they wanted to, or it  was deemed that it was something they could share in the first place, but wasn’t sure they’d even have it in themself to. Even though Principal Asano paraded himself as some kind of borderline neutral and caring man, everyone knew that he was the exact opposite.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” (Y/N) fought the shake in their voice, but it wasn’t quite enough to get rid of it. She may have closed herself off after Sugino and Maehara left, but the man’s intimidation factor was something that couldn’t be ignored. It was all too intense and the dark appearance and atmosphere of the room did nothing to calm her nerves.

“I did.” His deep voice sounded almost cheerful, more than (Y/N) would have liked to hear. She would have preferred his rumbling monotone over this. “I have been doing some thinking recently and as it turns out, you’re the only one I can think of to handle this job.”

(Y/N) stared at the man in front of them curiously. They weren’t sure what he wanted, and they didn’t like that. The worst part, however, is that (Y/N) knew she wouldn’t have much of a choice. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. I believe Class 3-E needs a bit of extra help.” (Y/N)’s stomach began to twist. “Unfortunately, I need my son to stay where he is, but you,” he paused, peering up at her from his desk, “you are a bit more flexible in regards to things like this. You help people all the time after all.” 

(Y/N) felt herself swallow heavily. There were so many possibilities of what could happen that they felt like they might not be able to cope. Sure, Maehara was there, but that seemed to be the only bright side. (Y/N) knew going up the mountain would be rough, and she wished she could find even the slightest bit of wiggle room to decline his so-called offer.

Asano, however, did not appreciate (Y/N)’s silence. He hated the obvious hesitance to answer even more. For someone in her position, (Y/N) seemed to have more resolve than he expected; others would have already given in with panicked compliance. He had noticed (Y/N)’s change over time, however, it made her the way she appeared; unmoving and closed off. Then he thought of his best bargaining chips. “You know people there, correct?”

“Almost everyone.” (Y/N) replied, not answering with what he wanted to hear on purpose. “I fear that not everyone would appreciate my presence, no matter how nice I am, though.” It was the truth and (Y/N) felt it needed to be said. It was a genuine concern and (Y/N) didn’t want to overstep; they would have every right to not like her and (Y/N) would never be able to blame them.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You have family in the E class. A cousin, correct?” 

“Yes, sir.” (Y/N) knew at this moment that he had officially backed them into the farthest corner he could.

“I’m sure he’ll love to see you.” His words were final; there was no getting out of this. “Now, there are a few things that will make this arrangement different.”

(Y/N) ignored the memory that wouldn’t leave them alone in the last few days. They hated that they let themself  be cornered that way and hated that they weren't too surprised even more. Kunugigaoka was corrupt and heavily classist, they knew that, but it was still wild to them. That was the environment they were growing up in, and because of the principal, it was arguably getting worse.

There were multiple things that (Y/N) had to face that morning that they weren’t ready for. All issues varied in their severity, but (Y/N) viewed all of them as something to worry about. Once (Y/N) thought of them, however, they noticed that their priorities may have been a bit skewed.

The strangest part that (Y/N) had to worry about was the main teacher of Class 3-E. The teacher, who was named Koro-Sensei by his students, was actually an alien. Not only that, but an alien that destroyed most of the moon and planned on doing the same to Earth. As much as (Y/N) wanted to ignore it, the gun and knife tucked into the waistband of their skirt and meeting a government agent absolutely destroyed that option.

There was also the class itself. (Y/N) once knew all of them and was even on good terms with almost all of them, but things definitely change once you’re booted off the main campus. (Y/N) was sure that no matter how nice she made sure to be to them that they wouldn’t accept any of it. She was considered top tier while they were nothing as soon as they got transferred. (Y/N) knew she couldn’t blame any of them for how they might feel or react to her.

Then, of course, there was Sugino. In (Y/N)’s mind, Sugino was the scariest thing about that day and their foreseeable future. Would he be even a little happy to see them? Would he talk to them at all now that (Y/N) was in his territory? It seemed dumb to (Y/N) that this was what got to them the most, but it was what it was. They had been inseparable, and now things were different, so wildly different. (Y/N) didn’t think she was ready.

(Y/N) let out a breath as they stood in front of the door to 3-E. She wasn’t sure if it was something that had been held in because of nerves or the trek up the mountain, but it helped remind them to breathe. They rolled her shoulders back and took another deep breath. (Y/N) could do this. If they could talk shit to the principal’s son’s face, they could face their old classmates and friends.

They knocked on the door, waiting for the ‘come in’ before moving. Carefully closing the door behind them, they quickly glanced between their peers and the being in front of them. Bewildered by the teacher didn’t even truly begin to describe what (Y/N) thought, but they decided it was a good start as they continued to stand awkwardly by the door, purposefully ignoring all of the eyes on them. There were only two people (Y/N) felt they could look in the eye and they were Maehara and Nagisa Shiota, a boy who they swore didn’t have a mean bone in his body and reciprocated (Y/N)’s kindness. The fact that (Y/N) felt like they couldn’t look at Sugino definitely didn’t get past them, but they were absolutely going to force themself to forget it for the time being.

“Ah! You must be Miss (L/N)! Welcome!” The alien enthusiastically greeted. It was almost overwhelming if (Y/N) was being honest.

“Uh, yes, hello.” (Y/N) felt bad about their feeble response, but that was all they could seem to say. Honestly, (Y/N) knew the experience was going to be something else, especially as time past and (Y/N) closed themself off to the world. Everyone in the building probably saw her as two-faced, they were sure of it. “Truth be told, I’m not sure why I’m here.” At this point, (Y/N) figured being honest was the best and only way to go about things. “I know it had something to do with being a tutor or student teacher or something, but I saw your guy’s test scores, none of you really have anything to worry about.”

“You’re probably here to help off him more than anything, (N/N).” Maehara laughed. “He doubts us so much.” He trailed off sarcastically.

(Y/N) was grateful for it; they felt like it took some of the pressure off of them. “Right. I mean, nothing was said about spy work or whatever, so I guess it could be literally anything else.” (Y/N) tried joking along, though they knew it didn’t land as well as they would have wanted.

“Right, well, it likely was for the assassination, so good luck! I’m Koro-Sensei and I wish you luck in killing me!” Koro-Sensei’s face changed and (Y/N) felt their stomach drop in dread. 

---

A few days had passed and things were going as smoothly as they could in the End Class. (Y/N) was definitely feeling the pressures that came with the new environment and couldn’t help but mentally commend everyone for how well they all seemed to keep up with everything. (Y/N) was admittedly rather shocked, though. Everyone seemed to warm up to her again, despite the clear change in her exterior. No one knew how the change came about, but they didn’t question it much, other than Karma who took a fair amount of joy in poking at (Y/N) every chance he got.

That being said, not everyone really interacted with (Y/N) if they didn’t have to, and she was more than okay with it. It did hurt, however, that Sugino was one of those people. (Y/N) wasn’t sure whether they were shocked or not, but it still left them with a weird sense of being hurt, despite how it was presented as indifference. That was their best friend, someone they considered to be their soulmate, platonic or otherwise, and now he wouldn’t even spare her a glance.

(Y/N) was torn between wanting to move on and wanting to fight. They knew that Sugino was the only one who could truly change his mind, but (Y/N) still held hope that their bond could be repaired. That hope only grew as time went on and (Y/N) spent more time in 3-E with everyone. (Y/N) felt as though they could feel that Sugino still felt something towards her and hoped that it was something positive, or at least neutral enough to talk to her a bit more than when he needed to.

To outsiders, (Y/N) could understand how some of it may have seen it as somewhat ridiculous or weird that she was still holding onto something like this, however, there were things that no one else knew about the situation. Funnily enough, that just so happened to be the majority of the details. The details, truly, were as clear as day if someone were to think about it for a moment, however, (Y/N) supposed it was the fault of anyone who misunderstood, not hers, and definitely not Sugino’s.

Whether anyone thought about it or not, Sugino’s transfer really wasn’t all that long ago. Just long enough for their mutual dread to set in and become part of their routines. It was a shame how quickly everything came about, but there was nothing either of them could have done about it. Neither of them were sure where they stood with the other.

Another seemingly obvious detail is that the two never said anything to the other about the situation. Not obviously, anyways. The news of someone going to the E Class had always been something that spread like a wildfire. Even though Sugino didn’t say it, he didn’t need to and (Y/N) only had words of comfort to offer. Sugino hadn’t wanted to hear it, though. He stormed away and (Y/N) was so shocked they couldn’t calm their mind enough to consider any of the possibly things he must have been feeling.

It was all a fiasco. There were other details, but they were far more miniscule compared to the others. After thinking about it, (Y/N) knew there were things that they were missing, things that they were sure that only Sugino was really aware of. He was the other half of this, after all. Much like how (Y/N) didn’t know what was going on in his mind, Sugino didn’t know what was going on in (Y/N)’s, and they weren’t even sure Sugino would ever want to know.

That Thursday afternoon, however, things were going to change. Much like when (Y/N) was called into Asano’s office, their world was going to shift once again, and drastically.

(Y/N) had assumed that if Tomohito Sugino were ever going to speak to them, it would be because Koro-Sensei needed him to, or because Maehara forced him to. When (Y/N) saw Sugino storming up to them like a man on a mission, they were sure that Maehara was behind whatever was about to come their way. Regardless, they weren’t going to take this opportunity for granted.

“Uh, (Y/N)?” His voice was hesitant, yet strict with nerves. The small, petty part of (Y/N) wanted to ignore him or seem uninterested, but it wasn't as simple as that. Mainly because (Y/N) couldn’t hide their interest, even though they wanted to.

“Hey, Sugino. What’s up?” 

“Not much.” He answered stiffly. “I was just wondering if we could talk for a minute?” (Y/N) nodded at the boy and followed him to a quieter place where the two could talk. 

(Y/N) wasn’t sure whether Sugino genuinely wanted to talk or he would have rather been anywhere else. It seemed almost as though Sugino were fighting himself; like he wasn’t fully allowed to embrace the fact that since they had become slightly reacquainted with each other, he had become more comfortable around them. Their situation seemed to get weirder and weirder every time (Y/N) thought about it, making her head spin. 

“So… It’s been a minute since we’ve spoken.” Sugino awkwardly started, trailing off and not daring to look (Y/N) in the eye. 

“Yeah, it has. I mean, you kinda ran off and never even looked at me afterward.” The hurt and slight bit of spite was obvious in their voice. She couldn’t help it; their issues were finally being addressed, and even though (Y/N) was going to be polite enough about her feelings and take any of his into account, she still wanted Sugino to be aware of how badly they were hurt because of his lack of communication. “I’m more than willing to hear you out, but I also hope you know that what you did hurt.”

Sugino nodded his head, finally looking at them. “Of course! And- And I didn’t mean for it to happen that way, really.” There was a brief pause before he continued. “When I got the news and when the word got around and stuff, uh, I was honestly kind of a wreck, but it didn’t really hit until later in the day when I saw you. I know that sounds bad, but like, it wasn’t your fault.”

(Y/N) almost wanted to laugh, to reach a comforting hand out onto his shoulder. Despite their time apart, it almost felt like nothing had changed. (Y/N) still felt the immediate need to show him their support, to make sure that he knew he still had someone unconditionally in his corner. Just sitting there and listening to what he had to say made it feel like any pain that was there didn’t exist, as though it had never been caused in the first place.

“I just- It was dawning on me how my life was ruined, and it bothered me that people spread it around so quickly and so easily. My life was officially over, and all of our classmates and so-called friends were just laughing about it!” He exclaimed. “I was so scared and so ashamed that I felt like I couldn’t face you. I guess, I was just scared that you were going to reject me.” He quieted himself down, letting his fists clench tightly. 

(Y/N) finally broke, resting their hand on top of the closer of his hands. “Sugino, I’m so sorry.”

“I know it’s dumb. You just mean so much to me that I was scared that you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I completely messed our relationship up, and I’m sorry. You mean a lot to me, (Y/N); that’s never changed and never will.”

A deep frown settled itself on both of their faces, their fingers now intertwined. The silence was heavy and thoughtful. Neither of them wanted the moment to end, however, they both wished for better circumstances. That being said, they were together and it felt like old times. By that logic, they were on good terms once again, at least to some degree.

“You’re dumb, Sugino.” (Y/N) laughed and gently bumped shoulders with the boy next to them, pulling a laugh from him too.

“So are you, (Y/N).” He answered back, finally letting a small smile rest on his lips. “Wanna go catch up over food?” Sugino sheepishly offered.

(Y/N) laughed, completely unsurprised. “Sure.” She laughed, pushing herself off the ground. They dusted themself off and held out a hand towards Sugino to pull him up, not letting go of his hand. “Let’s go.”

[doctorthreephds]

Synapses: Part 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 3.9k

TW: Nothing, just a boat load of information about toxicology.

Summary: After landing a job at the Bureau, you tell your dad and in turn end up meeting all of his coworkers. In celebration, your dad invites all of them to a pasta night at his house. There, you find a burning interest in the youngest of his team. 

Masterlist

“Well, if you have no further questions for us then I would like to personally welcome you to the Scientific Response and Analysis Unit,” you watch as Director Chase stands and sticks his hand out to shake, one that you take eagerly at the news of your new job.

“Thank you, sir. I look forward to working with you,” a smile stretches across your face as you bid the director goodbye and quickly make your way through the sterile hallways, inhaling the smell of cleanliness that was now your new workplace. For some, the sterile smell is foreign and dangerous--usually an indicator of a hospital where only bad news lurks--but for you, it was a safe haven of information waiting to be uncovered. 

The daughter of a diplomat and a criminal profiler, you were certain in your passion to help people and make the world a better place. Of course, a big government job was a bonus in your quest but proved to be the right path as you found your love of science and forensics. You had attended school in both France and D.C. where your mother frequented and often lived with your dad when in D.C. to spend time with him. Of course, David Rossi was almost always busy so your relationship was nothing like the one you had with your mother. Unfortunately, during your second year of college, tragedy struck. Your mother passed after an extensive battle with breast cancer and so you did the only thing you could do, cling to your father as your only lifeline. 

After many years of rebuilding what was once a lost relationship, your father was everything to you and wanted to see you succeed. Which is exactly why you chose not to tell him about the interview until after you got the job. 

The heels of your shoes gently clack against the tile flooring as you step out of the elevator and onto the floor where the BAU stands. It’s bustling, as always, but you make your way through the glass doors and to his office. You can feel eyes on you, the eyes of your father’s coworkers who had no knowledge of your existence. It was easy to be a well-kept secret, you had your mother’s maiden name, and you knew that your father was a pretty private person. 

Gently knocking on his door, you stick your head into the room to see your dad sifting through stacks of paperwork and manila folders. 

“Hi, Dad,” you walk into the room, watching as he stands and stretches his arms out for a hug.

“Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing here?” he asks and pulls you into a tight hug, the smell of his expensive Italian cologne engulfing your senses. 

“I’ve come to tell you some news,” a bright smile sits on your face as waves of confusion ripple over your father’s face. You try not to laugh as fear furrows on his brow. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant,” he mutters and you shake your head.

“You’re not a grandfather just yet,” reaching back, you pull out the newly printed badge that displays your picture on it. “I have a new job.”

His frown lifts from his face as the joy overtakes it and you are once again trapped in his warm embrace. Your body melts into his this time, the overwhelming feeling of joy staking claim in your body. It was almost foreign after the last couple years that you had.  

“Oh, I’m so proud of you,” your arms wrap around his torso, deeply inhaling as you feel at home. “But I can’t believe you kept this from me. You should have told me, you would have been hired last week.”

“That is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” your laugh rings out as movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention. You turn to look out the glass window and see a few of his coworkers watching the two of you talking. They try not to look so suspicious, turning away to look at their computers and case files.  

“I think you have some explaining to do,” you gesture to the small crown that has amassed.

“Huh. Well, they had to find out some day,” he walks out of the room and you follow, a cold sweat overtaking your body. It’s not like he was ashamed of you, he loved you very much, you simply craved the validation of the work-family that he cared deeply about. 

Your eyes scan over the four people, attempting to make some connections in your brain to names that your father has mentioned in passing. As you look, your eyes are drawn to a tall lanky man with a lovely maroon sweater vest. His hair is a mess on top of his head, full of unruly curls, and you attempt to restrain your heart as it seems to skip a beat. Usually, you weren’t this easy, but there was something about him that made all your thoughts vanish for a moment.

“She looks a little young to be your fourth wife, Rossi,” a man, whom you assume is Derek Morgan from the brashness of his comment, states.

“This is my daughter,” your father turns to look at you, a look of pride in his eyes that warms your heart and reassures you. You turn to the crowd and tell them your name, watching the look of bewilderment melt away.

“How come you never turned up on the database?” a blond woman asks. She’s easily identified as Penelope Garcia, by the boldness of her clothing and her affinity for computers. It makes you smile to see another woman in a male-dominated area. 

“That’s because I have my mom’s maiden name, Montgomery.”

“Let me introduce you all,” Rossi starts and turns to the group. “This is Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia, Emily Prentiss, and Spencer Reid.”

“Wait a second,” Emily starts. “Montgomery? Like the diplomat?”

You nod as you feel your chest tighten at the memory of your mother. 

“I think I remember you in passing, our mothers worked together.” she adds.

“Probably. Although I couldn’t tell you if we met in D.C. or Paris, my memories of the two are severely mixed up,” you respond, watching the dark-haired woman’s eyes light up in recognition.

“She’s here because she just informed me of her new job at the Bureau. A hell of a secret to keep from your old man,” your dad speaks and you roll your eyes at his insinuation. 

“Of course I couldn’t tell you. I wanted this job on my own merit, not because my father pulled some strings.”

“I know how that feels,” Emily perks up and the two of you laugh in the shared feeling of what is both the blessing and curse of networking. You didn’t want to find out what kind of impression getting a job because your father would leave on your peers and coworkers. 

“What do you do?” Derek asks and for a second you watch Spencer perk up behind his friends.

“I’m a toxicologist, I was just hired at the Scientific Response and Analysis Unit,” a brief moment of confusion passes over everyone’s faces except Spencer’s which makes you smile. “I’m basically a glorified chemist with a Ph.D. in toxicology. I’ll probably end up helping you guys out on anything related to biological or chemical that is threatening in nature.”

“Ph.D.? Don’t you have a Ph.D. in chemistry, too, Reid?” Derek pipes up.

“In chemistry, mathematics, and engineering,” he states like muscle memory. Your eyes brighten up at the presence of a fellow scholar and smile at him.

“That’s incredible. And how old are you?” you ask in astonishment.

“Twenty-six. I’ll be twenty-seven in October.”

“Huh,” you turn to your dad. “I didn’t know you had coworkers that were so cool, dad. You’ve been holding out on me.”

You turn back to Spencer.

“You’ll have to send me over your research, I would love something new to read.”

A look of astonishment washes over his face at the thought of sharing his research with someone. You assume that no one has ever asked to read it before, it’s not often in this line of work that research--especially scientific in nature--is brought up. Your father clears his throat beside you to draw your attention away from Spencer.

“Why don’t we have dinner at my house tonight to celebrate your new job?” he asks. “Everyone is invited, gives me an excuse to bring out the good wine.”

“You have a wine cellar, you can bring out the good wine whenever you want,” you quip and roll your eyes. He just wanted an excuse to show off.

“But I save it, for special occasions like this,” he gently hugs you from the side as everyone seems to agree on a pasta celebration in your father’s large house. “Good, I’ll go tell Hotch.”

You watch your father walk back up the steps and stand for a moment in awe as he leaves you behind with four of his coworkers that you barely know. The social anxiety sets in for a moment and leaves you slightly short of breath but years of practice help you plaster on a smile. 

“I’ll leave you four to work, I’m sure you’re busy. It was nice meeting all of you.”

“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Penelope responds as the rest of them bid you goodbye and return to the hefty workloads sitting on their desks. As you turn to leave, you barely miss the gentle punch laid on Spencer’s arm by Derek as he watches you leave. 

“I’m so happy to meet you,” she starts as the two of you walk past the glass doors. “I can’t wait to get to know you better. You know us girls in the sciences have to stick together, so just know that you always have a friend in my little office full of screens.”

She gives you a warm hug as your heart fills with the validation you had been craving for so long. Walking into the elevator, your eyes flick to the doors behind her that let you see into the office, hoping for a glimpse of the nerdy doctor before the silver doors close in front of you. With a bit of luck, you see the familiar maroon sweater vest pass by just as the mechanical doors shut. 

After going back to your apartment and changing into something a little more fit for a party, you find yourself dropping by a bakery to pick up a few pastries for everyone. Standing in line and staring at the glass case full of desserts you can barely pronounce, the thought of Spencer drifts into your mind. What kind of desserts does he like? Would he want something more tart like an apple strudel or something sweeter like an eclair? Once you reach the counter, you settle on a fancy pre-made cake so that you don’t spend the rest of the night pondering the doctor’s taste in dessert.

Driving to your dad’s house with a careful hand on the cake, you make sure to arrive at least a good 20 minutes before everyone to help cook. It was the least you could do and you wanted to make a good impression, especially because it meant time spent with your father. 

“Hey, dad, I brought cake,” you call out as you let yourself in, finding your way to the kitchen to see your father hard at work. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he mutters and leans down to place a kiss on your head as the two of you watch the spaghetti boil in the pot.

“Carbonara?” you ask as a sly smile forms on his face. 

“Of course. Who do you think I am?” he reaches over and stirs the noodles. You glance over to the counter to see a very neat mise en place set out. 

“Shall I pick out the wine for tonight then?” you push yourself gently off the side of the marble countertops as you giddily look to the doorway leading down to the cellar.

“Only if you pick the right one. The Pinot Grigio on the third rack is from France, I’ve been saving it for a special occasion and this is the perfect time for it.” he pauses briefly. “Your mother gave it to me. She would have been so proud of you.” 

You inhale deeply and wrap your arms around your father, tears welling in your eyes. While your parents had not been married for long, you know they were great friends and companions for one another, always dedicated to their jobs. Your mother raised you well. 

“We’ll toast to her tonight then,” you mutter and smile up at your father, your vision blurred from the tears as the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it.”

Walking over to the door, you pull it open to see Spencer and Derek standing there.

“Did you carpool here?” you ask and let them in, helping grab their coats to place on the hanger. 

“Yep, because Spencer here can’t drive,” Derek says.

“It’s not that I can’t drive, it’s that I prefer not to. On average, there are 3,287 deaths related to car crashes globally,” he states and you let out a nervous laugh.

“That’s a lovely statistic to keep in mind. Perhaps I’ll sleep here tonight,” you close the door behind them and walk over to the kitchen. “You can head into the kitchen, my dad’s just finishing up. I’m gonna go grab the wine.”

“Hey, Reid, why don’t you go with her?” Derek suggests.

“Oh, that’s okay--”

“Sure! I’d enjoy the company. C’mon,” you blurt out and wave him over, making your way over to the door and down the stairs. You silently contemplate things to say, something interesting to make you look smart or anything that will make this small trip a little less awkward. Glancing over, you can tell he’s on the same boat from the hesitancy of his steps so you resort to something a little less high stakes. 

“I hope you like sweets because I brought cake,” you state as you sift through the wine, glancing over to Spencer to see him awkwardly standing near you. 

“I think I’d much prefer the cake over the wine,” he says and you smile, turning to look at him curiously.

“Not a wine guy?”

“Not a fan of alcohol. It’s both addictive and a depressant. I think I’ll take my chances on sugar. It, while much more addictive, is less likely to kill you in high doses,” the words rush out of his mouth quickly, almost as if the information is overflowing and held back by a broken dam. A small laugh bubbles out from your chest.

“You're marvel, you know that?” you ask as the bottle of wine is held by the neck in your hands. “I wish I had a fraction of the knowledge you store up there. You’re like a walking computer! Would have made writing and researching my dissertation much easier.”

Spencer only stares in shock for a moment as the two of you begin walking up the stairs.

“What did you write your dissertation on?” he asks curiously.

“The Toxicological Aspects of Drug Incorporation into Human Hair. Unfortunately we don’t see a lot of interesting poisons out there, drugs are the biggest poison right now so it was fun to take human hair and analyze it to help predict how long addicts are abusing drugs,” you explain, watching Spencer go a little pale before the two of you reach the kitchen. Looking up at the gathered group, you plaster a smile at the small family that your father has amassed. 

“You’ve brought the wine, you’re a goddess,” Penelope walks over and grabs the wine from you as she wraps her arm around in a side hug. You laugh and hug her back, allowing her to take the wine over to your father who opens the bottle and begins to pour out portions. 

As you all gather around the table, you sit in between your father and Spencer who was obviously forced into his seat by Derek after a bit of teasing. You didn’t mind, it just meant you could continue your conversation. Next to Spencer was Derek and then Penelope, Hotch, JJ, and Emily. 

After you all settle, your father stands and brings his glass up in a toast.

“I would like to make a toast to my wonderful daughter who has finally joined us at the Bureau in a job that will hopefully make our lives easier. And to her mother who raised an amazing woman,” everyone at the table, sans Spencer, raises their glass and takes a small sip. “Now, let’s dig in.”

You twist your fork in the large plate of carbonara and smile as you take a bite, humming with satisfaction as you quickly eat the pasta. It’s familiar, the comfort food you often had in college whenever you came over to your dad’s house to tell him about school. The pasta was a symbol of family and what was once only a meal for two was now a meal for a whole group of people as intended. 

“So, you spent time in France? Does that mean you’re bilingual?” Emily asks as she takes a pause to sip from her wine glass. 

“Trilingual, actually. I took it upon myself to learn Italian for my dad, even though he doesn’t know it. Just helped me connect with him a little better when I was away for so long. It’s a bit rusty though, I’m out of practice because I’ve spent so much time in D.C. for school.”

“What school did you go to?” Derek asks.

“I got my bachelors at Georgetown in chemistry and my Ph.D. in Forensic Toxicology at NYU. I’m a bit of a science history buff so when I found out that the first forensic medicine department was created in NYU by Charles Norris and Alexander Gettler, I thought it would be the perfect place to get my degree,” when you finish talking, you look up to see most of the table staring in a sort of awe and confusion. The only person that does not look remotely confused is Spencer who even perks up.

“I did a little bit of reading about Charles Norris and Alexander Gettler, but nothing too extensive. There’s not a lot of concise information about them, but Gettler’s research and data on the different effects of poisons is really fascinating. Did you know that he was one of the first people who helped develop a scale for different levels of intoxication by alcohol?” he states, almost forgetting about the food in front of him.

“Oh yeah, it’s the coolest. Especially during the prohibition when different people were dying left and right from alcohol poisoning. Deborah Blum talks all about it in her book The Poisoner’s Handbook, I’ll have to lend it to you some time,” the two of you turn to face each other as you continue talking. “I thought it was so astounding when people drank even more during the prohibition and the government didn’t think it was a bad idea.”

“Well, yeah, the basis of reverse psychology,” Spencer remarks and you laugh. As the two of you pause for a moment, your cheeks redden as you feel the eyes of the whole room settle on the two of you who were lost in passionate conversation. 

“Nerds,” your dad mutters as he takes another bite of his pasta. 

“Hey, you made me this way,” you roll your eyes and shake your head, turning to return to your meal.

“I believe it was your mother who had custody over you for most of the time, so technically this is her fault,” he states and regular conversation begins once again between the rest of the group, but you feel Spencer gently nudge you and whisper. 

“I would love to get some book recommendations from you. Perhaps you can point me toward some of the better toxicology books,” he suggests in a low voice as you finish up your pasta.

“The key is looking in the true crime sections, they hide there sometimes,” you turn and smile up at him, enjoying the way that his curly hair falls and frames his face or the way that his eyes crinkle when he smiles. It doesn’t look like he smiles nearly as often as he should. 

You attempt to hide the overwhelming feeling of joy that bubbles up in your chest as everyone finishes their meals. Getting up, you walk to the fridge and bring the cake over with smaller plates. 

“Just a little dessert that I picked up on my way here. I hope everyone likes cake,” you smile up at them and begin cutting into the chocolate tower.

“Who doesn’t like cake?” Penelope asks.

“Actually, studies have shown that 46% of people prefer pie over cake,” Spencer states and you laugh as you hand him the first slice.

“I think it’s safe to assume you prefer cake, though,” you tell him and try not to think about your heart beating out of your chest when your hands touch. It feels stupid, acting like such a teenager at the slightest touch and you try not to let your cheeks show how much you enjoyed it.

Conversation continues as the cake is passed out and everyone attempts to wean off the alcohol they have consumed tonight. For a moment, you sit back and look at everyone gathered as they talk about life outside of work and how everyone is doing. Henry, JJ’s son is getting bigger now that he’s a couple months old and Penelope’s still doing well with her boyfriend. Emily is thinking about adopting a cat and Hotch misses Jack but is doing the best he can. You take a moment to look at your dad who stares at his coworkers the same way that he looks at you, like they’re his family. 

After a while, JJ informs everyone that she has to go home to see Henry off to bed and Hotch is close behind with it being a work day tomorrow. Slowly, people funnel out and you see all of them out, including Spencer, who doesn’t stop talking to you about breadcrumbs of science history and the modern day use of toxicology. After getting his phone number for book recommendations, you wave at him as he leaves with Derek. You find your way back to the kitchen and see your dad cleaning up.

“You look very comfortable with Spencer,” your father looks up at you as he washes the dishes. You shake your head as you pick up a dish towel.

“It’s just nice to have someone to talk to about science, you know? No one else really understands it,” you say as you wipe down the dishes he hands to you.

“I know, sweetheart,” he places a kiss atop your head and you smile, silently planning out a secret future with Spencer. It would be nice to have someone new after losing your mother. 

After all the dishes are put away, you take your phone out and find Spencer’s contact.

‘Want to go to the bookstore this weekend?’

[escapist-dreams]

Fix it ~ Invincible Fanfiction

Summary: Rex's hand gets damaged in a fight. No one is willing to help him, so he helps himself.

Warnings: spoilers for both the Invincible animated show(episode 7) and comics(issue #40) concerning Rex-Splode, injuries(nothing nearly as graphic as the source material)

Word Count: 2.3k

This is my first Invincible fanfic, and one of the first fics I've written in awhile! Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy! Feel free to tell me what you think about it! Constructive criticism would be appreciated :D

"We meet yet again, Invincible!" D.A. Sinclair shouted with his usual dramatic flair. He had escaped from the government facility a couple months ago and holed up in a sewer, making more of his fucked up 'reanimen' who the new Guardians of the Globe were now fighting.

His army of cyborgs were unleashed onto the fleeing crowd, more destructive than self destructive this time. Sinclair must've taken notes from his previous failures.

While they targeted the heroes, civilians were caught in the crossfire left and right. Dupli-Kate evacuated the remaining civilians while Shrinking-Rae fought off any cyborgs coming near. The rest of the team tried to disarm the cyborgs without killing them, which Mark made them agree to do before the fight.

Invincible went through one after the other, knocking out the cyborgs, one could tell he was holding back. Monster Girl knocked out a good chunk of them, but accidentally killed one or two with the strength of her monster form. One of them slammed her against a building, sending a big crack up the wall, no doubt affecting civilians in the upper floors. Shrinking-Rae rushed to save those in the building affected by the crack, while Monster Girl slumped against the wall, down for the count.

Rex-Splode made it past the wall of reanimen defending Sinclair and shot a projectile at his torso. He stumbled as the magnet hit his side and exploded, only grazing him but doing damage all the same. He cupped a hand around the wound, and when he regained his composure, looked directly at Rex.

"You'll pay for that!" With a movement of his hand, D. A. Sinclair ordered the cyborg to target Rex-Splode.

"Sure I will, asshole!" Rex smirked and raised his hand again, aiming for Sinclair's head. The cyborg intervened, lunging towards Rex, who dodged and backed away. He couldn't kill the guy, but he really didn't want to get beat to a bloody pulp today. He made a split second decision to shoot him in the legs to slow him down. He did so, but all he received for his efforts was the sound of a small metal impact. He'd missed the human parts, the projectile only slightly slowed the cyborg.

Just as he was about to shoot again, the cyborg grabbed his hand, crushing flesh and metal alike. Rex doubled over as a wave of pain hit him like a brick. He tried to push past it after a few moments, looking up just in time to see Robot come up behind the reaniman, knocking him out with a punch. Invincible grabbed a piece of metal from a street sign that had been crushed in the wreckage of the battle and bent it tightly around Sinclair, effectively trapping him. And since the cyborgs were all either knocked out or no longer under his control, the battle was over.

"You couldnt've done that earlier?" Rex complained as Mark tied up Sinclair, wincing in pain. Several members of the team gave him a familiar look of annoyance.

"Maybe if you weren't too busy cowering we would've finished this sooner." Samson stated.

"I wasn't--!" Rex began, but he doubled over again before he could finish, another wave of pain hitting him.

The rest of the team had sustained some injuries as well, but they were able to shake it off for the most part by the time they arrived back at the guardians' base.

"Hey Robot-" Rex tried to catch him before they fully returned to the group.

"It's Rudy."

"Right. Rudy, can you uh.." he pointed to his busted up hand, the blood dried onto the metal. Rudy made a wincing sound at the sight, then looked to their friends, who were in a group celebrating the won battle.

"Hm.. That's going to take a bit to fix, if you can wait I'll fix it in a couple minutes." he decided. Rex opened his mouth to protest, but closed it and nodded in agreement. The two rejoined the group.

They spent a few minutes having conversations in small groups, some about the fight, and some about completely different things. After about half an hour passed, Mark got up from his seat, explaining that he needed to get back home, as he had some homework to finish up. Slowly the group dissolved, rejoining their everyday lives. Rex ran to catch Rudy before he and Amanda left.

"Hey Rudy, can you fix this thing before you go? If you couldn't tell, it *kinda* hurts." Rex gestured to his hand, pulling the glove up a bit to show the broken metal and bloody skin.

"Can it wait, Rex? Me and Amanda are getting lunch." he paused, conflicted, "you can join if you want." he offered politely, but judging by the looks on his and Amanda's face, it wasn't an invitation.

"I'll pass." Rex sighed, unsure if he was more angry or sad about it at this point. Rudy shrugged as if to say "your loss", and he and Amanda left the base. Rex left as well a few moments later, Kate and Rae's conversation fading behind him as he made his way to his apartment.

Rex tried to ignore it, he really did. But god, it hurt. He must've been in shock before, but now that he had time to really think about and feel the injury, the pain set in. The metal of his hand had torn into his flesh and he was afraid to move it for fear of further lodging it into his arm. After awhile of trying to ignore the injury, Rex decided he couldn't take it anymore. If no one would help him, he would help himself.

Rex knew a thing or two about robotics since he got his powers from the devices in his wrists, and had been taught a bit at the facility for use in battlefield situations. So he got some spare tools he used for small repairs on his arms and got to work fixing his hand. It took just about all night, but by the end he was fairly confident that he'd at least helped the situation.

He must've done something right because next time the guardians fought a villain, he was able to shoot the projectiles from his hand. No need to ask Rudy for help. And the next time it was damaged, and he fixed it himself again. This time his aim was slightly off. He hit several walls, the ground, and nearly a civilian before his desired target, but it was fine, right? He hit the guy eventually, he missed the civilian, and it still worked decently well.

He continued to repair it himself, using the knowledge from his previous mishaps to improve upon it. It continued to have slight malfunctions, but it worked.

Until it didn't.

He aimed, and shot, but the small explosive wouldn't budge. It wouldn't leave his hand, something blocked it. The BB lit up as he tried to shoot, but it exploded in his hand.

"Fuck!" Rex yelled, throwing a magnet from his belt with his offhand and dodging out of the way of an oncoming attack.

The team made quick work of the enemy, but not before they got a few good hits in on Dupli-Kate and Monster Girl as well. Amanda was slumped against a wall while Kate Prime nursed an injury on her side.

Back at the base, Rudy was busy being at Amanda's side. She had a minor concussion, but overall she was alright. The excessive blood from a cut on her head made the injury look more serious than it was. They were thankful that she was alright, minus a bit of blood loss and a head injury.

Rex wanted to celebrate her quick recovery longer than he did, but hesitantly left after drinks were had and the party died down a bit. He knew he would have to work on his hand for awhile to get it in working order and get any sleep that night.

It was already much later in the day by the time he arrived at his apartment. Repairs went well for the most part. He had passed out before realigning the metal, but quickly aligned it before heading to the base that morning, presumably deeming it functional, which was an achievement in Rex's opinion considering how badly it was broken and lack of materials. He got hardly any sleep, but he wasn't exactly the type to usually get a full eight hours every night anyways.

The next day after training, Rudy approached Rex unexpectedly.

"Hey Rex, I noticed your hand got busted up pretty badly yesterday. Need me to fix it?" Rudy offered, glancing at Rex's barely-together hand with a hint of what might be worry. Rex scoffed.

"Oh no it's fine," he said, half proud of his work and half bitter at Rudy. "I figured it out."

Rudy gave him a curious look, pausing for a moment before repeating, "You 'figured it out'?"

Rex nodded, taking off his glove and showing off his hand, which he'd barely been able to peice back together the night before. "I figured it out."

He'd had to patch up the hand with spare metal parts and slightly off-size bolts, but it wasn't too bad of a job. From a certain angle, it'd look fine even. A bit busted up, used for sure, but functional. Now, from the angle of someone with as much knowledge in robotics as Rudy had, the sight was returned after a long pause with a vaguely annoyed, "this is going to take awhile."

"What're you two doing?" Amanda asked, walking into the workroom with a half empty carton of disguised booze.

"Rex tried to fix his hand. By himself." Rudy explained condescendingly after a pause that made it obvious he was focused on his work. Rex scoffed at the answer.

"I think I did a great job, thank you very much." And besides being proud of his attempt at fixing it, the way he phrased it made Rex sound like an idiot, as if he hadn't asked for help several times before deciding to fix the problem himself.

"You put the metal covering back in place just off enough to block the projectile, the bolts are all the wrong size, and part of it is still jabbing into your arm. This isn't even the right kind of.." he trailed off, clicking a new bolt in place before mumbling, "how did you even fight like this-?!"

"Well it's not like you bothered to help me when I asked.." Rex answered with the tone of an upset child.

"You didn't say how bad it was."

"I showed you! You saw it!" Rex nearly shouted, frustration and anger bubbling up in his chest and out his mouth.

"I would have fixed this easily if you'd asked sooner."

"I did ask sooner!"

"You could've asked when I wasn't busy." Rudy spoke nearly absent-mindedly, focusing intently on prying part of the metal out of damaged tissue that tried to heal around it.

Rex hissed in pain before responding, "When were you not busy? I asked you like three times, you told me to wait!"

"I just told you, I was busy. Why didn't you go to Cecil for this?"

"Oh yeah, like I'm asking some creepy ass guy from the government to fix my hand- No fucking way!" Rex tried to ignore the hint of fear in his chest at the idea of some shady government operative poking and prodding at him in a blindingly white room.

"You'd rather bother me than ask someone whose job it is to fix things for help?"

"I'd rather ask my friend for help!"

"You could have asked when I wasn't busy." Rudy repeated, obviously struggling to keep his cool. "I'm not going to drop everything for you, Rex!"

"Yeah? Of course not, but I bet you'd drop everything for her." Rex pointed at Amanda, who had a front row seat to the argument standing in the doorway. The two locked eyes for a moment, then Rudy looked away to glare at Rex.

"At least she offers something to the team. She's an invaluable asset and I need to keep her safe." He didn't need to shout, his tone and words cut deeper than raw anger could.

"Well pardon me for wanting to be able to use my fucking hand--"

"Excuse me?" Amanda snapped, glaring at Rudy. "Rex is my friend, and I won't reciprocate your crush on me just because you look like him and aged down for me. I don't owe you shit. And being a dick to the guy whose face you stole doesn't make you more appealing."

"But I--" Rudy was at a loss for words; a rare occurrence. Scrambling to regain his composure, he blurted out, "But I did this for you!"

"I don't owe you shit for that." she repeated firmly. "And if how you treat Rex is any indication, I wouldn't want to be with you, if this is how you treat a long time friend who needs help."

"Exactly!" Rex agreed, relieved that Amanda stepped in. Rudy glared at him before catching himself and looking back towards Amanda, who sighed angrily.

"He couldn't have asked Cecil!?" Rudy reiterated, grasping at straws trying to 'win' the argument he'd already lost.

"He's obviously uncomfortable with that, or he would've done it already. Something you would notice if you bothered to give him a second glance." Amanda snapped back. "He came to you for help, and you lectured him for it."

"I.."

"Let's go, Rex. This asshole isn't worth our time." she decided. Rex followed her out the door to rejoin the rest of the group with a satisfied sort of pride in his chest. It felt nice to be defended by someone other than himself.

The door slammed shut.

[skelemira]

Ooooh whats Rowan's lore? *grabs popcorn*

ALRIGHT BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS

Gonna leave it after the cut (if I remember how to do the cut right on mobile lol) so I don't clog up feeds

So Rowan started out as a human. Her family was okay financially, probably lower middle class. Not rich enough to be truly comfortable, but not in a whole lot of danger debt-wise. She had a mother, a father, an older sister named Magnolia (Nolia for short) and a little brother named Cedar (lol do you see a naming pattern here I'm so creative). Her parents were... Okay. They weren't abusive or anything, but they weren't exactly doting. They didn't really have the time to be doting, since they both worked all the time. The siblings all got along really well, though, the type of siblings that stuck together initially because they lacked that true family relationship but slowly morphed into ride or die siblings.

So one day, little 14-year-old Rowan (Nolia was 16, soon to be 17, and Cedar was 10) gets home from school, pretty average, normal day.

She's sitting at the table doing her hw when someone knocks at the door and her parents (it was kind of weird, they were never home at this hour) rush to open it. There stands a man in a lab coat, holding an envelope. Rowan hated him instantly. Something about him seemed wrong.

He talked to her parents for a bit, and her parents asked her to go get Nolia and Cedar with some urgency in their voices. And.... If she was right in placing that tone.... Guilty excitement...?

She got her siblings and they came downstairs.

Turns out her parents had been closer to debt than she realized. So to get some more money and.... Relieve some financial burdens, they sold their kids to a group of scientists needing victi----research participants.

Of course there was a struggle, Nolia stepping up to try and defend her siblings, screaming at her parents, Rowan holding Cedar close while silent tears poured down both their faces.

But the scientist was prepared, and before anyone could react, three men appeared with rags, holding them over the kids' mouths.

She woke up in an empty white room.

Well... If you could call it white. It was more of a dinghy, hardly cleaned beige. These men were not with the government, she could immediately tell that.

Gonna sum up this part bc it involves torture but basically the scientists were experimenting to see if they could turn a human into a monster. They found only Rowan's soul was compatible. They used her siblings to keep her under control..... Only they had dumped Nolia and Cedar on the streets weeks ago. They simply reused footage to "prove" to Rowan they were still there.

They almost succeeded in their experiment. They forced so much magic into her soul that it started to flip.... But it was too much and Rowan flatlined. They dumped her body in the woods, only disappointed that they came so close.

A couple months passed. Her body decayed until only her skeleton remained. The decaying process was helped along by all the magic, which seemed to have concentrated in her bones, morphing them slowly until they were all connected.

She woke up.

She spent several years on the streets. She begged, she stole, and... She drank. Or at least she tried to. (She was allowed into bars because people thought she was a monster, and she wasn't wearing stripes, so that must mean she was an adult.) She quickly discovered that her alcohol tolerance was *legendary*. She drank bars dry having drinking contests with people (that's how she paid for all her drinks) but felt no different than before. Eventually someone dared her to try Everclear, and though she grimaced at the taste, she drank the entire bottle.

The bar was silent.

The taste eventually grew on her, a kind of self-inflicted punishment that soon became a routine, almost a comfort.

Now a good chunk of the next part has to do with my friend's sonas which I'm not going to talk about because they're not my characters, but suffice it to say they were amazing friends to her and helped her recover and get on her feet.

One such friend discovered her sleeping by Grillby's dumpster, and Grillby let her stay the night on his couch, setting up a job at Muffet's for her the next day. She and Muffet became really close friends and finally she started to have a more stable life. (She finds and dates Underlust Sans but that's another story lol which I would be happy to share in another ask~ but y'all these two are so cute plz)

So someone suggests she go see a therapist. Goodness knows she's got some trauma. So she agrees. The name of her therapist seems..... Eerily familiar but she decides to ignore her gut and go anyway. She walks into the therapist's office and---

And sees her mother sitting there, looking professional and well-rested and happy.

She runs.

Yeah so suffice it to say she isn't gonna trust therapy again for a bit lol, and it takes her even LONGER (and some good therapy sessions) to accept the fact that her mother was clearly better off without her and her siblings.

Yeah ya girl has a lot of issues, especially abandonment <3 she is very much a people pleaser and WILL put your needs high above her own. Anything to make you want to stay. Anything to make her feel needed or wanted.

So she's hanging out at Grillby's one day (he and his bartender like to try out different mixes on her, try to see if they can get her to make a face at a cocktail) when a huge party comes in. Rowan automatically shrinks a bit from discomfort because of the big crowd, and she continues her game with Grillby and the bartender (the bartender is my friend's sona that's why I'm not naming them lol). Then she hears something that makes her freeze mid-sip.

"Let's hear it for Magnolia!!!! The first of us to get tied down!" Followed by raucous laugh....ter...

She recognizes that laugh.

She flees the bar, with no explanation to anyone. She catches a glimpse of Nolia, with Cedar by her side, and both of their eyes squint slightly in confusion as she passes by them.

She makes it outside, looking around for where to go, unable to think in her panicked confusion when---

"R......Rowan?"

She goes ramrod straight and slowly turns, hands balled into fists to hide the violent shaking. Nolia bursts into tears, Cedar immediately clinging to her stiff form, his shoulders shaking as bad as her hands.

They.... Recognized her. They.........

Were *happy* to see her.

Slowly she hugged them back and they got to catching up. (So yeah if it wasn't clear Nolia was getting married, they both had survived on the streets together until Nolia was old enough to get a job).

Also something I forgot to mention lol is Rowan had found 2 kittens behind Muffet's, an older girl kitten fiercely protecting a little boy kitten. They immediately latched onto her after she made it clear she wasn't a threat, and she decided to name them after her siblings.

Also things worth noting, she smells like apples, she has magical red translucent hair, her soul wavers from more upside down like a monster's to more upright like a human's, she loves to bake, she is like the DEFINITION of cottagecore, she has magical tattoos on her face that change around to look like the Day of the Dead skulls (the colors get brighter or darker with her moods), and she drinks 2 bottle of everclear every time she goes to Grillby's. The paramedics in the area quickly become used to people calling the ambulance when she drinks (seriously look up everclear it's basically pure alcohol). She eventually stops drinking (not that it was *really* harming her since she had that alcohol tolerance and a body made primarily of magic at this point (plus alcohol isn't really gonna hurt her, she doesn't have kidneys lol) but she wanted to stop anyway. She loves to paint and teaches one of her friends to paint, tending to her friend's garden while her friend paints. She also loves to cook and bake, she eventually helps out with baking at Muffet's, though she refuses to bake the spiders into the pastries. Her scones are things of legend, they sell out as soon as she brings the tray out of the kitchen.

Yeah that was a lot lol and there's little things here and there that I missed so feel free to send in questions about her if you want to know anything! Or if you want to know how Rowan and UL Sans got together (spoiler: they eventually get married and it's so cute)

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 61

Masterlist

----

Initially, moving everyone to Cretea seemed like a brilliant solution to a terrible situation. In practice, though, it soon turns out that there are about a hundred problems attached that Miryam didn’t see coming at the first glance.

The first issue is, obviously, that most of their people do not want to move to Cretea. In spite of knowing about Shey and the other Fae members of the Alliance wanting them dead, the Seraphim still thought they would be able to return home to Erithia, and they are understandably reluctant to leave their home behind. The idea of moving to an island that is considered holy in their religion does little to ease their unhappiness, either. Meanwhile, the humans are theoretically fine with moving to some island they never heard of before, but are far from pleased at the prospect of having to share that island with a group of Fae.

Convincing everyone to go along with the plan takes days, and it only works because the alternative is to risk getting murdered. There are several concessions that need to be made, though. For one, it quickly becomes apparent that the Seraphim will only agree to come along if their friends and families can come as well. That was not initially something Miryam and Drakon had planned for – no need to drag more people than absolutely necessary into it, after all – but the Seraphim refuse to leave otherwise, and so they have no choice but to spirit the hundreds of thousands of Erithians still waiting in Erithia away to their camp. The attack they stage to cover their tracks is not exactly a good trick, but they hope that in the general chaos ensuing all over the Continent right now, no one will think to double-check.

Meanwhile, the humans come up with a few demands of their own to assure their safety. Most importantly, they downright refuse to be ruled over by any Fae. (“No offence to your husband,” Niria, who relays the decision to Miryam, says, “He seems nice enough, but he’s still Fae.”) Miryam would have picked Niria for the job of leading the humans, but everyone else seems to agree that it will obviously be her who takes up the role, and she has to admit that it’s convenient for an eventual unity within their soon-to-be-formed country to have the rulers of the Fae and humans already married to each other. Eventually, they might actually manage to get a unified government for all people living on Cretea, but for the moment, it is agreed upon that humans and Fae will be governed separately, with an option of merging the two governments eventually should both sides agree.

By the time they finally move on to the next issue (how to get everyone to Cretea), the Continent has already completely dissolved into chaos. They had to pull in most of their spies, but Andromache, who drops by almost every day, keeps them well-informed.

“It is a mess,” she says one day, looking drained enough that Miryam wordlessly hands her a mug of tea and gently pushes her towards the nearest chair. “Millions of people on the move everywhere. All roads are crowded, and the soldiers are busy day and night trying to keep the violence between groups at bay. And we still haven’t got any idea where to put most of these people.”

For the most part, Miryam just tries not to think about it. She doesn’t want to imagine these millions of people who are forced to leave their homes and travel through the entire Continent into the unknown, doesn’t want to think that this was not the future she was hoping for when she dreamt of what a world after the war might look like. (We won, she reminds herself. That’s all that really counts. Any other problems, we will find a way to deal with.)

There are many things she is trying very hard not to think too much about. Her death, for example. Or the wall that will soon go up and the people who will have to die for it to happen. Or how the entire mess the world has been turned into is, in some way, because of her. During the days when she is too busy to spend much time thinking, it works for the most part. At night, it’s a different matter.

At the end of the day, she’s still one of the lucky ones, though. Unlike so many others, at least she isn’t losing her home. Of course, there are places she will miss, Erithia and Telique for one. But she never truly had a place she considered home, not really, so there is no home for her to lose now. Her home were always other people, and most of those will be coming with her.

It more difficult for Drakon. He is trying very hard to pretend that he is enthusiastic about moving to Cretea to set a good example for his people, but Miryam can tell that losing Erithia is tearing him apart. That is definitely her fault in a way, just as the fact that his right arm still hurts and none of the healers they talked to has been able to do anything about it is because of her. (Well, the blame for that last thing lies with Daín for the most part, but he had the good sense to stay away so far. Miryam is sure that will change soon enough, though, given what she knows about him.)

Drakon and her settle into a rhythm of sorts together. During the days, they pretend everything is fine. At nights, when they are alone in their tent, they allow themselves to mourn, to be scared and in pain. It probably isn’t ideal, but Miryam supposes they will have all the time in the world to deal with what they lost once everyone is safe and settled on Cretea.

----

Miryam is asleep in their tent, or at least pretending to be, but Drakon gave up on trying to sleep after having spent two hours tossing and turning on his mattress. His right arm still hurts, pain shooting up from the fingertips to the shoulder at any movement, which makes sleeping difficult.

Instead, he leaves the camp, nodding to the guards as he passes them, and sits down on a flat stone by the shore still within the wards Miryam set up around the camp. Tiny waves are lapping around his feet. Drakon picks up a handful of pebbles and starts tossing them into the water, sending ripples running over the surface.

He is just about to pick up a second hand of stones when a reflection appears in the water. He looks up and finds a dark-haired man with dark skin and blue robes floating above the water. So he did come, just as Miryam predicted.

“Ghost,” he says, only to remember a heartbeat later that the being in front of him is called Daín.

“Hello Drakon,” Ghost – no, Daín, remember it already – says quietly.

He doesn’t say anything after that, and Drakon only stares at him. Miryam told him about what happened after he resurrected her, but he still cannot quite believe that the man before her is the second-most important being in his religion. (Although given that his goddess apparently wants him dead, he might want to reconsider his religion as well. There are many things he needs to reconsider, it seems.)

“How… how are you doing?” Daín finally asks.

“Good,” Drakon says in a too-casual tone. “Thanks for asking. You might want to avoid Miryam for the time being, though. She’s furious with you.”

“Miryam, huh?” Daín asks. “And you?”

Drakon shrugs with his good shoulder. “My arm still hurts.” Understatement of the century. “I can barely hold a pen. How do you think I am feeling?”

Daín’s form dims slightly. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s what I actually came to tell you. I didn’t mean…” He breaks off, then starts again. “I regretted it the moment I did it.”

“Why did you do it, then?” Drakon asks.

That’s what has been bugging him ever since. Admittedly, he isn’t the best at judging people, but he still thought he could trust Ghost. They weren’t exactly friends, but he still thought they liked each other. That he was apparently so wrong stings.

“Because I couldn’t spend the rest of eternity stuck in that cave,” Daín says, voice rising slightly. “I just couldn’t.”

“But we had promised to get you out,” Drakon says. He doesn’t like how small his voice sounds. This would probably be easier if he was angry.

“And how would you have done that, with Miryam dead?” Daín shakes his head. “Any possible way to ever free me – be it in combination with resurrecting Miryam or just cutting me loose – involved you using the sword. I didn’t want this, I swear I didn’t, but it was my only chance.”

“Ah,” Drakon says, nodding slowly.

He hadn’t considered that. It makes sense, though, and it being the reason for why Daín did what he did is actually a relief. It means that Daín didn’t hate him, didn’t fake friendliness to manipulate him into freeing him from the beginning – Drakon didn’t misjudge him that badly, after all – he just wanted to get out of the cave. After eight thousand years of being trapped there alone, it is certainly something Drakon can sympathize with. He doesn’t exactly approve (his arm hurts too much for that), but he has a hard time blaming Daín.

“And you…” Daín continues, “you wanted to save Miryam so badly. Initially, I wasn’t going to help you, but you practically begged me and so – “

“And so you thought it was fine to lie to me?” Drakon asks, annoyed again. He understands why Daín didn’t give him the choice, but there’s really no reason for Daín to act like he was doing him a favour, or like he was justified in taking away his choice on the matter. “If you were so sure I would do it anyways, you could have just told me the truth.”

“I – “ Daín begins, but he is cut off by a voice from behind.

“Are you actually apologizing because you feel bad, or just because your little plan to free yourself didn’t go quite as planned and you need me to not hate you, Daín?”

Drakon turns around to Miryam who is leaning against a tree behind him, arms crossed so tightly she looks like she is moments away from accidentally snapping them.

“Can’t sleep?” Drakon asks by way of greeting and moves aside a bit on his stone to make space for her.

“As usual.” Miryam pushes off her tree and goes to sit next to him. Arms still crossed, she turns to glare at Daín. “Still waiting for your answer.”

Daín still seems to be processing what Miryam just said to him. He is hanging entirely still in the air, not even blinking. At Miryam’s words, he snaps out of it, though.

“I really do want to apologize,” he says. “I would have come even if I had been freed fully, instead of just being tied to you instead of the sword. And I would still want you to not hate me even if I was able to move more than a mile away from you at a time.”

Miryam snorts. “Yeah, it must be terribly inconvenient. All that work to get free, only to end up tied to one of the people you betrayed to get what you want.”

She is very good at only letting anger and coldness show right now, but Drakon knows that she was as hurt by Daín’s betrayal as he was, and that she isn’t pleased at all by having him bound to her now. Under different circumstances, Drakon thinks she might have decided to be more charitable about the entire situation and give Daín a second chance, but it seems she decided to be angry for both of them about Daín nearly getting him killed.

“Besides,” Miryam continues, “your apologies hardly undo what you did.”

Now, Drakon does feel the need to interject. He is almost beginning to feel bad for Daín.

“It was nice of him to explain, though,” Drakon says. “I can’t even blame him, honestly.”

Miryam twists around to face him, looking outraged. “What?” She asks. “You can’t be serious.”

Drakon shrugs. “He wanted a way out of that cave. I understand that. And if I had just let him out earlier instead of leaving him trapped there all alone just because I was scared to break tradition, none of this would have happened, so at least part of the blame for the entire situation lies with me.”

“Using the sword would still have killed you, though!” Miryam is clearly trying to keep her voice calm, but she doesn’t succeed entirely. “That was his plan from the beginning. How can you just be willing to overlook that?”

In spite of himself, Drakon finds himself smiling. It has been an ongoing discussion between the two of them in the last weeks which one of them is putting to little importance into their own wellbeing. Drakon feels that Miryam is brushing off the fact that she died and the related trauma too easily and also spends far too much time blaming herself and too little blaming others for everything that happened. In turn, Miryam thinks that Drakon should focus less on her and more on how he almost died and also lost his home.

In the end, they are probably both right. It seems that they are both painfully alike in that they never quite manage to place enough importance on their own lives.

“That wasn’t my plan at all,” Daín objects, making Drakon turn to face him again. “I didn’t want to hurt Drakon, that’s why I stopped suggesting he use the sword after a while!”

Miryam looks like she already has a reply ready for that, but Drakon cuts in before she gets the chance. “I think we aren’t going to solve this today,” he says. “What I’d like to know, though, is how you ended up in that cave. The true story. And how you know the Mo… Étain.”

That stops Miryam from saying whatever was just on her mind. She has been dying to know the details of Daín’s and Étaín’s past, and she evidently cares more about that than about telling Daín off yet again.

“Alright,” Daín says. He seems relieved at the chance to change the subject. “Then let’s start at the beginning. From my understanding, it is Fae belief that I am a Fae who was chosen as a consort by Étaín, who is the goddess who created this world.”

Drakon nods, internally bracing himself. He has a feeling he isn’t going to like whatever is coming next. He was never go-to-the-temple-daily religious, but he did care about it. The years of war didn’t exactly improve his relationship with his goddess, but he can’t shake the feeling that this will be worse still.

“The Fae, as usual, were wrong on both counts,” Daín says. “Étaín and I are both members of a species called Aín. We are born from the universe itself, made from the strings that make up its essence and have powers that are – although any Aín I can think of would consider the comparison an insult – similar to the powers witches exhibit. Although the more correct way to put it considering the history would be that the witches have powers that are a faint echo of ours.”

“Sounds pretty god-like to me,” Drakon mutters.

“That’s an interesting question, isn’t it?” Daín asks, perking up. “What is a god?” He seems genuinely excited at the question. “You see, there is no clear answer. If we define it as a ‘being of great power that is worshipped as a deity’, one might consider Miryam to be a goddess, provided she got herself some worshipers, and – “

“Can we get back to the subject at hand?” Miryam asks sharply. Drakon cannot tell if she is just annoyed with Daín in general, wants him to continue his story, or doesn’t like the goddess-comparison. Probably a mixture of all three.

Daín winces. “Sure. Anyways, long story short, Étaín grew tired of simply visiting worlds and watching life there as a spectator. She wanted… well, I suppose that no longer matters. She took over one of the worlds – this one – and began to shape it to her liking, using the Cauldron, a magical item she created, to anchor the spell she used. She never particularly cared about the world’s original inhabitants – the humans, as I am sure you already guessed – but there was a bunch of invaders from another world – the Fae – who were all too happy to worship her as a goddess when she had prepared this world so well for them. And Étaín quickly found that she enjoyed being worshipped as a goddess.”

Drakon groans and buries his face in his hands. He prepared himself for the worst, but this is worse than anything he considered possible. His ancestors were invaders who stole this world from the humans and then proceeded to enslave him, his goddess the one who helped them, and –

“And what was your role in all this?” Miryam asks.

“I was her best friend,” Daín says without looking at Miryam. “And then I was her lover and her husband.”

“So you helped her.” Miryam has her arms crossed again and seems to be growing increasingly angry as the conversation progresses.

“No. But I didn’t stop her either, and that’s almost as bad.” Daín sighs. “It took me far too long to realize that she was wrong, and to start acting against her. I only changed my mind when I met Rashida. But from then on, I worked with the humans against Étaín. Well, mostly against the Fae, but Étaín backed them, so it made little difference. I managed to keep it secret for centuries, but she found out eventually. When she did, we fought. And we hurt each other badly enough that we were both reduced to this.” He gestures at himself. “Powerless. Mere shades of what we once were, forced to remain stuck in this world forever without ever having the power to influence it again.”

Drakon curses softly and runs a hand through his hair. Wonderful. So everything he believes was one giant lie. Well, not everything, of course, but still quite a lot. A lot of really important things.

Miryam nods slowly. “Interesting story. We’ll think about it.”

“There’s more still,” Daín says. “So much you do not know yet.”

“Maybe some other day,” Miryam says. “I’d rather be alone with Drakon now, though.”

Daín nods. “Of course. And I truly am sorry.”

Miryam doesn’t react. Drakon might have offered some acknowledgement, but he is still chewing on what Daín just told him. After waiting another heartbeat, Daín disappears into thin air.

Drakon turns to Miryam. His first instinct is to apologize, to offer some kind of comment about what Daín just revealed about his ancestors, but Miryam likely wouldn’t care about that. She didn’t the first time around, and she doubts he will now.

Miryam is the one who breaks the silence. “I can’t believe you are actually considering to forgive him,” she says, but she is smiling as she shakes her head slightly.

Ah. So this is what they are talking about. “And you?” Drakon asks. “Are you just going to hate him forever? Might be inconvenient, given that he is tied to you. He’ll have to be around a lot.”

Miryam laughs. “Unfortunate, isn’t it? I guess I’ll have to put that on the list of things I will eventually have to deal with. Sometime after we’ve made sure our people get through the next year without starving, I imagine.”

Drakon smiles back at her. “At least it won’t be boring?” He offers.

“Oh, definitely,” Miryam says and takes his hand. “At the rate things are going, we’ll be lucky if we ever get so much as a single boring day in our lives.”

“There’s a lot to be done until we get there, though,” Drakon says and jumps to his feet. “Houses to build and fields to plant. A country to create from scratch.” He offers her a hand to help her up.

Miryam takes the offered hand and lets him pull her to her feet. “Sounds fun. We better find a way to get everyone to Cretea safely first, though.”

----

Moving over to Cretea turns out to be less of a challenge than Miryam initially anticipated. Lacking ships and unable to purchase new ones for secrecy reasons, they had to rely on magic to get them across the ocean and onto the island. The entire matter (disabling the wards to even allow people onto the island and then creating a spell that allows about a million people to transfer to the island) took Miryam four days and no less than six trips to Cretea.

The spell she ended up with is hardly a work of art – it’s a one-way bridge of sorts between their camp and Cretea, and only ten people can pass through at a time and the transfer over to Cretea takes about thirty seconds, meaning that they need to have the spell running for well over a month to get everyone over to the island – but it is functional. A month is long, yes, it seems like a small price to pay for a relatively safe and comfortable way of travelling. Especially compared to what the millions of people on the Continent who also lost their homes have to deal with.

On the last day before the first people will start leaving for Cretea, Andromache visits again. Drakon is busy explaining the logistics of everything to the group of soldiers that will pass through the wall first, and so it’s just the two of them sitting together in Miryam’s tent.

“So, how are you doing?” Andromache asks.

Miryam shrugs. “Getting used to everything.” She doesn’t say that the nightmares are bad again, or that she feels so terribly guilty for all these people having to leave their homes, or that she is terrified of what the future might hold.

Andromache is kind enough to leave it at that and not call attention to her lie. “You’re leaving with the first group tomorrow?” She asks instead.

“Yes.” Miryam nods to the necklace Andromache is still wearing around her neck. “That will still bring you to me whenever you want. I’m hoping to see you again even when we’ve left the Continent.”

“I’ll come visit,” Andromache says with a sad smile.

Neither of them says that Andromache will have a very limited amount of time where she is even able to visit. The evacuations will probably take a few months still, but once the Wall goes up, there will be no more visits. Because there will be no more Andromache.

It is a subject both of them have carefully avoided in the last weeks. The knowledge that the wall spell will require the lives of the six human queens to come into function is always there, standing between them, but Miryam hasn’t yet found the courage to address it and Andromache doesn’t seem interested in bringing it up either.

Miryam reaches into her jacket and pulls out a second necklace. “And it would be great if you could give this to Mor. Tell her that I’d like to see her again sometime.”

Andromache frowns at the necklace in Miryam’s hand, then reluctantly takes it. “Is this your way of making me talk to Mor again?”

“This is my way of making sure a friend of mine doesn’t spend the rest of her life blaming herself for my death, and of possibly clearing up our argument,” Miryam replies. “Although I do wish you two would talk things out.”

Andromache makes a face at Miryam. “I don’t.”

“It was just an argument, Andromache. And it was halfway my fault, anyways, for not warning Mor of what I was going to do. It’s really not worth breaking up over.”

And Miryam feels terrible that this argument led to two of her friends breaking up. She never wanted that to happen, and she doesn’t think Mor deserves it. What she has said hadn’t exactly been kind, but given what Miryam had done, it hadn’t been unwarranted, either. Miryam doesn’t regret her actions, but she also cannot blame anyone for hating her for them.

“Well, it’s not your relationship so you don’t get to decide that,” Andromache mutters. When Miryam just watches her in silence, she sighs. “Besides, I’m not breaking up with Mor over the argument the two of you had. I’m breaking up with her because of the general implications of her behaviour.”

“You don’t really think Mor is anything like Shey,” Miryam says.

“No. But I don’t think I can imagine a relationship with her either. Not anymore.” Andromache shrugs. “I mean, even if I wasn’t going to die in that spell, I think it would be better for things to end here. Especially with the wall soon going up, there is little point in investing in a relationship I am unsure about.”

“Either way, you should talk to her sometime,” Miryam says. “You won’t get many chances to clear things between you up anymore, and such things shouldn’t be put off too long.” She thinks of Jurian and all the things she never got the chance to say to him and adds, “Talking from experience.”

Andromache sighs and closes her hand around the necklace. “I’ll give it to Mor,” she says. “And I’ll see. About the conversation.”

Miryam nods. “That’s all I am asking.”

----

Almost two weeks after Miryam gave it to her, Andromache still carries the charmed necklace she was meant to give to Mor around with her. She intended to give it to Mor right away, but somehow, the opportunity never arose. With the entire Continent dissolved into complete chaos, refugee trails running from one side to the other, she simply didn’t have much time for private conversations. Besides, Mor wasn’t in Telique as much as before, meaning they rarely saw each other either way.

Alright. If Andromache is being entirely honest, she didn’t exactly put much effort into meeting her, either. She could easily have sent a letter and asked Mor to come visit, but the truth is that she simply doesn’t want to talk to her. Having a few weeks to think everything through helped calm her anger into a manageable extent – which was, of course, helped by the fact that Miryam and Drakon turned out to be alive and… well, not quite well, but well enough, she suppoes – but that still doesn’t mean she’s just going to forgive Mor. Not for her behaviour and not for the mindset behind it.

Talking to Mor now would mean having to deal with that, and she simply doesn’t have the energy to explain to her where her problem is. If Mor doesn’t figure it out herself, it’s hardly up to Andromache to help her.

She promised Miryam, though. And Miryam also has a point that some things ought to be settled in due time. So as the date when the wall is scheduled to go up (which will, as it happens, also mean Andromache’s death), she finally makes herself approach Mor after a meeting in Telique.

“We need to talk,” she says by way of greeting, making Mor spin around to her, the papers she was just studying forgotten. Before she can say anything else, Andromache adds, “Meet me in half an hour in our usual spot.”

With that, she turns around and stalks off.

Their usual spot is one of the palace’s private gardens, this one belonging traditionally to Angolere. Usually, it is visited by courtiers from her country, but with everyone so busy lately, it is entirely empty when Andromache arrives. She still walks around once to check, then sits down on a bench under a willow and waits.

Mor arrives five minutes later. She is clearly nervous, fiddling around with the sleeve of her dress as she walks. Andromache nods to the seat beside her and waits until Mor has put up a ward around them before pulling the necklace out of her pocket and holding it out to her.

The explanation she offers is quick and hard. She only offers the bare bones of the situation. Miryam, Drakon and the others are alive, they are hiding, Miryam wants Mor to visit. She does not mention Shey, or the fact that Miryam died. If Mor wants to know about these things, she will have to speak to Miryam about it.

Halfway through her explanations, Mor begins to cry. Andromache does not put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. Part of her wants to, but that would send a signal to Mor she doesn’t want to send, and so she simply finishes her explanation and then waits for Mor to stop crying.

Maybe it was wrong of her to wait this long before giving the news to Mor. Letting her go on for weeks still thinking Miryam, Drakon and the others are dead was cruel, perhaps. Did she truly do it because she did not want to speak to Mor, or was it some sort of punishment? It bothers Andromache that she cannot tell and she vows to herself to do better. She once loved Mor dearly – for all that she made mistakes, she does not deserve cruelty, or punishment.

“So things between us…” Mor begins, hesitantly. “Things are fine again? We’re good.”

Andromache’s initial reaction is to snap at her, but she promised herself to be kind about this from now on, if only to make up for not delivering Miryam’s message earlier. This is, although Mor doesn’t yet know it, their final conversation. And Andromache wants a neat resolution to this, one that will leave her knowing she did everything right. She doesn’t want to be angry with Mor anymore. She just wants this settled and then she wants to move on.

“No,” she says as gently as she can manage. “I never blamed you for Miryam’s death, and so her not being dead changes nothing at all.” Mor looks completely crestfallen. She doesn’t say anything else, so it’s up to Andromache to say the final words. “Things between us are over, Mor.”

She doesn’t say that she is sorry. This conversation is already more for Mor’s sake than for hers, but there are limits to how far she will go. Maybe if Mor hadn’t thought that the sole problem was Miryam’s death, she might have been kinder.

Mor is crying again.

Andromache sighs. Still, she doesn’t reach out to comfort her. “With the wall soon going up, we wouldn’t have much of a future either way,” she says. “The Night Court and Angolere will be on different sides of the wall, with no way across.”

It isn’t the reason for why she is ending the relationship, but it might soften the blow for Mor. Let her think that the wall influenced her decision, that they might still have had a chance without it.

“I could stay in Angolere with you,” Mor sniffs.

“And leave your family behind forever? That’s not a choice I’d want you to make. Especially not over a relationship I am no longer sure about.”

She is far more than “no longer sure”, but there’s no need to say that. If not for the wall, if not for Andromache’s upcoming death, there might be some way to salvage their relationship, but Andromache doesn’t think she would be willing to make the effort. She certainly wouldn’t want Mor to make a choice as permanent as leaving her home behind for her now.

It does not make Mor cry any less, though. Andromache wishes she would stop crying long enough to think about her words and realize she is right. There’s no way Mor would want to leave her family and friends behind, not even for Andromache. But well, maybe she has a right to her tears and this is just Andromache being impatient with her. Looking at it objectively, it is probably her who is being too cold about this while Mor’s reaction is appropriate to the situation.

“Not all endings have to be bad,” Andromache offers. “I know it sometimes feels that way, but a relationship ending isn’t the end of the world. It just happens sometimes, and sometimes, it is even for the best. At times, two people are just right for each other for a time, and then they aren’t anymore, but that doesn’t mean the time before was bad or didn’t bring anything to both of them.”

That was very, very kind of her, Andromache thinks. Miryam will be satisfied. A bit cold, perhaps, but she just can’t help it. She is done with this relationship and, harsh though it may sound, done with Mor. She believes what she said – for a time, their relationship was good and she will always be grateful for that. But she sees no cause to maintain any kind of relationship with Mor after this.

“But I don’t want to go on without you,” Mor whispers.

Is it too cold if Andromache tells her that she will get over it in time? At least that’s the experience Andromache made in her two previous relationships. (Well, the first of these relationships barely lasted more than a month, but that didn’t make Andromache at eighteen feel less like she was dying when her then-boyfriend broke up with her.) On the other hand, that is probably not what Mor wants to hear right now, and given that this is her first relationship, it might be best if she makes these experiences on her own.

“You’ll manage,” she says. “I was the first person you loved – I doubt I’ll be the last.” For the sake of the good years they had, she makes herself smile. “I was happy to have met you, Morrigan. I wish you a long and happy life.” It is true, too.

Mor is crying harder again and doesn’t seem capable of saying anything, but that’s alright. Andromache would have appreciated some kind parting words from her, but she doesn’t need them. She is perfectly at peace with the way their relationship ended – this meeting’s intention was to give Mor a resolution, not her.

She gets up, inclines her head to Mor one last time, and walks out of the garden, leaving Mor alone on the bench.

----

On the Continent, the evacuations continue, the chaos showing no way of easing yet. By contrast, Prythian is almost eerily calm. The only court that is losing any territory is Spring, where everyone is busy moving hundreds and thousands of people, but up north in the Night Court, one might think there are no evacuations happening at all.

Mor enjoys the quiet. It offers a nice contrast to the storm raging inside her, and gives her all the time in the world to nurse her broken heart. After that terrible last conversation with Andromache, she fled to the cabin in the mountains where Rhysand is still recovering – or, lately, quietly seething at the fact that his father forbid him from going after Amarantha on his own – and together, they spend days in solitude.

They are a good fit these days, both of them equally miserable. For the most part, they do not talk at all. Rhysand wants to be left alone with his rage, and Mor doesn’t feel like talking about what happened with Andromache either. Well, she wouldn’t have felt like it even if Rhys had known about their relationship in the first place.

As far as she can tell, Rhys believes she is mourning Miryam and Drakon. About them, they talk once or twice, but Mor usually blocks off the conversation. She loves Rhys, but she isn’t prepared to talk about Miryam yet. Not when Miryam and their last argument are so closely tied to everything that is now wrong with her life.

Some days, she sits outside in the cold and twists the necklace in her hands. She hasn’t found the courage to actually use it yet. If Miryam wanted Mor to get it, that likely means she wants to talk to her, but what would they even talk about?

Nothing Mor might say would change anything about the facts. It won’t undo what Miryam did in the Black Land, or the argument they had about it. Nor will it erase the fact that Mor promised to protect Miryam, and then she left, and then Miryam almost died. It won’t make Andromache want her back, either.

Mor is sitting outside with the necklace again one day when Rhys sits down next to her. “What is the business with that necklace?” He asks. “A gift from a lover who left you?”

“No,” Mor chokes out. And then, before she can think any better of it, she is telling him the truth. Not everything – not a word about Andromache – but she tells him what the necklace is, what it does. She wants to mention her argument with Miryam, but every time she tries to repeat what happened, her voice abandons her.

After she is done, Rhys is silent for a while. Finally, he says, “I’m not sure if you should visit them. It would be a risk.”

“How so?” Mor asks, perking up.

“Well, if Miryam and Drakon wish for people to think they are dead, you visiting them would only put that in danger, wouldn’t it? What if father notices that you are gone and starts asking where you were?”

Mor flinches. She didn’t consider that option yet, but he is right. It would be irresponsible to visit Miryam. Even if Miryam asked for it, Mor shouldn’t… At least not right now. Maybe in a few months, once everything has settled down and she isn’t watched this closely by her uncle anymore. Maybe by then, things will have calmed down all on their own, too. Sometimes, time is the best medicine.

Yes, Mor thinks. This is right. Soon enough, things will have calmed down and it will have stopped hurting and then, she will be able to talk to Miryam again, too. It will all be alright. It just takes a little time.

----

The next two months are so busy that the time seems to move at twice the normal speed. That it takes over a month to move everyone to Cretea seemed inconvenient at first, but having people appear one after the other on Cretea actually turns out to be a blessing. That way, the first people to arrive can already start setting up a camp, scout the terrain and look for food. All of this is be painfully necessary because Cretea, densely forested and full of unknown plants and animals as it is, it definitely not an island you just want to dump a million of people onto without preparation.

By the time the last of their people arrives and Miryam closes her bridge spell, they have not one but actually five separate camps, all within less than an hour of each other, to avoid people being too densely crowded in one area and polluting the water. They also have some makeshift huts erected and catalogued most of the common fauna and flora as well as mapped the nearby parts of the island. The cartographers and scouts especially have done great work, but everyone on Cretea did their part.

Loathe as Miryam is to admit it, though, everything would have been a whole lot more difficult if not for Daín’s help. Within a day of the first people arriving on Cretea, they realized that the island is completely different from the rest of the Continent. More than half of the local plants and animals are unknown even to their experts, and it is impossible to tell which ones are dangerous. (For example, who would have thought that the tiny elephants living in the jungle can spit poison if they feel threatened?)

Daín, having apparently been the one to create Cretea as a wedding gift to Étaín, knows all the local specialities, though, and he is willing to help, which forces Miryam to put her lingering anger with him aside for the moment. To his credit, he doesn’t tie his help to any demands, doesn’t even ask Miryam and Drakon to forgive him for what he did in exchange. Drakon still seems to forgive him, even though his arm still hasn’t gotten better. Miryam doesn’t feel inclined to do the same yet.

Busy as they all are with trying to settle into Cretea and not be killed by the wildlife, she barely notices how the time passes. It’s like she blinked and suddenly, more than two months have passed since that battle on the ocean floor. On the Continent, the evacuations are drawing to a close. Not everyone is settled in yet, of course, and on the Fae side of the Continent, it is already obvious that there will be struggles over borders still to come, but everyone has reached their side of the Continent by now. Which means the wall will go up soon.

The realization hits Miryam like a punch to the chest when Andromache calmly tells her that they will cast the wall spell in less than a week. Before she even had the chance to truly comprehend what is about to happen, it’s Andromache’s last visit and they are forced to say goodbye to each other.

Andromache seems entirely calm about the situation, which just makes it more difficult for Miryam. Words rarely fail her, but now, they do. Andromache is one of her closest friends – the idea of losing her like this is unbearable. It almost feels like Miryam is killing her herself.

Andromache seems to guess her line of thought, though, because as she hugs Miryam goodbye, she whispers into her ear, “I know you like to blame yourself for things that aren’t your fault, and that you won’t listen to me when I tell you that you hold no blame for a decision I made freely. I still want you to not blame yourself for this, though. Consider it my last wish if you want.”

Miryam isn’t sure if that is a wish she will be able to honour, but she still makes herself nod. After Andromache has disappeared, she spends a long time staring at the space where she was just standing, trying not to think about anything at all. Then, she turns around and walks over to the nearest human camp.

It is perched in a valley, and Miryam finds a flat stone on a nearby hill where she sits down. From up here, she can see the entire camp, all the people moving round down there, going about their daily activities and simply living. Children are running through the camp, chasing each other in some made-up game. Fires are burning everywhere, adults preparing dinner over them.

Miryam smiles softly. Maybe in a moment, she will go down there and join the hustle, maybe find herself some dinner and join the groups of people sitting around in front of the tents. For the moment, though, she is content to simply watch.

She loves moments like this. They remind her that even if many things didn’t go the way she planned, at the end of the day, she got the most important thing she wanted, the only one that really mattered. At the end of the day, they won and they are free, and that’s all that really counts.

She just wishes Jurian was here to see this. He would have loved it as much as she does and it is so beyond cruel that he never got to see that the victory he sacrificed so much for.

“I miss you,” she whispers.

She doesn’t believe that anyone is there to listen, doesn’t even believe in an afterlife, but some things are better said out loud. For some words, it is easier to be able to pretend that there is someone listening.

“I wonder what you would make of everything if you were here.” She smiles, shaking her head slightly. “You would probably be against the wall far less than I am. You would think I’m stupid to dislike it so much, I know. We might even argue over it. I would give anything to be able to argue with you over that one more time. But mostly I just… I really wish you were here to see this. We won. And it kills me that you never got to hear about that.”

The only answer is the wind rustling in the leaves. What wouldn’t Miryam give for one chance, just once more chance to talk to Jurian. How is it that she got a second chance at life but he didn’t?

She tries to comfort herself with the knowledge that Jurian would be happy for her. If he was able to talk to her, he would probably tell her off for feeling guilty that she lives while he is gone. He would want her to live a happy life, the same thing she would have wanted for him had their positions been reversed.

“We won,” Miryam repeats once more, and then, she gets up and walks down to the camp.

----

The sunlight pierces the darkness without warning. Had Jurian been able to, he would have closed his eye against the sudden light, but as it is, he can only wait until his eye adjusts to the brightness and he can see again. Slowly, Amarantha’s face comes into focus in front of him.

“Have you missed me?” She asks.

Even if Jurian had been able to reply, he wouldn’t have. He didn’t miss Amarantha, of course, but after so long trapped alone in the dark, even the face he hates the most in the entire world is a welcome sight. He doesn’t know how long it has been since Amarantha shoved his eye into that casket, furious over the Loyalists’ defeat and clearly trying to sour the victory for Jurian, only that it felt like an eternity trapped alone in the dark, moments blurring together in a never-ending stream of terribleness.

“It’s been almost three months,” Amarantha says as if reading his thoughts and picks the ring with his eye on it up.

“Such a long time!” She seems in a good mood today, and Jurian is immediately suspicious. Her good news tend to end badly for him. “There is so much you missed. Do you want me to tell you?”

Yes. No. Jurian doesn’t know. If he still had a body, he is sure his heart would be racing. Any news that has Amarantha in such a good mood can only be terrible indeed, especially when it must be bad enough to counter her anger over the Alliance winning the war.

“Well, one thing you certainly didn’t miss was your allies looking for you,” Amarantha says casually. “Because they didn’t. They seem entirely content to leave you to rot. If you ask me, they are probably glad to be rid of you. Not that I can blame them.”

Once, Jurian might have objected – internally, at least – but now, he cannot. He has run out of possible explanations for why none of his friends came to save him yet, especially with the war now over for months. They should have come. But they didn’t, and the only possible reason is that they do not care.

“No, there was something else I wanted to tell you about,” Amarantha says. “I even considered interrupting your little time-out for it, but I thought you could use some time on your own to contemplate how little use your side winning this war was for you in the end.”

Desperately, Jurian tries to cling onto the knowledge that this war was still worth it. If they won, that must mean slavery was abolished. Millions of people must have been freed. It was worth it.

It is difficult to truly feel that way, though, when he cannot see the effects. All that’s there for him is pain and suffering, and none of his supposed friends seem to be willing to help him. It’s like they won and then forgot about him, like they had no use for him anymore and so they threw him away.

“Well, now you hear a few months too late,” Amarantha continues. She smiles at him. It is not a pleasant smile, showing far too many teeth. “Your little mortal lover – sorry, former lover – is dead.”

Jurian’s world goes entirely still. It’s a lie, is his first thought. It has to be a lie. A poor one at that, given that he knows the war is already over. Miryam cannot be dead.

“That lesser faery she betrayed you with is dead as well, although I doubt you are sad about that,” Amarantha continues. “As well as a whole bunch of other people, mortals and faeries, mostly. Ravenia sent soldiers after them, and they somehow managed to completely wipe each other out. Everyone dead, on both sides.” Her smile broadens further. “I find it beyond amusing, honestly. Although I would be really curious to know what you think about it.”

What he thinks about it? He thinks, of course, that it cannot be true. And if it was… No, he cannot bear to think about that.

“She betrayed you, after all,” Amarantha continues. “You did everything for her, and she couldn’t even be bothered to try and save you. Maybe she was too busy with that faerie prince she picked over you. Maybe she was glad to have you out of the way.”

Jurian wishes he could block out her words. He doesn’t want to hear what she is saying, but he can’t stop it. The words are like poison, all the deadlier because there is at least a spark of truth in them.

Amarantha shrugs. “If I were you, I would probably hate her. I’d be glad that she is dead.”

Jurian isn’t. He isn’t. He could never hate Miryam, could never want her dead.

But she must have hated him and wanted him dead if she never came for him. He tries to tell himself that she simply might not have had the time, that she might have come for him after she freed her people had she survived to do so, but it isn’t a good enough excuse. Had it been Miryam being tortured, he would have dropped anything to try and save her. Nothing, absolutely nothing could have been more important.

And she left him for Drakon, Drakon who wouldn’t even try to save her when she was in danger. Jurian told her to stay away from him, but she didn’t listen, and what did it get her? It’s her own damn fault if she died.

No, no, he doesn’t mean that. What is he thinking?

Amarantha smiles like he knows exactly what is going on in his head. “You are glad,” she says, and Jurian spends the entire rest of the day forcing himself to relive all the good memories he has of Miryam to prove to himself, to Amarantha, to everyone, how very much not glad he is.

----

Given that Andromache is going to die in less than half a day, she is surprisingly calm. She spent the last days settling all the needs to be settled. She visited her mother and all her remaining family, met up with any close friends and wrote a few letters that are meant to be opened only after her death. Most of the meetings went well. Her mother didn’t want to let her go at the end, hugging her again and again which just made it harder for Andromache to leave, but at the end of the day, she feels that all of the meetings were a success.

Her people are not yet entirely settled in, but her successor will see to that. Everyone will be provided for, and Andromache is sure that Ania is a good choice as a successor, someone who will govern fairly and wisely for the years to come. Everything is settled. She isn’t leaving any loose ends behind.

With only five hours to spare before she wants to meet the other queens, though, she suddenly finds herself with nothing left to do. Everything is settled, but Andromache still feels like she needs act, to somehow do one last thing even if she doesn’t know what. Her hours are so limited now, she can’t help the feeling that she ought to be using them to their fullest extent.

Yanis eventually finds her wandering through the palace aimlessly. He doesn’t say a word, just takes her by the arm and leads her to one of the gardens. They sit down amongst two rose bushes. With autumn approaching, the flowers are raining petals on the pathway. With a start, Andromache realizes that she will never see roses in full bloom again.

She swallows against the sudden tightness in her throat. In all the last months, she avoided thinking about all that dying entails. She thought about the fact that she has to die plenty, of course, but she never really allowed herself to contemplate what that means. And there were a million different things to consider, her people and the evacuations and the final council meetings keeping her so busy that she simply didn’t have time to think about it.

Now she does, though, and she doesn’t like it at all. Like most people in the world, Andromache doesn’t want to die. There are so many things she still wants to do. She would like to see Angolere rebuilt south of the wall, and see her people thrive. Should it ever become possible, she would like children of her own, and a partner to grow old with should she find someone she can imagine spending her life with. She once thought it might be Mor, but it wasn’t, and she would have liked to have the time to find someone else.

Maybe she should have asked Miryam what dying feels like. But no, that would just have made Miryam feel worse about the entire situation. Besides, she doubts bleeding out from a spear to the chest feels anything like being consumed by a spell.

She supposes at least she get to see another sunrise, as they chose dawn as the time to cast their spell. Hopefully, the morning won’t be cloudy so she will get to see the sun one last time.

Slowly, Yanis takes her hand. His rough, callused fingers squeeze hers.

“Remember our first mission, when we were rooky soldiers together?” He asks.

“When we were sent out to chase that band or faeries that had attacked the village?” Andromache asks, a smile tugging at her lips. “And you idiot thought you could get into a fistfight with one of these lion-wolf-mixture things and win?”

“It knocked my sword out of my hand!” Yanis objects. “I was panicking.”

“Lucky for you I still had both my sword and my senses, or that thing would have taken your head off.”

Yanis grins, but his smile soon fades. “Anni, I – “

A messenger bursts into the garden, nearly stumbling over his feet in his haste to bow to Andromache. “Your Majesty,” he says, holding out a letter to her. “From Queen Nakia. She said to deliver this to you.”

Frowning, Andromache takes the letter. She sees no reason why Nakia would write her a letter now, not when they are both going to die together in a few hours. She breaks the seal and unfolds the parchment.

Dear Andromache,

If all goes according to the plan, this letter will be delivered to you by midnight, which means that by then, it will be too late for you to change anything about any of it. I apologize for lying to you, but I didn’t think you would agree with my plan, and I had to do what I thought best for our people. I hope that you will be able to forgive my ploys.

For all that I believe we have all chosen worthy successors, it would be irresponsible to leave our people without any experienced leaders in a time like this. We couldn’t all die, and I trust that you and the others who remain will keep our people safe and lead them into a bright future.

It has been my honour to work with you in the last nine years.

Your friend,

Nakia

----

Queen Nakia of Scythia considers herself a practical woman. As such, it became clear to her quickly that robbing the humans of their entire leadership in one go would be a very, very bad idea. Admittedly, it was her bad idea, and at the time where she suggested it, it might not have been so bad at all, but now, there is simply no way sacrificing all six queens in one go is the right thing to do. Not when it would bring instability to their people in a situation as precarious as this one.

Fortunately, Nakia listened closely when Miryam initially explained the spell to them all. Back then, she said that the spell would work not only for the people it was tied to, but also for any close relatives. Some reading in books stolen from abandoned Fae libraries confirmed quickly enough that any close relatives to the other queens would work just as well as sacrifices.

It was not difficult to find people willing to step in for the other queens. Andromache’s mother. Sehline’s older brother. Mije’s uncle. Kjani’s grandmother. Only for Leline, there was no one since her entire family had died two years ago during an attack, so she is in the forest where they met to cast the spell along with the others.

Some part of Nakia feels bad for going behind the other queens’ backs like this. They will not be grateful to her for sparing them at the expense of their loved ones, but she is not doing it for their sakes. No, glad as she is that Andromache and the others will get to live, she is doing this solely for her country.

As for herself… Well, she had plenty of relatives of her own she might have asked, but she didn’t. A child should not die for its mother, nor a grandchild for its grandmother, and while Elmira is still young and inexperienced, Andromache and the others will easily able to support her through the initial years queen, just as Nakia herself did for so many others.

She had a long life, and a good one. For forty years, she ruled her country, kept her people safe. She watched her children and grandchildren grow up. Now, she gets to die knowing that her people will be forever free from slavery, never forced to fear the Fae again.

It is good, she thinks as she sketches symbols she does not understand into the earth around her, following the instructions Miryam left closely. The moon is standing high above in the sky.

Nakia finishes the last symbol and turns to face the others. “Shall we?” She asks.

They all look back at her. Some are crying, others firm. They all nod, though.

Nakia turns to look up at the moon. Slowly, she begins to recite the spell, keeping her gaze fixed on the moon above. It is the last thing she sees.

----

Miryam isn’t sleeping. She is lying in bed fully clothed, head resting on Drakon’s shoulder and his arm wrapped around her. When she senses the magical tremor running through the air, she sits up bolt upright.

“What happened?” Drakon asks, sitting up as well.

Miryam shakes her head, gasping. She can still feel the magic thick in the air, pulsing like a second heartbeat. It is not a pleasant sensation. And there, miles and miles away, she can sense something else. A barrier running through the world, cleaving it in two.

“It’s too early,” she whispers, stretching out her senses to investigate that new barrier. It is too far away for her to get a proper read, though. “Andromache said dawn.”

“The wall?” Drakon asks, turning around to her.

“Yes,” Miryam says slowly. She swings her legs over the bed’s edge and walks towards the door to the tiny hut they are sleeping in. She looks outside over the sleeping camp, as if to assure herself that they are still there. “The wall is in place now.”

----

A/N: So, this is not the last chapter after all. There will still be an epilogue coming, set 10 years after the wall went up, to wrap up some loose strings and also just... generally end on a positive note. That is obviously hard to do in the direct aftermath of basically 7+ years of extremely traumatizing events, but I do want to give off a HOPEFUL expression of the future, so an epilogue it is.

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed @aileywrites

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11 - Friday Night's Alright For Fighting

[ FM ]

On Friday, it’s Felix’s mother’s turn to pick him up from school since he’ll be spending the weekend at her place. I briefly wonder if he’ll tell her about his new-found admiration for the enigmatic Miss Scully and for just a little bit, the petty side of me wishes he would. It’s not that she’s a bad mother per se, but she never shared a strong connection with our son and ever since the divorce, it somehow got worse instead of better.

Felix took the divorce pretty hard, lashing out at me and the teacher and kids at kindergarten. There were times when I couldn’t even recognize my own kid. Because of my background in psychology, I tried to talk to him countless times but I finally had to admit that I was too emotionally involved to really help him. So we began to see a therapist back in Washington, D.C, him and I. His mother refused to participate because “He never acts out when he’s at my place, Fox, seems to me like that’s a you-problem.” That day, only the thought of what would become of my son if I went to jail had kept me from murdering her on the spot.

We don’t stay in contact much, except for negotiating pick-up and drop-off times for Felix, and that’s about all I can handle from her. The custody battle was a hot mess, not because she particularly wanted to keep Felix, but she used it to humiliate me, dragging my abilities as a father and caretaker through the mud in front of a judge and our lawyers. I tried to keep Felix out of the court hearings, putting my foot firmly down when her lawyer suggested that we could just ask the child where he wanted to live. He was three years old at the time, fat chance I was going to let that happen.

Thankfully, we were able to convince the judge that I was willing and more than capable of caring for our son and that me working from home was a more child-friendly environment than his mother’s job, which takes her out of the country several times a month.

I take off my reading glasses and close my laptop, this trip down memory lane has put me in a sour mood. After putting away everything work-related for the weekend, I stretch my arms over my head, contemplating what to do with my free time. I don’t have any friends here yet and since I can’t meet anyone at work, I decide to walk down the street to the harbor.

The streets are pretty busy with locals and tourists alike and as I walk past the crowd that stand around the rock that marks the place where the pilgrims debarked the Mayflower back in 1620, I think to myself ‘Guys it’s just a rock. In the ground. Walled in on all four sides.’ I was pretty disappointed, if you couldn’t already guess that.

I continue my walk and pass the dock where you can usually see the Mayflower II anchored, swaying with the waves of the Atlantic. She’s an accurate and beautiful reproduction of the original ship with which the pilgrims had sailed to America, founding Plymouth Colony after 10 gruesome weeks at sea.

Currently though, the dock is empty safe for a few seagulls harassing the tourists – they have taken the ship to a shipyard in Connecticut for restoration, much to Felix’s chagrin. When he heard that we were going to move here, he spent countless hours reading up on the history of Plymouth, the Pilgrims and everything that happened afterwards. He got a real kick out of imagining the American Protestors and the British Government officials dressed up in frilly dresses and huge feathered hats, actually having a fancy tea party instead of the Boston Tea Party, which escalated the American Revolution in 1773.

His special interest, though, had been captured by the Mayflower, which is not surprising because he loves anything that’s big and can transport people or cargo. Planes, helicopters, trains, you name it, but especially ships. On the first night in our new house, he insisted that we leave the boxes packed for now and head down to the harbor, right now.

At first, always the responsible adult, I refused, but he didn’t let up, resorting to pleading with me, then he practically begged me and when I still wouldn’t budge he went in for the kill with his puppy-dog look and a pronounced pout. I could see the tears welling up in his eyes. Damn, he was using my very own look against me!

The tears still came a little while after, when we reached the harbor and found the dock deserted. I wanted to kick myself for not checking if the ship was actually there or not and I had to carry a bawling, devastated Felix back to our house. He only stopped crying when I promised him that we’d go see the Mayflower II the very second she sailed back into the harbor.

After another, more pleasant, trip down memory lane, I had reached my destination: The Cabby Shack, a local bar and restaurant that is made up of an inside bar downstairs and two large decks, the lower one housing the outside bar, the upper one the restaurant.

Making my way through the crowded room, I spotted an empty seat at the bar and ordered a drink aptly named Islands of Misfits. I snorted out a laugh at how accurately it described my situation right now. Island of Misfits alright, inhabitant: 1.

I took a sip of my drink and twirled the tiny umbrella between my fingers when out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone take the seat next to me at the bar.

“Islands of Misfits, huh? Must be bad!” Looking up, I’m surprised to see that it’s Walter Skinner, my son’s principal.

“Yeah, sort of. Sorry, hello sir, it’s nice to see you!” He shakes my hand briefly and orders himself a whiskey on the rocks. Had I been a more insecure man I would’ve felt stupid for my drink choice, but as it was, if I like my drinks sweet and with a cutesy umbrella in it, then that’s what I’ll have. And don’t you dare forget the fucking umbrella!

“So Mr. Mulder, what is it, love troubles?” As a born and raised city boy I have yet to come to terms with small town frankness but I like Principal Skinner and his lack of beating around the bush.

But still, I couldn’t exactly tell him the whole truth, I don’t think he’d appreciate a Actually yes, sir, I’ve been staring at one of your teachers for every damn day of the week and when I’m not busy staring at her, I think about her all the time. I wonder if her kisses taste like strawberries and what her hair smells like. I’m driving myself slowly insane by imagining running my tongue over the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and let me tell you about the dreams I’ve been having real quick. Yeah that won’t fly.

First, he’d kick my ass into the sixth dimension and then he’d have me arrested for gross misconduct or worse, sexual harassment. Even though I’m not sure if that’s really applicable when it only takes place in your mind, it’s still inappropriate as all hell and I’m not going to test out my little theory. I don’t think I’d fare well in jail, to be honest.

So instead, I opt for a more appropriate half-version of the truth. “Yeah, sort of. I had a huge argument with my ex-wife over the phone when she was late picking our son up from school. If I had one, I think my swear jar would be able to buy me my own Island of Misfits. And what’s even worse is that I think my – our son was there to hear at least her end of the fight.” I take a miserable sip from my drink.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Mr. Mulder. Your son’s name is Felix, right? He’s in Miss Anderson’s first grade?” Thankful for the slight change of topic, I nod.

“Yes, sir, that’s him. We got off to a rocky start but after the first week, he really loves going to school, Mr. Skinner.” The other man shakes his head and offers me his hand once again.

“Please, call me Walter. Outside of school only, of course, you understand.”

I grab his hand and give it a brief shake, smiling wryly. “Of course. I’m Fox but I make everyone call me Mulder. Even my parents. I hate my name.” He huffs out a laugh at that and I can tell that it’s a rare occasion.

“I get the feeling you’re in need of a friend on your island, Mulder not Fox.”

That I do, indeed.

Island of Maybe not such Misfits, inhabitants: 2.

Chapter 12 - A Rainbow In Its Natural Habitat

[missjaystone]

What’s up, Doc?

This is my submission for darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ ‘Watching-Stalker AU Challenge’ (And yes, after asking initially from an entirely new account before posting on a secondary blog, I’m too embarrassed to tag Roo again.)

Prompt 11: Everyone knows about celebrity stalkers, but what happens when a celebrity is the stalker? Kinks: Forced Pregnancy/Breeding, A/B/O

Word Count: 3000

Relationship: Dark!Steve x Fem!Reader x Dark!Bucky Trigger Warnings: nonconsensual/dubious consent, forced pregnancy/breeding, A/B/O dynamics, abuse of power(?). PLEASE DONT READ IF THESE OFFEND YOU (PS Everyone: I’m sorry to redirect everyone to another blog but I’m too nervous about having 'missjaywrites’ as only a secondary blog. The first blog post on miss_jay_stone with stay but that blog is officially abandoned. Henceforth everything will be posted here.)

Being a doctor meant stressful moments, being a military doctor meant stressful days, weeks, months, or years. However, being a doctor specifically for the Avengers was an entirely new level of pressure. Being the person to patch up or perform surgery on literal superheroes made you miss working in the middle of warzones. You knew one wrong move could quickly spiral into a major issue, but you knew this when you took the job.

The choice itself wasn’t easy, there were more than enough reasons for you to respectfully decline, reasons like; despite being as accomplished as you were, you were still fairly young, the pressure was enough to age someone half a century, there were about a dozen security measures in place to make sure you said nothing to anyone, numerous contracts and NDAs to sign, and possibly the biggest reason to say ‘no’ was what you really were. An omega. You could very well be arrested because of how many official government forms you’d falsified and signed stating you were a Beta. You did what you had to do to accomplish your goals and it landed you in the medbay of the Avengers compound, often in close contact with the numerous Alphas on the team.

In your opinion, you were pretty physically average and never thought of yourself as someone that turned heads. That was more than fine by you, the less attention you had on you the better. Recently, though, you felt something subtle change, you always felt like somebody was looking at you, even if nobody else was around. The constant feeling and incessant nagging in the back of your mind sent a chill up your spine daily. There were some days where you found yourself feeling something like an internal tug towards whatever alpha was close by and now more often than not, the closest alpha was one of the two blue-eyes super soldiers. If you had listened to the alarm bells in your head, you would have left your job the moment you felt something strange.

You would’ve moved to Calgary or Portland or Dallas, but you brushed it off as silliness and an overactive imagination. And because of that, here you were, stuck in a web of your own design, your protruding stomach a reminder of the mistakes that led to this situation. Of course, you’d love them when they arrived but that wouldn’t lessen the naivete you felt for falling into their game. Their words forever holding your heart and soul firmly in a vice grip. “C’mon, doll, you can be our good little ‘mega and get everything you could ever want” “We can keep your secrets safe, we’ll make sure nothing bad can ever happen to you.” The words seem to play on repeat in your mind. You can pinpoint the exact moment a small mistake led to where you were now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 8 Months Prior~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, where are you going all dolled up like that?” Your colleague and friend Alex asked as you stepped out of the storage room with a bundle of clothes in your hand. He paused typing his report to watch you gather your things. “I’m going to a 50s themed party with a guy I’ve been seeing and he’ll be here to get me soon,” you answered, motioning to the very-50s inspired outfit you wore. “Lucky you, kid, knock him dead but use protection,” he called with a chuckle as you left towards the elevator. You rolled your eyes at his comment but got a chuckle out of it yourself. He loved acting like he had 25 years on you instead of 10. The entire elevator ride down you were checking to make sure everything was perfect and not a hair was out of place.

You didn’t even look up when you stepped out of the elevator into the lobby. You did however look up, when you collided with a firm body. Your apologies were stopped by two things; the feel of cold metal on your back thru the thin fabric of your top and the strong scent, familiar scent of cedar & sandalwood and sage & pine. “I’m so sorry about that Captain Rogers, Sargent Barnes; that was totally my fault for not looking and I’m incredibly sorry to have almost steamrolled you,” you rambled awkwardly as you hurriedly tried to step back and put space between you and them. It took several long moments before Bucky removed his hand from your back, putting both in his pockets.

“Don’t worry about it, accidents happen,” Steve said with a smile that just didn’t seem quite right. There was an uncomfortable couple of seconds where you felt their eyes raking over you and you would’ve sworn their pupils dilated. “You know, it’s funny, you look like you’re straight out of a magazine from the 40s,” Steve said with a chuckle to break the silence. “Thank you, sir, I have a date at a themed party and this is the theme,” you sheepishly replied. The blond cleared his throat to cover what almost sounded like a growl at the name ‘sir’ and his features momentarily hardened when you mentioned it was a date. His smile was quick to return “well we don’t want to hold you up, enjoy your weekend, Doc and we’ll see you around.” You politely thanked him and returned the pleasantry before stepping passed them to leave. If only you had looked back, you would’ve seen them begin an intense, hushed conversation before they disappeared into the elevator.

That little conversation seemed to be when all of this started, but it was only little things that never drew much thought. At least, it started small; things on your desk would be moved, lights would be left on when you showed up the next day, your door would be unlocked, just little things that you couldn’t definitively say you did or didn’t do and the feeling of surveillance being minute and random. Then it got bigger; clothes you’d left at the office would disappear like jackets you kept in case you got cold or a spare change of clothes if what you wore got messed up, and papers you were sure you’d put away would be scattered on your desk but the feeling of being watched was more often, and one or both of them often came around for seemingly any reason. Like when Sam came in to get stitches after a mission, Bucky stood to the side almost brooding when you only mildly acknowledged him to tend to his friend.

Then alarms started to go off in your head but you ignored it. They were celebrities, they were superheroes. There’s no way on Earth they’d give you more than a second though. Your internal alarms kept going off; you never felt alone anymore, even in your own home. Your cozy little home that you’d fallen in love with always felt like somebody else was there or had been there. You often felt like your skin was burning, especially when they were around which was now multiple times a day, you always seemed to run into them. Bucky was normally quiet when you crossed paths, always asking if you felt okay and commenting on your flushed and flustered appearance, taking two steps forward for every step you took away from him. Steve seemed to be more physical whenever you two met around the building, he’d pull you into a friendly hug before you could object and make conversation with you, often brushing hands with you or setting his hand on the small of your back.

It went on like that for two months and you’d never been more thankful for fall to turn to winter, the cold breeze helping to sate your increasingly uncomfortable temperature. You thought everything had passed when you started to feel more normal and they stopped coming around you as often.

One night you decided to stay late to get some reports finished, submitted, and filed properly. It was perfectly fine for a while but then you felt yourself heating up again. Even after removing your scrubs and changing into some clothes you stored here, you were still burning. Soon you were fidgeting in your seat, trying to find some way to quell whatever what happening with you. You ended up nearly running to the bathroom to splash cool water on your face and get something to drink but you should have just gone home.

When you took two steps back into your lab, you were immediately pulling back against someone’s broad chest with superhuman strength. On instant contact, a familiar and unnerving scent surrounded you; cedar and sandalwood. It was Bucky hold your back flush against his chest. Panic set in seconds later when you felt him pressed into your lower back, the size alone was enough to take you out of your paralyzingly-afraid state. But it wasn’t like that helped any; you were an average human and he was a Super Soldier, it took no effort to keep you in his grasp. All he had to do to keep you in line was move one hand around your throat and growl quietly in your ear.

“Easy, doll, if you move too much he may have to hurt you and that's the last thing we want,” a calm voice said, the tone almost soothing. Steve stepped into sight from where he’d been looking at some things on your shelf. “I know you’re probably a little confused but we’ve been keeping an eye out for you. Keeping creeps away at bars, making sure your train ride home goes without incident, taking care of the men you go on dates with. You’ve quite the active social life doll,” his voice was tender as he approached you, gently stroking your cheek.  By now your eyes were wide with bewilderment as your brain attempted to process this situation. “We want you to be our good little Omega, start a family with you, and give you everything you could ever want or need,” Steve continued when your attempt to speak came out in a whimper.

Just as you went to correct him, Steve stopped you, cupping your cheek “please don’t lie to me, doll, we can’t create a future built on lies. We always thought you were a cute little Beta but after running into you that day, we both got a nice strong whiff of your cleverly hidden Omega scent, made us both incredibly hard, especially in that outfit that looked like it was from our time. That little incident made us see you for what you are; a good little ‘mega perfectly tailored for us, made to be our girl and have our pups. Unfortunately, we had to wait sometime to wean you off of those nasty chemical suppressants but now that you’re on the verge of your first heat, your body is more ready than it ever will be to take us,” Steve explained in that eerily calm voice, the intimacy of the town and him gently stroking your cheek was easily beginning to jumble your mind as it told you to do what you’d been fighting for years, what you hoped to always avoid.

“Steve,” Bucky grumbled, finally speaking up when his friend paused, he’d started steadily grinding his hips against yours for friction. “I-I can’t, I d-don’t want this,” you stammered out, nearly biting your lip off to keep yourself from whimpering or moaning as you felt Bucky’s hard-on against you, so close to where you needed but didn’t want it to be. “Well, that’s why we’re giving you a choice, princess. We don’t want anything bad to happen to you and if you’re our girl we can make sure nothing bad ever happens to you. You’ll be the safest person on the planet. Alternatively, people will find out about your status and well, perjury, falsifying federal documents, and falsifying medical documents are serious. You’d lose your medical license permanently and it’ll be at least a decade in prison but that’s not what we want,” Steve reassured before planting a small but quick kiss on your lips and smiling.

“C'mon doll, you can be our good little 'mega and never have to do anything ever again, you’ll never have to worry about money, job security, gross bar creeps, medical issues. We just wanna take care of our girl,” Bucky whispered in your ear, his tone too gentle for the situation. When you began to object again, a strong cramp in your abdomen had you nearly double over with a pained moan. You’d have been on the floor if Bucky wasn’t holding you and Steve wasn’t in front of you. “We can make all of this pain go away right now, just say you’ll be our best girl,” Steve coerced as he moved a few strands of hair out of your face. You knew you couldn’t open your mouth without moaning in pain or screaming so you furiously shook your head. Steve continuing to stroke your cheek, though small, was enough to distract you from noticing Bucky untying and pushing your shorts down.

As much as you hated yourself for it, you moaned out in surprise when you felt Bucky’s cool metal fingers rubbing your clit slowly. The man let out a groan and pulled his hand back, smirking as it glistened in the dimmed lights of the lab “fuck, Stevie, she’s so wet for us.” The words renewed your sense of panic and you began struggling hard. That seemed to be all it took for Steve to let go of his restraint. He lunged forward and captured your lips in a harsh, hungry, and dominating kiss. The blond wasted no time ripping your shirt and bra away, sending buttons flying to the floor. He didn’t break away from the bruising kiss as he began to fondle your breasts, paying extra attention to the nipples. In your state of unwanted pleasure, you didn’t notice Bucky quickly unzipping his pants and pushing them and his boxers down enough to free his aching member.

An entirely new sense of panic filled you when you felt his head nudging at your entrance; you would not make it through this in one piece, they were going to split you in half. When Steve’s lips finally left yours, he haphazardly pulled his member out and pulled you down until your face was level with his cock. When you didn’t do anything, he seemed to signal to Bucky who then buried himself into the hilt and moaned out happily, his breathing hitching as he mumbled “fuck, so tight, feels s'good.” Just as anticipated, you opened your mouth in a silent scream of pain and forced ecstasy, he gladly took the opportunity to thrust into your mouth, making you gag when his tip hit the back of your throat.

It took them no time at all to set a bruising rhythm, their moans and groans combined with your muffled cries of pleasure and fear filled the moan. You hated the way you felt your body betray you, how your core ached from Bucky to go faster, how your mind was quickly falling into the role of a submissive little Omega that you’d avoided all your life. Pretty soon you were beginning to move with them, the logical part of your brain being overshadowed by the need to please the two Alphas violating you.

“That’s it doll, that’s our good little Omega, such a good girl cooperating with her Alphas,” Steve cooed soft praises as he proudly watched the last of your resolve vanish. He took one of your hands and wrapped it around the part of his cock that wasn’t in your mouth, helping you build up a good stroking motion before letting go. He held your hair in a makeshift ponytail and tugged whenever he felt you run your tongue along the veins. Bucky on the other hand had a vice-like grip on your hips as his thrusts gradually became erratic. He reached underneath you and started rubbing your clit quickly, this time with his flesh hand. “C'mon doll, cum for your Alphas, you’re gonna feel so good being our Omega,” he muttered into your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

You couldn’t stop yourself. Between his words and the way he rubbed your clit and Steve’s praises and encouragements, you didn’t stand a chance against doing what he asked. You came with a muffled scream as your searing orgasm raced through every one of your veins, leaving you in a seemingly endless state of white-hot euphoria. You could barely acknowledge the feeling of Bucky erupting inside of you, filling you with his seed. His thrusts slowly becoming more languid.

“C'mon, hurry up,” you heard Bucky say, even though it sounded muffled and far away to you. You admittedly whined at the loss of his member even though he still held you up. You coughed when Steve removed himself, finally taking in deep breaths of air. They switched places quickly, Steve emitting a groan as he entered you more gently than Bucky did. This time, you didn’t hesitate before taking Bucky’s cock into your mouth, just following the part of your brain that said to submit to them, that they alone could bring you this much pleasure and everything they promised. Steve gave a few thrusts before he pulled your hips flush against his and spilled himself with a content moan.

You all but collapsed to the floor when they were done, them being the only reason you didn’t. Bucky scooped you up bridal style after Steve wrapped his jacket around your used, naked form. You were only semi-conscious as they carried you out of the lab, barely awake enough to mumble out “where are we going?” “We’re going to our room, little 'mega, and we’re gonna keep doing this every night until we see you round with our pups and we’re gonna make sure you’re treated like a princess, our princess,” Steve said, using his soothing tone from earlier. Barely clinging to consciousness, you merely nodded. The last thing you remember before passing out into sweet, sweet dreamland was you saying “alphas know best.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Current~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You looked down at your stomach before looking back at the sonogram in your hands; clear as day, you could see two 8-month-old babies. You’d stopped fighting when the pregnancy tests turned positive, they were very clear that no matter where you went, they’d find you and bring you home. They kept their promise about giving you everything you could ever need or want and protecting you. They kept their promise to keep you safe and always be there for you. You resigned from your position and didn’t renew your rental agreement, officially moving in with them in a bigger room. Once you safely passed the second trimester, they claimed you as theirs and let you claim them as yours. You’re not sure if you’ll ever forgive how this started but it wasn’t so bad.