#i got distracted i was talking about mortality and how to prevent them dying too soon.

[quietwingsinthesky]

most frustrating part of writing a doctor who oc is that the doctor and the master will both sometimes just fuck off and do their own thing for a hundred years and be unfazed by it because they are functionally immortal. and i can’t stick my oc with them because they’ll just. die. so what, do i just put them in a pen until those guys get back? spruce up their enclosure while they’re waiting to get picked up to go on adventures again?

[wafflesandkruge]

a nighttime visitor (zenya)

Of all of Genya’s nighttime visitors, Zoya Nazyalensky surely was the most unexpected. But not the most unwelcome. Genya looked up from where she was sprawled on her bed and blinked twice, convinced she was seeing things. But unless there was another stunningly gorgeous Squaller her age she hadn’t yet met, that was Zoya herself standing in her doorway.

Or a nighttime visit leads to an unexpected confession.

@grishaverseonline valentine’s gift exchange for @thefirsttailor​

ao3

Of all of Genya’s nighttime visitors, Zoya Nazyalensky surely was the most unexpected. But not the most unwelcome. Genya looked up from where she was sprawled on her bed and blinked twice, convinced she was seeing things. But unless there was another stunningly gorgeous Squaller her age she hadn’t yet met, that was Zoya herself standing in her doorway, the special scowl she reserved just for Genya pasted on her face. Saints, Genya wished she’d get wrinkles from always pulling those ugly faces at her. She ran a hand over her hair to make it look presentable before sliding off the coverlet to her feet.

“Why are you here? It’s past midnight, you’ll get in trouble.” Not to mention the fact that you hate me. She quickly crossed the room and closed the door behind the other girl. She didn’t need the entire palace to be gossiping about her any more than they already did. This close, she could see the dark smudges under Zoya’s eyes, the wrinkles in her kefta she’d obviously tried to smooth out before walking in. It was the least perfect she’d ever seen her, but instead of satisfaction at seeing Zoya brought low, all Genya felt was concern. Which was concerning in and of itself. 

Zoya didn’t answer, instead fidgeting with the cuffs of her kefta. Her scowl was still firmly in place, but her eyes didn’t have their usual defiant spark. Genya tried to keep her concern off her face. She shoved her hands into her sleeves to prevent herself from reaching out and Tailoring away the dark circles. It’d been nearly a month since they’d shared a drunken kiss in a dark garden after a holiday party and ever since then, Zoya had avoided her like the plague. Like if she became associated with Genya, she’d be ruined. How else was Genya supposed to understand that?

“Some of us lowly mortals need to have their beauty sleep. If you’re just going to stand there like a statue, kindly see yourself out.” The words came out harsh. Genya did her best to look down her nose at Zoya, but the other girl didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, her eyes swept over Genya’s room, the white kefta draped over the bed, then Genya herself. Genya couldn’t help but feel like she was judging how everything looked- how different it was from living in the Little Palace with all the other Grisha. After a few more moments of silent judgement, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, the most-Zoya like action she’d done all night.

“I was bored,” she announced. She didn’t offer any further elaboration. Genya raised a brow and took a seat on her divan. She could sense this was going to turn into a conversation. Or a fight. One never knew with her. Zoya remained standing, her shoulders tight with tension.

“And?”

If she had come here to seek some kind of distraction- Genya’s fingers curled, her nails digging into her palm. She was not something to be used and discarded at will. Zoya Nazyalensky could find some other poor sucker who could overlook her horrible personality for a few kisses. 

“And I thought I would come see you.” 

Genya laughed, and Zoya’s brows furrowed. Was she really that dense?

“You’ve barely even looked my way for the last month. And now you sneak into the palace in the middle of the night  like you’re committing a crime” Once the words started, Genya couldn’t stop them. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me? Is that it? The prodigy can’t be tainted by the Tailor?” 

Zoya looked as if she’d been struck. She shook her head slowly, her eyes wide. “No. No, it’s not like that. I just-”

“You just what?” Genya scoffed. “Wanted to prove you could have anyone and everyone?”

“You-” Zoya cut herself off, a frustrated expression on her face. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Enlighten me, then.” She met Zoya’s gaze. She’d once spent hours trying to recreate that exact shade of blue with the powders in her kit, but like everything else about Zoya, it was irreplicable. And horrible.

Zoya took a seat at the end of the divan, the silks of their skirts brushing as Genya pulled her legs to her chest to make room for the other girl. For once, Zoya looked unsure of herself. Her fingers tugged at the fur of her cuffs, her eyes downcast as she opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Well? Out with it,” Genya demanded. Saints, it was like trying to force a child to admit they’d stolen a sweet. She’d seen brick walls less stubborn than Zoya. At least brick walls weren’t impossibly pretty to the point of making her heart flutter every time she caught sight of them.

“I- I don’t know how to be around you,” Zoya finally said in a rush. A small breeze flitted about the room, making the candlelight flicker. “It’s confusing.”

“Confusing?” Genya repeated. “How so?”

Zoya looked like she’d rather swallow a frog than continue, but to her credit, she still ground out her next words. “To want. Rather than be wanted.”

“And what is it you want?” Genya asked in a near whisper, not daring to hope. Her nails dug into her palms hard enough that she knew they’d leave a mark later.

Zoya looked up sharply, a hint of her old spark returning to her eyes. “I think you can guess.”

“Oh.” A ridiculously giddy feeling blossomed within her, making her so light-headed she thought she’d float away. Should she reach out and take Zoya’s hand? Kiss her again? Both options seemed somehow too much and not enough for the moment. She tugged at the silk of her nightgown to occupy her hands, lest they be tempted to reach towards Zoya. She was sure her face was as red as her hair by now. “Well. In case you’re too dense to notice, the feeling is very much reciprocated.” 

“I’m not dense,” Zoya muttered, but there was a visible flush across her cheeks that hadn’t been there before. Her body language mirrored Genya’s, like she was afraid of getting any closer. “But I thought you hated me.”

“You’re a very difficult person to like.”

Zoya flicked a strand of hair back over her shoulder. “Ridiculous. Everyone likes me.”

Genya wisely decided not to argue that point any further. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here, unless you came here with the sole intention of declaring your undying devotion for me?”

“Of course not.” Zoya pursed her lips, her fingers rubbing the silver amplifier around her wrist. “If you tell anyone about this, I will steal the air from your lungs, Safin.”

Genya snorted. “Sounds romantic.”

“It won’t be romantic when you’re flopping on the floor like a dying fish.”

“I like fish. Herring are particularly tasty.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, but finally answered Genya’s question. Her gaze was fixed on a nondescript point on the wall. “I...couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back there. On the Fold.”

Something in Genya’s brain finally clicked. A few weeks ago, there had been an excursion to Novokribirsk with some of the Second Army, the junior Grisha among them on their first crossing. She’d heard talk among the nobles, laughter and money exchanging hands on how many of them would make it back. So many didn’t. Her gaze snagged on the rank insignia on the front of Zoya’s kefta. She’d been there.

Slowly, Genya extended her hand so it rested on the divan between them, palm up. A peace offering. After a moment’s hesitation, Zoya intertwined her fingers with Genya’s. Her palm and the pads of her fingers were rough with callouses from her training. She rubbed small circles with her thumb on the back of Zoya’s hand.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?” 

Zoya sighed. “No. Not really.”

“Do you want to stay?” she asked, anticipating what Zoya really meant.

Zoya’s chin dipped slightly, the barest of nods. “I can take the couch.”

“Don’t be silly,” Genya said as she got up and tugged on Zoya’s hand to get her to follow. “The bed is plenty big enough for both of us. As long as you don’t snore.”

Genya climbed under the covers and moved back until there was more than enough space for Zoya. The other girl kicked off her boots and unbuttoned her kefta, tossing both unceremoniously on the floor. She stood there at the foot of the bed in her thin undershirt and tights, seemingly contemplating. Genya rolled her eyes. She almost missed Zoya’s usual brashness and prickly demeanor.

“I don’t bite. Hurry up, I’m cold.”

Zoya crawled under the covers, but balanced so close to the edge of the bed that Genya could just reach over and push her off if she wanted. Not that she’d ever be that petty. She tossed the blanket over her. Then it was just them, their breathing in tandem, their eyes wide with the exhilaration of something new. Genya reached out her hand again, and this time, Zoya took it without hesitation.

“I’ll leave before dawn so no one will see,” Zoya promised. Her voice was a near whisper, unbearably intimate. Genya wondered how many other people had gotten to see Zoya like this, her black curls spilled across the pillow, her cheeks rosy. At least she could be confident that of all the people Zoya had shared a bed with, she was the prettiest. She held onto Zoya’s hand a little tighter and pulled her closer until their breaths mingled.

The warm candlelight made Zoya’s skin glow, her eyes brighter than any jewel Genya had ever seen. She was beautiful, a saint straight out of a storybook. And she was hers. A small smile curled on her lips.

“Let them talk.”

[openheart12]

Safe and Sound

Summary: Michelle does make it to NHS and Tony meets her there.

Word Count: 2,058

When Sonny Macer handed her the envelope with her test results, she froze, expecting the worse. She took a deep breath, trying to get the courage to open it.

It was just a plain white envelope with the words “test results��� written across it with the number 101 in the corner.

She wished Tony was here with her right now, but she had to be strong and with that, she tore open the envelope and read the results. The first time she read them didn’t feel real so she reread them a second, third, fourth, and fifth time. She double checked that these were actual results and saw that her name was printed at the top.

“Michelle Dessler Almeida. Results: Negative for Cordilla Virus Type B.”

The tension and uncertainty left her body and she relaxed for the first time in hours. She picked up her phone to call him, not knowing what to say but that didn’t matter. It was him, it was Tony.

“Almeida,” he answered.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“What’s going on?” he asked, his stomach churning at the thought of her test results.

She knew that he knew she would have her results by now and was anxiously waiting for them and all she could say was, “I’m okay, I’m not infected.” she said softly.

“Are you sure?” he asked in disbelief, the mortality rate was so high and he wasn’t ready to get his hopes up unless they were absolutely sure.

“Yeah, they did a swab and a blood test and I’m gonna be fine,” she let out a shaky sigh, repeating the words again, “I’m gonna be fine.” It was surreal.

Relief flooded through his body, he felt like he could breathe again. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s fantastic! Look, I want you to get out of there right now and get away from anyone who’s infected-”

Her heart swelled at how protective he was. “Oh, no, no sweetheart, they said that those of us who didn’t come down with the infection that we have an immunity to the virus.” she explained.

“Well, where are they taking you?” he just wanted to be wherever she was, they had been apart for long enough already.

“Downtown,” he heard her sniff before continuing, “to NHS, they want to keep us under watch for eighteen hours… but it’s just a formality.” she said before he could worry.

“Okay, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“No, no, uh, stay where you are. They need you at CTU. I can work from downtown.” she would do anything to see him but they still had to find the remaining virals of the virus.

“Honey, you don’t have to work,” he said softly. “We can handle it from here.”

“I wanna help, Tony,” she answered and he could tell from her voice that she needed a distraction until they could be together.

“Okay,” he relented. His emotions started to consume him, after realizing just how close he was to losing her. “Michelle?” he said, he wasn’t ready to hang up yet.

“Yeah?” she answered softly.

“I can’t believe I almost lost you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“I almost lost you too, but we’re still here.”

“Yeah.”

“I have to go,” she told him after seeing people from NHS coming down the hall. “I’ll call you from NHS.”

“Hey, I love you,” he told her.

“I love you so much.” She stayed on the call for a few more seconds until hanging up. She was one of the lucky ones, she got to go home after this awful day and she was reminded how unlucky others were when the agent in the room with her had undoubtedly gotten positive test results and her heart broke for him.

Just like her heart had broken for the rest of the people in the hotel: the innocent guests and her colleagues, Gael.

She just wanted to go home and be with her husband. ‘Eighteen hours,’ she thought with a small smile.

Less than an hour later, she and two others were being loaded up into a van that would be taking them downtown. As the van started leaving, she glanced back up the hotel where hundreds were dead or dying. Being there and witnessing it firsthand, it was traumatic and now she regretted telling Tony to stay at work because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold herself together.

After arriving at NHS, she had to undress and put a gown on. Her and the other two survivors were being isolated completely alone. Survivor. That’s what she was now. Both her and Tony were survivors today. She thought about how scared and helpless she felt when she found out he had been shot and could only imagine how he felt after finding out she was inside the hotel when the virus was released.

She pulled out a laptop Sonny had gotten for her and got straight to work, welcoming the distraction it brought. Nine hours later and the virus had been contained, all eleven virals were secured and the day had finally come to an end.

She picked up her ringing phone and put it to her ear, “Dessler.”

“Hey, it’s me,” she heard his voice answer. “I’m gonna be here probably another two hours and after that, I’ll go home and get you some clothes and meet you downtown.”

“You don’t have to do that, sweetheart,” she said, knowing that the day had taken a toll on him too and she was still worried about his neck.

“I want… I need to see you, Michelle.” he said, his voice heavy with emotion.

“Okay, okay.” she wasn’t going to argue about it because she was the same way when he got shot. She had to see him for herself to believe that he was okay and safe.

He saw Hammond walking up the stairs to his office and rolled his eyes. He just wanted more than a minute to talk to his wife. “I gotta go, baby, Hammond’s here.”

“Have fun with that,” she said, smiling.

“See you soon,” he promised before adding, “I love you.”

“I love you,” she said before hanging up.

She looked up at the clock and there was only nine hours to go. She closed her eyes for a few minutes to try to get some sleep.

About two and a half hours later, Tony pulled into the parking lot of the NHS. The reality that he was going to see his wife, alive and well, was setting in. He grabbed the bag he packed for her from their house and headed inside where he was greeted by Sonny with a wide grin.

“Hey, Tony. It’s so good to see you.”

“You too,” he smiled, giving her a quick hug. Sonny had become a close friend of theirs since she started to work for the NHS. “How is she?”

“She’s good, really good. She fell asleep after you guys hung up, I think the exhaustion finally caught up to her.”

“And there’s no chance that the results could be wrong?”

“No, she’s 100% healthy.”

“Can I see her?” he asked.

“Of course,” she smiled. “Follow me.” She led him down a series of hallways and they passed the two other people who were up and pacing around their rooms. Sonny stopped in front of a door and put in a code. “You can go in, this is the most private room we had and I figured you guys would like it.”

“Thank you, Sonny.”

“No problem… I’m really glad she’s okay,” she added softly.

“Me too.” he smiled and she left it at that. He turned his attention to the figure in the room, curled up on the bed and his heart swelled with overwhelming joy. She was beautiful, breath-taking, alive. He watched as her chest rose and fell rhythmically, peacefully. It was enough for tears to well up in his eyes. This was the first time he’d seen her in hours and she never looked more beautiful than she did right now.

The memories of the day came flooding back from when he got shot, to their arguing when he got back from the hospital, when she found out he lied to her for a month, when she went inside the hotel and the mere thought of losing her was too much, to now.

He watched her sleep for a couple more hours until she began to stir. He looked at the clock and only five hours remained. He got it and went to the glass that was separating them, placing his hand against it.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was him. “Hey,” she smiled, getting up and padding over to the glass.

“Hey, sweetheart. How ya doing?”

“Good, I can’t wait to get out of here.” she replied.

“Me neither, I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” she said, placing her hand over his on the glass. “By the way, what did Hammond want?”

He rolled his eyes at the thought of him and a laugh escaped past her lips. “Nothing, he just wanted to congratulate CTU on their work today, especially you, and told me we could have a couple weeks off after you debrief but I told him that could wait for a few days.”

“Thanks,” she gave him a half smile and he knew something was bothering her.

“What is it?”

“It’s just… I didn’t really do anything today except watching people die in agony. And I like the time off, but I like the distraction work brings. I’ve been replaying everything that happened in the hotel since I left it. I see the children who died and their parents had to watch, I see the elderly couple who were the first to take the suicide pills, I see Gael on that stretcher, I see the husbands and wives who died alone and then I think why me? Why am I immune and they’re not?”

“You helped every single one of those people today, Michelle. You gave them an option to end their pain and suffering which wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

“I shot a man, Tony. I killed him. I have a duty to protect the citizens of this country and I killed him.”

“You did what you had to do to protect other lives. You can’t blame yourself for this, Michelle. It’s not going to bring him back… or anyone else.”

“I know. It’s just… it’s just not fair. They couldn’t even say bye to their families and yet, I talked to you the entire time. Sometimes I called just to hear your voice and these people died all alone, surrounded by complete strangers.”

“Sweetheart, you can’t do this to yourself. You can’t question all the decisions you made or wonder what you could’ve done to prevent this. It was out of your hands and you did your job and I am so, so proud of you.”

“I just wanna go home, Tony. I’m so tired.” she said and he knew she didn’t just mean physically tired.

“Four hours,” he said softly. Only four hours to go until he could have her in his arms. “Why don’t you try to get some more rest?”

“You’re staying, right?” She didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“Of course, I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. He wasn’t leaving her again.

“Okay, love you,” she said, getting back into the bed and closing her eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered back.

He spent the next four hours just watching her, waiting for the time to pass until finally Sonny walked in with a huge grin.

“You ready?” She asked and he eagerly said yes.

She opened the door and let him pass through. He walked straight over to her and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Sweetheart, wake up,” he said gently.

“Tony?” She asked sleepily.

“The eighteen hours is over with.” At this she perked up.

Once she realized that he was right in front of her, nothing separating them anymore, she threw her arms around him. The force made him almost lose his balance.

“God, I love you.”

“I love you so much,” he said, tears in his eyes. “Let’s go home.”

“Let’s go home,” she repeated, her smile lighting up her face.

[mittensmorgul]

6.01, Exile on Main Street.

Typically when I write these posts, I try to make a joking comment, or choose a pithy reference to put in this first line, but... god i hate this too much to make jokes about it...

DEAN is attacked by Djinn. Djinn: You made it through that last trip, so how about a big, fat double dose? Bad news -- it'll kill you. The good news? At least you'll go fast. That's for our father, you son of a bitch.

and of course, it's about dredging up daddy issues. These are apparently children of the djinn Dean killed in 2.20...

You might also remember I mentioned Sam's awful promise he extracted from Dean in 5.22, telling him to get out of hunting, go to Lisa and beg her to take him in? Remember that Dean actually did that, despite it metaphorically being a final act of cutting a part of himself off in order to live this terrible half-life, going through the motions of being just another normal suburban dude living a normal suburban life (which he's professed to hate the entire idea of going all the way back to s1?) and abandoning the last link to anyone who actually knows the "real" him when he cut ties with Bobby even, all because that was Sam's literal dying wish for him? Yeah... I've written a LOT about how much I absolutely HATED this entire narrative line.

This was what SAM had always wanted for HIMSELF. He wanted to just... leave the life and "be normal." Dean has NEVER wanted this. Well, maybe he had expressed that to Sam on occasion, in a "hmm, wonder what that's like" sort of way, but at the end of the day he was ALWAYS relieved to be able to climb back in his car and take off for the next hunt. And yet, Sam is SO FUCKING SURE that Dean had always secretly wanted the same sort of suburban normal life that he himself had always fled to every single time he had the chance. Except, Dean is a different person than Sam is, and he can't as easily just cut this whole element of his life out and pretend it never existed. Sam was HAPPY for the most part at Stanford. He never told any of his friends, or even the girl he thought he'd marry and spend his entire life with, about how he was raised and what his family does. At least Lisa and Ben are aware of what Dean's life before he met them entailed so he doesn't have to lie about his past to them, but it's still clear he isn't exactly open and forthcoming about the details. And he spends an inordinate amount of energy still trying to keep the whole truth of it locked up.

From the moment Sam shows up at Dean's house, it's clear that even after a year of "normalcy" that Dean is barely holding on. But this also all speaks to the Performing Dean mask that Dean had possibly sold to Sam just a little bit too successfully for his entire life. (but more on that in the report from 6.02, since that's the main takeaway from that episode...)

What I personally find fascinating with early s6 in relation to where we currently are post 14.20 is this whole feeling of a season-long runaround that-- much like the "we have to kill Lilith!" plot of s4 had proved to be a blatant manipulation. The entire Campbell Family plotline eventually becomes... wtf-laden. Between the "secretly working for Crowley" plotline, compounded with the "monsters acting out of character" plotline, compounded with the eventual reveal of Cas's involvement in the entire narrative mess because of his desperation to keep Dean out of the Apocalypse Redux mess brewing in Heaven... well, this season feels like it just randomly chooses moments to burn vast quantities of its own structure when it no longer fits the story going forward. I feel like a LOT of Dabb Era has been a direct indictment of this s6-7 narrative collapse, using the whole BMoL as the cartoonishly Evol Fall Guys we were happy to watch burn (literally! their headquarters got firebombed!), using first Lucifer and then Nick as the pointlessly recurring distraction of a Bad Guy, with supporting parts in that narrative going to Asmodeus and AU Michael (and the whole AU, honestly, serving as a glaring proof of the futility of the apocalypse from the POV of the angels who believed since day one of creation that it was the "ending" God wanted and intended them to achieve that would bring him back to them, that would please him enough to return to acknowledge their success and reward them for achieving it. Except it was all just lies, and there was no reward, there was no paradise, only more of what they did to themselves, literally the never-ending war they brought about thinking it was all part of God's plan for creation. It was all ironically the exact future they chose for themselves. They had another choice-- to serve as the guardians of the world and humanity, preserving it as a paradise for mortality they could observe and learn and understand about the point of creation, but they chose not to learn from creation itself and instead chose to destroy it. You reap what you sow...

And what s6 sows just... hurts everyone.

Dean: you been back practically this whole time?! What, did you lose the ability to send a friggin' text message?! Sam: You finally had what you wanted, Dean. Dean: I wanted my brother, alive! Sam: You wanted a family. You have for a long time, maybe the whole time. I know you. You only gave it up because of the way we lived. But you had something, and you were building something. Had I shown up, Dean, you would have just run off. I'm sorry. But it felt like after everything, you deserve some regular life.

See... Sam has convinced himself that this Apple Pie Life he himself has always wanted was also what Dean has always wanted... and it just... really, really isn't. See 14.13 for proof of that fact. I mean, you can even look backward to episodes such as 1.08 Bugs, to 5.16 Dark Side of the Moon, 2.20 What Is And What Should Never Be, 3.10 Dream A Little Dream Of Me, 8.01 We Need To Talk About Kevin, 8.09 and 8.10, and honestly a huge chunk of s9 and how their codependency has been treated in Carver Era for hints into understanding these fundamental differences between Sam and Dean, Dean's parentification of Sam from the time he was four, and the vastly different childhood experience, and the construction of Dean's performance mask that Dabb has been systematically burning down over the last few seasons. Just look to 13.05 for the treatise on just how powerfully Sam believes in that mask, and how badly he himself needs Dean to maintain it for his own wellbeing and comfort, even to the point where Dean is literally suicidally depressed and hopeless. Because Sam was fundamentally wrong about what Dean actually wanted and needed. Even Cas, set up from the start to be the effective Big Bad of this season, literally only turned down that path to spare Dean, to protect him from becoming involved in this, mistakenly believing that he'd be intruding on Dean's happiness, from the peace at the end of his road.

Luckily I know what's in store down the line, because it's the ONLY thing preventing me from outright hating Sam for this. Soulless Sam was just as manipulative and ruthless as Cas in this season:

Bobby: And I'd do it again. Dean: Why?! Bobby: Because you got out, Dean! You walked away from the life. And I was so damn grateful, you got no idea. Dean: Do you have any clue what walking away meant for me? Bobby: Yeah -- a woman and a kid and not getting your guts ripped out at age 30. That's what it meant. Dean: That woman and that kid -- I went to them because you asked me to. Bobby: Good. Dean: Good for who? I showed up on their doorstep half out of my head with grief. God knows why they even let me in. I drank too much. I had nightmares. I looked everywhere. I collected hundreds of books, trying to find anything to bust you out. Sam: You promised you'd leave it alone. Dean: Of course I didn't leave it alone! Sue me! A damn year? You couldn't put me out of my misery? Bobby: Look, I get it wasn't easy. But that's life! And it's as close to happiness as I've ever seen a hunter get. It ain't like I wanted to lie to you, son. But you were out, Dean. Dean: Do I look out to you?

And from the end of the episode where we're given even MORE insight into just how "wrong" Sam is:

Sam: Look, I practically shoved you at them. Dean: That's a funny way to put it, but all right. Sam: I'm just saying, I really wanted that for you. And when I told you to go, I-I thought... You could have it, you know? But now I'm not so sure. I mean, you got to consider the fact that you'll be putting them in danger if you go back. Dean: So, what, it's better to leave them alone, unprotected, and then they're not in danger? I did this to them. I made them vulnerable the moment I knocked on their door, and I can't undo that. But what I can do is go with the best option. Sam: I hear you. I guess I just, wish you were coming, that's all. Dean: Why? Sam: Don't be stupid. Dean: No, I mean it. I mean, you know plenty of good hunters. I'm rusty. I did something seriously stupid going out there. I almost got us both killed. Sam: And that's exactly why I want you. Dean: What are you talking about? Sam: You just went. You didn't hesitate. Because you care, and that's who you are. Me? I wouldn't even think to try. Dean: Yes, you would. Sam: No, Dean. I'm telling you, it's just better with you around. That's all.

From my chatbubbles @ lizbob:

without his soul, Sam was freaking ruthless he said or did whatever it took to manipulate everyone, and of course Bobby would want to believe that Dean was truly happy... essentially living out the life Bobby himself lost when he killed his demon-possessed wife... I mean if Bobby could have a do-over, we know exactly what he'd do differently now... it wouldn't have taken much for Sam to convince Bobby that Dean was legit happy with Lisa and Ben, despite the evidence of our eyes that he was basically going through the motions, zombie-style

But was Dean REALLY happy with Lisa and Ben? REALLY?!

[smartalker]

Magpie Bridge  [4/10 - Morrigan]

ENTITLED: Magpie Bridge FANDOM: Mass Effect Andromeda - Reyes/Ryder RATING: M LENGTH: 50k via 10 chapters GENRE: Romance/Sci-Fi/Drama/Humor, in that order SUMMARY: With the Kett subdued and Andromeda’s terraforming system running at full power, Kadara Port swiftly establishes itself as the trade capital of the galaxy. The city’s unique combination of affluence, corruption, and growing power inevitably earns the ire of both the Nexus, and Aya. Under tremendous pressure to disavow a known criminal’s legitimacy, Ryder once again returns to Kadara hoping to broker peace, but the Charlatan wants something very different from her… ALT SUMMARY: Two people fall in love, galaxy breaks.

It wasn’t unusual for Keema to be targeted for assassination.

But she usually didn’t call him about it.

“Is the riot about you?” Reyes asked. Keema glared through the com at him, clutching her shoulder. She was naked to the waist, being stitched up before his eyes by an extremely nervous Salarian. She’d been shot, but not by a big bullet, and her hand was flat against the flesh near her wound, protective.

“I don’t care about the bloody riot,” Keema gasped. Her voice was flatter than usual, stretched thin with pain. He tried to remember the last time she’d been targeted—in both instances she’d escaped with minor injuries. Some people would call it luck. The Salarian, looking regretful, approached the bullet wound with forceps. Her surgeon kept moving in and out of the camera, his instruments flashing in the light. “Do you know who just tried to kill me?” Keema hissed.

“No. But I hope you learned something.”

“An Angaran child. Couldn’t have been taller than my waist.” Her face contorted with pain, and she made a sudden animal noise—then controlled herself, breathing heavily.

“You killed him,” Reyes concluded, calmly.

“My sniper killed him, because the little darling shot me, and he was about to do it again,” Keema forced through her teeth. “At a public forum. So yes, the riot is all my fucking fault. Next time I’ll just die politely.”

Reyes swore. Of course it had to be a child. Of course it had to be a fucking child.

Think. Everything was an opportunity, every situation had two perspectives. He needed to get them on the right one, now. “What about the kid’s body? Have we scanned it?”

“The fucking Angara—!” Keema swore, then collected herself. A warped, twisted bit of metal was being pulled out of her as he watched. Keema breathed carefully. “My countrymen seized the child’s body. They seem to think that we’ll desecrate it the second we get our hands on it. They aren’t going to budge.”

“Fine. We’ll collaborate with a third party, some neutral examiner. Say we have an obligation to find and punish whoever would manipulate someone innocent.”

Keema nodded. She was quivering and pale, now that he took the time to notice. Her bullet wound was still bleeding freely, as the surgeon kept pulling bits of metal from her body. Reyes was impressed she hadn’t fainted. “Anything else? Did you notice anything about the kid?”

Keema’s eyelids fluttered. The anger that had so effectively held her together was dissipating. She wasn’t going to hold on much longer. “He’d been drugged,” she managed to say. “I don’t know with what. How. His eyes were all wrong. They should find something when they examine him.” She paused, shaking as the final, bloody scrap of metal was pulled from her. Haltingly, she asked, “I need you to deal with this.”

“What’s one riot?” Reyes snorted. “You do it all the time. It can’t be that hard.”

“Fuck you,” Keema replied, looking marginally more cheerful. She closed her eyes, and Reyes ended the call.

Ryder woke up.

She was definitely, undoubtedly, drugged up her eyeballs. Her entire body, especially her face, felt amazingly heavy. Her lips were like thick, meaty slabs. She chewed them curiously.

“Stop that,” Lexi barked. She rolled over in her wheelie chair, tablet in hand. “Right, I’m going to scan—follow the light?”

Ryder watched the penlight. Pretty. Too bright! “So. I got fried.”

Lexi made a disgusted noise. “Accurate enough. Stop blinking. I’ve had some very stern words with SAM, and we’ve agreed it’s best if the combat matrices be uninstalled for the time being.”

“This blows,” Ryder whined. “I didn’t even get to use it!”

Lexi rolled her eyes. “Alright, sit up.”

Ryder ambled upright, watching Lexi whack at her knees. “That seems related to a head injury.”

“Reflexes normal,” Lexi reported. “Good. Remember anything?”

“I started having headaches after SAM installed his program. Well. More frequent headaches. Sometimes fluorescent lights hurt my eyes too…anyway, I started having more headaches, then the day I conked out my migraine was seriously killer, then I had a crazy psychic vision, and then I collapsed. And I hit my head.” She abruptly straightened. “Reyes.”

“He’s fine,” Lexi drawled. She was tapping things into her tablet, distracted. “Alright, more or less what SAM told me. Don’t worry too much, Pathfinder. Precognition is a hoax.”

“Right.” Ryder smiled sweetly. “That would be ridiculous, says the alien telekinetic.”

Lexi ignored her again. Ryder returned to nibbling on her numbed lips. Suvi and Gil were right, Lexi’s patient beds were almost nice enough for Ryder to consider quietly submitting to the healing process. Almost. As if sensing Ryder’s restlessness, Lexi looked sternly at her most disobedient patient. “Bed rest. At least a day. I want to monitor that head, make sure your concussion hasn’t led to complications I might have missed. Do not pick at your scabs.” Lexi brandished her stylus at Ryder, who grumpily released said scabs. Lexi watched her for another moment, then softened. “You’ve been through a lot. Try to get some rest. I’m having my lunch brought here so I can keep an eye on you.”

Ryder snuggled into her pillow. “You really don’t trust me at all.”

Lexi snapped her fingers, as though Ryder were a dog trying to get at a forbidden treat. “Scabs.”  

Kadara was not a difficult city to understand, but that didn’t mean it was well designed. It had a few official buildings, those large enough to seem intimidating and of such essential that even the worst criminals were inclined to leave them alone. Back when the Port had been controlled by the Angara, there had been laboratories, warehouses for mining supplies, and the docks built to supply shipment. There had been no real need to consider the layout or placement of these structures, because there hadn’t been a population sizeable enough to create any sort of issue.

But things had changed. Now, the docking port spanned for miles, and the market stretched to match it. Paths that led up to those few official buildings were followed by the traders, who crammed and cluttered themselves into every available nook. Every possible square foot of space that might be seen by a buyer was leveraged. There were no vendor licenses, less than the minimum mandated law enforcement, and above all—a pulsing, swollen, tangible need. A desperate, filthy, lawless need. People lived and slept in their booths, or in the ugly, colorless buildings that pulled themselves up around these already cluttered pathways. They squatted, and they waited for the day their lives would change.

It became obvious, then, that the true real estate of Kadara Port was its rooftops. The higher you went, the more you paid, the further you traveled from the smell and the swell of its people. The streets, which were inaccessible by anything other than foot, could be watched from above, in relative comfort.

Reyes watched.

The Angara were furious. Frightened. They hated the Milky Way aliens, the barbarians who would do such unspeakable things to their children. To anyone’s children. The Milky Way aliens had come offering peace, and exchange, and culture. Instead they had given corruption, violence, and greed.

The Charlatan, the Angara were hissing, was a human. Everyone knew that Keema Dohrgun was a face. It was a mystery to outsiders but not to them, not to a people who watched each alien carefully, catalogued their differences. The Charlatan thought and acted like a human. The Charlatan may or may not have been a monster, a child murdering thug, but either way he was in power. Either way, his grip was loose enough for these things to happen.

The Milky Way aliens snarled back. Face or not, Keema Dohrgun was hardly innocent, and the Angara had never been saints. The fact that they had the vocabulary for words like murder, rape, torture—that was proof enough.

Reyes had sent operatives of every species throughout the city, to target the areas of greatest unrest with whispered news that the Charlatan was cooperating, that he was already in talks with the Nexus on beefing up law enforcement—that this violence, this fear, was unforgivable. It would be purged.

But mostly, he watched. He watched the city he had helped shape, and wondered when it had become so ugly. He’d imagined discipline, and beauty, and excitement. Instead Kadara had become a stopping place for the lost—for those with nowhere else to go.

He watched a woman pull her baby beneath her shirt to breastfeed, and he feared for her.

Ryder lasted at least twenty minutes before she was forced to mutiny. “SAM, exactly how definite is that 86 percent chance of Reyes dying thing?”

Our prediction is not set in stone. We do not have psychic abilities, merely predictive algorithms that run simulations based on the available data.

Relief, weirdly, was something she felt in her shoulders. They dropped. “Okay,” Ryder acknowledged. “Good. So we can change things to prevent this outcome?”

Correct, but given the high chance of his murder, I anticipate that several major changes will need to be made. SAM paused, then added, Additionally, it is worth noting that Reyes Vidal’s line of work will always naturally lead him to have a significantly higher mortality rate when compared to the average citizen.

“Great. So I just need to convince him to get back on the forty hour work week.” Ryder considered. “Or set up an enticing retirement package?” She wondered, for a moment, how many hours she worked in a given week. Did Pathfinders get overtime? Why didn’t Addison ever talk about anything important! “SAM, as a point of comparison, how good is my survival rate?”

Your recent head trauma has certainly not helped things.

It figured. Ryder reached up to poke around her wound. The amount of gauze was alarming in itself. “In your robot overseer opinion, what events need to happen for us to get Reyes’ murder chances below, uh, maybe ten percent?”

Irrelevant. We are on bed rest. SAM said, pretty firmly. And I do not want to die.

“We aren’t going to die. We’re going to change things. Just a few tweaks.”

I will inform Lexi, if I must.

“Don’t be such a snitch.” Ryder growled. “Where are my shoes?”

I will not tell you. I do not want to die.

“Tell me where my shoes are, or I swear I will never give you a single Sudoku Master problem again.” Ryder, who had been struggling to her feet, received a nasty static shock from her blanket. “Holy fuck! Was that you?”

Your shoes are in the top left cabinet behind the cleaning supplies. I will be unable to communicate for the next several minutes due to bandwidth restrictions.

Ryder dragged Lexi’s desk toward the instructed cabinet, cursing. The arm that had been shocked was still smarting. “Bandwidth restrictions. Okay.”

Bandwidth restrictions are due to the necessity of updating my back up files, SAM countered. For being an emotionless automated voice, he could get pretty snooty.

Ryder yanked on her shoes, pulled her hair back to hide the lump of gauze patched to the back of her head, and briefly tried to hi-jack Lexi’s cosmetics station to cover some of the damage she’d done to her face. She gave up when navigating the blue skin-tone presets became overwhelming.

Feeling proud of her own stealth parameters, Ryder snuck out of the Med-Bay to encounter the person obviously assigned to keep her from leaving. Kallo blinked at her, reproving. He set aside his catalogue of engine models, an obvious sacrifice.

“That’s ridiculous,” Ryder argued. “If you’re here, who’s even flying the ship?”

“No one. We’re docked,” Kallo explained. He shrugged. “The others fancied a night on the town.”

That was just rude. “Without me?”

Kallo looked as though he were fast approaching a stress-induced breakdown. “You have a concussion,” the pilot pointed out. He added, “Once they get back, I’m hoping you’ll agree that we should return to the Nexus and request formal backup. In case you were wondering, my personal best for exiting this planet’s atmosphere is two minutes, eighteen seconds.”

“I’m not going to run away,” Ryder lied. “I was just going to check my terminal. See if I could maybe access the forensic records on the murder victims.”

Kallo looked annoyed. “You’re supposed to be on bed rest. You have a computer in your head that should be able to access that information for you instantly.”

“Fine. I wanted a snack.”

“I’ll get it for you. Did you want the sausage or the spinach casserole?”

She and Kallo stared at each other in silence. Quietly, Ryder cleared her throat. “Get out of my way,” she ordered.

Bravely, Kallo puffed out his chest. “I suppose I could accompany you.”

The thought of judo-throwing poor Kallo over her shoulder didn’t sit well with Ryder. If only they’d left Drack behind! She had precisely zero qualms when it came to pummeling Drack. Attacking Drack was practically self-defense, considering all the times a friendly tap from the old Krogan had sent Ryder flying into walls, tables, and people she might want to bang in the future.

Ryder took off, with Kallo as her shadow. She was now apparently stuck eating still more casserole. As she waited for her latest dosage of sausage monstrosity to heat up, Ryder pulled up the coroner’s reports on one of the Tempest’s terminals, flicking through the notes her other crew members had already highlighted for her. “So all the kids get torn into pieces, scattered around, and eventually discovered in varying stages of decay…cause of death is difficult to determine due to the extent of damage the victim’s bodies have suffered, but the concentration of blood spilt suggests that victims were killed by some kind of wound—they’re leaning towards stabbing since no evidence of guns have been found—and after suffering an injury, the victims die from blood loss.”

“At least they aren’t being torn apart while they’re alive,” Kallo noted. He reached over Ryder’s shoulder, skipping a few pages. “I’ll surmise. The two main points of interest at this time are the drugs found in the victims’ systems, and the summary of their remains. Right now the forensics teams have been unable to recover a single one of the victim’s hearts.”

“Are they eating them?” Ryder blurted out. She stuffed a bit of sausage in her own mouth. Kallo, watching her, looked horrified.

“I…I don’t know. If you were wondering, the missing heart is also likely a reference to the myth of Zagerus. The god was torn apart as a small child, but reborn because his heart was saved, rather than being destroyed with the rest of his remains.”

God she hated casserole. Ryder swallowed. “And the drugs?”

“Lethal doses of some off-market stimulant, we’ve been calling it Ambrosia. It seemed fitting, with all the Greek mythology connections. Each cadaver’s strain of Ambrosia contains fairly broad variations in the exact chemical composition, which indicates that the formula is still being tested. It is also worth noting that the victims are cross-species and therefore would have very different reactions to imbibing the drug, though Lexi believes the intended effect is meant to simulate the sort of ‘ritual madness’ the god Dionysus was patron of. Suvi tells me that in humans, the effects should be similar to taking Ecstasy.”

“So, there’s some kind of drug lab. Somewhere. If we find them, we find our cultists.” Ryder considered this, wondering how she was supposed to trace an industry notorious for its secrecy. She faced Kallo. “Have you ever gone undercover? For like, anything?”

Kallo shook his head frantically. “No. Stop. I know what you’re doing, Pathfinder! If you leave me right now I’m going to get yelled at by at least three people!”

I agree, SAM chimed in. Ryder had already turned to go. Kallo hovered behind her, whimpering.

“This isn’t fair! I just fly ships through wormholes and asteroid belts! I don’t do combat!”

“I know,” Ryder soothed. “It’s actually pretty ridiculous you were supposed to stop me all by yourself. Hell, I would argue they aren’t even trying to put me on lockdown. Which, by the way, I don’t think Lexi technically has the authority to do? She’s getting pretty uppity.”

Actually, Lexi gave you a generous does of sedatives, SAM pointed out. Both she and I assumed you would not be moving in the first place. It would seem that your metabolism, high activity level, and, perhaps, a genetic predisposition for bullheadedness have all contributed to making your system more resistant to drugs.

Ryder chortled. “That’s stupid. I just drink a lot.”

“No,” Kallo moaned. He grabbed Ryder’s elbow, and she rather gently shook him off. “No,” he moaned again. “Pathfinder, you don’t understand! You can’t singlehandedly infiltrate a drug ring!”

“You’re so right. What I need is discretion. Call Drack,” Ryder chirped, and rolled her eyes. Kallo suddenly brightened, and scurried away to do just that. Ryder slapped the shuttle call button just as Kallo did as she’d suggested, and she even had time to hear him wail, “The Pathfinder’s escaping!” before the shuttle doors closed, and she was once again gliding towards Kadara’s surface.

The riot was diverted, if not outwardly oppressed. No one had been able to find the Angaran boy’s immediate family – no one, in fact, had any idea what his name was. With so little to stand on and money tight, the Angaran community had surrendered his body for investigation – with supervision.

Keema, for her part, was already onto her third dirty martini. Very dirty. Essentially, just olive juice and vinegar. Reyes would never understand Angaran taste.

“Well, it’s a start,” she acknowledged. The martini swirled, almost oily. She was probably not supposed to be drinking, especially considering her pain meds. But Keema drank a lot, as Reyes was beginning to notice. He wondered how an Angara’s body tolerated addiction.

There was something he had to say, something they both knew, but neither wished to discuss. Reyes sighed. “We need to talk about the police.”

Keema’s nostrils flared. “Kill-joy.”

“We can’t keep going like this,” Reyes argued. He let himself sit on the edge of her bed – Keema refused to be treated at a clinic – and hoped that this physical closeness would, somehow, help ease the discussion. “It doesn’t have to be Nexus. But if we install some sort of law enforcement, one that’s sympathetic—”

“Corrupt,” Keema interrupted. “You mean corrupt. A corrupt police is even worse than a known criminal. It will solve nothing, perhaps only increase violence.”

Reyes made a face. “I want someone else to clean up this mess. At this point, no one will even believe us if we do catch them.”

“Why do you think I invited the Pathfinder?” Keema’s drink had sloshed over the rim, she paused to lick her fingers. “But, you’re right. The Pathfinder is still only one person. She can be killed.”

Reyes just looked at her. Keema stared back, defiant, icy. She never slurred. “It’s a fact.”

She wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t matter. His mother would have said it was bad luck to talk that way. Reyes had just opened his mouth to tell her off, when his omni-tool began to buzz. One of the Tempest’s crew, Ryder’s people. He answered before asking for excusal.

“Hey,” Peebee yawned. “Is she with you?”

“The Pathfinder? No.” His follow-up thought was immediate. “Are you saying you don’t know where she is?”

“I hope you’re lying to me,” Peebee sang. She drew closer to her camera lens, until all he could see was a single, gigantic hazel eye. The eye blinked, and squinted. “Ugh!” Peebee withdrew. “So typical! Typical Pathfinder Messiah-complex bullshit! This is totally your fault.” She gestured furiously through the com at him—perhaps it was some vulgar Asari gesture? Or just the physical expression of her frustration? Peebee wasn’t finished. “Children, all of you. Not even thirty years old and she thinks she’s allowed to just ditch her concerned Asari bestie with like a hundred years of experience in the dating game, just saying. Not to mention Drack! I mean, actually, we shouldn’t mention him.”

“Messiah complex?” Reyes repeated. A wash of exasperation blew across him. “She didn’t say where she was going?”

“I just said that!” Peebee hollered. “Goddess! Look, her SAM did some creepy future algorithm weirdness which I guess ends with you dying, spoiler alert, and maybe some other bad stuff but the bottom line is she has head trauma and we can’t find her.”

“I’m going to die?” Reyes repeated, then then with considerably more emotion, “Head trauma?”

“Never mind!” Peebee wailed. “Not helpful! Later.”

She hung up. Reyes dialed back immediately, pounding at his omni-tool with excessive force. Peebee ignored him. She ignored his next five calls so ruthlessly that he began to suspect that the whole thing was some kind of prank. Keema, who had watched the entire exchange in cool silence, finally spoke. “There’s no sense in breaking your omni-tool, darling. The Pathfinder will be just fine.” She crossed her legs, and made a show of rubbing her temples. “What I’m more worried about now is you. If you’re dead, my chances aren’t much better.”

Reyes ground his teeth. His back had begun to ache with tension. “Tell me you’ve at least gotten something out of the Asari assassin.”

Keema snorted. “She won’t talk. The Asari never talk. They aren’t as attached to their bodies as the rest of us.” She cringed back, startled, when Reyes gave in and kicked her bedside table, sending the furniture into the wall with a terrible smash. Reyes jerked away from Keema and her shocked, curdling stare. “You aren’t usually so violent,” Keema drawled, after a pause.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t violent. He didn’t want to be that person. Reyes dragged a hand over his face, trying to think about his breathing, trying to rewire himself. “Are you saying that the Asari is a complete dead end? Or just that she won’t talk.”

“No. There’s something.” Keema confirmed. He looked back at her, expectant. She tilted her head. “There was a certain kind of mud in the tread of her shoes. The bacteria, I’m told, are amazing. She was somewhere in the wastelands recently, somewhere with unique geothermal activity. Get your Pathfinder to wire into a mining satellite for us, tell her to look for somewhere with a massive amount of lithium. Some zinc, too.”

“Lithium?” Reyes repeated, then, as he realized the natural connection, his eyes widened. “The drugs.”

Keema smiled. “Theoretical. But why would they pass up the natural cure for mania? They’ve got to have some bad batches. And a cure’s even better if you can get it for free.”

Reyes nodded, considering the possibilities. “You forget. It’s not so easy to ask the Pathfinder for favors when she’s missing.”

“I forget nothing. You haven’t tried calling her yet,” Keema returned scornfully. She closed her eyes, and slid back beneath her covers. “I need to rest. Take care of things quickly, Reyes. We won’t get much more time.”

Ryder was not exactly a born criminal.

With SAM’s scanner, identifying drug mules was laughably easy. The problem was that she practically had NARC! emblazoned across her chest. After three blow-offs, two arguments, and four people growling, “Fuck off, Pathfinder,” she was forced to reconsider her approach.

Obviously, SAM agreed. This is embarrassing.

Undercover was overrated and, also, boring. “New plan,” Ryder decided. “We stalk. SAM, pull up city cameras, do whatever you can to trace their path—”

Reyes was calling. Ryder hit the denial button. She had a lot of missed calls.

“—what was I saying? Oh. While you’re tracing, I’ll hit the clubs and start scanning for Ambrosia.”

Cora was calling. Ryder hit the denial button three times.

Pathfinder, you could just turn off your phone.

“No, because that confirms that I am in trouble. Right now, I am just out for a stroll. They have no proof.”

Peebee was calling. Ryder, who felt that Peebee was the least effective lecturer of the group, strategically surrendered by answering. “Hey Peebs.”

“Gah!” Peebee yelped. “Finally! Do you know how many times I called you?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I certainly do.”

“Cool. Awesome. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, like maybe you had fainted from running around with a concussion or, I don’t know, you got jumped by a gang of hangry Krogan because you decided to—once again—solo-mission the dirty space equivalent of the Wild Wild West—!”

“Peebs.”

“But! I was wrong. You’re just an asshat,” Peebee concluded. She made a show of moving around, trying to look over Ryder’s shoulder. “Also. Where the hell are you? I want to come.”

“I’m trying to trace Ambrosia back to the supplier.” Ryder explained. She had begun moving again, distantly aware of SAM’s monitoring – he had hijacked most of her omni-tool’s bandwidth. Ryder lowered her voice. “SAM’s following some dealers, maybe they’ll go back to the supplier. So far none of them have been selling Ambrosia but I figure the higher up we go, the more people will know, right? I’m going to scan the clubs for traces.”

Peebee nodded eagerly. “Right. And I want to come.”

Ryder shook off a vendor. She did not want to eat barbequed space lizard. Plus, she’d already broken enough of Lexi’s rules. Suvi could continue the charge on experimental eating. “Peebs, I actually think it makes more sense for me to solo this—I mean how many drug dealers do you know that like to sell in groups?”

“The lazy ones,” Peebee answered at once. She puffed out her cheeks, now pouting. “Ryder! Ugh! Seriously, have you even smoked?”

“What, like marijuana?”

“Oh. Goddess.” Peebee screamed. Fortunately the Asari had once again cocooned herself in an escape pod, which was naturally very sound proof. “You fucking military-baby dweeb!” Peebee roared. “How dare you? Out of the people on this ship, you thought that you were the best person for a drug deal?”

“Hey,” Ryder defended, now feeling a bit wounded. “I adapted.”

And then she smacked into Reyes.

There were several surprising things about this. First: Ryder was pretty much a champion when it came to dodging things. Second: how had he found her? Third: she had known it was him the half-second before she collided with his chest, without having seen his face, which could really only mean she had adapted some freaky pheromone-sensors.

Ryder looked up. “Oh hey,” she squeaked.

“Get her,” Peebee hissed from her wrist. It was easy to forget that a vindictive hellcat slept beneath Peebee’s bubbly exterior. Ryder hurriedly ended the call.

Reyes looked pissed. There was really no other way to describe it. More disturbing still, Ryder wasn’t sure she had ever seen him get angry before. He regarded her silently for a moment, expression tight, and then smiled. His eyes still creased as he did so. Now she was officially terrified.

“So I hear I’m going to die?” he asked.

“What? No.” Ryder shook her head. “Definitely not.”

“And I heard you have a concussion.”

“Uh,” Ryder stalled. God, she wanted to lie. She wanted to lie so bad. Except her face was beat to shit so her chances of success were admittedly not great. She scratched her undamaged cheek. “I’ve had worse?”

“You’re walking around with a concussion, trying to make a drug deal, because you believe that by doing so…I can only assume the world will be saved and I won’t die,” Reyes surmised. “You also decided not to tell me any of this, why?”

Ryder squirmed. There were times when not speaking was definitely the best answer. Reyes watched her for another moment, still smiling, still terrifying. Ryder cleared her throat, “Well—well you finding me like this means you apparently put a tracker on me so that’s also bad.”

“I don’t need a tracker to find you,” Reyes retorted, now looking scornful. “But that reminds me, you also dodged my calls.”

Ryder considered her possible escape routes. Maybe SAM could reinstall those combat matrices and she could just parkour the hell out of there. She looked at her toes, feeling like a teenager, like a naughty child, like all the things she didn’t want him to see her as, all the things she was dying to prove she wasn’t.

“Come with me,” Reyes said.

Ryder jerked up. “But—I have SAM tailing some people and—”

“I can find your drugs,” Reyes snapped. He was somehow more handsome when he was angry. “Obviously.”

Obviously. Ryder just nodded. She nodded, and she followed.

He took her back to a different but identical apartment, still not sure what he wanted. Keema would want him to get her scanning for Lithium. Her crew would want her stitched up and sent back. She looked like she wanted to lie down, but would never ask. He stepped back to let her inside first, and as she passed him, he saw the clump of bandages fixed to the back of her head, peeking through her hair.

She stood awkwardly in the middle of his room, trying not to look at him. He stared her down. A frustrated, angry energy tightened around him, the longer he looked at her.

“What’s here?” Ryder asked. Answer: nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Like an animal, he’d wanted to stow her somewhere safe. Somewhere he could just keep an eye on her while he figured out what happened next.

Reyes shrugged. She kept waiting for him to explain, a slow heat creeping through her face. “I should get back,” she piped up, rather weakly. Reyes slammed the door, and she flinched. He wasn’t sorry.

“Stay here,” he said, without emotion. He pointed at the bed. “Sit.”

“But I should really—”

He realized that he’d been grinding his jaw only when the muscles began to burn. He spun on her, trying not to shout. “Sit down.”

She sat, her face frozen. Mortified? Angry? For once, he didn’t care. He watched her, running through every conversation they’d ever had, every word she’d ever said to him. Her face was shifting, adapting. She was going to make a joke. She was going to try to force the mood, to dodge the things she didn’t want to talk about. She was used to people listening to her.

He cut her off just as her mouth opened. “You were wrong. You should have told me.”

She hesitated. Her hands twisted together in her lap. “I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time until I had more intel.”

“No. You just didn’t trust me.” Reyes shook out his shoulders. He couldn’t stop thinking about his family, the one he’d left behind. When it had all gone to shit. His old fly buddies, shaking their heads at him. You’re crazy when you’re angry. He wasn’t that person.

Ryder stood. He didn’t miss the slight wobble—the very suggestion of unsteadiness. It frightened him. She was supposed to be indestructible, iron boned, wearing the best armor the galaxy had to offer. He could see the stress, the heaviness of it, how it pulled on her eyes and her mouth. Where did she think she was going, all banged up like that? Ryder had squared her shoulders. “Alright fine, I didn’t trust you,” she acknowledged. “Is that what you wanted from me, my trust? Because the Initiative has to come first. You know that.”

“So why are you here?” Reyes countered. “You’re right, the Initiative does come first. But here you stand, because you risked everything for a smuggler. For me.”

She faltered. “I can handle it.”

“Fine, you can handle it. You can handle being drugged and kidnapped and shot and the rest of the galaxy’s problems while you’re at it. Except I don’t want you to. So what about me?”

She took a half-step towards him, as angry as she was pleading, and as her hand came up to—shove him? Gesticulate?—he caught it without thinking, pulling her into him.

“What about me?” Reyes snarled. Two splotches of color were coming into her cheekbones, making her eyes seem brighter, as though she were about to cry. Fine.

Shakily, she said, “You don’t get to be angry at me for—!”

“Of course I do!” He snapped, and she flinched away from him. Fine. Really, that was fine, that was more than fine. Logically, he preferred the world where she hated him to the one where she ended up dead trying to save him. Emotionally, maybe there was just an ugly streak, a vicious part of him that thought she deserved to be punished.

Glaring, Ryder bared her small, white teeth. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” she shouted back. “And even if I did, so what? Why the fuck do you think you get to judge me for it! Who the hell do you think you are?”

Reyes laughed. “Who am I? Certainly not the Pathfinder. I don’t go around thinking that my every decision is somehow mandated by God.”

That had hurt her. She didn’t back down. “Shut up.”

“No, you shut up this time,” Reyes snapped. “You shut up, because that’s exactly what you did, what you’ve been doing since the second your little feet touched down in my docking bay. Because some part of you genuinely believes that you are the ultimate voice of authority, and I guess the rest of us can go fuck ourselves. I’ve seen the things you can do, and you can call me a true believer, but you should remember that at the end of the day you are just a person.”

She was crying now. Angry, frustrated tears. She was trying to look away, trying to hide her face. When she spoke, her voice was still angry—but shaking. “You know what? Fine. Excuse the fuck out of me. I came here because I wanted to fix things—I wanted to help you. Maybe I should apologize for my methods but I’m not sorry that I cared because you fucking made me!”

He was going to say something ugly back to her, but she’d taken that last half-step towards him, and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, her face pressed into his neck. She was unnaturally still, every muscled tensed—whether that was to keep from shaking or because she expected his resistance, he couldn’t guess. “Don’t be mad at me,” she mumbled. “You’re such a bully.”

He didn’t want to be angry. He didn’t want to be that person. He just wanted her to listen. He let himself touch her. Was she frightened? For him, or because of him? He held the base of her neck, a hot place. He could let this go. He could change. He let himself flick away her armor. All these things, getting in his way. Always. “I should be angry. Just how heartless do you think I am?”

“The worst,” she insisted, not pulling back even one centimeter. “Completely heartless. I have a concussion.”

He tugged her back. She was silent, almost docile, as he undressed her. He knelt, and she had to brace a hand against his shoulder as he lifted her feet from her boots, one at a time. “You have pretty feet,” he noted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before.”

“Reyes,” she began, but stopped. He looked up at her, into her bruised face. She struggled to say, “I’m sorry.”

He kissed her stomach, her warm skin. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” he told her, with his eyes closed. “I’m embarrassed.”

“When are you ever embarrassed?” Ryder grumbled, now flushed herself. He nipped at junction where her thigh met her body, his hands smoothing down the backs of her legs. Ryder squeaked. “Are you—um, are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“You could make it easier for me,” he snipped, pretending to be annoyed. He pushed her a little, back towards the bed. “Sit down.”

“But—”

“Sit down,” he said again, a little more gently. She sat on the edge of his bed, looking dazed. The top of her chest was flushed now as well. He braced his elbows on her knees, and looked at her slowly, letting her embarrassment peak. “You’re naked.”

“Shut up.” Ryder growled. He reached up, and traced the scoop of skin that folded below her breast. Ryder’s hands flew up to cover herself, entirely by instinct, and she twisted around, now yelping. “What are you, some kind of predator?”

“Just frustrated,” Reyes grinned. “You don’t listen well.”

“If I listened to you all of Andromeda would be operating under some kinda bullshit omertà in less than three months,” Ryder hissed. He pulled her legs open. She did a bad job of not looking shy. He bit the soft, fleshy part of her inner thigh and she practically writhed.

“You’re so excited,” Reyes observed, with complete innocence. Ryder glowered.

“If you don’t take your clothes off I’m seriously leaving.”

He took his clothes off. He pinched her, stroked her, scratched her. He didn’t think, or at least he tried not to. Her skin was so pliant, so satisfying to press. He wanted to sink his teeth into every single inch.

He pressed his mouth against everything he could reach, wanting to know her completely, wanting to recognize her body even if he were blinded. When she bent to wrap her lips around his shaft he fell in love with the way her eyes closed.

She crawled, she sank around him. He wanted to yank on her hair, to close his hands over her throat, but the bruises on her face kept him gentle. Almost gentle. He pulled down her hips, dragging her to him, tucking her against his body. He rolled her beneath him, felt her nails cut into his back.

“Promise me something,” Reyes hissed into her ear. He ground himself into her, hard enough for her to gasp, hard as the teeth she sank in his shoulder. “Promise me this won’t happen again. Don’t get in the middle.”

“No,” she whimpered. He kissed her swollen mouth, the edge of her bruised eye. She squirmed, but didn’t ask him to stop. She just took it. That acceptance of pain, that willingness to sacrifice—it seriously pissed him off.

“You have to,” he stressed. “You have to.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” she panted. Her voice ratcheted up when he slammed into her again. “Why?”

What a stupid thing to ask. And yet he couldn’t answer her—nothing felt quite right. There was no one reason. So instead he said again, viciously, “Promise me.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and folded. She lied, so obviously. He felt her shutter down around him, closing. Her eyelids fluttered, and she looked away. She pressed her face into his neck, her breath wet and ragged. And he could feel, in that moment, that he’d lost her. She was leaving even as she came. He could feel her stubborn, arrogant youth and the armor of her idealism. Her dreams, and her ideas about romance, and her distance. And he realized, at last, why she could never understand him. Why she held herself back, even as she forced herself further into his arms. Why, why, why.

She didn’t want to admit, to herself or to anyone, that he was not a good man.

He reached between her legs, and she came again with him. But it was different now, mechanical. He rolled off her, but kept her pulled tightly against his side. She was close enough for him to smell the old blood on her bandages. He had felt lonely before, but never like the way he did now. There was something there, something he couldn’t quite get. It should have been frustrating.

“You promised me,” he spoke into the skin at the back of her head, the crack he pictured in her skull. He imagined he was whispering into her dreams, changing them, fixing her truths. Like a shout into an empty chasm. “Don’t forget.”

She tried to roll over to face him, to argue, and he tightened his grip, fingers digging into her hip, her flank. She had to hear this. “I am not worth your life,” he said again, more violently. “This is my problem. Don’t try to fix it by yourself.”

She was silent, her body wrung out and lean and burning. Her breathing came slower. He could feel her heart beating through the sharp, hard curves of her shoulders. Her hand tried to cover his, but wasn’t large enough.

“Okay,” she lied again. “Okay.”

[cchasing-the-sunn]

Do Me a Favor

Prompt: Maggie takes a kryptonite bullet for Kara.

AO3

Summary:

“Do me a favor?” She wrapped her arms around Maggie’s midsection.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t take anymore bullets for me; regular or otherwise.”

/\/\/\/

Maggie saw the CADMUS agent switch magazines, the green glow disappearing into the Glock, and whipped her head around for Kara. She spotted Kara fighting Hank Henshaw across the way. A quick glance to the side saw Alex handling her own gaggle of CADMUS goons.

It was as if everything slowed, the sounds of gunfire, shouting, and trading blows drowned out into a muffled and garbled noise as Maggie’s feet carried her the distance between her and Kara.

Maggie jumped in front of Kara just as she saw the muzzle flash of the gun holding the kryptonite bullets. She grunted as the green rock slammed into her chest.

“Maggie!” Kara threw Henshaw far, far away from her and rushed to Maggie, wrapping her arms around Maggie’s small frame.

Alex looked over at her sister’s shout, distracting her long enough for a CADMUS agent to get in a lucky hit. She saw Maggie go down before the hit dazed her for just a moment and once she righted herself she growled and quickly dispatched the three goons around her.

No sooner than the last body hit the ground did Alex take off running, ducking fists, kicks and bullets.

“Maggie!”

J’onn and Guardian provided cover for Alex as she made her way through the wide open warehouse that served as their battle field.

Kara cradled Maggie carefully as she lowered her to the ground. “Please be okay!” Kara muttered.

Maggie coughed as she tried to get air into her lungs; but Kara was staring at her like she was dying. Maggie grabbed Kara’s hand just as Kara ripped open her windbreaker.

“I’m fine.” Maggie croaked out.

Hearing Maggie’s voice, seeing the green shards in Maggie’s Kevlar, and feeling Maggie’s warm-not cold-hand on hers, brought a wave of relief crashing down over Kara. Kara listened to Maggie’s heart calm and she allowed herself to smile.

Alex dropped down next to Maggie and scanned her girlfriend’s small body. A small nervous, yet relieved laugh escapes her as she dusted the kryptonite away. She cupped Maggie’s face. “Are you okay?”

Maggie nodded with a smile. “Yeah.” She ignored the throbbing in her chest. “Help me up.”

Alex was hesitant but did as Maggie asked.

Once Maggie was on her feet Kara’s cape was flung out to cover Alex and Maggie; a few bullets fell to the floor and Maggie’s gun was held out to her.

Maggie looked up at Kara and took her gun. “Thanks.”

“Still a battle field.” Kara reminded. She frowned; concerned. “Do you need me to get you out?”

Maggie shook her head. ‘Fuck, that hurt!’

“Are you sure?”

Kara must have seen her grimace.

“Yeah.” Maggie cocked her gun and Kara nodded.

A crash got Kara’s attention; Hank Henshaw returned.

Alex fired her gun twice before turning her attention back to Maggie. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Alex asked, her eyes wide, expression worried.

Maggie raised her gun and fired. “Getting soft on me, Danvers?” Maggie smirked.

Alex grinned as she followed her little spitfire of a girlfriend back into the fray.

/\/\/\/\/\

Maggie groaned as she lowered herself to Alex’s couch that night. Alex was stuck in a debriefing and wouldn’t be home for at least another two hours. Maggie frowned at that thought and scowled when she noticed the remote on the coffee table; out of arm’s reach.

“Uugghh!”

Her chest was a nasty mix of purple and yellow and hurt like hell when she even breathed too deeply. All she wanted was to watch trashy reality TV and lay down until Alex got home, and they could cuddle in Alex’s ridiculously comfortable bed.

She heard a whoosh of air accompanied by light tapping on the balcony door.

Kara.

“Come in, Little Danvers.”

The balcony doors opened and Kara stepped in still in her super suit, holding at least six bags of groceries and take out.

Kara set the bag down ad shut the sliding balcony door.

“What’s all this?” Maggie asked. She was on the long end of Alex’s L shaped couch, her arm supported her on the arm rest as she tried to see what all Kara brought.

“When Alex gets hit in the vest she is whiny for a few days-I’m not saying you are or Alex doesn’t have the right-but I usually bring by her favorite! Look!” Kara pulled out a gallon of Maggie’s favorite vegan ice cream with a proud smile. “I even got your fake ice cream.”

Maggie couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her, ignoring the slight twinge in her chest; Kara was scowling at the container of vegan ice cream as if it personally offended her.

“It’s just soy, Kara.” Maggie chuckled.

“Fake!” Kara hissed.

Maggie laughed harder only to hiss in pain when her bruised chest wholly protested the action.

Kara rushed over and placed the ice cream tub on Maggie’s chest.

Maggie shuddered at the cold; but damn, it helped. “That’s nice.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Feeling Kara’s concerned eyes and frown-crinkle most likely in place-Maggie motioned blindly toward the kitchen with her hand.

“Get me a spoon, please, K.”

Maggie heard Kara move and kept her hand out until the cool metal of a spoon connected with her palm.

Maggie opened her eyes and pried the lid off her ice cream with a smile. “Thank you, Kara.” She scooped some ice cream into her mouth, eliciting a satisfied noise.

Kara, content knowing Maggie would stay still for a moment, went about putting the groceries away.

Once Kara was finished, she grabbed a tea towel and carried the take out to the couch.

“Here you go.” Kara handed Maggie the towel and settled down onto the other end of the couch, take out in hand.

“Thank you.” Maggie placed the towel on her chest and placed the ice cream tub on the towel.

“I’m the one who should be saying thank you.” Kara said.

Maggie regarded Kara’s distant look with a frown. “For what?”

Kara snapped her head up, eyes wide, and jaw slightly agape. “What do you mean ‘for what?’ You took a kryptonite bullet for me!” Kara exclaimed.

Maggie nodded; pride slipping onto her face. “I’d do it again.”

Kara let out a frustrated noise; opening and closing her fists as she searched for the right words. “You shouldn’t have to.” She settled. “I don’t want you to.”

Maggie frowned. “Kara…”

“No!” Kara cut her off. “You had your vest this time, you can’t guarantee that you will next time!”

Maggie saw the fear in Kara’s eyes clear as day. Maggie moved to sit up, placing the ice cream and towel on the side table, only to flinch as pain shot through her chest. She reclined back and motioned Kara over. “Come here.”

Kara hesitated.

“Please.”

Kara placed her food aside on the coffee table and scooted closer to Maggie who grabbed Kara’s wrist and pulled Kara closer until Maggie could wrap her arm around Kara’s shoulders.

Kara let herself be pulled, causing Maggie to smile. Maggie remembered the days when Kara wouldn’t budge. Even if Maggi had playfully nudged their shoulders together, only to have her shoulder collide into a very solid Kara who barely felt the nudge.

“I’m okay, Little Danvers; I’m not going anywhere anytime sooon.” Maggie told her with conviction.

“You can’t promise that.” Kara whispered.

Maggie smiled softly. “No, I can’t, but I can promise to try, and I will. I have something to come home to.”

“Alex?”

Maggie nodded before she rested her cheek on the top of Kara’s head, her smile widening at the mention of Alex. “Yeah, and you.”

Kara was silent for a moment. “Do me a favor?” She wrapped an arm around Maggie’s midsection.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t take anymore bullets for me, regular or otherwise.” Kara rested her head on Maggie’s shoulder, focusing on the rhythm of Maggie’s heartbeat.

“I can’t do that.”

“I can’t lose anyone else.” Kara murmured. “Not when I can prevent it.”

Maggie’s heart simultaneously swelled and broke in that moment. Kara was talking about her family; Kara thought of her as family.

Kara couldn’t have done anything to save her family; to save Krypton; but here on Earth, she was practically a god among mortal and had the power to save others; to save her family.

Maggie squeezed Kara’s shoulder. “I promise not to jump in front of regular bullets and only jump in front of kryptonite bullets if completely necessary; and if I’m wearing my vest.”

Kara crinkled her brow, ready to argue, but she was tired, and knew that was probably the best she was gonna get out of Maggie.

“Deal.”

Maggie grinned. “Good; now hand me the remote so we can watch trashy reality TV and stuff our faces until Alex gets home.

Hours later, that’s how Alex found them, cuddled together on the couch fast asleep; TV playing quietly.

[reomanet]

The man who beat Monsanto: 'They have to pay for not being honest' | Business

The man who beat Monsanto: ‘They have to pay for not being honest’ | Business

Dewayne Johnson tries not to think about dying. Doctors have said the 46-year-old cancer patient could have months to live, but he doesn’t like to dwell on death. These days, he has an easy distraction – navigating the international attention on his life. The father of three and former school groundskeeper has been learning to live with the gift and burden of being in the spotlight in the month since a California jury ruled that Monsanto caused his terminal cancer . The historic verdict against the agrochemical corporation, which included an award of $289m, has ignited widespread health concerns about the world’s most popular weedkiller and prompted regulatory debates across the globe . Johnson, who never imagined he would be known as “dying man” in dozens of news headlines, is still processing the historic win. “Going against a company like this, becoming a public figure, it’s intense,” he told the Guardian in a rare interview since the 10 August verdict. “I felt an enormous amount of responsibility.” Johnson, who goes by the name Lee, was the first person to take Monsanto to trial on allegations that the global seed and chemical company spent decades hiding the cancer risks of its herbicide. He is also the first to win. The groundbreaking verdict further stated that Monsanto “acted with malice” and knew or should have known that its chemicals were “dangerous”. One man’s suffering has exposed Monsanto’s secrets to the world | Carey Gillam Read more The legacy of the extraordinary ruling could be felt for generations, and Johnson said he is working to make the victory as impactful as possible while he still has time. Monsanto, meanwhile, filed papers last week seeking to throw out the verdict – and prevent Johnson’s family from receiving the money. ‘Safe enough to drink’ The chemical that changed Johnson’s life is glyphosate, which Monsanto began marketing as Roundup in 1974. The corporation presented the herbicide as a technological breakthrough that could kill nearly every weed without posing dangers to humans or the environment. Roundup products are now registered in 130 countries and approved for use on more than 100 crops, and glyphosate can be found in food , water sources and agricultural workers’ urine . Research over the years, however, has repeatedly raised concerns about potential harms linked to the herbicide, and in 2015, the World Health Organization’s international agency for research on cancer classified glyphosate as “ probably carcinogenic to humans ”. Johnson said he knew nothing of the risks in 2012 when he began working as a groundskeeper for a public school district in Benicia, a suburb 30 miles east of San Francisco. Facebook Twitter Pinterest Dewayne Johnson developed lesions on his body and cancer after exposure to Monsanto products. Photograph: Courtesy of Baum, Hedlund, Aristei & Goldman Johnson liked his job, located near his hometown of Vallejo, where he was born and raised and still lives with his wife, Araceli, and their two young sons. In one social media video he posted from work one day, he was energetic about his duties, telling his followers, “To have a job, I feel real good, man.” He added that one of his animal traps had caught a mouse, saying, “Mickey got snatched!” His main role at the district was working as an integrated pest manager, responsible for spraying Roundup and Ranger Pro (another Monsanto glyphosate herbicide) at a handful of schools and sports fields in the area. Some days, he would spray 150 gallons worth over several hours. Johnson said he wasn’t concerned about health hazards, given that Monsanto’s labels had no warning. In a training session, he was told it was “safe enough to drink”. He also followed the label instructions diligently, he testified, reading them every time he sprayed. He compared the process to the way he followed recipes when he worked at a restaurant. He wore protective gear while spraying to be extra cautious. But there were occasional leaks, and one time his skin accidentally became drenched. In 2014, after about two years of regular use, he started to experience rashes and other forms of skin irritation, and he knew something was wrong. “I used to have flawless skin,” he recalled. “It was very noticeable to me and to other people. This wasn’t normal.” Soon, he had marks on his face and frightening lesions throughout his body, and doctors struggled at first to understand what was happening to him. Monsanto’s ‘cancer-causing’ weedkiller destroyed my life, dying man tells court Read more Eventually, he learned the truth: it was cancer, and it was killing him. When they received the news, Araceli broke down weeping while he remained stoic, he recalled. “I’m not the type of person that’s scared to die,” he said. He wanted to figure out why he was sick – and what he could do to fight it. ‘I felt totally betrayed’ Johnson and Araceli met in a pre-algebra class in community college about 14 years ago. She was immediately drawn to him, but too scared to talk to him. Her sister, who was in the same class, eventually approached Johnson for her. At the highly watched trial in San Francisco this summer, the husband and wife both testified lovingly of their marriage. But they also described how cancer changed everything. Johnson said he used to do most of the household chores, including cooking and cleaning, but couldn’t keep up once he got sick. Johnson was so ill at one point he could barely get out of bed for a month. He said he had missed a lot due to cancer, including the funeral of his uncle and various activities with his sons, who are now aged 10 and 13. Facebook Twitter Pinterest Dewayne Johnson’s wife, Araceli, and their two sons. Photograph: Courtesy of Baum, Hedlund, Aristei & Goldman Johnson has non-Hodgkin lymphoma (NHL), a blood cancer that affects the immune system and caused his skin lesions. At times, the cancer has been so painful and debilitating, he couldn’t walk or be outside in the sun. On some occasions, it hurt to have fabrics touching his skin, he testified. There have been periods where intimacy with his wife was simply not possible. In court, he expressed gratitude that she had stayed by his side through all of his suffering. Araceli had to start working two jobs at a local school district and nursing home, sometimes leading to 14-hour days, she testified. Sometimes, Johnson would cry at night when he thought she was asleep, she added. Their 10-year-old son, Kahli, wants to be a chemist, according to Johnson, and he once made a “potion” to try and cure his father. It was a random assortment of kitchen ingredients in a small blue bottle. “It was salty, sweet, lemony,” Johnson said. “It was not good.” At one point when his skin was getting worse, Johnson called a Monsanto hotline to discuss his illness. He spoke to a woman who sounded like she was reading from a script and told him someone would follow up with him. He never heard back and for a while continued spraying herbicide at work. But he started to do some of his own research: “I wanted to know the facts.” Eventually, he learned that there were studies linking glyphosate to cancer – a fact a supervisor at work later mentioned to him. “I felt totally betrayed,” he said. “I lost everything. I was at rock bottom.” Johnson eventually arrived at a place where he felt a lawsuit was his only hope – and the only way to uncover the truth. ‘I’m hoping that it snowballs’ Regardless of the outcome, Johnson v Monsanto was always going to be a newsworthy trial, because the judge allowed the cancer patient’s legal team to bring scientific arguments to the courtroom. The proceedings further shone a light on internal Monsanto emails over the years that Johnson’s attorneys said showed how the company had repeatedly rejected critical research and expert warnings. Some evidence suggested that Monsanto had also strategized plans to “ghostwrite” favorable research. Toxic neighbour: Monsanto and the poisoned town Read more Monsanto, which was bought by the pharmaceutical giant Bayer earlier this year, has continued to argue that Roundup does not cause cancer and that critics are “cherrypicking” studies while ignoring research that showed its products were safe. The jury disagreed. They ruled that Johnson also deserved $250m in punitive damages and $39.2m for losses. When the verdict was announced, Johnson said his body briefly went into a kind of shock. “I felt like all the fluids went out of my body and rushed back in,” he recalled. The jury’s unanimous decision said Monsanto’s products presented a “substantial danger” to people and the company failed to warn consumers of the risks. “They have been hiding for years and getting away with it,” Johnson said. “They have to pay the price for not being honest and putting people’s health at risk for the sake of making a profit.” Before the verdict, Johnson said he had no expectations about the outcome. “I never really discussed winning or money or amounts with the legal guys,” he said, adding that he did fear the implications of a Monsanto win: “If we lose, the facts won’t keep coming out. That would be the worst part.” Facebook Twitter Pinterest Dewayne Johnson and his two sons. Johnson has terminal cancer, which a court found was caused by Monsanto products. Photograph: Courtesy of Baum, Hedlund, Aristei & Goldman Pedram Esfandiary, one of Johnson’s lawyers, said he was consistently impressed with Johnson’s ability to remain optimistic and focused on exposing the facts and protecting others from Roundup hazards. “This guy is dealing with the reality of his mortality,” he said. “His life is on the line because of what happened … He was concerned about getting the truth out.” Johnson said he wanted to use the platform he has been given to continue raising awareness about glyphosate. He is now advocating to get the product off every school campus and playground in California. The Benicia school district, his former employer, already said it would stop using glyphosate. He considers that a start. The case could encourage consumers to change their habits and explore alternative ways to manage weeds, he said : “I’m hoping that it snowballs and people really get the picture and they start to make decisions about what they eat, what they spray in their farms.” Johnson is currently undergoing regular chemotherapy and said he is feeling better than he has in a long time. Doctors have said he could have at most two years left to live. He is also focused on his music and has plans to release an EP of rap songs, including one titled Not My Time about his cancer struggle and pushing forward despite the “early death sentence”. Monsanto’s global weedkiller harms honeybees, research finds Read more For Johnson, the case was never about “crumbling a company or taking down an empire”. “I hope [Monsanto] gets the message that people in America and across the world are not ignorant,” he said. “They have already done their own research.” He would now like to see Monsanto add cancer warning labels so that people can make informed decisions. He also hopes the legal process does not drag on for years, but expects Monsanto to continue aggressively fighting until the end. “That’s what big companies like that do.” He had one other request for Monsanto, something he knows he will never receive. Johnson would like an apology. Topics Monsanto Cancer Health California Pesticides Herbicides features

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