#like sure he already has an uncomfortable amount of power over the government but like. he really doesnt understand what hes signed up for??

[snickerdoodlles]

...ngl, enron musk acting like he can do to the US federal budget what he did to twitter is kinda funny

[bloodgulchblog]

The Cold Cash War by Robert Asprin

There's some decent bitterness about megacorporations and governments in here, but there are some key problems:

It's a first novel and you can really tell, it thinks it's way cleverer than it actually is.

Much like so many meetings that could be emails, this is a short novel that could've stayed a short story (which it apparently started out as.) Despite its breakneck POV switching and introduction of minor characters and destruction of minor characters all the time, the thing drags and there's a bunch of material in the middle that could be handily cut.

Most of that weird middle material boils down to ninja/samurai fanboyism that is pretty uncomfortable to read because like... Asprin wants to make the point that it's rude and stupid to be racist at Japanese people, sure, but also he is absolutely not normal about Japanese people either.

Asprin arrives at blaming the REAL cause of all the problems on ye olde "humans are selfish creatures" canard and I am yawning. The People always ultimately yield to some kind of authoritarian power that successfully distracts/pacifies them because people are fundamentally short-sighted and selfish, blah blah blah blah blah, I've heard it a million times before and it always feels like writers think they're super smart and that it's clearly such a hard, truth-telling, fresh idea. Don't get me wrong, I understand the bitterness and exhaustion that can lead you there. But I'm so tired of this conclusion.

I owe you guys a Not Halo novel summary already, but fuck it here goes this because it's fresh in my head.

(The Forever War I just care enough about to try to do it right, which holds me back. ....Caring about things also holds back my other projects. The secret is to never care about things, but sshh.)

There's this guy Mausier who managed to escape from having to work a corpo job by instead running an independent information brokering business.

He gets wind that Something Weird is going on in Brazil and starts trying to figure it out, as a little hobby project.

As we find out through three or four other character perspectives, there is a simulated war being carried out in the Amazon between several mega corporations. (They're not very interesting, the main two are just referred to as "Oil" and "Communications".) The involved corporations have all hired armies of mercenaries that wear "kill-suits" in order to carry out a "bloodless" war. It's basically giant scale laser tag where they win battles not by actually killing anybody, but by just proving their guys could kill your guys and that a bomb could've been planted over here and would've gone off like this.

But fake war... is changing. Oil has been quietly stockpiling ammunition before dropping a negotiations bombshell: Oil would like to change the rules of the fake war and require that the corporations have to track what ammo they would theoretically be using in the fake war, and to destroy an equal amount of real ammo that they would've used in each action. And if they're out of bullets, well tough luck then sonny guess you're losing the war. :)

Then Communications manages to counter with "alright, if we're simulating wartime logistics let's also simulate assassinations! all your executives gotta start wearing kill-suits too, and if they forget to turn them on they can legally be assassinated for realsies. :)"

This is kind of fun/funny and I feel that tracks with knowing this author was later best known for satire/comedy because it's just the right kind of absurd.

But also like. The thing that gets me here, and is why Mausier is having to dig and all, is that all of this is supposed to be plausibly happening in secret and the thing that tips off the government is that execs start getting assassinated. Not even all the people getting fake assassinated and laid off from their jobs because they're "dead" now. Not all the weapons stuff. Just the assassinations.

It's mind-boggling because there is no way my suspension of disbelief can tolerate it. There's a subplot about some guys that are supposed to be working on what their corp will do if the government ever finds out and trying to delay that by blaming it on terrorism and it's just... No? Lol?

Anyway in the meantime the Zaibatsu (Japanese megacorporations, collective) are SUPER COOL AND MANIPULATING A LOT OF STRINGS and have been training an army. Of super ninjas with katanas. Since they were all children. They have a super cool hardcore sensei guy who is so strict!!!!! But he didn't teach them to fight together as a unit, so the Zaibatsu hire these two very unlikable American mercenaries to lead this army.

There's this very big and stupid confrontation scene where one of them has to win the respect of the Japanese super army in single combat vs one of their best, succeeds in the most ridiculous way possible. (He writes down how he's going to do it and hands off the paper to the big important corpo executive before the the fight starts, then when he's trying to get the other guy to stand down he calls for the paper to be read to prove that he planned it all along!!! The warrior was so predictable!!!) The sensei is so mad he attacks!!! And the American mercenary kills him in self defense by... kicking a knife at him... so hard he dies. Amazing.

I don't even really remember what the Zaibatsu's endgame idea for all this is, beating the other corps at their game and winning all the capitalism points I guess? It doesn't matter, they're mostly just there so Asprin can tell you how clever it is that they sneak into Brazil by all pretending to be tourists (you know, because they're Japanese!) and how cool they look when they're kicking the US military's ass.

...Oh yeah btw they got involved. Because the government finds out, and sends the US military to stop the corpo war, and the corpos just start using live ammunition because the US military is using live ammunition and it turns out the corpo mercenaries are so much better at war because, u see, corporations are evil and the government is incompetent and only the one of those two things might lead to efficiency. Meanwhile, the corporations run a hell of a PR campaign to get public support. Most people turn against government intervention in the formerly "bloodless" and so very polite simulated war.

The whole mess ends with the C-Block (you know, because this was the late 70s and COMMUNISM!!!!) finally rising from the depths with its own super army and saying well well well, gentlemen, what if we create world peace by disbanding everyone's army, just having our mercenaries resolve all questions of force in the world, and in the meantime everyone can make lots of money by making the kill-suit fighting the coolest and most profitable new televised sport? :)

(Then the two unlikable US mercs talk about how one of them was secretly working for the C-Block this whole time, but honestly he just sees the C-Block as more of the same: authoritarian structures of control that all amount to the same kind of fat cats calling the same kind of shots because they pacify the people into letting them and people are too lazy/selfish to fight if they're comfortable.)

Meanwhile, at the very end, in probably the only effective scene for me, Mausier loses his business when The Megacorps insist on buying it and, when he's not willing to sell, threatening his life and livelihood. Mausier, who had finally found satisfaction and happiness running a business for himself and escaping from corpo control and greed, cannot escape and thinks about death.

The End.

Alright I'm back into the Cold Cash War.

It's very dumb.

It's intensely weird about Japanese people.

It has a scene where someone cuts the barrel off a sniper rifle with a katana that fucking slew me.

[alirhi]

This is oddly fun lol

Let's see how many of these I can churn out before I get distracted or need a break! (pff. like I need an excuse to watch the show again. Despite its flaws, I really, really love TFATWS, guys)

Without further ado, let's get down to it!

Episode 2: The Star-Spangled Man

I'm pretty sure I'm on record when it comes to my undying hate for John Walker, yes? So obviously, Bucky's grumpiness 100% stays 😂

I'm not really a fan of how much emphasis they put on the shield. I can see it as a catalyst for Bucky to go confront Sam, yes, but he wouldn't keep going "shield shield shield" like a broken record. Bucky has consistently been shown to be an empathetic man. I can't believe for a second that he'd be barking at Sam about having no right to give up the shield; he'd ask why. Sam's got shit to do, so he'd get impatient and not answer.

"Why'd you give up so easily? If you were overwhelmed, I could've helped you-" "You've been ignoring me. Like now, how you're ignoring me walking away from you." "Well, you weren't texting me about this." "You think I needed your permission?!" "No, but I was right there with Steve while he was learning what it meant to be Cap. I wouldn't mind helping you get used to-" "Then go teach him." A vague gesture toward the "Cap is back" posters. Bucky makes a face. "Steve passed the mantle to you. You fought with him. You earned it. That little shit didn't." "What do you want me to do about it?" "Just tell me why, Sam. I mean it. I just wanna understand." "Not now, Buck. I've got shit to do. You see me heading for a plane right now, right?" "This is important!" "So is this." Sam tells him about the Flag Smashers, we get our silly Big Three/Gandalf conversation.

I'm sorry, but that whole jumping from the plane scene is funny as hell, and I love all the nods they added in to jokes from the press tours that brought us this show in the first place (like ripping the sleeve off his jacket lol). I don't think I'd change a single thing from the Big Three convo to Bucky joining Sam in the warehouse.

"You're doing the staring thing again." "You're staring at your watch," Bucky points out. He knows it's linked to Redwing, he's just pointing out how dumb that line is in that situation. They're there for recon lol. They're meant to be looking around.

I don't...particularly care about the other common gripe here? Meaning, "Bucky's a civilian, so why is he allowed to randomly jump in on a military mission?" Bucky's also known in this universe as an Avenger, just like Sam, so I don't think anyone would really bat an eye at him joining. Also, I have my own agenda related to Bucky's apparent freedom to walk in and out of military/government things.

What does bug me (as funny as it is) is Bucky's animosity toward Redwing. Again... Bucky is a certified nerd. Always has been. If anything, he'd be fascinated by Redwing and Sam would constantly have to slap him away because he's leaning in too close trying to see the tiny watch monitor. "I don't trust Redwing" is just old man griping "I don't trust your newfangled technology" and that... that's not Bucky.

And that "we're not assassins" dig, and then laughing when Bucky gets upset? That's not Sam. Both of these men have shown a remarkable amount of empathy, and Sam has a background in helping traumatized vets. If he cared enough about Bucky to be texting him after Steve left, he'd care enough not to make callous jokes about his time as The Winter Soldier, whether he knows the full story or not.

The fight on top of moving trucks looks cool, but makes no logical sense. I keep trying to think of a way to explain this from a story perspective, rather than a lazy "it looks cool!" filmmaking one, and I'm coming up blank. Anyone with half a brain would have pulled over, had the fight, and then taken off. It was a fun sequence, though... Eh. I'll leave it.

When Karli breaks Redwing, Bucky doesn't say "I always wanted to do that." Again, it's funny - I love the jabs about that stupid robo bird XD - but not Bucky. In my version, he smirks and says "You're so gonna regret that."

"You were kinda getting your asses kicked before we got there." Is immediately followed by Bucky staring him down and asking, "And... how did that fight end for you?" Sam adds, "I don't see them in custody. Are-are they following in a van?" He looks around, sarcastically searching for another vehicle. Walker and Hoskins grimace at each other, grudgingly conceding that point.

credit to @dailycelebs

Seeing Walker, and having to listen to his stupid pro-government rhetoric, makes Bucky think about Steve. When we cut from the Flag Smashers back to Bucky and Sam and the closeup of Bucky's pensive face, we hear 1940s Steve angrily telling 1940s Bucky about how the higher ups in the army had already written off the POWs and were going to leave them to die. "I love our country, Buck," he laments, "but what do I do when I'm not too sure anymore about the people who run it?"

"What you always do," is young Bucky's answer, "stand for what's right, not who's in power."

Perfect lead-in to the conversation about handling things themselves.

When Sam meets Isaiah, and hears his story, not only is he horrified and heartsick for him, but he also begins to see Bucky in a new light. He's seeing Bucky's face, the way he tries to hide his emotions and not make this conversation about him, and he's putting things together. He's still upset at being out of the loop, but he's seeing more of the situation than just "omg black super soldier". When Bucky says "he'd already been through enough," Sam asks quietly, "like you?"

The racist cop comes back before Bucky can answer, to arrest him for missing his appointment with Raynor.

ngl guys, I was so moved by the difference in how that cop treated Sam (before knowing he's Important) vs how he treated Bucky (knowing that the government views him as a violent, if pardoned, criminal). He approaches Sam with his hand on his gun, eager to defend Bucky; "is this guy bothering you?" Just because they're having a heated conversation. Then, when he sees that there's a warrant for Bucky, he approaches timidly, apologizes, treats him gently and politely. By "moved," btw, I don't mean "it was so sweet." I mean "this is fucking sick, and very, very realistic." White cops see a white guy and treat him with respect regardless of his actual criminal record, while being openly hostile towards an innocent black man without even knowing who he is, just because he's black. Moments like this made me applaud Spellman.

"You, too, Sam - That wasn't a request" is Sam's first sign that there's something off about Raynor.

Look, again... The couples therapy banter is funny because Sebastian and Anthony are funny, but that scene, from a storytelling and a mental health standpoint, is atrocious. Without some underlying reason behind her actions, Raynor is just a pointlessly terrible therapist.

Rather than insulting Bucky from the outset, Sam is angry with Raynor for violating Bucky's privacy by not only introducing herself as his therapist, but forcing a "couples" session without her patient's consent. With his background pre-Avenging, he knows this shit shouldn't fly. He immediately points out how unprofessional she's being.

Raynor doesn't bother listening - the fuck does she care, really? She shrugs and casually admits it's "slightly unprofessional" but proceeds anyway.

"Whatever's eating at him?" Sam scoffs. "Did you really just say that to a WWII veteran and the world's longest-serving POW with complex PTSD? Did I hear that right? I've had, maybe, like five conversations with this man since we met, and even I know he's been through some shit and-" "Sam," Bucky tries to interrupt, looking uncomfortable. With his crushing guilt, he has an easier time dealing with insults than someone coming to his defense. "No," Sam snaps. "If the HIPAA Slayer over here wants to drag me into this, she's damn well gonna hear what I have to say!" He turns back to Raynor and demands, "Is this how you've been treating him this whole time? Downplaying what he's been through and making a grown-ass man sound like a sulking teenager?" Raynor keeps her cool, but barely. Visibly frustrated and annoyed, she ignores Sam's tirade and tries to force the conversation back onto the track she wants it on. Bucky's embarrassed and doesn't know how to react to any of this, so he still makes that little "he would talk less" jab. Sam, seeing that he's not going to get anywhere with him until they're away from this bitch, glowers and plays along. We get our silly/angry banter.

After their argument with Walker, Sam finally confronts Bucky about what really happened to him.

"He meant HYDRA; HYDRA used to be my people." "Were they?" Sam asks, stopping him and looking him in the eye, not letting him look away or deflect. "Steve was under the impression that they were your captors. I was under the impression that the Wakandans spent two years deprogramming you so no one could use you the way HYDRA did ever again." "I-" Startled, not expecting that, Bucky stutters a little and admits, "Yeah, I... That's true, I guess." "You guess?" "Does it matter? Sam rolls his eyes. "I dunno, does it matter that you were a slave for most of the 20th century?" "I doubt it matters much to my victims." "HYDRA's victims," Sam corrects firmly. "Just like you." Bucky fidgets; he doesn't know what to do or say. No one since Steve has even so much as insinuated that Bucky wasn't 100% culpable for what he did while under HYDRA control. "Look," Sam sighs, "I don't particularly like you. I don't hate you, but I'm not your biggest fan." "...Thanks?" "I just need you to know where I stand-" "Yeah, got it-" "-So you know I'm not biased like Steve when I say you had no choice. I don't know your story, but I know no one flips on a dime from docile and plagued with guilt to an unstoppable killing machine and back without some serious psychological damage behind that. I'm not saying you're an innocent little bunny, but I don't think you're a monster." "Thanks," Bucky croaks, more sincerely this time, and a bit choked up. He clears his throat and looks distinctly uncomfortable as he grumbles, "but to catch these guys, we may need to talk to a monster." Sam cringes. "I was afraid you'd say that."

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Loyalty

A/N: I got inspiration for this piece from the Tumblr account @xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx​ (I got their permission to tag them!) however I think they’re a wonderful writer and always one of the top ones with a huge amount of Gerard x Reader fics that I keep on crawling back to. They have a work called “Gotham City Rivals” (with two parts) that I fell in love with and decided to do my own spinoff of with their idea. I also don’t know that much about any DC comics, most of Gerard’s character in this is based off of Bruce Wayne, but I didn’t do a bunch of research so I apologize for any inaccuracies. Hope you guys enjoy! Pairing: Batman!Gerard x Catwoman!Reader Word count: 2,781 Warnings: Angst, minor fighting, swear words, injury, mentions of blood.

You slipped off your skin tight suit with a harsh gasp, your teeth grinding together at the rough cuts that the latex and leather of your suit now brushed against. Yet the sounds of a hot shower and the steam that you could already see promised some element of relief to the pain. “You alright?” You heard your boyfriend walk in the room, armor still on in it’s completion besides his mask and gloves that he was currently carelessly throwing on the marble counter.

“Yeah, I think so.” You responded, examining the damage of your wounds in the mirror. “Not the worse I’ve taken.” Reflecting back on the various gun shots and stabs you’ve received over the years.

He came over, standing behind you. His metal armor always looked so good on him, solid black with small decals that you felt lucky enough you only got to see. He gave small kisses on the cuts and bruises along your shoulder and collarbones. It wasn’t in a sexual way, more in a caring one.

He finally decided to take off his suit as well, revealing his soft muscles but well built frame. You always found it funny how comic and cartoon artists portrayed real life heroes. They ignore your hip dips, made your waist the size of a pencil, and even overemphasized your boobs. And with Gerard, well, he was actually a lot like what artists portrayed him as, maybe just a little less triangle shaped.

“Next time,” You sighed as you look at him in the mirror that was now fogging with steam, his eyes on yours through the reflection, “You’re taking more hits.” He lightly laughed.

“Fine.” He agreed with a kind smile, “If you insist.”

“I’ve told you a million times, Gerard, I don’t know anything about those two!” You paced around his marble office trying to explain to him, “They are batshit crazy. They hold no patterns, no compunction, it’s part of their game and it makes it fun for them.” Your feet hastily moved back and forth on the gray tiled floor, the only light source was the sun creeping through the gray clouds outside and small desk-lamps around the large room.

“You’ve worked with her a few times,” He argued back from across his desk where he sat, “You have to know something.” “Those ‘two times’ happened probably five years ago, and it was exchanging files for some cash that’s it.” You sighed, “They don’t have a plan, ever, that’s what I’m telling you. Gerard, I know you’re incredibly smart and think with a plan. And the Joker’s really fucking smart too, but he’s also mentally insane and has no grip on himself other than to kill. He’s like a wild fucking animal.” Your boyfriend leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, his finger holding his temple together as he collected himself. “If I could help you on this, you know I would in a heartbeat.”

“Would you though?” His anger was growing, both he and you knew it. In fact, the entire room and all its objects were now drowning in the tension.

“What?” You asked barely above a whisper and through teeth clenched together, eyebrows furrowing as your vision grew red. There was no response. “If you’re questioning the integrity of my current work then fuck off. You’re too scared to kill the man, and now you’re gonna put some of this one me?” You snapped, he remained emotionless. Damn he was good at his job. “Go fuck yourself Gerard.” And with that, you stormed out of the room and up to your shared bedroom.

This stupid mansion he lived in was still a maze to you, and stomping through it in your utter fit of rage didn’t help, the sound of your feet bouncing off the large halls. It made your head want to explode.

You had never once blown up on him in your two years of dating and partnership. But never had he ever questioned your morals, or more importantly your loyalty. And you were expecting some form of an apology in the least.

Sure, you felt a little bad about bringing up his own methods of working. He had his extremely valid reasons, but it was a button to push in response to him pushing yours. You knew you would apologize eventually, but you needed him to come to you first.

After all, he was the one acting like a child. It was almost like an interrogation of you, despite the fact you had told him countless times that you knew nothing about the Joker or Harley. Other than the two deals you made with them in your early days for some extra money, those two were wild cards.

So you sat in the absurdly big California king with decorated in a gray and black and decided to do some breathing exercises so you didn’t use the wall as a knife throwing target.

It was hours, no, more than hours before you saw your lover again. And if it wasn’t for your stomach grumbling in hunger you would’ve stayed cooped up in the room. You wandered your way into the grand kitchen, beginning to look for whatever you could.

Grabbing a cookie from a batch you had baked just the day before, you began brewing some coffee for yourself. Of course you didn’t hear Gerard walk in, since you two had begun this whole partner/dating thing he had begun picking up on some of your specialties, such as being extremely quiet. On missions and such you were thankful for it, considering his armor was quite clunky, but now you regretted it.

The two of you didn’t even acknowledge each other’s presence, despite the fact that you were only a few feet a way. It was like a silent game, but just completely ignoring each other. It was like the other person didn’t even exist.

But the tension was a whole other level. You literally felt suffocated by how tense it was. And you knew your lover felt the same. With the extremely small glances you took you were able to piece together how he was definitely a form of uncomfortable, his emotions starting to break through, which you knew they would eventually.

You decided once your drink was done to leave the room, leaving Gerard and the extreme conflict behind. Well, some of it at least. And back in your room you grew bored, fast.

You didn’t want to show your weak side, determination to not be the first to apologize flowed through your veins. So, you decided to relieve your stress the way you always did.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You heard Gerard’s voice echo through the hallway next to you. Your skintight suit hugged your body, kitten heels hitting the ground in rhythm.

“Going out.” You replied.

“In your suit?” He questioned, this time grabbing your arm tightly with his hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh?” You questioned, turning to him and eyeing him through your mask, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Don’t test me.” He warned, his voice growing deep. This time, you pulled your arm harshly from his grip, which he didn’t fight back.

“That’s what I thought.” You spat, walking off.

Patrols were not the most enjoyable thing, the only time they were was when you were stressed and needed something to take your mind off of all your problems. A relationship limiting argument between you and your boyfriend was a perfect example.

Very rarely, if ever, did big stuff happen in Gotham. Small crimes like robberies, domestic cases, so on and so forth could be dealt with by the excuse of a police department the city had to offer. You were wondering when the federal government would finally come and kick a shoe up their ass.

It was funny, Gerard with all his power, I mean being the Gerard Way (despite the fact absolutely no one knew he was Batman) still couldn’t convince major officials to bring in more backup despite his numerous requests hidden in comments within conversations. The excuse was always that Gotham didn’t need help: they had Batman.

And let’s not forget his stealthy partner who did a lot of the work as well, the wonderful Catwoman who always got overlooked by the patriarchal influences that still flushed their way into society today. You scoffed at it.

On your earpiece you heard an incoming for an “escalating situation” at one of the prisons, which was just icing on the already destroyed caked for “a bunch of dangerous prisoners just got out.” Great.

It took you less than five minutes to be at the scene, strutting in and flashing your badge. It wasn’t that you actually needed one, it was just for good measure.

You got led through the dozens of police cars lining the outside of the prison all with flashing lights and a few sirens still going, escorted by one of the main detective inside where you were met with another officer talking to the one and only man himself.

Those hazels eyes hidden well under the mask looked up and met yours, softening just a bit from the black optics of Batman’s as you approached him. “Catwoman.” He said in a stern tone.

“Batman.” You responded the same, arms crossed over your chest.

You were briefed on the situation: A bunch of highly dangerous criminals did escape and were on the loose. The police felt that they needed help because some may or may not have ties to the Joker, therefore it made it a case for you and Gerard to deal with.

“Be careful,” Gerard told you, the two of you walking side by side in the street on patrol and looking out, “I don’t want you getting hurt again.” “Please,” You scoffed, “These guys probably have guns and a destructed god complex. I don’t see a problem.” “Some of these are former Arkham patients.” He warned, “They could be dangerous. And crazy.” “Like we haven’t dealt with that before.” You reminded him, “Or more specifically me, because I could have connections, ya know?” A verbal stab for sure. He looked over and glared.

“We’re not having this conversation right now.” “So when we get home are you finally going to grow up and have one after the entirety of today?”

“I told you-” Before he could even finish the two of you were surrounded by men with guns and various other forms of highly illegal weaponry. “Shit.” He muttered.

“Yeah shit.” You responded as bullets began shooting towards you. A few of them managed to ricochet off of nearby metal beams hitting your attackers, while other nearly missed you as you managed to jump behind them. With a few solid kicks and swings you were able to disarm and knock out four or five of them, Gerard getting the other 10 of them or so considering his suit and physical ability was greater than yours.

“How many were there again?” You asked him.

“15.” He responded. You looked around, mentally counting the bodies.

“Perfect, 15.” You responded with a sigh. “Do they not know how to scatter?” He shook his head.

A deafening silence filled the car on your way home, the only thing being heard was the soft engine rumbling of the mobile. You were still going to be strong about this whole thing, despite the fact that you wanted it to be over with.

You looked around out of boredom, and down at your suit to see if there was any damage. And, well, there was more than damage. “Well, would you look at that,” You lightly laughed, looking at the left side of your torso where a big slash and blood was seeping through. You hadn’t noticed any pain or anything until you looked down.

“What the fuck?” He asked, looking down to from the road.

“Gee, pay attention to the road.” He reluctantly huffed and put his gaze back there.

“You have a huge fucking slash on your side.” “I know,” You commented, “Oh well, we’ll fix it when we get home.”

You hadn’t noticed his increase in speed or the extra few minutes he cut off as you pulled into the large and modern mansion. Before you could even step out of the car in the garage Gerard had already opened your car door and picked you up, carrying you bridal style.

“You know I can walk.” You lightly laughed, holding on to his arms, “I think it was just a bullet graze.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He placed you down on the couch, “Let me grab the first aid kit.”

He was gone for only a few moments, coming back with the kit in handy, no mask and gloves this time, with no time to remove his armor. It wasn’t a life threatening wound, that’s for sure. “May I?” He asked, motioning to the zipper on the back of your suit. It was so cute to you how he always asked, despite your years of being together. You nodded, moving your hair out of the way.

He took your suit off with ease, helping you step out despite the harsh feeling you got from the slash. Carefully he sat you back down, dabbing your wound with a bit of alcohol and making sure not to directly touch the affected area. There was a certain spot where he had to touch the wound with the cottonball. You couldn’t help but cringe and gasp at the painful feeling, shutting your eyes as it felt like your flesh was burning. “I’m sorry baby.” He commented, squeezing your thigh for support. “You’re doing so great.”

It took him only a few more minutes, and the two of you deciding stitches may be stretching it too far, for you to finally be all bandaged up. You slowly got up, Gerard coming right to you and helping to hold your hips up. “I would suggest a bath but-” “Not a good idea.” You lightly laughed, placing your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.” You mumbled.

“No problem.” He responded, kissing the top of your head. “You alright?” You nodded as he picked you up again, taking you to the bedroom to rest.

He placed you lightly on the bed while removing the covers on the side you always slept. You crawled into the open area he had created, placing your wounded body onto the sheets and covering it up. “Do you want some pajamas?” He asked, now removing some of his suit, his unbrushed and tangled black hair fell just below his eyes.

“Yeah, actually,” You lightly smiled, “If you wouldn’t mind. This sports bra is kinda tight.” He nodded, walking into your closet and grabbing some sweatpants, while walking into his own to grab an old t-shirt, knowing those were your favorite things to wear.

He gave them to you, and stood there watching to which you rolled your eyes, “C’mon now, turn around.” You instructed, his eyes went wide with a form of embarrassment, “You don’t get to see my tits, yet.” He sighed, complying with you as you slipped your bra off and shirt on in a few seconds.

You decided against pants, considering that would take a lot of extra effort. So you just pulled the covers over you, sinking back in. “You can turn around now.” And Gerard did, looking at you with the shirt on and residing to his own side of the bed next to you.

You chose a petty play next, completely ignoring him, waiting for an apology. “I’m sorry.” He said, leaning back on the frame of the bed and looking at you. You looked back at him signaling him to do more explaining, “I’m sorry for questioning your loyalty and moral of your work. I know those two things matter to you very much, and I had no right to question either of those.” You took a moment to let the words settle in.

“Thank you,” You responded, “I’m sorry for bringing up the way you work. I know why you do it and I, too, didn’t have the right to do that either.” “Thank you.” He responded, both of you taking sighs of relief as most of the tension alleviated. “I love you.” He told you next. It had taken him a full year to speak those wonderful three words to you, and whenever he said them you always cherished the way they sounded.

“I love you too.” You responded with a small smile, placing your head on his shoulder which he happily complied with.

[angelisverba]

ambrosia

in which y/n hopes to find a loving new home, and faeking!h has a lot of love to give. 

word count: 12k-

pairing: y/n and the Fae King, Harry

warnings: descriptions of a sheep birth (for all the queasy readers, it’s brief)

author’s notes: this was made possible by @moonchildstyles wonder work “athens” (had it not been for that and her I would not have been inspired to write this, and it wouldn’t have come until months from now). i love u linds <333

Y/n woke to the sound of cooing doves startling near her ears,  and the warm feel of sunlight on her bare skin accompanied with a wet snout prodding at her elbow. 

Eyelashes fluttering open, the girl could see beams of sun streaming in through the arching window, motes littering the light that splayed over the stone floors and on the bed where she lay. The branches extending from the tree in the corner of the room had blossomed into a dainty pink flower that oozed a calming scent throughout, and the calming trickle of the stream surrounding the castle soothed her greatly, stroking her eardrums in a therapeutic caressed that stretched all the way down to her thighs, dissolving the sore knots that had formed there from her long walks in the forest. 

She could work with three days, especially if they all started this way. In a dreamy, etheral morning daze that was sure to carry on through the rest of the day.

Beside her was Angus, squealing excitedly now that she rose up from her position, stretching her arms above her head with a satisfied groan. 

“Good morning, Angus,” she cooed at the animal, giggling when he sniffed playfully at her chin. He plopped himself on his hind legs, and lifted his chin up to the sky so y/n could see the rolled up parchment that had been strapped on his neck with a thin, flowery vine. “What’s this?” She asked him, and he only tapped her with his hoof. “This is for me?”

The pig only squealed in response and, y/n gently stroked his warm back before untucking the paper from its place, and breaking the vine with her finger-nail so it wasn’t wrapped uncomfortably around his neck. It fell on the bed, and Angus happily bent to eat it. 

She unrolled the paper, and was stunned by the intricate cursive that was embedded into the rich material. Swooping lines of dark ink taking the shape of old-fashioned script. Y/n could imagine that whoever had written it had sat with a cork-topped pot of ink, and a long, sharp quill. 

It read, 

My lady, I’ll be awaiting your presence in the Courts. Agnus will lead the way.

A small giggle bubbled on her tongue and the king’s formal language. She hadn’t quite realized the different timelines their universes’ lived on. Not to mention, it was also a reminder of the ruling government. Harry was a king, and to have him waiting on her was a… very pleasurable feeling. 

Angus nibbled on her thigh again, impatiently urging her as they had somewhere to be. 

“Alright, I’m going! You don’t have to bite me.” Y/n patted the pig’s head once more, and hopped out of the bed, the soft material of her dress feeling like cool water against her skin. Now standing in the morning light, the shape of her calves could be seen through the material, the soft curves of her hips and swell of her breasts a hidden image; teasing in the most innocent way possible.

Agnus leads her out, his head turning to make sure that she was still following him. He led her down the same path the king took her when he showed her to her room, and even though she had seen it all already, the novelty of such a grand castle still hadn’t worn off. The brightness of the new day showered the stone walls with an enchanting gleam. Flowers had blossomed in the cracks, and tendrils of swirling leaves twisted through the arched windows. 

Harry hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night. 

He was overcome with a strange feeling of… deja vu. Even that didn’t begin to cover what he was experiencing. The moment that his eyes had landed on the female mortal that had so foolishly begged for entrance into the Faerie realm, the intense torment of loneliness he had endured for eons had just...sated, almost... relaxing with a sigh of relief. Something inside of him had… shifted. It was something that could only be compared to the righteousness that came with the correct alignment of stars; the balance of nature restored. 

One would think that he’d sleep like a baby because everything that had once felt so wrong was now feeling so right, but no. Not Harry. Harry was amazed and confused and… tentative. All of the many overwhelming emotions barreling in on his immortal body made it impossible to sleep. Instead, he did what he always did when he could not sleep.

He went to the library. 

From dusk till dawn Harry worked himself in the library, sifting through the eons of information that had accumulated to see if he could find anything that explained what in the worlds he was feeling. What had happened. Why a mortal girl had so easily, so pleasantly, been granted access to the fae realm. Why the wings of the newly hatched butterflies had fluttered and gained flight solely for the reason of covering her modesty. Why there was a sudden drop of… warmth* in the people that were known to be so cold. 

Alas, the king found nothing in the volumes he searched through that night. If* there was an answer, he wouldn’t find it that night. Not with the amount there was to search through. His search would simply have to continue after-

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” said y/n. 

His back was turned to her, as he was knelt over a bush of forget-me-nots. “Ah, didn’t I say you were to call me something else?” 

He was dressed in similar robes as the ones from yesterday, except that they were in a lilac shade, and the sleeves cascaded all the way down to his wrists, ending with a white trim. Although his look was more roman god-esque, y/n felt a very 70’s roller rink chic-ness to it. 

“Oh!” Her lips formed a surprised ‘o’, “right. Sorry, Harry.” He then stood up and turned to face her, a soft smile playing on his lips. A cinnamon curl swirled between his eyebrows. 

“That’s right. Good morning to you as well, my lady.” He folded a hand over his abdomen, and bent over in a bow. A king, bowing to her. 

Before she even had time to fluster over his unnecessary actions, he was barreled into by Angus, who had trotted off somewhere to eat his breakfast after leaving her in the tall arch that led to the gardens. 

“And hello to you as well, old friend,” Harry chuckled, and happily scratched behind the pig’s ears, crinkled forming at the corners of his eyes from all the smiling. Y/n noticed that he has a very, very* nice smile and his eyes looked a little less lonely when he allowed himself to grin. Angus snorted happily in his arms, nipping underneath his chin with the same tenderness that he’d used to wake y/n that morning. “Thank you so much for getting our guest to me this morning, I hope you enjoyed your breakfast?” Angus seemed through reply with excessive squirming and licks to his friend’s face. 

Y/n giggled at the interaction. “He really loves you, doesn’t he?” She asked him, smiling warmly. 

“I would surely hope so. Raised him since he was a little piglet, and he’s been my loyal companion since.” He placed a tender kiss on the furry animal’s head. “Angus, my friend, I do believe that is enough love for this morning, do you agree? I have to show our guest around.” With a final scratch, Harry placed Angus on the floor, and clapped his hands together. “Shall we?”

“I would love to.”

    *                                                *              *

                                                  *                                **

They walked away from the castle and deeper into the gardens. Rows of thornless flowers on an endless field of soft grass that was a similar shade of the king’s irises. In the near distance, a river flowed and curved in a circle around the castle, separating the grounds where the people dwelled from Harry’s residence. Y/n found it odd for the king to live in isolation from his people, and she wondered if perhaps there might be conflict in the seemingly peaceful community. 

Side by side, they strolled in silence, Harry stopping every once in a while when his guest became intrigued by the constantly blooming flowers. He wanted her to take everything in at her own pace, and in that moment, silence seemed appropriate. Between the two of them, no interaction, no conversation, was present- because it was not needed. A comfortable, warm quiet atmosphere disrupted only by the soft swish of her dress and his robes against the blades of grass, the distant trickle of water, and the leisurely chirp of birds in the trees that littered the grounds. 

Eventually, they reached the halfway distance from the river and the castle grounds, where a single stone bench resided amongst a circle of sunflowers that were taller than Harry.  

Y/n gasped, “Those sunflowers are so tall!” She ran to the bench and climbed it so both her feet were planted on the smooth surface instead of her bum. 

Harry was still standing just a few steps behind the circle, hands behind his back as he watched her gawk with an amused smile on his taffy lips. He didn’t tell her that he grew those sunflowers, and tended them without the use of his fae powers, to create a private circle where he came to talk to the moon on the nights where he was most lonely. Sometimes, he would close off the open ends- then using his powers- like curtains, so none of the animals or fae people could watch him as silent tears of anguish slipped from his eyes like liquid silver. 

It was indeed, amusing, that she found joy in something that was used in acts of sadness. 

“I’ve never seen such tall sunflowers before,” she whispered, an awestruck look on her face. “They’re amazing.”

The sunflowers grew an inch at her praise, their heads tilting in her direction, like she was the sun. Their leaves stretched out to tickle her cheeks, and she giggled and squirmed at their actions. She didn’t question that it went against all laws of nature, how everything now had a touch of magic. She didn’t know that the flowers had a special connection with their birthgiver, their planter, and shared the same feelings he did. She didn’t know that they reacted because Harry saw her as his own personal source of light, as his happiness. 

Hells, the king himself didn’t know. But, the bond between the planter and his plants ran deep, and they knew the secrets that ran deep in his heart for they were nature, and Harry and y/n were natural.

“Thank you,” He mused, “I planted them myself. Though, they will grow a mighty ego at your praise.” 

Y/n giggled once more, and the leaves retreated back into the circle, and the sunflowers resumed their previous position. “I love it here,” she said to him. She was careful with her words, and her tone remained soft, dreamy. She didn’t know the king that well yet, and although he looked like the absolute gentleman, she didn’t want to say the wrong thing and test him. 

Harry sensed this, sensed her slight fear, and walked into the circle of sunflowers. He took a seat next to where she stood, and patted the place besides the hem of her robes, signaling for her to sit with him. “Take a seat besides me, m’lady,” he murmured.

Y/n pouted like a child at his formal words, and placed a hand on his shoulder as she sat herself down. She didn’t notice the way he straightened. “If I can’t say Your Majesty, then you can’t call me that, either.” 

No one beyond his mother and the water wraiths he sometimes took to bed had taken the liberty to touch him the way she did. A casual gesture, very nonchalant, and it held no underlying motive to it. She didn’t want to get into bed with him with provoking touches, and she didn’t want to get into a king’s good graces with friendly gestures either. She simply wanted to get down and not topple over. 

“Do you not like the term?” He wants to caress the side of her face, brush that single strand of hair off of her shoulder so it lays on her back. Everything and anything tender, and it is strange. Instead, he settled for placing his hands in his lap. Awkwardly. He was all around rigid and tense. 

Y/n, however, does not see to notice this, and she bumps her shoulder against his playfully. “Do you not like when I call you Your Majesty?”

All too quickly, he said, “No, I do not.”

The light air around her goes stale, and she goes stiff like him, too. A crimson shade blooms on her neck. “Oh… well… I just… didn’t want you to call me something formal if I couldn’t call you something formal.” That’s what she gets for trying to play with a king. 

“Very well. Then I shall not repeat it.” He cleared his throat. “I digress. Love, the fae realm is not what it seems.”

She tilted her head, confused. Harry continued, “Every living being residing in these lands will attempt to trick you into turning your life over to them, and my-”

“Harry, are you trying to change my mind?”

“No. I am simply trying to warn you of the dangers you will have to face every day if you decide to live here.” He was scared for her, and anxious over… something that he couldn’t put a finger on yet. The thought of her in danger roused an emotion in him that he could not name. 

“I know the dangers. Frankly, I would rather face them than going back…” There is a moment of hesitation. She is unsure what to name where she came from. It certainly was not home. 

“Was the human realm really so terrible to you?” Harry asked. He himself had only been there once, during a time when a woman by the name of Stevie Nicks had accidentally summoned him during a wiccan ritual. Had it been any other creature, Harry imagined it might have been much worse. But the woman was young, beautiful and kind. She offered Harry hospitality and apologized profusely for her mistake. She had a lovely voice, too. 

“Yes. And I really do not want to go back. When I said that by going back I would die, I meant it. Whether it’s the world that gets to me or…”

“Or what?” The king swallowed. He had a feeling that he knew what she was getting at, and the thought of her doing such a thing...

“Or my own hand.” She stared down at the dewy blades of grass, kicking up her feet so her toes slid from underneath the draping white fabric of her dress. 

Silence and nature yelled. Harry was at a loss for words at her admission. Could she possibly be in so much pain? Would she bring that fate onto herself? He was heartbroken that y/n- who had been nothing but smiles and admiration- could do something so dark and evil to an energy he saw as bright and innocent. He couldn’t- wouldn’t let her do that, whether she went back to the human realm or not. 

“I promise you, you will not meet such an end, dearest y/n.” And if there was one thing the Fae honoured, it was a promise; a bargain. 

Y/n only smiled at him sadly, as if she was merely humoring his attempts at keeping her from herself. Though, she admired the way he was so sure of himself, how he was so quickly willing to help her. It was remarkable how she had found friends in such little time; Angus and Harry. 

“Now,” he clapped his hands together rather abruptly, startling her and causing her to jolt upright from her sad slump. “Let’s bring an end to this somber talk, yes? How about I start showing you around, rather than just sit here?” 

“I’d like that.” She said. “Where will you take me?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up and extended his hand to her; an open palm, an invitation. The sunflowers around them shivered and grew another inch when she finally took his hand, and new stems shrouded from the dirt when the two shared a look. It was almost like… like an entire universe bloomed when their irises locked together, a supernova exploding in their chests in unity.

Neither of them reacted with more than a happy exhale. 

Harry led them out the other end of the sunflower ring, directly towards the river and all the while they still held hands. For Harry, it was the most intimate kind of touch he has ever experienced in the centuries that he’s been alive. He’s never had a serious platonic or non-platonic relationship with anyone other than… well, no one. The male and female beings he often took to bed to experience warmth never gave back the pleasure he offered; never stayed the night, and never caressed him back; never reciprocated the… love. It was highly embarrassing that no one respected him enough to even pretend to care or reflect his emotions in the most intimate setting, but that’s just the way it was (not to mention the fact that Harry started bedding others at the ripe age of one hundred because he wanted to learn how to be an adept lover, and the creatures that would be closely titles 'prostitutes’ in the human realm taught him well. For their own pleasure.)

For y/n, it was the most intimate kind of touch she had ever received from anyone of the opposite since ever. She’d been a neglected child, and the boys at school never felt she was adequate enough for their standards. Sure, there had been catcalls in the streets or in the bars she frequented, but those weren’t the kind of affections she wanted to give back. 

It was safe to say that the experience was electrifying for the both of them. Y/n couldn’t help but feel like a giddy school girl that had just received her first love note in her locker, and Harry wondered what kind of magic this human girl could possibly have that made tingles spread from where their palms connected all the way to his shoulder blade. Maybe, she was throwing a glamour over herself so that she appeared more beautiful than she looked, and was practicing wiccan love spells like that Nicks girl a few decades back… no. Who was he kidding. She was an innocent human girl. A beautiful human girl who had no idea of the effect she had on his ethereal existence. 

The closer they got to the river the taller the grass became and the easier it was to see the creatures that lived within it. A swan and her ducklings meandered down the stream, tadpoles and sparkling fish swam in the crystalline water. On the other side of the moving water, deer, rabbits, and squirrels scurried amongst the various shrubs and trees. It was like something out of a fairy tale book, but even then that comparison was weak. 

She slowed her steps as they reached the edge of the bank, just before her toes dipped into the water because… well, they weren’t prepared to go into the water. Harry seemed to have other plans; he only tugged her further, and did not pause like she did. 

His feet, however, did not dip into the water because the grass and dirt extended beneath their feet, lurching forward in an arch over the water to create a bridge for them to walk across. 

Astonished, she gasped, “Did you do that?” She held onto the large hand that was warm against hers and relied on it to guide her because she was too busy looking down at the bridge. 

“No, I didn’t. The ground did that itself,” he said. And it was true. The ground and nature loved him, and the amount of his magic he spent on it was minimal. 

Y/n was too surprised to say anything else. The bridge dispersed once they stepped back onto firm ground, and y/n let Harry lead their stroll on the other side. She realized that they were now in the non-isolated part of the Fae realm, which meant that any creature could pounce at them like how she experienced when she first arrived. That made her nervous. 

“The ground is- oh, hello!” 

She was about to make a comment regarding the earth’s self awareness, but something nipped at the hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s. Looking down, she sees a lamb licking and sniffing at the tips of her fingers. It was shaky on its legs, and it’s nose was a tiny pink triangle on the snow white wool of its face. The lamb jumped back when she opened her palm towards the sky so it could continue smelling. 

“It is not very nice to bite our guests, lovie.” Still holding onto her hand, he crouched down to meet the lamb and reached out to caress it’s back. “Where is your mother, little one?” 

“It’s not scared of you,” y/n noted. In fact, the lamb leaned into his touch, and similar to the upturning of Angus’ mouth, this lamb’s own lips seemed to smile. 

He shaked his head, “no, I would think not since I aided her mother during her delivery,” he gently squeezed her hand in reassurance that her actions weren’t harmful. “However, they are naturally skittish creatures.” 

The lamb’s mother skips out from behind a brush, preening for her kid to come back from any danger she might be in, until she notices that the only danger is Harry, and really he isn’t any danger. So, she quiets and scurries to his side to receive tender caresses. 

“Well, hello,” he said to her. “It’s been a long time since I have last come to see you, isn’t it? I have brought someone to meet the rest of you today,” the sheep bleated, “Oh she is no harm, I assure you.”

They seemed to understand each other, almost like they were having a conversation. It was intriguing, “You understand her?”

“Yes. As Fae King I am given certain abilities upon crowning day. One of those being the understating of all languages, and this includes all living creatures.” 

“I see.” A shiver runs through her when his thumb strokes the back of her hand. Her toes curl in the glass. It was an intimate touch.

Harry licks his bottom lick. “Would you like to meet the rest of them?”

She’s assuming that he meant the rest of the lambs and sheeps, but the sun-lit glitter of green in his eyes hypnotized her. He was a drink of spring on the last winter night. “I’d love to.” 

The mother then licked at the ear of her kid, and they trotted off into the same bush. Y/n could see that there was an archway in the brush, and through this they disappeared, even though there was no tunnel following beyond the opening. Like a portal. 

“You’ll have to crawl through m’l- love,” his eyes bounce from hers to their hands, and almost as if it saddens him to do so, he lets go of her hand. “After you.” 

She bends down and follows after the creatures through the tunneled arch. It’s a tight fit, but her size made it manageable. Harry had it worse.

His height and broad shoulders made it uncomfortable for him to get through; he nearly had to get on his forearms so his forehead didn’t smear all over the greenery. The lilac of his robes made it hard for him to move, but if he dragged them- and that meant grass stains on his knees- he could get by just as fast. Y/n, too, was experiencing the same issue but she had paused momentarily to tie to fabric in a knot above her thighs, and Harry… well, Harry was trying really hard not to look because he knew it’d be disrespectful. 

The passage twisted and turned, and it was unclear where they were going because the turns were sharp. The only thing visible ahead was the curved wall of greenery beyond the quaint trotting of the sheep and her child. Eventually, they turned one last time and a series of ‘baa’s greeted them behind a circle of opening light. 

Behind her, Harry chuckled. The heat of his breath spanned across her ankles and the soles of her feet like a blanket. She had not realized he was that close to her. 

Y/n and Harry hadn’t been in the tunnel for more than two minutes, but it was amusing to see him arch his back in a stretch and pointless try and wipe away at the dirt and grass stain on the lilac fabric covering his knees. 

Instantly he was surrounded by a flurry of white clouds that bleated and licked at him. 

“Oh my. Hello- Ladies, please! Ow, Ruby we talked about tha- okay okay,” He was protesting, sure, but he was also laughing. It was the widest Y/n had seen him smile. He was… happy.

There was an sense of home and right to the picture he presented. A gleeful king surrounded by creatures that adored him (there was no doubt why the way they licked at him, and the Angus-like smiles on their faces as they looked up at him). Harry was not isolated here. 

Here. Wherever this here was. 

It was different from the Fae realm. The ground was softer than the dirt that occupied the space between her toes before, and it was a lighter shade of green. The color of Harry’s eyes when the sunlight cut through the iris from the side. It sloped up and down like the valleys of the Fae village, but there were no homes, and it centered around a heart shaped pool of crystalline water. The sky was the closest thing to strange- out all things, this is what y/n found strange- about it all. It was a cotton candy pink color; a solid shade that didn’t suggest a fading of the sun even though there was a white spherical object in the 5’oclock position. 

They- Harry, y/n, and the few lambs that had come to greet him- stood atop one of the crests around the heart-shaped pool. 

“Welcome to the Land of Nurture.” He said, breaking her out of her dream. He held the tiniest- tinier than the one that had nipped at her palm- of the lambs she had seen yet in his arms, and it was asleep. “This is where the woodland creatures come to birth and nurture their young. I spend quite a lot of time here, helping with the births.” 

At the sound of Harry’s voice and it not being directed towards them in praise, the lambs turn to see what- or who is the object of his attention. Many of them are curious to greet the human woman, but a few stick to his side, rubbing back into his loving hands. 

Through that magical bond, Harry caught onto an unusual request. The sheep, they wanted… they wanted y/n to oversee a birth. The ‘midwife’ of the lands spoke to him,

Harry, we’ve never had a woman here before. Let her femininity bless a birth? One will birth tonight, and her hands as much as yours are needed. 

“H-harry?” Harry looks up from the wise sheep at his feet to the anxious voice that calls him name. 

The lambs at y/n’s feet had gotten a hold of the cotton at the hem of her dress with their mouths, and were tugging her, leading her to a place that she didn’t know. The fact that they were leading her away to some unknown destination wasn’t what made her nervous, no. What made her nervous was the fact that they were leading her away and Harry wasn’t with her. She was unprotected. 

She had taken a few steps with the pull of animals. “Harry?”

He was at her side in seconds, the fluffy creatures parting like the sea to allow him to get closer to y/n. “They want to take you to the birthing grounds. There is a lamb that will go into labor soon, and the rest wish for you to be there during the birth. They say they would like your… blessing.”

The lambs, like the sunflowers, knew more than the Fae King did about his feelings. 

Her jaw drops in surprise and her eyebrows furrow. “Wha- me? But what can I do?”  At her hesitation, the lambs still and wait, looking up at their king for his jurisdiction.

The lamb in Harry’s arms nuzzles into the crook of his elbow, and he saddens at the fact that he cannot take y/n’s hand without waking him up (it was the son of one of the feistiest sheep). “Your presence is all they require.” They lock eyes, and immediately her unease is dissolved. There was Harry, and with Harry everything felt… right. He smiles softly at her, his features melting because he felt it, too. 

Remembering that he had a job to do, he looks back down at the awaiting creatures, and says, “Let’s be gentle, yeah, lovies? We’re not going anywhere,” he cooed. 

A chorus of bleats responded, and the babes let go of y/n’s cotton dress. They trot away, their tails flicking and heads turning back to make sure they’re being followed by Harry and his guest, who looks around, amazed at the change of scenery. Slowly, the rosy tone of the sky was melting into a serene shade of red, and the white orb of light was dimming, it’s positions growing smaller, like a light slowly going out. 

“Is that the sun?” She asked. 

Harry laughed, “No. It acts more like a heating lamp, and it fades away to replicate the night, so the animals huddle together for warmth until it… turns back on again. The color of the sky is connected towards menstruation and placenta; blood, a symbol of females and fertility.”

“That’s a beautiful meaning,” she mumbled. The ground on which the lambs walked on was so fresh and healthy-looking, a bright shade of green, that almost looked artificial. “So, is this another… realm?” 

He had to bite on his lip to keep from shouting endearments at her. She was smart, bright, curious, and Harry loved the way that she was right on track, a few steps behind, but she understood. “I suppose you could call it that. Although, it is more like a pocket in the Fae realm, a singular realm on itself entirely. It is a space where mother’s can come to have their children safely. This pocket belongs to the sheep. There are others for other animals, and even one for the Fae.”

“Do… Do other Fae come here?”

He shook his head. “No. No, they are not trusted.” Even he, at first try, was not trusted. It took him three days of sitting underneath a large oak tree, watching and letting the sheep sniff him, in order to let him pet them. Another two months for them to let him through. Why Harry wanted to become a part of their society, Harry himself could not tell you, but in reality, he yearned for their tenderness. He watched the way the animals loved each other, and deep down, he wanted their affection, too, because it wasn't something he was getting from his people. 

“And they trust you?” They were beginning to descend the hill, when two large rectangular rocks spaced about ten-feet away from each other sprouted from the ground without so much as a rumble. The animals thought nothing of this, and walked right through the space between the rocks, the image of the grassy land rippling as if a drop of water had just hit a pond’s surface. Another portal.

Y/n is only slightly fazed, and the halt in her step lasts a second. If Harry is going through it, then she would, too.

“Yes. It took me months to get them to trust me, but I would do it all over again for their company.” 

Their company? Harry was a king and he was looking for company among animals? 

“Prepare for warmth when we pass those stones,” he said, “The cave replicates the coziness of a womb to make it easier for a newborn to transition to the world.” At this point the lamb in his arms stirred and began to bleat in his arms, to which Harry shushed quietly and patted to silence. 

Y/n subtly crept closer to Harry, the head of the lamb that laid on the bend of his elbow brushed against her arm. Walking between the stone walls was similar to the time she walked through the portal; the similar consuming sensation, only it was accompanied by immense heat, almost suffocating. Not the type that made you sweat, but the kind that put you to sleep. A blanket of warmth, just like he had described. A dull, but concentrated, heat rolled over her skin like a fitted membrane. It was comforting and hazy.

Upon first walking in she was more focused on the feeling than her surroundings. She shut her eyes and took a waking breather before opening them and noticing that, again, just like Harry said, they were in a cave. The walls were a vein-y, papery texture- like when you shine a flashlight through a chicken’s egg and can see the embryo in a shadowy red silhouette. Lambs were sleeping in curled piles on top of each other so they looked like tufts of cotton clouds. There was a crackling fire in the middle of the large cavern that added to the source of heat, and the brightness of the papery walls suggested that there was a light source coming from the outside. 

A nervous ‘baa’ called out to Harry. In the far corner there was an isolated circle of space where a sheep lay on her side, her legs stiff in pain. The only ram present was next to her, nudging his horns against her womb (not in aggression, but in concern). He must’ve been her mate.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re almost there,” Harry cooed. He put down the lamb he held in his arms into the pile of nestled clouds. “Go, on. Keep pushing, you can do it.” He’s quick to kneel at the sheep’s side, and rub down her belly in encouraging strokes. The female gives another strangled cry when Harry looks up at a horrified y/n. “Come, my dear. It’s all right.” He said, summoning her with an outstretched hand. 

“I know I’m supposed to be helping, b-but it really looks like she’s in pain,” her voice is wobbly, and she’s fidgety, not knowing what to do with herself. It’s a relief when Harry offers physical touch, almost like he knew that it put out whatever fire of anxiety burned in her heart. She took his hand and knelt besides him. 

He nodded. “She is experiencing labor, and with that comes the pain.” The sheep’s lower half contracted, and her legs stiffened, a pained bleat escaping her. “Being a mother is not an easy task, from the start.” With a soothing hand, Harry patted her belly softly. A sheen of sweat settled on his forehead, his eyes darting, assessing the animal’s pain. 

“What can I do to help?” Her hand grew sweaty in Harry’s grip, and she was worried that he would grow repulsed and let go, but he only squeezed reassuringly. There was a moment of silence, even the mother sheep took a break from labor pains and took deep breaths. 

“Nothing, yet. Your presence itself is calming. If there are issues during the labor, then we step in. Otherwise, we are only to oversee and let nature take its course.” 

Y/n nodded, and that was it for speaking until the sheep began to cry out again. Harry didn’t say anything either. He was too busy trying to comfort, trying to soothe, not at all surprised or disconcerted by the scene playing before him. She wasn’t disgusted or repulsed, but definitely in shock, having never seen such life-altering events. 

“Will she be in pain much longer?” She squeaked out. The ram besides the sheep was growing restless, huffing through his nose and stomping his hoof. The mother’s legs curled forward again, and something- the lamb or the placenta- became visible. 

“Your baby is almost here, love, keep going- not much longer. She is a brave being. Her last birth did not even last a three hours, but this one seems to be going by quick. Her time between contract- oh, I know it hurts, c’mon, keep pushing,” Harry looked up at y/n and smiled, “Her time between contractions is short.”

Y/n bobbed her jumbled head. It was safe to say that the girl was very confused. Confused and shocked, and at a loss because she knew absolutely nothing about what to do in this situation. So, she sat still with her hand in Harry’s and stayed quiet, listening to Harry murmur to the mammal in labor.  For how long she sat there, who knew, but everything past her ankles lost feeling, and the back of her neck grew damp. Although Harry told her that the mother sheep would be fierce through this experience, she was slightly hopeless in the fact that she couldn't further help the animal. Her mate- the sheep’s- was too. 

It wasn’t until there was the sound of water spilling, and the thump of something hitting the floor accompanied by several rounds of excited bleats from not just the ram, but the surrounding animals as well. They were celebrating the birth of-

“Look at you, you did it!” Harry joined in on their celebration, and y/n- still very… still very out of it- looked up to catch the most breathtaking expression on his face. Awestruck, amazed, bewildered, did not even begin to cover what was playing out on his features. There were crinkles on the edges of his gleaming, green eyes, and a breathless smile on his lips. He was so absorbed in the act of new life, that he didn’t notice the extra attention he was receiving from the person sitting next to him. Her expression nearly mirrored his, captivated by the complete consumption of himself he allowed. It was not hard to tell that every bit of his soul was consumed by what’s playing out. 

Harry extended his unoccupied hand towards the yelping baby lamb, a golden drop of light appearing on his palm and it floated towards the damp head of the newborn, spreading all over it’s- the lamb hadn’t been sexed yet- body like a sheet. The mother stopped her licking to allow this to happen. 

“What- what is that?” y/n asked. She knew that whatever was happening was not a bad thing because the source was Harry himself, but she wanted to know. 

He looked at her then, the bewilderment and drop of his guard slowly disappearing. “It is my gift. A drop of good luck.” The glow of the fire licked his jaw a warm shade.

“A gift?” Again, she was at a loss. 

“Yes.” He said it like it was obvious, and she became slightly embarrassed. Should she have.. brought something to this? She didn’t have anything to give, but still. “As a token of my gratitude.”

Gratitude… gratitude…

Suddenly, an idea came to her, and she thought of the one way she could give.

Y/n got up from her knees and leaned across Harry’s bent thighs, reaching out to smooth over damp ears (much to Harry’s loss, this mean that she had to let go of his hand). The lamb arched into her touch, and she pressed forward to kiss the place where the golden drop made contact on it’s head. 

Harry watched this, amazed that his guest had taken such initiative, and flustered because in the process, the white cotton fabric of the cloth that he had so tenderly manifested around her body had crawled up the skin of her thighs. Resting just below the curve of her bum, on top of tempting skin that Harry wished- gods, he wished they could reach that mutual understanding, that mutual agreement that didn’t require hesitation on his part if he wanted to caress her. Or, even though they were present in front of only delicate and graceful creatures, adjust her clothing to protect her modesty. What was wrong with him?

“Aren’t you a cutie?” She cooed. After a few more pats, she leaned back with a content sigh, using Harry’s thigh to push herself upright. “I’ve given my gift as well.”

“He’ll never forget it.”

“He? He’s a he?”

Harry chuckled. “Yes, he is his father’s first male descendant, and the future leader of the herd.” 

“Does he have a name?” 

“No. The sheep do not identify themselves in that sort of way. The call out to their souls.” He said. The ram walked in to harry, and bowed his head without aggression. A thank you. Harry did the same, and touched his forehead onto the ram’s horns. 

Y/n realized that it wasn’t a thank you. It was a...a moment of communication. What went on, what occurred, that was unknown to her. But the gesture between leader to leader was clear.

Harry’s knuckles supported his weight, and his biceps flexed as he leaned forward. Chocolate curls flopped over morrocan sand horns. It was a touching view. 

When the ram retreated, Harry looked on in silence at the budding family for a moment before he said, “I believe that now is the time we must go.” 

Y/n nodded. “Okay,” she said. Harry stood up, and again he offered her his hand. He did not let go when she stood up on her two feet and was steady, and neither did she. The two were content to hold the other’s hand as they sidestepped sleeping piles of sheep and lambs to eventually reach the egg-shell wall. The king knew the stop which to walk through, and led them right through.

Outside, the light had dimmed noticeably, and the sky was a deep, blood-red. 

“Is it nighttime?” asked y/n.

“For the lambs, yes. In my realm,” a smile quirked on his lips, “no.”

Y/n looked for the shrub tunnel at the top of the hill which they came through, but it was gone. The only thing visible in their ascend to the crest was the grass clearing in harsh contrast with the bloody sky. All of the sheep were gone into the cave, and an eerie silence misted across the grounds. Not even the lapping of the heart-shaped pool; the water was still. 

“Where’s the portal?” she said. 

Amused at her labeling for the entryway, Harry chuckled quietly. “It is not a portal, love. Merely a door that chooses to show itself only sometimes. Besides, I have other means of travel.” He pulled her close from an ounce of courage that had rooted in his ribcage. A strong arm around her waist; iron security. 

Y/n let out a surprised yelp, and stabilized herself with a hand on his bicep. To a human it would look like they were getting ready to dance. With their faces millimeters apart, she wanted nothing but for him to kiss her. Hold her like he was already doing, and never let her go. He was absolutely delicious. From how close she was to him- her front lining up with his side- she could see the pointed tips of his ears for the first time. The one characteristic that set him apart from being human. 

She was unable to help it. The urge to touch was too strong. In fact, there was a lot she wanted to touch so technically she was holding off on a lot. He was looking at her as she slid her hand up his bicep, leaving goosebumps behind, and delicately reached out a single finger towards the tip of his ear. 

Harry held his breath, a scalding heat trailing the path her skin left. In that moment, when every inch of his celestial self was hyper focused on her, he was convinced that there was more to the situation than he was aware of. It simply was not possible that she held no magic in her arsenal, and that she was not possessing him. 

“I’d never seen these before.” Her voice was a whisper, because she knew that it would crack under extreme stress if she tried to speak at a normal level. Being that close to him, touching him, and the way that he looked at her… it made her weak in the knees. 

“Do you like them?” Harry’s tone of voice imitated hers, his chin dipped. The tip of his nose ghosted over her forehead. His breath smelled like mint leaves. 

A shiver raked down y/n’s spine at the same pace that his breath smoked over her face. She nodded. She did like them. Very much. 

“Good.” He nodded his head, as if convincing himself that she did like them. His voice dropped again, and the only reason why she could hear what he was saying was because they were standing so close to one another. “Close your eyes for me, darling.”

 This was it. He’s going to kiss me, she thought to herself. Her eyes fluttered closed upon his instruction, and her head tipped back just the slightest bit. Taught, likes the strings on a violin is what she was, waiting to be plucked and played by Harry and his fingers.

But… that kiss never came. 

Y/n’s lips parted and her body came to rest completely onto Harry’s side, but she never felt her lips on his. Instead, the ground disappeared beneath her feet and her hair lifted from her back. She kept her eyes closed, waiting, until-

“You can open them now,” he said. He watched y/n’s eyebrows furrow, and her lips dip downwards. Her dissatisfaction was clear on her face, and even though she knew exactly what she yearned for because it was the exact same thing that he wished for as well, he didn’t make any advances. Instead, he took his thumb and smoothed over the center of her eyebrows to make the wrinkles go away.  “Don’t look so distraught, beloved. Come, come, open your eyes.”

Embarrassment, anger, sadness, disappointment, all wrapped up in one and presented to her in a box with a pretty red bow; deception. She really thought that he was going to kiss her. 

Dejected, y/n opened her eyes and immediately turned to look towards the side to avoid meeting his gaze. She wasn’t sure she wanted to attempt to read further into the situation and receive incorrect signals. They were back in the ring of tall sunflowers, besides the stone bench, though this time their petals were closed as if they were still budding blossoms, arching high towards the glittering stars in the night sky.  

She stepped away from him, and for a moment they stood there awkwardly. Y/n toed the ground, and Harry stood still. The only thing moving on his figure was the soft lilac ripples in the wind. Eons of life had taught him how to be still at times of boredom. 

He cleared his throat, and tried to strike a conversation again. “Time travels differently in the Land of Nurture, which is why I was unsure to say whether it was nightfall here.” He cleared his throat once more, “I suppose that-”

“I’m tired.” A cricket chirped somewhere in the grass. Y/n had no remorse for interrupting him. She needed to remove herself from the situation. Sleep on it, maybe. 

Had she been looking at him, she would’ve immediately kicked herself for cursing the fallen look on his face. “Of course. I’ll walk you back inside.” 

The night call of nature serenaded their stale parade through the garden. And through the halls of the castle. The bottom of her feet grew cold for the first time in the entirety of her visit in the Fae realm. When he stopped at the arch of her doorway, y/n wanted nothing more than to curl under the covers, but she knew it would be rude to bolt for a bed the king provided for her while he was standing right there, no matter her feelings. 

“I would… uhm,” he swallowed, and the harsh rasp of his voice diminished. “I would sleep soundly if I knew that you were going to bed with fresh clothing. I know that you cannot eat, and there are no bathing quarters in this room, so let me… uhm,” a pink tint blossoms on the apples of his cheeks. “Will you allow me to provide new clothes for you?”

Y/n was stunned. There was underlying symbolism to his request, this she knew. How, despite everything he was willing to make sure that she was comfortable. How he cared for a stranger he could obliterate with a flick of his wrist if he wanted to. 

He was getting flustered. His hands were behind his back, but by the way that his biceps moved it was clear that he was nervously fiddling his fingers. “I’ll take you somewhere to wash up tomorrow, but for now, clean clothes is the best I can-” 

“I’d like that,” she nodded slowly, sucking her lips into her mouth. It was her turn to feel awkward, as she stood there silently with her eyes bouncing from his, to the floor, to him, to the ceiling, to him... and he did the same.

“Stand on the pedestal for me?” He asked. 

“Okay.” She moved further into the room, and climbed up to the step. The coldness of her skin was eradicated by a heat eminating from the wood. It made her shoulders sag and her eyes shut in pleasure. It was a good feeling. 

Y/n didn’t question whether Harry would bare her naked by stripping her at the first go, but a tickling feeling of lace wrapping around and underneath her breasts told her that he would place pretty little underthings before manifesting new fabric onto her body. She was staring down at the floor, flustered because it felt as if his fingers were the one’s dressing her. 

And she was right. Soon after the feeling of feathers on her skin stopped, the white milkmaid’s dress with grass stains vanished into thin air, leaving her only in lacy pink underwear that so delicately wrapped around the curves of her breasts and the swell of her mound. They were just barely transparent, and the swirl of her areolas were a ghosting tease underneath the material. 

In a brief second, she realized she was exposed to Harry, and her head snapped up to meet his. A strange, lonely king that was looking at her- a human in a land of immortals- expectantly. “Would you like something different?”

Dazedly, she shook her head, “no. These are pretty.”

Harry’s mouth went dry, but he kept his eyes on hers. He wouldn’t look down. Not yet. He dressed her in a dress that was in similar fashion to the one before. Light, airy, and loose on her body, and in a light blue shade. The straps were thin strings on her shoulders, and pooled on the floor so her feet disappeared.

Y/n stepped down from the stump, her feet on the cold floor again. “I am most appreciative,” she whispered. Her eyes nervously dropped from his again, and he sighed in defeat.

Harry shook his head. “You can say, thank you, you know. I won’t hurt you.”

“Thank you. They’ve lovely.” A yawn ate up the last bit of her sentence.

“You should rest. We have a short walk tomorrow.” He started to walk back out the doorway, but stopped just before he turned the corner. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

She went to sleep that night thinking of the warmth that emitted from his hand against her palm, of the way his lips curled into a smile, of the way that he allowed himself to become so wholly absorbed by what was going on around him. The sticky feeling of embarrassment tried to snake in on the picture she was trying to paint to lull herself to sleep, but y/n pushed it away. 

She went to sleep that night thinking of the Fae king. 

The area where her feet lay at the end of the bed was particularly warm all through the night. 

    *                                                *              *

                                                  *                                **

The next morning was equally as glorious as the one from before, only that this time her stomach and foul mood stained the innocent sunbeams that casted across her sheets. 

After nearly a day and a half of not eating, her stomach was beginning to ache. During times when money was tight, y/n wouldn’t eat and drink only water. This was similar to that, but… she had no water. She couldn’t eat or drink because Harry wouldn’t let her. If it was up to her, she would’ve helped herself to a full course meal at breakfast because she loved food, but alas, the king wouldn’t budge. 

Angus was there again, with another note. He smelled like corn. It read,

Good morning, beloved. I will be waiting with the sunflowers for you when you are ready. 

Beloved. Y/n smiled down at the piece of paper, the swirls of ink on paper enticing butterflies to flutter in her stomach. Never having ever experienced it herself, she heard of the exhilarating feeling that came with the drop of a roller coaster. The tightening of her abdomen was strikingly the same to the description of what that felt like. 

Angus tentatively poked her thigh with his hoof, and the reminder of his presence, y/n dropped the note and scooped the animal into her arms. He squealed and wriggled with happiness. 

“Why hello, handsome. It’s been a while since I last saw you,” She pressed kisses behind his ears, and when she lifted her mouth, Angus rested his head on her shoulder. “Where’d you run off to, hmm?”  

He snorted and lifted his head, his back legs shifting on her thighs and pressing into her skin. It hurt, but she didn’t have it in her heart to say anything. “Should we go see the king now?” 

Another squeal. 

“Yeah, I think so, too. Let’s go.” Y/n set him down on the floor and placed her feet down next to him. The warmth of her soles and the cold floor was a contrast that made her hiss and lift her feet up momentarily. The piglet stopped to look back at her as if concerned, and y/n smiled. “It’s just a little cold, Angus.”

He bobbed his head, understanding, and waiting for her to get back on her feet to continue walking. The cerulean blue of her dress swished around her ankles as she followed him out and through the castle. Vines and flowers bloomed and sprouted as they passed, bees and butterflies fluttered in through the flowers. 

The curtain of foxgloves parted as she approached and she was momentarily blinded by the morning sunlight. After her eyes cleared, she could see the walkway through the garden, and in a short distance, the opening of the tall circle of sunflowers that encased a bench, where a pale yellow figure sat. It was Harry, and y/n was frozen in place when she spotted him. 

The movement caught Harry’s eyes, and he stood from the bench. Both of them watched each other, frozen in their spots like they were scared movement would blow the other away. Y/n’s lips parted and her chest twisted, the flowers around Harry shivered. 

Angus, bless his soul, bumped his head, annoyed, on y/n’s calf as if to say ‘what are you waiting for? go talk to him!’

“Alright, geez,” she said, rolling her eyes at her friend before she started walking towards Harry. He waited for her at the edge of a stone bench, and toyed with the edge of what he was wearing; a veil-like material over his chest the color of wine, and a snow-white pair of flared pants. The most non-greek outfit of his that y/n has seen. Though his shirt was still extravagant and elegant, flowing bell-caps that reached the middle of his thighs, and an open, unbuttoned collar with ruffles around his neck that exposed his smooth, taught chest. 

“Hello,” she said once she reached him. Up close she could see that there was a wreath of stained purple leaves and fuschia colored flowers with white bulbs in the middle. To her, they were just flowers. Harry knew they were horny goat weeds. He had no control over them, and they usually reflected his mood. At a certain point of his adolescence, his elders noticed that he had a knack for herbs and gardening. It was part of his magick, part of who he was and what he felt. 

One careful look at the draping white cloth of his pants, and she’d see the tenting fabric at his crotch. He was having trouble… containing his thoughts late at night. “Good morning,” his words cut off in a way that suggested there was more to come after, but nothing did.  He shot a quick glance down at Angus, who had plopped down besides his feet. 

The sunflowers around them tilted towards y/n as she dug her toes into the grass and watched Harry, blushing and trying her hardest to hold back a cheesy smile that wanted to spread on her face from just seeing him.

“Are we going swimming today?” She whispered. Whatever tenderness had settled over them, she didn’t want to disturb it with a loud voice. 

Harry understood this, but chose to poke fun at her anyways, “Why are you whispering, darling?” He was whispering, too. Angus watched, his head turning back and forth like it was a tennis match.

She couldn’t hold the smile back anymore, and the blush spread to a warmth on her ears. “I dunno,” she shrugged.

“Yes, we will go swimming today. Angus will be joining us. I believe he may have been a fish in a past life, he loves the water so much.”  He placed a kiss on the creature’s head, and nodded his head towards the river. 

Y/n laughed, and began walking with Harry, the sunflowers following her way out of the ring, and then tilting back up towards the sun when she was out of reach. They moved in silence, their strides in sync so they looked like one. 

“How did you meet him?” She threw out a question just to hear him speak.

He tilted his head to the side to see her, the ruffles of his collar tickling his chin. “Who? Angus?” 

“Mhm.” She hummed. 

“Well,” he sighed, “It was on a rainy spring day, about three years ago, I reckon. Maybe more, this fella does not like to age. He was a victim of a foul trick, and lost his mother.” Angus whined, and Harry covered his ear so he couldn’t listen, the other side of his head pressed against Harry’s chest. “To what extent ‘lost’ goes, it is knowledge I am not privy to.” He removed his hand, and Angus looked up at him. “ But he found me, and we have been friends since. Isn’t that right?”

“It’s lucky that you found each other,” she said, smiling sadly.

“Will you be leaving any friends if you decide to stay?” His interest was heavy in his question, as was the hope that maybe she might stay. That maybe they might reach that mutual understanding. 

Y/n shook her head slowly, “No, I wasn’t much of a social butterfly, and not many people take the time to get to know me. And I think you mean when.” They were beginning to reach the bank, the sound of flowing water louder as they got closer. 

“I- I don’t understand,” his eyebrows furrowed, “were they mean to you?” Right before they dipped into water, Harry wrapped an arm around her bicep to gently redirect her so that they walked alongside the stream. In his arms, Angus was looking to be sleeping. 

“When I was in school, yes. I guess that I just didn’t fit in, because everyone else turned against me, and sometimes girls would make fun of me. Once I got older, I was the outcast at work. And I didn’t go out much because I didn’t, you know, have any friends to hang out with,” she said. 

“What?” Y/n looks over at him, surprised at his outburst. His brows are deeply furrowed and his voice is heavy with hurt. “You did nothing to them and they decided to be foul over nothing? That is completely unfair.’

 Y/n shook her head. “It’s alrigh-”

“No, it is not alright, and it is not fine!” He was getting agitated, and Agnus was waking up. A vein on his neck protruded from his neck. He was shaking his head as he spoke, his distaste showing through his rigid body language; the curls that were pushed back with the flowers in his head fell out with his movements, framing his face in a chaotic way. “It should not have to be this way. It’s the same reason why my* kingdom is in ruins. I just do not understand why-”

With a comforting hand on his bicep, y/n stopped him in his tracks. “Harry, it’s okay. There’s nothing we can do about it now. That’s why-”

She stepped in front of him so that she could place her other hand on his biceps, holding him. When she came into clear view of his eyesight, Harry tilted his head to Angus, who had settled back in the crook of his arm when he noticed that y/n took initiative to comfort him. His pink lips were pressed into a firm line, his eyelashes fluttering every time he blinked. Blinked back tears. 

“I’m sorry. I know that that feels like.” He sniffled and y/n cupped his cheek with her hand, swiping away the first tear that fell. Her heart cracked in two at the wavering of his voice. “I wish it did not have to be this way.”

“I do, too,” Her own voice was watery. She was always the one to cry when she saw someone else do so as well, “but if it wasn’t that way, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t have met you.” 

His gaze lifted at her words, and a weepy frown found its way onto his lips, “as much as I want you to stay, I fear the troubles you might face. The people here do not listen to me, and their treacherous ways are not something that I endorse.” 

Her hand dropped again, to his bicep, and she tilted her head to the side playfully, like she was thinking. “I’ll stick by your side, and-”

He smirked. “I stick by yours, yes.” He took a hand out from underneath Agnus, and bopped her on the nose. “But, that is only after the three days.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at him, and stepped away to take her place besides him. “Again with the three days? Why are you so hung up on them?”

He shrugged, proud and smug. “I stick by my word, honeybaby.” 

Y/n’s jaw dropped, and her eyes shut for a moment, “H-honeybaby?” Harry’s lips puckered like he was taking joy in her flustered state. He waited for her hands to unclench. A bird chirped in the distance.

He licked his bottom lip, “Do you like it?”

Y/n brushed it off, and cleared her throat. “Come on, I wanna go swimming,” She tried to tug on his delicate sleeve, but he wrapped a hand around her neck and pulled her close, looking down at her with fierce domination. Y/n’s eyes widened and her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She was, what you could say, intimidated.

He tutted his tongue, his head cocking, “You didn’t answer me, honeybaby. Did you like the name, or no? I wouldn’t want to displease you by calling you something you don’t like.” Y/n shut her eyes, her left foot hooking around her right ankle so she could press her thigh together where a heat was building up. “So, I’ll ask you again, do you like the name, honeybaby?”

“Yes.” She swallowed, opened her eyes, and nodded. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and she was frozen. He was a different person then, his eyes a darker shade of green, the smile on his lips borderline malicious with all the subliminal filth it held. “Yes, I like it.” The tent in his crotch was more noticeable then, and if he shifted his hips forward just a hair, the tip of his dick would’ve brushed her silk covering her stomach. He almost shivered at the thought. 

In a blink, he was back to the ‘regular’ Harry she knew. Bright and cheerful. “Come along now, honeybaby, we’re almost there.” An inconspicuous brush down the front of his pants fixed his dilemma. 

They walked for a few more minutes, following the river up-stream, curving around the back of the castle where it trailed off into the horizon, leaving a strip of land wide enough for five people to walk through in between the river that went, and the river that came. A loop; a fence, around Harry’s castle. Down this strip they went, encased by water and a canopy of willow trees, until they came across a fork in the river. Stepping stones rose just above the water level to their right, leading to a lake-like retention of water. A pool, if you will. 

Harry slowed just before the rocks, and y/n got close enough that the first was a step away, “is this it?” She asked. 

He nodded, and set down Angus, who shook off the last of his sleep and hopped through the rocks. Y/n followed after him and jumped right into the sparkling pool of blue water, the same color of her dress; a crystalline aquamarine. She did not care if her clothes got wet, or if she had to walk back to the castle with wet clothes. The distraction was what she needed. 

It felt good, a nice cleanse from the two days of travel and sleeping in dirt, and yesterday, when sweat from the warmth of the Land of Nurture collected and dried on her skin. A heavenly feeling. She hated going to the pool at recreational centers because she hated the smell of bleach, and she didn’t have the guts to go out into the lake by herself. y/n had learned how to swim when she was little, and this? This felt like a rebirth.

When she resurfaced, she pushed her dripping wet hair back and cheered. “Come into the water, Harry!” He was sitting on one of the stepping stones, only his feet and an inch of his pants dipping into the water. “It feels so good!” He shook his head, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “Come in! It’s not even cold!” It wasn’t, it was actually warm. 

She pleaded once more, and he finally gave in. He said, “oh alright,” and jumped into the water, a swift and graceful dive she only ever saw on TV, in the olympics.

He dove deep, just where the water got murky- though it wasn’t even that, the water just got too, too blue*- enough that she couldn’t see him. 

“Harry? Harry, where did you go?” She fumbled around the water, looking around her circle of space for his lithe body. “Harry, it’s not funn- AH!” Her kicking foot brushed against something sleek that moved away, and she shrieked. 

Harry came up in a splash besides her, shaking his wet hair in his face. “Here!” 

Y/n shrieked again, her fright so big that she swallowed a gulp of water and lost her equilibrium, her head dipping underneath the water. Immediately, Harry lunged to grab her by the waist so her head was above water. She coughed up the water that was in his lungs, and breathed raggedly. “Woah, woah, honeybaby,” Harry stroked her hair back, “tt’s alright, I’ve got you. It’s just me, ‘was-” He was breathless, “‘was playing.”

He watched her as her breathing returned to normal. Her hands were gripping his biceps fiercely, and her legs had somehow wrapped around his waist.

When she felt him clear his throat, her eyes focused on his, and her breath hitched. The look in his eyes, the stroke of heathen… it was there again. Though his lips were curled upwards, and he was watching her carefully to make sure that she was okay, there was a sliver of space from control and loss of it. 

Y/n felt it. She felt it every time his legs moved, kicking to make sure they both stayed afloat.

“Can I ask you something?” She was quivering with anticipation in his arms. Although she had faced rejection just the day before, the warmth she felt in that moment was enough for her courage to build up again. 

“Anything, my darling,” he rasped. The octave of her voice rumbled down her spine. My darling.

“Will you… will you kiss me?”

   *                                                *              *

                                                 *                                **

The third and final part has already been completed, I just wanted a clean break between the two :) It’ll be posted after a mafia!h blurb. 

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter One: The Queen of Hearts

AN: At first, I was going to delete this story because it wasn’t gaining any traction, which was disappointing, but as the days passed the notes started coming in I decided to keep it posted. Thank you to everyone that’s read this fic so far.

Trigger Warnings: subtle racism

Word Count: 4.6k

Chapter Two: Division X

The car journey was slow and tedious, it had only been three hours since the three of us had set off. I was dozing off in the back seat cocooned in my tan wool coat as my head used the window as a pillow, listening to Charles and Erik talk softly amongst themselves, they must have thought I was fully asleep.

"Why recruit an empath?" Erik asked curiously. "Why not recruit someone with a more destructive power?"

"You forget Claudia is also telekinetic," Charles answered. "I mean did you see her? When she lifted that knife, her eyes, it was as if they were glowing. It was beautiful to look at!" Charles exclaimed, and I could envision a brilliant smile on his face.

"You find her attractive, don't you?" Erik asked, almost amused. "I'm sure Agent MacTaggert will understand," Erik continued, still in a teasing tone.

Charles chuckled delightfully, "I'm not going to comment on that," Charles stated, clearing his throat and changing the topic. "But do not discount her empathy as not a destructive gift, that particular ability can enhance her mind and body to be nearly superhuman if she wished it to do so, along with projecting her emotions to other people. Empathy can be extremely dangerous,"

"Do you think she has used it in a dangerous way?" Erik questioned. Erik's question hung in the air for a while. "Charles?" he prompted.

"There is danger within her," Charles answered softly.

His voice, hazy as the air in summertime, seemed to come from somewhere outside of himself. The two of them were silent then, knowing and sharing this sudden, troubling observation. Just as my eyes felt heavy and I felt myself drifting into a peaceful sleep when Erik's voice startled me.

"Charles, do you really think that this is a good idea?"

"Erik, if I didn't have faith in how powerful her abilities are then I never would have allowed her to get mixed up in this in the first place," Charles assured.

"And just how powerful are her abilities, Charles? I feel like there's something you're hiding. What more can she do?"

"She's more powerful than even she knows. You've only sampled a small amount of the power she possesses. But I think that she's holding back what she can do, so until she tells us, we'll have to wait,"

My mind became fuzzy and I soon drifted off into total and calm oblivion.

~~~x~~~

When I woke up, my head was still resting on the window. I lifted my head from my makeshift pillow and saw Erik looking at me, through the rear view mirror, with a mixture of emotions that I didn't recognize. I shifted slightly and sat up slowly, my limbs groaning in protest. It was now early afternoon, as we made the drive to the CIA headquarters.

My eyes shifted between the back of Erik's seat and the back of Charles seat every few minutes. Charles looked at the mirror, shifting his eyes slightly so he can still see the road and keep eye contact with me.

"So Claudia," he began in attempt to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen on the car now that I was awake. "What did you do at your job?" Charles asked politely.

My eye twitched as I stared at the mirror, "Clearly, I was in maintenance," I retorted sleep still heavy in my voice, as I gestured at my dress underneath my coat.

Erik's eyes moved from the passenger side window back to the mirror, looking at me, "Sarcasm won't be the best way to pass time," he turned his attention back to the road.

We sit in a tense silence, I never was one for small talk. I just left my home and job only a few hours ago to help two strangers I just met. They worked for the government, which raised my suspicion, but the fact that they knew how to find me so easily and knew what I could do was unnerving. I believe that I deserved to be left alone with my thoughts, this was a lot for me.

After a few minutes of more tense silence I spoke up again, "Psychologist," I answered, causing the two men to look back at me. "I was a psychologist's assistant, I only have my bachelor's degree," I explained.

It was the perfect cover, I gave mental support to patients and their families. No one really knew what I was and what I could do if I was given the chance. Secretly, I always hoped something would happen that'd make me use my powers for a cause bigger than myself.

Charles smiled at me, "Where did you attend college?"

My voice turned monotone, "Howard University, but you probably already knew that and my whole life story," I remarked.

"Contrary to your belief, I am not one to betray someone's trust. You asked me to stay out of your head, so until I have your permission, I won't reach out for you telepathically," Charles looked at the rear view mirror again, catching my eyes again.

Regret flashed in my eyes as I dropped my gaze, playing with my hands, "My apologies,"

"There's no need to apologize to me, Claudia,"

I cleared my throat, feeling uncomfortable, I glanced out the window, "Where are we?" I asked, changing the subject.

"We're coming up to the headquarters now," Charles answered, gesturing to the large building looming up ahead of us.

I looked out of the window to see the headquarters. It was made up of one huge tan stone building surrounded by acres of clean, green fields and deciduous trees, with a rather odd looking satellite to the left of it that looked like a large golf ball atop of a tee. It was quite remarkable and imposing, but also very conspicuous.

"I would have thought that it would be more camouflaged, being a government building and all," I quipped, and Erik let out a light chuckle.

The car came to a gradual stop before we pulled up to the curb and we all stepped out of the car.

"Home sweet home," Erik noted dryly.

The air had turned cold and bitter and I shrugged my coat closer to me in an attempt to keep warm, before I grabbed my suit case out of the black car. Charles, Erik, and I had gone back to my apartment after I was recruited to gather my clothes and valuables into my suitcase. I smiled inwardly thinking back on how Erik ordered me to hurry up and pack my belongings and I did just the exact opposite just to piss him off.

"I thought I told you to make it quick," Erik grumbled, trying to steer me out of my own apartment.

"You did. I just didn't listen," I answered simply, before latching onto Charles' arm, and he guided me out the apartment.

"Claudia, Erik. Please. Do try to get on. We have a six hour car journey ahead of us and I don't think that my sanity will be able to stand you two bickering for that length of time," Charles groaned.

"My, my, is he always like that?" I asked, looking over my shoulder with a wry grin and Erik just glared at me.

"Erik?"

"Who else?" I retorted, rolling my eyes. "Is he always so hostile towards people?"

"I would say not trusting in your case, my dear," Charles corrected. "Just give him time and he will come around, probably not entirely, but I trust he will not try to kill you," Charles stated sending me a reassuring smile, that I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow to.

"I'd like to see him try,"

It was starting to become fun, arguing with Erik. He had a quick wit, not unlike myself. We could keep up with each other. Shaking my head out of my daze, I closed the car door. Charles came up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder and slowly guided me towards the front door.

"Now Claudia, there are six more people here just like us. You will meet them shortly," Charles informed, as I walked beside him with suitcase in hand.

"Ah, Charles, Erik, welcome back. I see you have brought one more recruit," A large, more plump man greeted us, sporting a black suit, wore square glasses, and had jet black hair. "Welcome to my facility, the CIA's new Mutant Division," he welcomed as I looked on impressed. He extended his hand out to me, I was shocked by the gesture. "I'm Agent Platt, and I promise you I'm on your side,"

"Claudia Walker," I greeted back smiling while giving his hand a firm shake. "And by that I hope you mean you support us, because you aren't a mutant," I hinted, my smile never wavered. Agent Platt raised his eyebrows, glancing to Charles uncomfortably. "I'm an empath Mr. Platt. I might not know what you're thinking, but rest assured I know what you're feeling," the man smiled, his cheeks scrunching up.

"Well, anyway, let's introduce you to your new partners, Claudia. You'll be with them for a...long while, so might as well get acquainted," Agent Platt stated.

"We are actually are on their way Agent Platt," Charles informed, shoving his hands in pocket. "We got it from here," Charles stated.

Mr. Platt nodded, "It was nice meeting you, Claudia," I gave small wave and the man twisted around and walked away from us.

As we moved around the halls, which were full of CIA agents, some of them had stopped in their tracks, watching as the three of us made our way through. Some had disgusted looks on their faces, like they had smelled something awful. Others had smirks plastered on their face, and I could see it in their eyes that they were working on plans on how to make my life miserable. It wouldn't be hard, those stares were enough to make me feel uncomfortable.

Charles and Erik seemingly ignored the stares and both pointed out places. It had already become easy to tell who really was fully into this, and that was Charles. As we moved into the laboratories, he lit up with explaining ideas of mutations in genes and all sort of things that revolved around an expansion of the human race. His hope for this new sort of combined world was almost infectious. And then there was Erik, the gruffer of the two who just sort of nodded along, ignoring the mutations speeches, but pointed of the more relevant things like the bathroom and kitchen. Both had their positives and negatives, and you could tell that they were good friends that filled in what the other was lacking a bit.

"Here is where you'll be staying," Charles pushed open the door to the small simple room. "All of us are staying in this hallway. Welcome to your new home Claudia," I looked at Charles smile and internally shake my head.

This was hardly my home. All it was was a big, white, cold building that stuck out like a neon flashing light. It might as well say "Mutants helping the CIA are here. Come check them out!"

I opened my mouth to voice my opinion, but changed my mind, "Thanks," I smiled to him as I stepped in and put my bag on the bed.

"Do you mind if I change. Sleeping and sitting in this dress for six hours was incredibly uncomfortable," I explained.

"Of course, we'll be right outside the door," Charles replied, and he left the room.

My eyes scanned over the room once more, my bedroom looked like a stereotypical military barrack. Grey walls, grey prickly carpet, grey, bland itchy bed covers, a lumpy mattress, standard chest of drawers and a small desk with a small desk lamp. No personality. At. All. It was definitely going to need a change, because this would not do.

"Alright," I shrugged and turned to unpack my suitcase. Flipping it open I started pulling out my perfectly folded clothing and shoes. It was then as I started stooped down and lined my shoes up along the end of my bed that I realized Erik was still there, because he started chuckling.

"Can I help you, Chuckles?" I questioned, glancing back up at him.

"Nope, just wondering where the crack is in that perfect exterior you've built," he shrugged. "I mean, from what I've seen, all of us have one," he reasoned and I knew that he wasn't just talking of the human race, but specifically mutants.

"You tell me yours and I'll possibly tell you mine," I smirked as he raised an eyebrow to me and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms.

"I'm a survivor of the Holocaust," he replied with a look that silently tested me to freak out or something with this information.

This man wanted a reaction and I wasn't going to give it to him.

"That's one enormous crack," I turned back to him unconsciously rubbing my wrist, a motion that Erik did not miss as he raised a curious eyebrow.

"You're telling me," he replied dryly. "So...come on. You've got the Miss Perfect act down to a 'T', so where is it?" Erik asked, his eyes scanning over me.

"I don't if I should say now, yours would trump mine any day," I explained, as I ran my hand down my neck uncomfortably. I cleared my throat hoping to dispel the suffocating atmosphere that was closing in on me. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to change," I reminded, and Erik shot annoyed glance and grunted, before leaving the room.

I turned back to my suitcase and searched through my clothes to change into some more comfortable clothing. After finally deciding on what to wear I had changed into a pair of black cropped pants, flats, and a red turtleneck sweater. I walked out of my room, to see Erik and Charles waiting next to my door.

"Did you get lost in there?" Erik asked irritatedly.

"No. Beauty takes time, didn't you know?" I retorted, and Erik rolled his eyes. "Now, where are the other mutants, Charles?" I asked, focusing my gaze on Charles now.

"Follow me," Charles said, extending his arm out.

We had taken several corridors before finally coming to the room where the others were being kept. I grimaced at my thoughts, I made them sound like caged animals.

Charles stopped at the doors and turned to me, "Can you make sure they don't get into too much trouble? Charles requested.

I nodded slightly curious to see who I'm working with, "I'll be sure to," I answered.

As we stood in front of the door I took a moment to compose myself. I smoothed out the wrinkles in my pants and made sure my hair was in place though it was loose, I wanted make sure it wasn't all over the place. After all, first impressions were everything.

Charles pushed open the double doors and walked in. Erik followed with me in tow. I looked around the room. It was quite large with chairs and tables, couches in the middle and a fish tank against a wall. Two large windows were on either side of the room and it looked out towards the grounds.

"Everyone, I would like you to meet our final recruit,"

I then noticed the other people in the room. They were all younger than me, and staring at me.

"This is Claudia Walker and I hope you treat her well. Now if you would excuse Erik and I, we have some matters to discuss," he announced.

My head snapped up and glared at Charles' retreating form. I lifted my barrier slightly.

"Feed me to the dogs why don't you,"

Charles left with a laugh and several confused glances before he and Erik were finally out of the room. A stunning blonde ran up to me, pulling me into a tight embrace. I stepped back a little startled. Admittedly, I enjoyed being wrapped in her arms, it had been a long time since I last had a friend.

"I'm Raven, Charles' sister," she introduced, pulling away.

"I didn't know he had one," I replied, letting out a laugh.

"Well, he's barely here anymore to talk," Raven sighed, and then flashed me a fake smile. "Anyway, come and meet the others!" Her faux smile turned into a grin as she dragged me to the sofa. "Okay, this is Armando, but he prefers to be called Darwin," Raven started, nodding towards a slim, dark skinned man, clearly the oldest of the group of teens. "Angel," she named, nodding at a beautiful, tan skinned girl, with pitch black hair, and sultry, dark brown eyes. "Sean," my eyes moving to Sean, a pale, ginger, and rather lanky boy.

Sean stood up and took my hand, kissing it, "Sean Cassidy. Sixteen years old, I like fish, and pretty girls with black hair," he hinted. Raven and I exchanged amused looks that said, "Is he serious?"

"Teenage boys and their hormones. It's like being back in high school," I thought.

A muscular, blond boy pulled Sean back into his seat by his shirt, "Alright Casanova," he said dryly, and a laugh escaped me. "Get over it, man. She's out of your league, and probably older than you," the blond boy did a double take, his hand still fisted in Sean's shirt, "Wait, how old are you?" he questioned.

"Twenty-two," I answered.

"Six years older, man," the blond boy pointed to Sean before letting him go.

"I can take older women!" Sean protested.

The boy rolled his eyes and turned to me, "Excuse Ginger's-"

"Hey!" Sean interjected.

"Sad and obvious excuse to get you in a closet, a date, or in his bed...but I'm Alex. Alex Summers," he introduced, a smile forming on his face.

"And finally, Hank," Raven continued, motioning to the last guy left, clearly the nerd of the group, with his glasses and dorky jumper.

Hank reached out a hand, that I briefly shook, knowing it made Raven uncomfortable. She clearly liked him, it wasn't that I couldn't see where she was coming from. He was cute in a way, but just not my type.

"Now we're government agents, we should have code names," Raven suggested. "I want to be called Mystique," she announced, clearly having previously thought about it.

"Damn! I wanted to be called Mystique," Sean protested, faking disappointment. I couldn't help but chuckle and shake my head.

"Well, tough I called it," Raven laughed.

In seconds, blue scales trickled down her body before feathering into a perfect replica of Sean. Sean was taken aback, nearly spilling his drink. After the initial shocked faded, Sean began to study himself. We couldn't help but gape, it was truly amazing.

"Besides, I'm way more mysterious than you," Raven added, everyone broke into laughter, giving Raven a round of applause, as Sean turned back into a rather bashful Raven.

"Darwin, what about you?" Raven asked, taking her applause modestly.

"Well Darwin is already a nickname and it kind of fits," he nodded at us. "Adapt to survive an' all. Check this out,"

Darwin strode over to the fish tank, I couldn't help but wonder what he was about to do. He dunked his head into to the water of the fish tank, we didn't even have to blink before newly formed gills appeared on his face. We began to cheer, as he opened his mouth, impersonating a fish. The gills disappeared as he took his head out of the tank, shaking off the water, before signalling to Sean.

"What about you?" he inquired.

Sean pressed his hands together, taking a moment to decide.

"I'm going to be...Banshee,"  Sean decided.

I was about to open my mouth to speak before I was interrupted by Hank.

"Why do you want to be named after a wailing spirit?" he wondered, taking the words straight from my lips, I nodded in agreement.

"You might wanna cover your ears," Sean warned, getting up from his chair, revealing his full height, winking directly at me and I rolled my eyes.

All of us frowned in sheer confusion before reluctantly covering our ears. Sean bent down, keeping us in suspense. Letting out a high pitch whistling noise, shattering the glass window. Sean winced slightly when he saw the damage he had done before joining in with the others laughter. I gazed in horror at it.

"Charles is going to murder me," I thought to myself.

Maybe I would be able to...fix it, but I knew it was a useless thought.

"Your turn," Sean signaled at Angel, returning to his previous seat.

"My stage name was Angel," she began, standing up, sliding the leather jacket down her arms, revealing her bare back. Sean let out a wolf whistle and Alex shifted uncomfortably, clearly affected. "It kinda fits," Angel turned around revealing tattooed wings on her back slowly peeling off, starting to flutter effortlessly.

"You can fly?!" Raven gaped, mesmerized by her pixie wings.

"Uhuh and..." she bent over, and spat out a ball of what appeared to be acid onto the top of the statues head.

I had to suppress another groan at the damage inflicted upon the statue. Somehow I knew that the night was only going to get more destructive.

"That's disgusting," I muttered under my breath, thinking no one could hear me.

"Well what can you do," Angel challenged me, since I wasn't that impressed with her display.

I smirked and stood up, straightening myself out, "Well, I'm an empath. I can detect other peoples feelings and manipulate them, Watch," I instructed.

I walked over to Darwin and place my hand on his arm, "Amazement," I named, before moving over to Sean. I touched his arm, wrinkling my nose a little. "Lust. Ew," I commented, as everyone laughed and Sean turned a light shade of pink. "And..." I walked towards Alex, about to do my trick on him, when I see him tense up.

The emotions I feel are mixed, there is a hint of happiness, but it is over shadowed by a depressing, dark feeling. I looked into his eyes and there is so much mystery, so much hurt, that I am compelled not to reveal this boy's current emotional state to the entire group.

"... You get the picture," I finished, walking away. I might've been mistaken, but I swear I felt a slight sense of gratitude radiating off of Alex. I took a seat across from Angel, sitting at the edge of it, focusing on Angel's brain. "What I'm doing right now is accessing the hippocampus of Angel's brain, having that send messages to the amygdala, which is the part of the brain that is responsible for emotions. I have to choose an emotion then release and Angel will act the way that emotion wants her to," I explained, looking at everyone.

My choice was to make her really sad, I don't know why but it was just for no reason. When I released her brain, she started to cry hysterically. She could probably fill a bathtub with her tears. Releasing my control over Angel, she calmed down after few minutes, everyone choked with laughter, and Angel glared at me.

"Ask and you shall receive," I stated, returning an innocent smile with a shrug.

"Oh, and I can also-" I broke off, as I pointed towards Sean's glass that he was about to take a drink out of. It took itself out of his hand surrounded in a violet aura and hovered just out of his reach. They all looked up at me in amazement. Sean whistled, clapping. I gave a small smile, bowing in my seat.

"Hmm...what about...Blithe? But spelt B-l-y-t-h-e!" Raven said excitedly.

"I don't get it," Sean stated, confusion evident in his expression.

"It means to be happy and carefree," Hank explained, quietly but all of us heard him and we turned to look at him. He cleared his throat before carrying on looking at me. "It also means to show a casual and cheerful indifference, not that I'm trying to say that you do-" Hank starting to ramble.

"It's fine, no offense taken," I reassured, cutting him off and he looked up at me. "I love it," I looked back over to Raven. "Blythe...It's got a nice ring to it," I carry on smiling at her.

"What's your name?" Raven asked. Hank looked down, embarrassed.

Alex choked on his drink, "How about Bigfoot?" he sniggered.

Raven turned her head to glare at him. I shot a disapproving look at Alex, it was like he had shattered the little confidence, Hank actually had.

"Well, you know what they say about guys with big feet," Raven started, looking down to Alex's feet, I frowned in confusion. Hanks mutation was big feet? "And yours look kind of small," Raven's tone turning spiteful. I couldn't help but laugh along with the others including Alex, all except Raven and Hank, who sat in an awkward silence.

"Alex, what is your gift? What can you do?" Darwin asked, motioning to him before leaning back into the sofa.

"Uh it's not...um, I can't do it, I can't do it in here," Alex stuttered, avoiding everyone's gaze.

My own gaze softened, I found myself feeling sorry for him, "Guys," I started, looking at him in sympathy. "Let's leave him be,"

"Can you do it out there?" Darwin asked, gesturing out the window.

"Darwin!" I exclaimed, making him look abashed. But it was too late, the idea had already caught fire.

"Why don't you just do it out there?" Raven said, her eyes alight with mischief.

"Come on!"

The room erupted into cheers of Alex's name. Leaning back in my seat, I sighed heavily. This is fantastic. Soon giving into the calls, Alex stood up. They cheered, Raven laughing.

"Get down when I tell you," Alex ordered, looking deadly serious. He seemed deathly afraid of his own powers, whatever those were. We got up from our spots on the sofas and piled along the edge of the window. Alex was outside, a little to the side of us.

"Get back," he warned. We ducked back into the room, before peeking our heads out once again. He had a determined expression on his face and his arms were slightly outstretched in front of him.

"Get back!" He ordered, and they repeated their action from before, while I didn't. However, after a moment, they joined me once more. "Whatever," Alex grumbled.

Alex began to circle his hips, in a way that would make you think he knew what he was doing, as three red rings appeared. Letting go, the rings flew in different directions, one of the other beams came dangerously close to hitting Raven another one sliced through the statue, clean in half. When he did, I groaned loudly, clapping a hand to my forehead. The others clapped and cheered, impressed more likely at the destruction of the statue, more than Alex's power.

He split the thing in half! How do you even do that? Giving up, I marched back over to my seat, collapsing in it.

"Sorry Charles," I apologized in advance. "I wasn't a very good caretaker,"

"You know what this party needs?" Darwin asked rhetorically, standing up, "Alcohol," He pulled out a bottle of tequila out of the cabinet.

He was met with cheers as everyone besides me rushed to get some.

"Well," Angel began. "I think we deserve a little music," she suggested.

Rolling my eyes to myself, I rubbed the bridge of my nose. I predicted more damage. Sighing, I sat down in my spot, leaving the others to their antics.

They already caused a large amount of damage, what more could they do?

Chapter Three: Budding Relationships

[fanfalc-616]

Okay I have a new AU!! It’s called...

The Rights Of A Nindroid

This is chapter one!

Thanks to @occasionalincorrectquotes ,@321bluegalaxy , @ablackswansweet , and @akwardalienbean for giving me ideas (:<

When Zane wakes up that morning, the Bounty is quiet- likely because he gets up about an hour before the others usually do.

After checking the refrigerator, he decides to pick up some groceries for the team, despite it being Cole’s turn- the black ninja typically comes back with a surplus of junk food and relatively little amounts of healthy ingredients, no matter what Zane puts on the actual shopping list.

Messaging the others in order to inform them that he’ll be back shortly after their normal breakfast time, he heads out to the store, enjoying the quietness of the early morning.

He only makes it a few blocks away before a cop car pulls up beside him. Frowning, he pauses. Is there some kind of criminal roaming around here? Perhaps he could help apprehend them.

Two cops get out of the car, and Zane decides to voice the idea. “Is there a problem, officers?” He prompts. “Do you need assistance with it?”

The first cop- a brunet only just shorter than Zane- starts to speak. “I’m sorry about this, but we’re going to need-“

The second cop- a short blond- glares at the first as he interupts. “Actually, yeah, we could use your help. You’re the white ninja, right? Zane? It would be great if we could have your help with a government… “ He pauses a moment. “...project.”

The pause is somewhat concerning, but likely not a real issue. “I would be happy to assist.” He smiles. “If you tell we the location, I could have my teammates join us and also-“

“It would be better if it was just you.” The brunet interrupts.

The other cop nods. “It’s a low profile thing.” He agrees. “And no offense to your teammates, but they usually grab a lot of attention.”

With a small chuckle, Zane nods. “That they do. If it is low profile, would it be better for me to ride with you? Or should I get a vehicle of my own?”

The brunet starts heading back to the car. “It would be better if you rode with us.” He decides.

So Zane gets in the back of the car, letting the two cops take charge of directions. Unsure of what level of volume would be appropriate, he elects to remain silent to avoid a possibly uncomfortable situation.

Soon enough, they reach an odd-looking facility that appears to belong to the government- and strangely enough, a quick GPS check shows that the site is non-existent, implying that it is a top-secret base of some sort.

Getting out of the car, Zane lets himself be led into the facility, warily eyeing the large number of security guards swarming the area.

“May I have more information on what this ‘project’ is?” He prompts, hand coming down to brush against one of his shurikens.

“We can talk more inside.” The taller cop tells him as they go up the doors. In order to get inside, he uses three complex key patterns, a vocal recognition pattern sensor, and a form of facial recognition scanner.

“That is quite elaborate.” Zane notes. “I take it this project is important.”

But he doesn’t say anything more on the matter when he’s taken back, nor when they insist on confiscating his weapons. The shurikens don’t matter all that much anyway, he is well versed in multiple martial arts.

As he’s led through the halls, he could almost swear that he can hear distant muffled screaming. But no one else seems to be affected, so he brushes it off as some distorted echo. After all, this is a government facility. It would be highly unlikely for something illegal enough to cause that much pain to be happening in a place like this.

Once taken into a medium-sized room- a room that has a mirror that is likely actually of one way glass- he is instructed to sit at a table, directly across from a government official.

“Hello, Zane.” The woman smiles. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. It’s going to be important for you to answer truthfully.”

Zane nods his confirmation, accompanying it with a verbal one. “I will answer them to the best of my ability.” After a moment of thought, he decides that it would be best to wait on asking his own queries until after they have asked theirs.

“Thank you. What was your creator’s full name?”

“Doctor Julien.” Zane answers the question without pause.

The woman shakes her head. “His full, legal name.” She corrects, glancing over at the mirror. The minor action confirms that it is, in fact, one way glass.

With a blink of surprise, Zane answers the question. He’s asked several more, all about his father and any possible relatives he may have. The second piece is negatory; his father was an only child and far too old for any immediate family members to be alive.

After six minutes and nine seconds, the woman smiles again. “Thank you, Zane. Someone will be back with you shortly.”

With that, she gets up and heads out, leaving Zane behind.

Puzzled by the questions and events, Zane attempts to send a message to his boyfriends in order to inform them that he will be later than he had expected- but strangely enough, it doesn’t go through. Frowning, he tries a second time, but he once again fails.

That’s mildly concerning, but likely has a logical explanation. Perhaps no one here can send messages as a way to increase the difficulty of hacking. Given the secrecy he has already seen, that would be reasonable.

So he waits patiently at the table, occasionally sneaking stealthy glances at the one way glass. Something about this situation seems suspicious, but there’s likely no real cause to it. Perhaps he has adopted part of Jay’s paranoid nature.

A smile finds him at the humorous thought, but before he has the chance to think on it further, the door to the room opens, and a new official walks in.

“Zane, it’s… nice to meet you. I’m going to need you to fill out some papers.” The man tells him in a rather rude tone.

Zane chooses not to comment on his unpleasant mannerisms. “I would be happy to.” He gives a friendly smile, hoping that staying composed and being affable may help with what is bothering the official.

He begins to fill out the papers he was given, but as he goes on, the questions seem to grow more and more invasive, until he finds himself pausing.

Zane looks up from the paper, setting his pencil down. “My apologies, but I am not comfortable answering these questions. The way my systems work is rather a personal matter.”

“Yes, well, I need you to answer them anyway.” The man’s smile is tight and forced, not expressing happiness in the slightest.

“I’m not comfortable with that.” Zane repeats, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice. He stares the official down, making sure he knows that he will not be backing down on this matter.

“I didn’t ask if you were comfortable.” The man’s eyes express sharp malice as his false smile drops. “I told you to fill out the papers.”

“And I told you no.” Zane stands up abruptly, still holding cold eye contact. “I’ll be leaving now.”

A spark of anger lights in the man’s eyes. “No, you won’t.” He stands up as well, annoyance and hatred on his face. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t believe that’s your call to make.” Zane doesn’t blink and doesn’t back down- but he does refrain from allowing the temperature to drop from his powers.

“It is, actually.” The official insists. Does he genuinely believe that?

This is not a debate that he’s willing to be having, so it is time to end the discussion. “Is that so?”

“Sit down, nindroid.” He says the final word as though it’s an insult rather than a descriptor. “This isn’t up to your programming.”

“My progr- just what, exactly, are you trying to imply?” Zane knows he should simply walk out the door, but at the moment, he is completely floored by the implications of his words.

Is he truly under the impression that-

His attention is grabbed by the door being opened, and his eyes widen in surprise when he sees a large group of security guards entering, all wielding laser guns not unlike the ones Cyrus Borg had designed.

Zane quick backs away, narrowing his eyes. So they plan to hold him hostage? “I must warn you that even unarmed, I am still a trained ninja. I recommend that you stand down.”

The guns are aimed at him, all centered on non-vital parts of his body- though any shots that hit would likely give them enough time to restrain him.

Then he must not get hit. And for that, he should make the first move.

Zane takes a step forward, attempting to blast a shield of ice to block off any possible shots. But much to his dismay, he discovers that his elemental powers are not working, and a quick scan confirms that the entire building is lined with vengestone in the walls.

This is… quite the situation.

A few shots are fired at him, and he quickly ducks, flipping backwards to avoid getting injured. Unfortunately, he discovers only a moment too late that they were expecting that, and a shot was fired to where he had dodged, leading to a laser blast grazing his right calf, making him stumble.

They must have analyzed his fighting style before he arrived in order to predict his movements!

This brief lapse in balance is all it takes for them to completely surround him. With narrowed eyes, he begins to start making the moves of spinjitzu, but his damaged leg causes him to fall. His failure to combat them with the tactic gives them the opportunity to handcuff him, as well as manhandle him onto his knees.

Zane glares up at the official. “I do not know what you have planned, but I must warn you that such an illegal action will have consequences, even for an official such as yourself. I-“

The man shakes his head. “Take it away.” He orders.

Zane finds himself being dragged along, unable to effectively resist the guards. Eventually, he’s taken to a new room with a set of rectangular locker-like cubbies.

With wide eyes, a sudden realization strikes him as he looks at the lockers, and he resumes his struggling.

These lockers are just large enough to fit a person inside. Or more accurately for this circumstance, a nindroid.

“I want my phone call.” He demands as he’s forcibly dragged closer.

One of the guards scoffs. “You don’t get one.” He sounds almost insulted by the idea.

Zane manages to resist some, buying himself some time to continue speaking. “Legally you are required to-“

A different guard incredulously asks, “Do you- do you actually think you have the rights of a human?”

Zane pauses a few moments, confused by the words. “Yes? I thought that-“

He’s unable to continue due to the way he’s roughly manhandled into the cubby, and as he's about to argue, the door is slammed in his face.

Despite the way he struggles against it, the exit is firmly blocked off, leaving him quite effectively contained.

After a few minutes of struggling, he concludes that he will have to wait until they reopen it to make his escape.

With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, shifting uncomfortably in the small space. There is less than an inch of space surrounding him on all sides, leading to a rather cramped arrangement.

“What just happened?” He murmurs softly to himself, listening as the booted footsteps of the guards fade away. These events had occurred so suddenly that his processor is stuck playing catch up.

Closing his eyes, he decides to go into sleep-mode for a while, though he keeps his senses dialed high enough that any nearby noise will wake him.

He can make his escape when they return.

[boogiewrites]

Never Break the Chain Pt. 2

Part 2 of 5

Characters: Javier Peña x OFC

Summary:  Javier and Esme's first time seeing each other in almost twenty years. A photograph leads to an obsessive hunt for the woman he thought was dead. They both find they got where they wanted. But is it what they want now?

Warnings/Tags: Tension. Big reunited kiss. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Time passes, as it always has and always will. It stopped for no man, not even Javier. Seeing his first love fade into nothing had left him a different man. Walls came up, barriers were built that his enemies would even be impressed by. She’d done him a favor, snapping him out of the young man’s dream, but he felt he had nothing left but trying to help once she was gone. So he threw himself into his work.

Sure there were other women. He thought he loved some, but would always leave them. He always hurt them and that wasn’t his intention precisely but they would thank him years later. He was what they would refer to in close company as “a dodged bullet”. He’d been called far worse.

He despised his cliche reactions to his trauma sometimes. Drinking, smoking, being a general pain in the ass, renowned and proud asshole was easier. Burying yourself in prostitutes and let them take away the thoughts for a little while was the easiest. He would fantasize he could help them, even save some of them. He surely wasn’t getting his hero complex stroked when it came to his work. He had a soft spot for women, he had learned the hard way the shit deal they’d landed when they were born. He couldn’t do much...but he could try to help. So he did. Loss after loss he kept trying. This was that bit of good Esme had always believed in. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would have it so he made the best of it while he could.

The night before was nothing knew, an old habit at this point for him. He went out and got a woman, he’d pour every bit of good in him into her, convincing himself he still had it. He’d make them feel good, listen to them, things that were in short supply in their lives from men. He could be that good guy exception, if only for a short while. It felt nice to not be looked at with disgust or fear. The slivers of affection kept him going after dark. He’d leave them breathless, moans turning to laughs as they dressed, joking they might not make him pay. But they always took the money. And he offered it with no judgment, pulling his jeans on and halfway through a highball glass as his lean outstretched arm offer up their compensation for making him feel something good and push out the bad thoughts for a short while. He could be making worse decisions.

He rubs his temple, suppressing a groan as he slid his way into the uncomfortable chair at the beaten-up metal table. The chatter of his coworkers all making their way into the room was grating but nothing he couldn’t ignore. Morning debriefing, something he gave a shit about. Well, work was the one thing he gave a shit about right now, hyper-focused on the clock and trying to drown out the obsession off the clock. It was a dynamic that he was still trying to perfect. He downs the hot black coffee in his hand and nods at the secretary just outside the doorway, “Get me another, sugar. No sugar.” he winks and sends her off. She side-eyed him and went on her way, that was just Pena to her, horny but harmless. He cracks his back, a grunt before landing his elbows on the table to focus, the overblown commander coming in with a handful of photos, spreading them on the table as they talked about what they always did, the cartel.

Pena tries to approach everything individually, but there was only so much range these guys had, and not seeing them all as one giant collection of piss ants with assault rifles was something getting harder and harder to do. So as new and old names were said, he watched the board fill out, the line attaching known connections and new ones. There had been a new wave of intel, something Pena and his partner Murphy were used to being the ones doing, but he wouldn’t complain if someone else finally wanted to sack up and their fucking job like they were supposed to.

“So we have our old friends,” a slap of photos to the board. “Then there’s a new round of boys coming in.” he taps the newest addition to the board. “Seems we’re getting inbred with the other families, the jewel smugglers, the miners...seems we’re trying to venture out and expand our already impressive portfolio.” he snorts.

“They can never just be fucking satisfied with their millions.” someone groans and complains.

“It’s a good chance try to take them down too.” Murphy shrugs.

“Eyes on the prize, kiss ass,” Pena says quietly, accepting his coffee without a second glance. “Do we know these women?” he asks with a nod in the direction.

“Typical.” Murphy rolls his eyes.

“No. Our assumption is prostitutes. Nothing new there.” the commander goes on, but he quickly becomes background noise as Pena stands and moves toward the board. He stood, hips jutted forward, eyes scanning, hand over his mouth in thought. Once he saw the new pictures he hadn’t heard another word the men had said. “PENA!” barked his way grabs his attention as he casually shifts his attention.

“Mmmph. Yeah.” he mutters, eyes moving back to the board.

“I was informing you, you’d be doing street intel on these newcomers.”

“Yeah,” he says disinterested, thumbing his lip before placing his hands on his hips. “Do we have these photos in color?”

The question catches the room off guard. “Why?” he’s met with annoyed opposition.

“This woman…” he taps the photo of a woman with a sly smile on the arm of a very powerful man. Dark waves teased and a heart-shaped face buried in a fur coat collar worth more than he made in a year. He clears his throat. “I’ve seen her before…”

“They’re whores Javi, of course, you have.” Murphy leads the room in a wave of amused hums and chuckles.

“No I’m serious,” he says with no inflection, catching his partner’s attention. “Do we have a location on them if there’s no color?”

“Why’s color important?”

He’s quiet for a moment, jaw tense and eyes blinking, baffled at what he was allowing himself to think. “Her eyes… were green.” MUrphy readjusts himself in his seat, watching Pena’s eyes carefully. He could swear they looked sad.

“What information we’ve got is here.” the commander points at the table with its thick manilla envelopes.

Javier nods with no spoken response, staying in place until the room is empty except for a hesitant Murphy who approaches him. “Who is she?” he asks quietly.

He shakes his head in response. “It can’t be her,” there’s a heavy pause, “But it...fuck it looks like her…” his voice trails off and Murphy is left with more questions.

“Well, are you gonna answer me or just write poetry about her Javi?”

“She’s…” he sighs and sucks his teeth. “She’s supposed to be dead.”

“Did you-?”

“No… no… nothing like that.” his voice still quiet. “I knew her… fuck...over a decade ago now.”

“So we can add hunting ghosts to our agenda now too. Great.” Murphy takes it lightly and presses his lips together. He stares at Javi, his eyes dark and focused. He was left with more questions than answers. His money was still on it being a hooker. It’s not as if Pena had even talked about Esme since the investigation when he was young. His partner may have his back in life or death situations, and they may have been close, but no one knew about her. Pena had hoped to keep it that way. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped it wasn’t her. Because if it was… well he didn’t know what he’d do.

---------------------------------------------------

Esme didn’t know it but with every minute that passed, she was being proven right about her belief in her first love, that if he knew she was alive, that he would find her.

Esme had ran, a bug out bag down the river and no trace left behind. She made her way south over the years, learning her craft and making friends in the right places. She’d started with rich men, especially rich white men trying to make a living off exploiting her fellow man in Mexico. It had been almost too easy. They thought nothing of her and wore her as if she were a watch; on their arm and shiny and proof of their wealth. She would gain access, gather intel and then sweep in and take the goods and ghost out.

Esme had been legally declared dead and was now living as Estelle. She had so many names over the years but her current incarnation was Estelle. And she was a star. She’d become what she wanted, she was rich and self-reliant. She needed no one and had her fun as she craved it. There were men and women and drugs and jewels and for so long it had been a pleasant hazy dream. But the novelty of it wore off, she grew bored,  a witness to her hypocrisy, growing soft and lazy with her indulgence. When she emerged from her haze and saw the state of the world around her she knew things had changed. Narcos now ruled the world. The government bowed to them, the poor worshipped them. She saw they were the future, the new leaders. And for her, that meant that’s where she had to be.

She found herself once again sharp and full of adrenaline. Her new role took real savvy and cunning. Otherwise, she’d end up dead for real. She cozied up, working for Narcos to steal for them. It wasn’t hard in skill, but it was in the amount of sexist shit she had to deal with. She’d killed men for laying hands on her, and worse. She’d pulled knives and guns and made frown men piss themselves as she threatened them with words they’d never heard women utter up to that point. Most of the leaders would laugh until they cried after the fact, seeing a woman act in such away. She entertained them. They underestimated her, saw her as some novelty pet that fetched things and entertained them. She could handle that. As long as she got paid.

Following the groups, making her way around it made sense she found herself in Columbia. She knew it was dangerous, but she was addicted to it. It filled the void of sex and drugs for her for the most part, although she did partake among her peers from time to time. She thought it made her admirable, independent, and a shining example of what a woman could be if she had the nerve to do it. She was, to a degree, but she was also wrong. She lacked the softness in her life anyone, not just a woman needed. A void where no love or trust or intimacy was in her life she filled with material things and lists of her accomplishments. if she kept busy and looking ahead she wouldn’t be still king enough to face her demons.

Except she was about to come face to face with her biggest one.

—

As was his way, Javier had become a bit obsessed. He had to know if this woman was Esme. He’d been tracking her and was able to have DEA level observation to do it. It was a personal mission he’d been able to spin to look like a cartel one. There was a connection, she was seen with them, but little was known outside of that. After he’d put the word out for the beautiful woman with green eyes it hadn't taken long before someone scorned by her leaked information on her next job. The informant knew what his boss wanted to be stolen and when she’d be there. Normally no agent or cop would care to pay attention to her, or some jewels being stolen,  she was just some woman to them. But serendipitous timing made sure she became THE woman for one of them.

She practically waltzed into the store. She scaled a fence, a wall and came through a window but for her, that was practically begging her to steal from them. The rooms were dark, silent except for the sounds of her feet as she made her way into the back, unseen and unbothered. It wasn’t until she’d stopped to admire her score before snatching it they the clicking of a gun behind her caught her attention.

He’d waited in the shadows, and none too patiently. With the aim set to intimidate, not kill, he Easter no more time. “Who are you?” It came out as an order.

Her head snapped up, back still to the faceless voice she felt was all too familiar. She blinks, the former goal now removed and replaced with a flood of emotion. She remains silent, her turn to be shocked like he was when he saw her face in the photos.

“Turn around.” Another order. The voice was deeper, darker now but still made her feel the same way.

She turns, and painfully slow. She doesn’t meet his intense gaze immediately, reading his body language first and calming her racing mind. There’s no way it was him.

There’s no way it’s her, his mind reassures him. But as soon as her eyes raise to meet his his stomach drops. He was right.

“Javi?” It was almost a whisper, for the first time in she couldn’t remember when she didn’t hide her emotions in her face.

The gun falls first, his sense falling to the wayside as it slipped into its place in the back waist of his jeans. His frame was broader, still lean moves towards her with an earned confidence now. He doesn’t speak, staring at her as if she might not be real. She gives him his time. He’d earned it. “It really is you.” It was his turn to let the veil fall, dark eyes shining in the low, cool light.

She nods. “Javi I can explain.” She begins, prepared to apologize and ask forgiveness before asking him why the hell he was there at all. They were a long way from home.

“You’re alive.” A rather obvious statement that made her smile. It was all he could handle.

“I can explai-“ a quick burst of words before they’re cut off by his mouth landing against hers. She hadn’t expected this. She was prepared for many things last but not this, at least not for him to be kissing her. “Javi my-“ she tries to get out but his hands are already on her cheeks, hot and damp and certain. She lets her concern fade for a moment, it would all be fine. She gives in to it, lets him take the lead, and pull her against him roughly. The anger and hurt coming through in his grip on her back and face as they kissed breathlessly. He stole her focus without trying, there was the signature huff from his nose, the nuzzle into her between separating to catch his breath but he felt different. But so did she.

Where they once held differences in certainty they now held the opposite. He kissed her like he just found out his first love was alive after decades of vices to cover the loss. Because he had. Every woman and experience he’d had between her and now, every skill and thus gained confidence was clear and apparent. This was not a boy handling a girl. He was a man handling his woman.

And there she was, blindsided and touch starved, passion and intimacy starved being devoured by the only man she’d ever truly loved. The only man she’d ever let in and see her for what she was. The only man that knew Esmeralda. It was a raw and painful ache that emanated from her chest as she clutched her hand around his wrist and the other gripped his shirt in her hand. She gave in because she knew it wouldn’t last long, and after it was over she’d miss it.

With eyes squeezed shut, his forehead pressed to hers, his statuesque nose gently rubbing against hers he exhales hot against her face. “Esme…” he pulls back and holds her face, demanding her focus.

“It’s been so very long since someone’s called me that.” she sighs and puts her hands on his forearms.

“Since I called you that?”

She nods and smiles, face pressed into his hand.

“Maybe it’s about time people called you that again.” he pauses and looks her over with a hard brow, he couldn't hide his simmering anger underneath the confusion, relief, and affection. “Where the fuck have you been?” She sighs in response. “Why the hell are you HERE?”

“Same as you. Work.”

“Why are you with those men? Don’t you know who they are? What they do?”

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?”

“Why Esme?” his eyes water and his hands squeeze her face a bit too tightly before a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Same reason now as then,” she whispers, his grip loosening and not hearing her response, she slicks his dark hair back as his eyes start to roll around in their sockets. “You're fine, Javi. Seems you fell for my defense mechanism.” she smiles and he looks at her, starting to slump. “To be fair I didn’t know to expect you. You’ll wake up soon enough. It’s only temporary.” she wipes the culprit of the sudden wave of forced unconsciousness he was going through, her lipstick off his mouth. He was out quickly, and she spent some long moments exploring the now aged face of her once wide-eyed companion. “You are even more handsome than I thought you’d be.” she coos and kisses him after dragging him into a chair and pushing it into a corner so he wouldn’t fall. “It now inevitable we’ll meet again. My old hound dog.” She chuckles, a kiss to take in the scent of his hair before she parted ways. “See you later, mi amor.”

-----------

Peña awoke to a boot knocking against his knee and an odd headache. It was pitch black outside by now, people on the streets outside none the wiser to the life-altering experience he’d just had.

“Are we blacking out in stores now?” Murphy snarks and shakes his head, leaning against a door frame.

“That’s not...I’m not…” Javier shakes his head, rubbing and tapping at the pulse in his skull.

“Then what the hell is it?” He can hear the judgment in his partner's voice.

“If I told you you would think I was crazy.” he groans and sits up with his back straight in the chair, one cocked brow looking over to the man staring him down.

“And I don’t now?”

Peña huffs out a laugh. That was a fair assessment. He’d think the same thing. He looked across the room, the glass case he’d found her standing in front of now empty. “She took the jewels.” he switches the subject, an arm raised lazily and collapsing against his lap after.

“Were they made of cocaine? Why do we give a shit?”

“It’s not the jewels that are important. It’s the woman that did it.”

“A woman? Huh. That’s something you don’t see every day. That is… a little bit crazy I guess.”

“That’s not what’s crazy.”

“Am I gonna have to fuckin’ waterboard you man, just tell me.” he groans.

“That woman I told you about... that stole those... she's been declared legally dead for almost twenty years.” he finally says with a defensive tone and a face that said don’t fucking try me to the man still assessing his sanity with no attempt at hiding his negative prognosis.

“Oh.” Murphy contemplates looking away to the empty case. “That... yeah okay that is crazy.”

@jaegeeeeer​ @likedovesinthewnd​ @inkededucatednnerdy​  @biharryjames @ladamari68​ @past-romantic​ @weliketomoveit

[meloncubedradpops]

Repo! the Corona Opera: Part Two Fascist Boogaloo

Greetings fellow Repo! fans,

Here is my second installment of a series of three essays where I compare our contemporary times with the movie Repo! the Genetic Opera. My first piece detailed the similarities between the two worlds, and turns out, I have an awful lot to talk about still. I ended my last article by posing the question, "What went wrong in this dystopia to normalize the concept of death due to nonpayment?" No doubt, this movie is incredibly outrageous on many fronts, particularly within the dynamics of the Largo family. As mentioned in the previous piece, I highlighted the pervasiveness of GeneCo's power and influence towards the citizens in the city (is it called city of GeneCo? GeneCo-land? GenCity? An actual city in Italy??). 

People who write stories often bend the rules to make their story compelling. Be it exaggerating social interactions, creating scientifically impossible scenarios, or even allowing the characters to use technology that does not exist yet. I admit the creators of Repo! applied all those tactics and more, which makes the parallels I draw that much more surreal. I want to acknowledge this before I dive deeper because yes, I truly think it would be impossible to have a company who can offer cheap and dirty surgeries with an absence of debilitating class action lawsuits resulting from botched procedures, infection, or their body rejecting the organ transplant. And while I admit Zydrate does not exist, yet, but we do have a long history with opioid abuse. If you asked me when I first watched the movie if I think the Largo family could be a mirror of an ultra wealthy family from real life, I would have politely disagreed with you. But times right now are freaking weird. A single day does not go by where something completely outlandish is blasted all over the news, particularly in the United States. 

In my last essay I pointed out examples where the citizens in GenCity live a life after experiencing a mass extinction event. Besides the technological anachronisms, society and GeneCo have an uncomfortably close relationship with each other. GeneCo is not merely a corporation that offers healthcare and surgeries, it has an unyielding power politically too. I argue that GenCity is ran by a fascist government that is controlled and operated by GeneCo. 

If you're not a person who is super familiar with fascism, basically it's an extremist right wing government philosophy. I find it interesting that in the song "21st Century Cure", Graverobber says: Industrialization has crippled the globe. Although plagues, war, and other hardships existed before industrialization, that paradigm of change accelerated the imbalances between man and nature. Fascism did not exist until after World War I, after all. Between the world war itself and the Spanish Flu of 1918, there was a lot of pain and suffering felt all over the world. Fascists took advantage of vulnerable populations and asserted that their political party is the only correct party, and those who oppose are considered an enemy. Historically fascist governments have blurred the lines between the spheres of what's considered "public" and "private", and often danced harmoniously with business allies in pursuit of profit. As an effect, fascist governments have required citizens to foot the bill of a private company's losses. With enough propaganda, fascist governments will have you believing that this is ultimately for the betterment of everyone. And if you give them enough time, they will normalize terrible acts against humanity that barely make a peep, if the truth even comes to light. 

For the rest of this essay, I will be highlighting examples in the Repo! movie that correspond with characteristics of fascism, using political scientist Dr. Lawrence Britt's The 14 Characteristics Of Fascism, which was published in the spring 2003 issue of Free Inquiry magazine.

The 14 characteristics are:

1. Powerful and Continuing Nationalism: Fascist regimes tend to make constant use of patriotic mottos, slogans, symbols, songs, and other paraphernalia. Flags are seen everywhere, as are flag symbols on clothing and in public displays. 

The world surrounding GeneCo occupies itself with the concept that this incorporated area derives a sense of nationalism, in the absence of much dissent. If you see below, there is an advertisement on the top right corner that says, "Your Birthplace for a new Heredity". GeneCo is not just a company that sells organs and surgeries. It is its own incorporated city. This ad, combined with GeneCo's relentless messaging that not only did this company save humanity, you must conform to the idea that only GeneCo can provide you the experience of feeling clean, safe, and perfect.

2. Disdain for the Recognition of Human Rights Because of fear of enemies and the need for security, the people in fascist regimes are persuaded that human rights can be ignored in certain cases because of "need." The people tend to look the other way or even approve of torture, summary executions, assassinations, long incarcerations of prisoners, etc.

Being able to legally repossess someone's organs because they didn't make their organ payments is about as disdainful as you can get. Nathan has a whole song called "Legal Assassin", and there doesn't appear to be many laws that would at least have the pretense that these repossessions are remotely humane. There are multiple instances in the movie where Nathan approaches a client who is already restrained, panicked, and powerless. From what I can gather from the media in Gencity, GeneCo proliferates the idea that the company would be dysfunctional if people could get financed surgeries and let those payments go to collections. When you're a mega corporation, they let you do it.

3. Identification of Enemies/Scapegoats as a Unifying Cause: The people are rallied into a unifying patriotic frenzy over the need to eliminate a perceived common threat or foe: racial , ethnic or religious minorities; liberals; communists; socialists, terrorists, etc.

While the career of a Graverobber is certainly creepy and macabre, the idea that they could be executed without a jury of their peers is especially strange. After I created my last essay, my friend Veronica pointed out, that per "A Needle Into A Bug", one of the deleted scenes from the movie, that street zydrate is not actually derived from the brains of dead people. He extracts zydrate from bugs that nest inside the craniums of dead people, which in my opinion is a huge distinction. So who is he really stealing from? Is it morally okay to dig up a corpse to get drug goo to sell to junkies? Absolutely not, and the idea is incredibly disrespectful for the dead. And while I am sure there are graverobbers in this world that likely steal things like jewelry from corpses, I still wouldn't justify being executed extrajudicially. 

Further, Graverobber's relationship with the Largo family has me believing even more that GeneCo needs them more than their media campaign can justify. Rotti has access to incredible surveillance of the city, so you would think he would eliminate anyone who enabled Amber Sweet's addiction. My theory is GeneCo knows that street zydrate may result in more surgery sales. However they want to continue making money selling the lab-grown stuff. So the end justifies the means, if we can associate graverobbers and those who use street zydrate as criminals, we can continue believing that "they" are the enemies setting everyone else back.

4. Supremacy of the Military: Even when there are widespread domestic problems, the military is given a disproportionate amount of government funding, and the domestic agenda is neglected. Soldiers and military service are glamorized. AND 12. Obsession with Crime and Punishment: Under fascist regimes, the police are given almost limitless power to enforce laws. The people are often willing to overlook police abuses and even forego civil liberties in the name of patriotism. There is often a national police force with virtually unlimited power in fascist nations.

GeneCo employs a private police force to carry out law enforcement. They patrol around a graveyard, a quasi-public space carved out for those who mourn. And because there is pervasive video surveillance, Rotti can demand that they do his bidding at any time. An example is his order to murder the repo man. We aren't aware of any sort of involvement beyond the borders of GenCity, but even the concept of a graveyard being a warzone is a special kind of hell. 

5. Rampant Sexism- The governments of fascist nations tend to be almost exclusively male-dominated. Under fascist regimes, traditional gender roles are made more rigid. Opposition to abortion is high, as is homophobia and anti-gay legislation and national policy.

Genterns! On the surface, it’s pretty cool that there is a large volume of female medical professionals who are skilled enough to carry out surgeries. However behind the sexy veneer is the reality that Genterns are not set up for success. They are not provided adequate PPE and work under non-sterile conditions. In the "Mark it Up" scene, one is killed by Luigi. Imagine going to medical school for years and years, only to be tasked with the job of organ warehouse worker. Then on one of your shifts you are stabbed to death because the CEO's son bumped into you while you were working. Not only that, but you are also expected to dress proactively for the purpose of selling the GeneCo product and experience.  

6. Controlled Mass Media: Sometimes to media is directly controlled by the government, but in other cases, the media is indirectly controlled by government regulation, or sympathetic media spokespeople and executives. Censorship, especially in war time, is very common. GeneCo has a monopoly on the media of the city. Politics, entertainment, healthcare, you name it, they have a direct stake in, and control over, the media. We do see from time-to-time tabloid clippings of the Largo family. But generally speaking, GeneCo puts a lot of effort in upholding their image. The best evidence is Blind Mag's story. She is a singer who acquired the ability to see after a GeneCo cornea surgery. And while she clocked into work day in and day out, singing and advertising for GeneCo for 17+ years, her departure resulted in Rotti murdering her. But why? Was he afraid of the things she would say? Rotti knew he was terminally ill when she declared her resignation, and yet killing her on stage is somehow less of a scandal?

7. Obsession with National Security: Fear is used as a motivational tool by the government over the masses. Fascist countries use fear as a tactic to keep the masses scared and compliant. The universe of Repo! is one filled with tragedy. Millions of people have died. I would imagine that the series of events that would lead to the creation and success of GeneCo was contingent upon people being scared for their lives. While dealing with the coronavirus, I find myself constantly checking my temperature, keeping my distance from people, and wearing a mask out in public. The human spirit is resilient, which is how we have survived so long. However sociopaths smell our fear and use it against us. The city of GeneCo is surrounded by plots upon plots of graveyards, signifying the carnage left after their public health crisis. I have a strong feeling that GeneCo was able to harness the threat of whatever caused the massive organ failure epidemic and as an effect created a power vacuum. 

8. Religion and Government are Intertwined: Governments in fascist nations tend to use the most common religion in the nation as a tool to manipulate public opinion. Religious rhetoric and terminology is common from government leaders, even when the major tenets of the religion are diametrically opposed to the government's policies or actions.

This one is going to be a reach, particularly because there is an absence of religion in this story. I don't think religion would be on the creator's of Repo!'s purview, and honestly I don't blame them. If you look at the imagery of the story, however, it is very gothic. We have no idea if religion survives, and if it does, to what extent. I would imagine that people still have spiritual needs, and I argue that the GeneCo Opera is an example of how they get that fulfilled. 

"If you want it, baby, GeneCo's got it"

The GeneCo opera is not your typical opera experience. GeneCo specifically tells their customers to "testify". People are singing in unison, praising GeneCo. Clearly GeneCo has taken several human rituals and blended them together to create an over-the-top entertainment experience that seeks to advertise their company behind the testimonials of its patrons. The benefits of the opera for GeneCo, as a fascist entity, are two-fold: have people associate their most nirvana moments with an experience only GeneCo can offer (zydrate and surgery), and distract them with religious-like concerts so they won't question their neighbors being murdered on the streets by that very same company. 

9. Corporate Power is Protected: The industrial and business aristocracy of a fascist nation often are the ones who put the government leaders into power, creating a mutually beneficial business/government relationship and power elite. AND 13. Rampant Cronyism and Corruption: Fascist regimes almost always are governed by groups of friends and associates who appoint each other to government positions and use governmental power and authority to protect their friends from accountability. It is not uncommon in fascist regimes for national resources and even treasures to be appropriated or even outright stolen by government leaders.

Throughout the entire movie, the Largo family is front and center. We know Rotti is terminally ill, and he utilizes his final moments to tie up loose ends in his life. His children feel entitled to his estate and the company of GeneCo. At no point do we see Rotti consult with a board of directors at GeneCo, a private fiduciary firm, or with any government entity. I would describe the company of GeneCo to be a weird combination of an aristocracy, government body, and corporation. His children commit crimes with no recourse or justice. Rotti kills the doctor who tells him he's dying. Luigi kills multiple people throughout the movie. In one of the opening scenes, we see a photograph showing Pavi is cutting off a woman's face. In the credits we see Amber's body guards lying dead on the floor during her press statement. What sort of corruption took place to make these occurrences so prevalent and normalized? 

10. Labor Power is Suppressed: Because the organizing power of labor is the only real threat to a fascist government, labor unions are either eliminated entirely, or are severely suppressed.

We aren't super privy to the machinations that make this city functional. But there is a clear stratification that has sustained itself long enough that healthcare is not a right in this city, and those who can't pay for necessary healthcare can finance it. In a just society, if we have the means to save humanity, we can figure out a way to pay for it. Be it taxes on the most wealthy or other cost-saving measures, if there is a will, there is a way. However if you give a company enough power and money, it will do everything it can to stay on top. The best examples I can think of would be Nathan and Blind Mag's tenuous career at GeneCo. Neither really wanted the job they were given, but they were forced into those positions by Rotti. Had Bling Mag belonged to a entertainment union, would she have had more protections? Would a proper investigation into the murder of Marni result in justice being served, and the opportunity for Nathan to live a better adjusted life? Rotti masterfully manipulates situations that create powerless outcomes for his employees.

11. Disdain for Intellectuals: Fascist nations tend to promote and tolerate open hostility to higher education, and academia. It is not uncommon for professors and other academics to be censored or even arrested. Free expression in the arts is openly attacked, and governments often refuse to fund the arts We don't see any particular evidence that GeneCo is currently hostile to higher education or academia. What we do know is the technologies of this world are akin to something we'd see out of the 20th century. However GeneCo is advanced enough to synthesize usable organs.  In my last essay, I drew parallels to today by highlighting that there may have been a "brain drain" of intellectualism as a result of academics dying from their public health crisis. Outside of the opera house, we don't see many examples of art in this world. Maybe this is what happens when a government stops funding programs it deems frivolous or challenges the status quo?

14. Fraudulent Elections: Sometimes elections in fascist nations are a complete sham. Other times elections are manipulated by smear campaigns against or even assassination of opposition candidates, use of legislation to control voting numbers or political district boundaries, and manipulation of the media. Fascist nations also typically use their judiciaries to manipulate or control elections.

Based off context clues in the movie, we know that there is a group of voting citizens who help determine whether or not a company can repossess financed organs that are passed due on their payments. We don't know who makes these votes, the election process, or anything like that. So it is hard to say if GeneCo goes beyond their media campaign convincing voters to keep repossessions legal. Despite this lack of knowledge, I would argue that GeneCo wields incredible power regarding the course of elections for laws that apply to them. Okay, you want to pass a law to make organ repossession illegal? Fine, we don't have to offer products on a payment plan. The very threat of being able to take away healthcare is something right wing governments loveeee doing. 

Speaking of elections, the United States 2020 general election is approaching. Now that I argued the ways that GeneCo is fascist, I will tie together ideas from both of these essays into a final piece that I hope you will like. If you enjoyed this article, please send it to all your Repo! friends.

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter six

a new chapter in honor of me starting school tomorrow :( this is another filler chapter (but it’s important later on!!) and the plot picks up in the next chapter, I promise!

genre: fluff, angst

pairing: season nine spencer reid x female oc

warnings: none

word count: 5.9k

AMELIA

ONE MONTH LATER

Spencer is constantly talking about his job. He loves working for the BAU more than anything. The work he does is taxing but he loves helping people and he will continue to help, even if it means he spends hours upon hours working his ass off. Frankly, he spends more time working than he should but he does it because he loves it. 

However, he often tells me that his office is a bit dull in the appearance department. He has told me about the piles of books that cover most of his desk and the two picture frames, containing a picture of him with his mom and then one with his godson. Besides those things, though, there is nothing else to bring him comfort when he is sitting down and finishing his mountain of paperwork. His dull desk echoes the dull colors in the bullpen. Maybe that's on him and his lack of design skills, but that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t have any design influence from a third party. I want him to have something uplifting and positive when he sits at his desk, and I decided that I would make this happen. I’m sure Spencer doesn’t pay much attention to the sad colors of his desk when he’s working, but that doesn’t mean it won’t weigh on my mind until I know I’ve done something to brighten his desk. 

 I devise a plan after a date night when Spencer tells me about how boring it is to sit at his desk for hours and do paperwork. So when Spencer tells me the team is on the last day of the case they're working on, I throw on my boots and head to Quantico.

The building is incredibly intimidating at first because the building is humungous and, of course, I've never been here before and I have no clue where I’m supposed to go. But I park my car and grab my backpack, and I'm only wandering around the parking lot for a few minutes before I finally find the entrance. I’ve never felt more out of place in my jeans and white blouse in the sea of pantsuits, but I ignore that and walk up to the receptionist, signing in to get a visitor pass.

"Here to visit someone?" The receptionist smiles at me, and I sneak a look at her nametag that says her name is Jeannie.

"Yeah," I say as I scribble down my name. "Well, kinda," Jeannie hands me the visitor pass and points to the top of her shirt to tell me to clip mine to the neckline of my blouse. "My boyfriend is coming home from a case today so I wanted to leave him something to cheer him up."

"That's really sweet of you. He's a lucky guy," Jeannie smiles at me. "I'll see you on your way out."

I give her another smile before heading over to the elevator, and thankfully I get in alone because I'd be far too intimidated if I was in an elevator with real FBI agents. Okay, yes, I'm dating an FBI agent, but Spencer is really just a teddy bear and he doesn’t even wear suits to work. He doesn’t even leave his gun in his holster when he’s with me and he doesn’t parade it around and internalize the power a gun usually provides someone. It’s not like I’ve never seen or even held a gun before, but it’s refreshing that he doesn’t flaunt his gun. 

I step out on the sixth floor and come face to face with the bullpen that I've heard so much about. I dodge a few scurrying people and pull open the glass doors and quickly realize that I have no idea where Spencer's desk is. It didn’t cross my mind until now that the bullpen would have more than just one desk. So I stare out over the banister for a moment before locating the pile of books I've heard about. I hurry down the small set of stairs and pass a few confused agents who can tell I clearly don't belong here. But, once more, I ignore their stares and walk over to Spencer's desk, and to my expectations, it's exactly how he described it- dull.

I reach into my backpack and pull out a picture frame, setting it beside his computer. I debated on leaving a picture of me because I know talking to me brings him comfort after a hard case so maybe seeing a picture of me might help too. But I know he hasn't told his coworkers about us yet and I don't want to put anything on his desk to make him uncomfortable. So instead of leaving just a picture of me, I made him a small piece of art with my signature on the bottom corner. He seemed to really like the small amount of art I’ve shown him so I figured that a piece of my art would be a viable replacement for a photo of me. 

The next thing I leave one Spencer’s desk is a small tin filled with the last of the Christmas cookies we made together, tucking it right under his computer. I've realized that he sometimes goes without eating, especially during his long workdays, so having a snack readily available is a good idea. Then I grab a post-it from the top drawer and a sharpie, scribbling a message that reads pinky promise with a heart next to it and sticking it to the bottom of his computer. It's out of immediate sight of any prying eyes, and even though Spencer has probably never used this computer before, it’s right beside his books that I’m sure he uses every day. A post-it note from me isn’t much, but I hope it is enough.

"Who are you?" I hear a voice behind me as I'm flattening a note-so-sticky corner of the post-it onto the computer.

I whip myself around, expecting to see literally anyone other than the person I find. I'm expecting to see a woman in a pantsuit with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed, ready to scold an out-of-place 25 year old for being in a government building unsupervised. But I come face to face with a woman who has blonde hair brighter than mine, a headband with two pink puff balls on them, an outfit filled with bright colors and contrasting patterns, and heels higher than anything my ankles could handle. She's holding an octopus mug, and I can smell the lavender tea from here, and she's not wearing an ID badge like all the pantsuit-wearers are. She doesn’t even look like she’s about to scold me for creeping around a federal agent’s desk, but rather, she looks curious.

"I'm Amelia," I give her the sweetest smile I can conjure up.

The woman squints her eyes suspiciously, and tilts her head to look behind me. "And why are you going through Boy Wonder's desk?" I laugh at the nickname and tuck it into the back of my brain for later use. "You only have a visitor badge on and I've never seen you before and I've never heard your name."

"I wasn't going through his desk," I say, stepping aside and gesture to the tin of cookies, but don’t bring attention to the two other things I have left. "I was just leaving him something for when he gets back from the case to cheer him up, that's all.”

"Hmm, that’s really sweet actually," she hums, inspecting the desk once more. But then she shrugs her shoulders and takes a step closer to me, jutting her hand outwards. "Well, I'm Penelope Garcia, technical analyst for the BAU.”

"Oh," I shake her hand with a growing smile, "I've heard a lot about you."

Penelope's eyes widen, hand clutching mine in the mid-air, no longer shaking. "Spencer? He’s told you about me?"

"He's told me about the whole team, actually!”

"Wait, wait," she abruptly puts down her cup of tea on Spencer’s desk and holds her hands out in front of her, her eyes somehow getting even wider, "I don't need to be a profiler to fit the pieces together. You're here and bringing Reid things for his desk to cheer him up, which, again, is so super sweet. And you're bringing him Christmas cookies and he was watching The Polar Express on Christmas and he never watches movies like that. And he's been wildly happy the last few months and oh my god, you guys are totally dating! You're totally Spencer's girlfriend!" Penelope doesn't even wait for my answer before throwing her arms around my shoulders and pulling me into an embrace. "I'm a hugger and I hope you're a hugger."

"I'm a hugger, don't worry.”

Penelope pulls away from our hug and then gasps, grabbing onto my cheeks with a grip that might be a little too tight. "Your hair! The braids! It's beautiful! I could never do braids like this! I'm so jealous!"

"It takes a lot of practice. I could braid your hair for you, if you want," I offer. "I don't have anywhere to be until Spencer gets back."

"Ooh, I smell a date night!" Penelope bounces up and down on her toes, grabbing onto my hands and starting to tug me out of the bullpen. "That's adorable and I'm taking you up on your offer. Let's go, I'm taking you into my lair. I've got music and snacks and lots of fun things and it'll be awesome."

Penelope leads me back out the glass doors and down the hall, through a gray door and into a room filled with stuffed animals and many computers. It doesn’t look like anything anyone would expect to see in an FBI agent’s office, but I’m gathering that Penelope is a different type of agent than the too-serious pantsuit-wearers

"I've got some hair ties here," Penelope pulls open a random desk drawer and pulls out a bin of different sized hair ties. Then she twists around and opens a bigger drawer, revealing a whole hoard of snacks. I can’t help but laugh as I reach in and pull out a bag of chips. "I'm usually in here for hours upon hours so it's imperative that I have good snacks," Penelope says, spinning around in her chair to put her back to me. "Okay, Miss Amelia, make me beautiful with your magical braiding fingers!"

"You're already beautiful, Miss Garcia," I quip, running my fingers through her hair to get out the few knots she has in her perfectly curled hair.

"You flatter me, Miss-I-Don't-Know-Your-Last-Name. I should do a background check on you," Garcia suddenly says and then starts typing on her computer. "I do it for everyone's boyfriend or girlfriend on the team, don't worry. It’s my own mandatory procedure to protect my bestest friends and make sure nothing hinky is going on with their significant others."

It becomes hard to breathe for a moment as I struggle to swallow the lump that forms in my throat. I nod slowly as a way to calm myself down, chewing on my bottom lip as my chest starts to tighten. "My, um,” I gulp one more time but the lump doesn’t slide down my throat, “my last name is Stark."

"Even your name is perfect, it’s so unfair. Amelia Stark. Sounds like a stage name," Penelope quips, typing my name into some fancy FBI search engine. Some pages pop up when she types in my name, and the first thing on the screen is my website, filled with pictures of my artwork from through the years. "You're an artist! I could tell that from your tattoos, which I love, by the way. I love your artwork. If I could afford any of your work, I would totally get it because everything is so beautiful."

"Oh, thanks," I laugh as a way to distract myself from the following files on her computer, and I try to still my trembling fingers by slowing down my braiding, making sure each braid is tight and not bumpy and beautiful looking.

Penelope exits my website and starts looking at a new file. "You're a-" she is abruptly cut off, thankfully, by a high pitched beeping sound, "oh! That's the team! They wanna video chat from the jet!"

The trembling in my hands only worsens at this. My hands still and my eyes widen. "You're the only one who knows about me and Spencer and I think he wanted to keep it a secret for a little while longer.”

"They can't see your face from where your standing. Just keep standing where you are. And keep braiding!” Penelope instructs me quickly then answers the video chat. I keep my hands braiding as I watch the faces of the members of the BAU pop up. I observe all the team members and their positions on the jet. There’s a blonde woman who, by process of elimination of the blondes I have been told about, I conclude is JJ, the mother of Spencer’s godson. A brunette is beside JJ and I recognize her as Alex Blake. Derek Morgan is behind them, deep in conversation with someone whose face is blocked by the headrest of a seat. "How are my favorite crime fighters? How can I be of service on your trip home?"

"Garcia," a hard-faced man says, and I catch sight of Spencer beside him. I watch as he squints his eyes and leans closer to the screen and I wonder if he recognizes me from just a shot of my chin to my hips. Well, he must recognize me because my tattoos are perfectly displayed and he obviously knows what they look like. "We're an hour away from Quantico but when we get back can you make sure to have Anderson put that box of case files in my office?"

"Of course, Sir," Garcia answers and types something on her computer. "Is that all?" She's giggling through her words, letting her head get pulled and tugged when I include new hair in the braid.

Hotch squints at the camera the same way Spencer did, leaning closer to the screen. "Garcia, who is that with you? She's got a visitor pass."

"Just my friend, Hotch!" Garcia answers far too quickly for it to be a truth, and it actually makes me choke out a laugh. "She's just braiding my hair because she has magical fingers!"

Hotch doesn't look too convinced but sits back in his seat and looks at whatever is in his hand. "I need you to run a background check on someone for me."

"My technologically magical fingers are ready. I’m not the only one with magical fingers," Garcia, thankfully, exits out of my background check and begins a new one. I have to hold back a sigh of relief as the lingering fear in my body seems to dissipate, but my fingers don’t stop shaking and my heartbeat doesn’t slow down. Hotch gives Penelope a name and she starts typing, then starts rambling off all these gross things this guy has done. I scrunch up my nose and try to ignore what she's saying. "Are you still coming home or did you get another case?"

"We're still coming home," Blake answers.

"This is for a consult which is why it's important that Anderson get those case files into my office," Hotch gives her a pointed look and a nod of his head before returning his attention to the file in his hands.

"Of course. I just emailed him." Garcia says.

"Hey," JJ speaks up and becomes the third team member to move closer to the screen, "none of us know your name or who you are but I really like your shirt!"

It takes me a moment to recognize that she is talking to me and not Penelope. "Oh, thanks!”

"Does anyone need anything else?" Garcia asks the team. "No? Awesome, I will see all your lovely faces when you get back. Are we going out for drinks?"

"I'm game for drinks," Morgan shouts.

"Me too," Blake grins, turning around to high five Morgan.

"I actually can't," Spencer speaks up, and, I swear, Penelope almost bursts from excitement. "I have plans. Sorry guys, maybe next week."

"Pretty boy's got plans?" Morgan teases, leaning over the chair to ruffle Spencer's hair. Spencer grimaces and fixes his hair, swatting Morgan’s hand away when he tries to mess it up again. His pouty face makes me smile and I lift my chin out of the frame to shield my smitten smile from the team of expert profilers.

"Yeah, I do," Spencer responds, trying to return his attention to the book in his hand, but Penelope knows that Spencer and I are supposed to have a ‘date night’ tonight so she takes this golden opportunity to tease.

"And what are these majestic plans, Doctor?" Penelope grins and she hands me a hair tie when I gesture that I need one.

Spencer glances up at the camera and then back at his book, concealing a smirk. "Don't worry about it." 

The team oohs and ahhs, knowing Spencer is hiding something, and it warms my heart to see him interacting with his best friends. Even though they're teasing him, he's grinning and he’s blushing and he looks so gorgeous. I haven’t really gotten the pleasure of seeing him react with someone other than me so seeing it now makes me fall even harder for him.

"I have no clue what's going on here," Hotch says, silencing everyone, "but make sure you get that stuff done."

"Will do, Sir," Penelope salutes to her boss.

"And track Reid's credit card so we know where he goes tonight," Hotch smirks, and the last thing I hear before the video ends is Spencer groaning.

"We love Spencer," Penelope sighs dramatically, wiggling in her chair as I finish up with her braids. "We tease him but we love him so much."

"I can tell you guys do," I tie off the end of the braid and pin it in place, admiring my work. "There, done."

Penelope materializes a hand mirror and gasps when she sees her hair, turning her head to see every angle she can. "This is amazing! How'd you get so good at this?"

I wring my hands together as I pull away already reaching for the backpack that I had placed on another desk, and the strap slides out of my shaky fingers at first. "Um, a lot of practice. I used to braids my sister’s hair all the time when I lived at home. And honestly, Penelope, I should run before the team gets back."

"You definitely should," she jumps out of her chair and pulls me into another hug. "Thank you so much for doing my hair. And thank you for making Spencer so happy. It sounds cheesy but he really has been a million times happier, it's like he carries the sunshine with him and I guess that sunshine is you." I choke on an answer to her compliment but she doesn’t give me any time to come up with an appropriate response to her. "Can I at least have your number before you go? You know, just in case. And in case I'm having a super rare bad hair day and I need to stop at your house before work."

I hastily pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it over to her. "Yeah, of course," Penelope puts her number into my contacts and sends herself a text before handing it back to me. "It was really lovely to meet you, even if it was by accident."

"And it was wonderful to meet you. If anyone's dating our resident genius then I'm glad it's you. I have to say, I didn’t picture Spencer with someone who has tattoos and piercings but I really, really like you. I’m glad you’re dating him," Penelope leads me out of her office and over to the elevator, pressing the down button for me.

"I think that was a compliment so I'm just gonna say thank you,” the elevator rises too slow for my liking, and I find myself starting to shuffle back and forth on my feet and tug on my shaking fingers. “Hey, could you just make sure Spencer stops by his desk before he leaves? I would really appreciate that.”

“Can do,” she salutes to me the same way she did to Hotch as I step through the elevator doors before they are all the way open. “I can’t wait to see you soon. Have fun on your date night!”

///

SPENCER

///

Everyone is chatting on the elevator ride up but I’m silent, my hand shoved in my pocket, waiting for my phone to buzz with a text from Amelia. I expected some sort of text from her, especially after she saw me on the video call with Penelope. But I didn’t get any texts or calls from her so I just assume she is busy and I can ask her about her secret trip to the BAU when I see her later.

"So you're really not coming tonight?" Alex asks as we leave the elevator.

"No, I'm not. I really do have plans," I repeat, getting unconvinced looks from the whole team. Morgan holds the door for everyone as we step in and head to our desks, either loading or unloading our bags. I take a step towards my desk but before I can get more than a foot closer to it, Garcia comes barreling through the opened doors just before Morgan closes them.

“Hello, lovely friends!” She exclaims, somehow speaking louder than her normal excited voice. “I’m so glad you’re back, all safe and sound.”

Morgan chuckles, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “You-”

“Reid,” Penelope completely cuts off Morgan, and everyone’s eyes dart between me and her, “You should totally go to your desk before you leave. Okay, see you guys later.” With those rushed and frantic words, she turns on her heels and bolts back out of the glass doors. 

“Well then,” JJ laughs, becoming the first to break away from the group and head to her desk, “that was weird, even by Penelope’s standards.”

Completely and utterly confused, I turn and walk towards my desk. My feet still on the carpet before I even get to my desk, though, because I first notice that my chair is out of place. It's pulled out a little bit- I always make sure to push it all the way in before I leave- and when I go to push it back under the desk, I find Garcia's lipstick-stained mug. When my eyes get drawn away from the mug, I find a new picture frame beside my computer with a piece of artwork that I quickly recognize to be Amelia’s. A huge grin comes to my face. So this is what Amelia was doing here.

With the stupidest of smiles on my face, I inspect the rest of my desk, hoping to find another surprise from my goddess of a girlfriend. And, to my elation, I find a familiar tin under my computer, and when I pull off the top to see what is inside, I discover the rest of our Christmas cookies. And when I turn the top of the tin over, I find a post-it note in Amelia's handwriting.

for when you forget to eat during cases -A.S

Her calligraphic handwriting is so beautiful. My heart is pounding and I swear I could cry as I put the top back on, wanting to preserve the freshness of the cookies for as long as I can, and set the tin back where Amelia had intended it to be. I grab Garcia's mug and I'm about to turn to return it to her when I catch sight of the other post-it stuck to my computer.

"What's that?" JJ is suddenly at my side, making me jump. "Pinky promise? What does that mean?"

My stupid smile has never been bigger. There’s no suppressing my joy now. "Not important. Have a good night. See you tomorrow."

I head past her and out the glass door, walking quickly to Garcia's door and knocking, barely waiting for an answer before entering. She's spinning around in her chair when I enter, squealing when she sees me. "Come give me a hug, you!" She jumps up and throws her arms around my shoulders, completely ignoring her mug, and my aversion to touch, but I don’t care at this moment. "I absolutely love her. She's sweet and she clearly cares about you if she came here to bring you cookies and leave you cute messages to make you happy after cases. Plus she braided my hair! Look!" Garcia pulls away and points to her head, showing me a braided hairstyle that I have seen Amelia wear many times. Most notably, our sixth coffee date. "I’m kind of already in love with her so it’s understandable that you are too!"

Penelope’s choice of such strong words jolts me back to reality, but I don’t have it in me to correct her. Correcting her use of the word love feels wrong. "Well, I'm glad you like her," I hand Garcia's mug back to her and she hurries to add it back to her collection of stuffed animals and knick-knacks. "And if you could just-"

"Keep it a secret? You got it! I'll zip my lips and I'll throw away the key. Your super juicy and cute and adorable and loving secret is safe in the lair with me," Garcia grins. "Now get out, for real. I heard from your blonde beauty that it’s date night tonight. Don’t be late! Get going!"

"Yeah, I'm going. Thank you, Garcia, it means a lot that you'd do this for us.” 

"Anything to see you happy," she smiles as I hurry out of her lair, almost sprinting, not even bothering to use the elevator and opting for the stairs instead.

///

I knock on Amelia's door, not even bothering to stop at home before going to her apartment. Something clatters inside her apartment and then some sort of muffled shouting and within another second, the door creeps open. I quickly scoop Amelia into my arms and spin her around in a hug, in maybe the most enthusiastic embrace we’ve shared. She latches onto me immediately, pulling her legs up to wrap around my waist, her head tucked into my neck. I feel her blow a puff out of her nose in a sad excuse for a laugh.

"You're absolutely remarkable," I compliment, twirling her around once more before attempting to set her back down on the floor. But Amelia doesn’t move at all. She just fists the back of my cardigan and holds me closer. I don’t mind this new embrace, though, so I tighten my grip around her waist too. "I saw you on the video chat and I thought it was you from that white shirt you were wearing, and then I heard your voice and I knew right away. And, of course, because of your tattoos."

"Just wanted to do something nice for you," her voice has never sounded so weak. She sounds wildly exhausted, even more than she does in the mornings, and the way her nails start to dig into my skin through my cardigan and shirt heightens my senses. “You deserve something nice.”

My eyebrows furrow at Amelia’s quiet voice. I hate this. I hate the darkness that she is radiating. It’s wrong of me to always expect her to be grinning and extroverted and bouncing off the walls like she always seems to be. Everyone has off days, but I have yet to experience an Amelia-off-day. I hate it. I place my hands on her waist and try to pull her away from my body so I can see her face. “What's wrong? You sound upset.”

"Nothing's wrong," she answers far too quickly for it to be the truth. Amelia’s movements are in slow motion as she untangles herself from my hold, placing her feet flat on the ground. When she’s no longer wrapped in my arms, she immediately turns her back to me and tries to walk off. I follow after her as quickly as I can, catching her hand in mine so she can’t go any further. “I’m fine, Spence.”

"Amelia, do I need to remind you of my job? You can tell me if something's wrong," I tug her closer to me, dropping her hand and grasping her waist instead. I feel her breathing speed up under my fingertips.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired, babe,” Amelia gives me a weak smile, one that doesn’t even reach her eyes. I’ve never seen her irises look so gray before. 

"Do you want me to go home? I can let you get to sleep early-”

"No, no, please don't leave. I wanna hear about your case and your day and whatever else you wanna talk about,” she grabs onto my hand and pulls me to the couch. The couch is covered by the duvet from her bed as well as a mountain of pillows, and I have to laugh when she sits down and nearly disappears into the fluffy pillows. I pull back the blanket and sit beside her. Before I’m even fully sitting down, Amelia scoots closer and lays almost entirely on top of me, burying her face in my neck again. Her actions are incredibly concerning because while she has always been touchy and cuddly, this is on a whole new level of clingy. Not that I have anything wrong with cuddling and clinginess, but this Amelia is so different from the girl who usually opens the door.

"Okay well, the case wasn't good, by any means," I make quick work of toeing off my shoes, trying not to move too much and disturb Amelia, "but it was very, what's the word, satisfying to catch the unsub because he was just horrible."

"Aren't they all?" Amelia scoffs. "Do you ever not catch them?"

"If the case goes cold and the killer stops, then yeah, sometimes. That's when I feel the worst because then I feel like I can't get justice for the families and friends of those who were killed. I can't show them who killed their loved ones and they have to live in constant uncertainty. They'll just live their lives not knowing."

"That would feel so horrible.” 

I’ve made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t profile Amelia and she has made it clear, in a lighthearted way, that she doesn’t want me to profile her. But in moments like these when something is clearly wrong and I want to help my girlfriend, I wish that I could use my skills to untangle the situation. Her body language and the inflection of every syllable that falls from her mouth and her microexpressions give away so much but I force myself to turn the other cheek and not pay any mind to them.

"I don’t really wanna talk about sad things today," it’s true, I don’t want to talk about one of the worst parts of my job but averting the conversation is to avoid adding more sadness into the atmosphere. Amelia clearly doesn’t need any more sadness. “Why don’t you tell me about your surprise trip to the BAU?”

"Got lost a little bit. The building is bigger than I thought it would be," Amelia gives me the first genuine smile of the night. "But it's really nice and I can see why you love it so much. And Penelope is wonderful."

"A part of me knew that you two would get along. You have similar energies, as both of you would say. I don’t understand the whole energy thing but whatever.” It’s my attempt at lighthearted conversation and it’s my attempt to make Amelia smile and then go on a rant about what it means to have a specific energy. But there’s no lightening of the conversation. She buries her head even further into my neck.

"Penelope is great, yeah. And, uh," her voice trails off, as it always does when she's about to say something that makes her nervous, "she told me she does a background check on everyone's boyfriend or girlfriend."

"Oh, yeah, that,” I laugh, rolling my eyes with a level of nonchalance that doesn’t fit the current energy of the room, “She says that to everyone but I don't think she actually does. I've never seen any proof. I never saw any proof for Savannah. She’s Morgan’s girlfriend," there’s a silence that follows my explanation and it doesn’t ease the tension that seems to suffocate me as the minutes fly by. I feel Amelia’s head bob up and down in a nod but no words come after. It takes me far too long to connect the dots. "Is that why you’re so-” I stop myself before I label her attitude in a way that might upset her further. I restart my thought. “Is the background check making you nervous? It’s kind of a joke. It’s nothing serious.” 

"No," again, she answers way too fast for it to be the truth. "Well, I guess. I just- it's like when you're driving and there's a police car driving behind you, you know?" She overcompensates for her lies by talking way too much. "You know you're doing nothing wrong but you still get nervous. I mean, I feel like anyone would get nervous if they were told someone was doing a background check on them."

"Yeah, sure,” I nod my head despite having no clue what she means and suddenly not believing a word that falls out of her mouth.

The air, once again, falls dead. The suffocating feeling grows and I feel the need to flee. I need to get up and move around and escape how uncomfortable I am. It’s a horrible instinct, the worst I could have, but it builds in my chest and squeezes my lungs flat. Why am I feeling this way? Why do I so desperately need to leave Amelia when she is so clingy yet off-putting? Even if she isn’t opening up to me, she clearly needs me and I shouldn’t abandon her. She has never abandoned me on bad days. She makes every effort to comfort me and help to lift me out of my funk? I need to do the same thing for her. So why is it so hard?

“Hey,” I finally muster up enough confidence to speak even though my voice refuses to raise over a whisper, “do you want me to make something for dinner? I know you’re the better cook out of the two of us but-” I stop talking when I look down at Amelia. She’s fast asleep, her cheek smushed against my shoulder and her lips parted. It’s the most peaceful she has looked all night.

My head falls onto the back of the couch, eyelids fluttering closed. I wait for the thick air to travel out the windows now that Amelia is asleep, but it never does. It wraps me in its embrace in the same way that Amelia does. The tension pounds against my body when my intrusive thoughts start to swirl around in my head. It’s the most unpleasant of feelings but no matter how hard I try, they won’t go away. The walls start to cave in and I know that trying to hold them back is useless. So instead, I just succumb to the pressure and disappear into the pillows.

 TAGLIST

@babybobbybones​ @blameitonthenight21​ @thematthewgraygube​ @anepiphany​ @goldenalvez​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrryspencer​ @rxseinbloom​ @penelopecultinsp​ (your regular tag isn’t working, did u change your handle?) @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @matthewreid​ @shrimpyblog​ @garcias-batcave​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @gublergirls​ @wonderlandhatter​ @matthewgublerswife​

[delirious-and-slightly-murderous]

Heyo!! 🤗

So these are what I wanna know about:

Coffee Shop AU (El de MacDonald's)

Disney Princesses (idk why but it sounds real funny to me 🤣🤣🤣)

Marvel AU

(Also, I cant believe you have a WIP named after me "Kal's Dreams Thingy" 😆😆😆 I hope someone asks bout this. It'll be funny as hell to tell what happened)

Kaaaaaaaal!!!!!!!! So glad you asked!

So unfortunately all the things you asked for a VERY in progress WIPs, but here:

So the Coffee Shop AU (el de Macdonald's) is exactly what says on the tin. It's a Coffee Shop AU. The Macdonald's bit is because I started it while sitting at a Mac drinking an atrocious brown liquid that should not dare to call itself coffee. So the core of it is that Martín is a down on his luck engineer that works as a barista at his friends coffee shop. And Andrés is the mysterious writer that comes in almost every day to write because it's the only place around with decent coffee, (but really, it's because of Martín, not the coffee😏.) Here have this:

It's only 8 in the morning, his shift has barely started and Martín already wants to kill himself. He has no one to blame for this fact but himself, he knows this, no one forced him to consume the amounts of alcohol that he did. He was actually quite gleeful while doing so. Now he regrets it. And he blamed Ágata completely, it was her idea to go drinking on a work day, she should have known Martín would be unable to control himself.

And the bitch didn't even have the decency to be apologetic about it, she was blissfully sleeping on her own bed. Because she had forgotten to mention that today she had the night shift.

The midmorning rush is its own kind of nightmare. While mostly the kind of crowd they attract are hipsters and pretentious assholes, today it seems as if every couple in a 5 kilometer radius decided to come in. Martín growls as he deals with lovey dovey couples on top of his hangover. He hates the reminder that he's miserably single and hasn't had a good lay in what feels like years. The only mercy is that at least today there isn't anyone coming in with any screaming children.

He's resting his forehead against the cool wooden surface of the counter and trying to not throw up all over the till when Denver sweps past him with a tray piled high with pancakes, sausages and eggs. The smell that normally makes his mouth water now makes him feel sick.

"Remind me to never ever go out drinking with Ágata again." The younger man whines. It's not the first time either of them has said this. It probably won't be the last.

Martín groans and tunks his head against the counter, which only serves to make everything worse. "Don't complain, that woman of yours took you back home. I, on the other hand, have no one to take care of me and spent the night on Ágata's couch." He lifts up his head and looks directly at Denver. "Do you have any idea how uncomfortable that fucking couch is? My back is all fucked up."

At that moment Raquel comes out of the kitchen with a tray of perfectly golden croissants.

"Guys, come on, you don't get paid to stand around talking. Morning rush is almost over. Move your asses." She says sternly, her hands on her hips. 

They both glare at her.

Denver continues on his way and Martín looks up as the door opens once more, dreading even more people coming in. Thankfully it's only that handsome writer guy from the other day. He looks unflappable and perfectly groomed but Martín can see a slightly hassled look about him. He's carrying a small laptop case and a stack of notebooks and papers.

Denver is still busy giving out eggs so Martín takes a deep breath, composes himself and makes sure he's not looking like death warmed over before walking over to take the guys order. Not that he minds in the slightest. The guy is very handsome and exactly his type. 

When he gets to the table he can see the man sketching something on a sketchpad. He doesn't manage to make out what it is before the man snaps the pad closed and smiles up at him. His eyes are bloodshot and the circles under them look as dark as his hair.

"Che, you look as bad as I do." Martín grimaces.

The guy's smile recedes a little and his eyes narrow in annoyance. Up close Martín can see he's actually quite disheveled. He looks tired and worn down. Martín feels a sympathetic tugging on his chest, it's a look he has come to know intimately ever since his uni days. He finds it constantly on his own face.

"What a nice greeting. Great customer service, really."

Martín shrugs. "You know me. And I'm too hungover to try to pretend to be nice." He smirks. "You look like you need a big cup of espresso, am I right?"

The man's posture relaxes slightly, smile becoming sincere once more. He scratches at his chin before nodding gratefully. "I would appreciate that."

Martín smiles brightly at him. He definitely likes this guy.

(That's about like around half of what I've got😅.)

So Disney Princesses AU is just kind of like a vague idea at this point.

Basic premise is that it's like your typical Disney movie, ridiculous situations and all. BUT both of them are the helpless princess. They somehow save each other from trouble while also getting in problematic situations themselves. It's just some plot outlines and ideas at this point so I don't have a snippet. But another thing I know is this: Sergio is a talking donkey, and Raquel is the badass kingsguard he falls in love with. 

And then finally the Marvel AU has the same problem. It started as a prequel to my fic 'Catch Me When I Fall' then became a sequel and then ended up as an actual Marvel AU. So the idea is that Martín has no powers but he is a genius engineer (a la Tony Stark, except that he's broke) who builds himself a suit, he's kind of a slight amalgamation of Iron Man and Black Widow. Then Andrés is the super powered man out of time, but unlike Captain América he's not a goody two shoes but more of a Loki type of character (or he could be some kind of Doctor Strange, haven't decided yet). Then Sergio is Andrés' demigod half brother who abandoned earth grief stricken after his death. Raquel is the exasperated government agent in charge of assembling the team and making them work or they'll all end up behind bars. The others I haven't decided yet but the whole banda will be there. So it's kind of an enemies to lovers thing while they are saving earth (and doing a terrible job of it). Until Martín gets kidnapped by aliens because of his superior brain and they have to go save him. It all goes downhill from there. Obviously as it's me, it will have a happy ending if I ever get to write it.

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

[tinyshe]

The global COVID response is simply the exercise of absolute power instead of science For bureaucrats and politicians, gaining power and compelling submission are victory enough, even when their policies fail to vanquish a virus.

Tue Aug 31, 2021 - 2:03 pm EDT  

(American Institute for Economic Research) – Since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, lockdown champions have perennially invoked “science and data” to sanctify any mandate politicians impose. Hard facts have recently shown that neither vaccines nor face masks provide surefire protection against the virus. But no amount of evidence has yet shaken faith in the magic of absolute power.

COVID policies are increasingly degenerating to the equivalent of sacrificing virgins to appease angry viral gods. New Zealand on August 24 imposed a nationwide lockdown in response to a single COVID case in the capital city. Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern ordered her captive citizenry: “Do not congregate, don’t talk to your neighbors. Please keep to your bubble.” Arden asserted that “complying with these rules, making sure we do all we can to stamp it out, still remains the best strategy in the world right now.” Ardern did not deign to explain why almost no place else in the world, including places with vastly more COVID cases, sought to outlaw everyday conversations.

In Australia, the military is patrolling city streets to enforce the latest lockdown. Daniel Andrews, the Premier of the state of Victoria, recently decreed: “There will be no removal of masks to consume alcohol outdoors.” One Aussie lamented, “My business has been forcibly closed. Everyone has been sent home without pay. We are banned from leaving our homes except for the 5 reasons given by the Government.”

There is no “science” to justify prohibiting Australians from going more than 2 miles from their home. But New Zealand and Australia presume that no one will be safe unless government officials have jurisdiction over every breath that citizens take.

In the United States, many of the same pundits and activists who howled about the evils of “microaggressions” are now cheering for the government to forcibly inject everyone with a COVID vaccine. Biden publicly declared that he is checking to see if he has the power to force everyone to get injected.

Biden endorsed the vaccination passports that some cities have already imposed. Radio host Grant Stinchfield commented, in Los Angeles “you can [defecate] on the street, shoot drugs in crack tent on the sidewalk and even steal anything less then (sic) 900 bucks but now you have to show papers to get in a restaurant or gym!?!?” New York City’s passport regime effectively bans the majority of blacks from many activities of daily life, since they have a much lower vaccination rate than other groups.

Far greater restrictions may be on the horizon. The Associated Press reported that the Biden administration is considering “mandating vaccines for interstate travel” but is delaying any such decree until “Americans were ready for the strong-arming from the federal government.” A top former Homeland Security official has called for placing anyone who is not fully vaccinated on the No Fly list, thereby expanding the list to scores of millions of people and creating new havoc for air travel. Biden administration officials have offered no evidence that such restrictions would end the pandemic but it would permit the president to demonstrate the same machismo that President Nixon showed with his illegal invasion of Cambodia in 1970.

Politicians’ anti-COVID recommendations increasingly resemble frightened soldiers shooting at any noise they hear in the dark. NIH Director Francis Collins recently condemned the “epidemic of misinformation, disinformation, distrust that is tearing us apart.” But much of the misinformation has stemmed directly from the Biden administration’s flip-flops and fearmongering. On August 3, Collins announced during a CNN interview that “parents of unvaccinated kids should… wear masks” in their own homes. He conceded: “I know that’s uncomfortable, I know it seems weird, but it is the best way to protect your kids.” A few hours later, Collins recanted on Twitter, perhaps after other political appointees persuaded him to stop sounding like a blithering idiot.

COVID misinformation started at the top. In a CNN Town Hall last month, Biden declared, “You’re not going to get COVID if you have these vaccinations.” Biden administration officials kept reciting the “pandemic of the unvaccinated” refrain long after it became clear that vaccines were rapidly failing to prevent the spread of COVID. On August 8, CDC Director Rochelle Walensky finally admitted: “What [COVID vaccines] can’t do any more is prevent transmission.” Helluva asterisk. Prior to that, the Biden administration even refused to disclose the number of “breakthrough” infections that had occurred among White House staff. Prof. Eric Topol complained that the CDC’s false statements on COVID risks was a “blatant failure putting millions of vaccinated Americans at unnecessary risk for breakthrough infections.”

On Thursday, a front page Washington Post article castigated the CDC for withholding COVID information from the public, noting that its “overly rosy assessments of the vaccines’ effectiveness against delta may have lulled Americans into a false sense of security.” Tom Frieden, former CDC director under Obama, suggested that the long delays in disclosure led some people to “wonder if the CDC is hiding results.” CDC Director Walensky responded to the debacle by promising “to develop a new forecasting and outbreak analytics center to analyze data in real time,” the Post reported. The CDC apparently did not previously consider it worthwhile to spend any of its $8 billion annual budget on such a project.

The Biden administration has sought to blame the resurgence of COVID on scofflaws who did not submit to every revised command. The Official Enemies List has expanded from those not wearing a mask to those resisting getting vaccinated, and it will soon include those who balk at getting a third (and fourth? fifth?) injection.

 The biggest expansion of the Enemies List occurred on August 13, when the Department of Homeland Security issued a terrorist alert, warning law enforcement agencies that “anti-government/anti-authority violent extremists could exploit… potential re-establishment of public health restrictions across the United States as a rationale to conduct attacks.” Anyone who loudly objects to being locked back under house arrest will be the moral equivalent of the Taliban, or maybe Hezbollah. Previous federal driftnets for potential troublemakers expanded far beyond individuals who threatened violence. The feds may already be compiling vast lists of COVID critics that could come in handy at some future point.

But at least government officials now recognize the real enemy. COVID Czar Tony Fauci recently declared, “I know people must like to have their individual freedom… but I think that we’re in such a serious situation now, that… mandates should be done.” Fauci predicts that once the FDA rushes its formal approval of the COVID vaccines, there will be far more mandates imposed on Americans. The fact that the efficacy of the Pfizer vaccine has fallen to 42% is irrelevant. A vaccine isn’t a failure as long as the government can force everyone to get additional injections.

The primary “evidence” for most COVID policies is the job title of the government official issuing the decree. As University of California San Francisco professor of medicine Vinay Prasad wrote last month, “When it comes to non-pharmacologic interventions such as mandatory business closures, mask mandates, and countless other interventions, the shocking conclusion of the last 18 months is this: We have learned next to nothing.”

Prasad slammed his colleagues for failing to do reliable research on key issues of the pandemic: “Anyone who considers themselves a scientist should be embarrassed by our collective failure to generate knowledge, and this failure is once again looming large.”

For bureaucrats and politicians, gaining power and compelling submission are victory enough, even when their policies fail to vanquish a virus. Citizens are obliged to assume “government knows best, even when it knows little or nothing.” People won’t get infected as long as they are groveling to federal commands, right? Unfortunately, the government has no liability for the injections it approves or the freedoms it destroys.

Faith in absolute power is not “science” – regardless of how many scientists pledge allegiance to Washington in return for federal funding. As historian John M. Barry, author of The Great Influenza, observed, “When you mix politics and science, you get politics.” There is no safety in submission to damn fools, regardless of their pompous titles.

Reprinted with permission from the American Institute for Economic Research

LifeSiteNews has produced an extensive COVID-19 vaccines resources page. View it here.

source x

[lideria]

Lost in Yesterday. | Jeno (POV shift)

Request: helllooo!! i just read lost in yesterday and it so heart-wrenchingly beautiful that i must ask; is it possible for you to make the same fic but in jeno's point of view?

Author’s Note: I tried and I’m not mad at it! Keep in mind that I’ve done a write-the-same-fic-but-from-a-different-pov thing for the first time ever in my life, I’m suggesting you take this piece with a pinch of salt please and thank you! Plus, this was kind of hard to write? As in, I had a clear vision of Jeno’s character and feelings but when it came to expressing them it was really difficult. (and that’s on my alexithymia lads)

Important: If you want this piece to fully make sense, I’d highly suggest you read the reader’s pov and the backstory.

Warnings: Swear words, brief mentions of suggestive themes, mentions of war, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of family distress/unhealthy relationship, themes of manipulation, themes of confusion. English is my second language so there might be errors, please let me know if there is more that I should add!

Word Count: 4.003 again, like the first part, idk why but that’s so satisfying to me.

Genre: MUCH ANGST SUCH WOW, royal!au, rivalkingdoms!au, loverstoenemies!au

Hope you all enjoy it, loves! And anon, I hope this lives up to your expectations! Stay safe and healthy, and take care of yourselves for me 💚

Jeno gets done with writing his notes down with an exhausted breath through his nose.

The conference is stretching out and it is only the first day out of the three. There are demands from every monarchy aimed towards him and his rule. Every single letter that leaves his mouth is a step on the mighty thin ice that is the peace between the nations, one that must be protected at all costs, and he recognizes that. And he tries to meet everybody’s needs and wants. Figures that is the least he can do to ensure the continuity of this peace.

But in reality, he knows most people in the room would like to tear his monarchy apart in pieces if they were given the opportunity. That intimidates him even though he tries to hide the fact that it does.

As years go on after the war he expects the requests to get lighter. But they do not— if anything, they get heavier and even more challenging to provide. Even though he gets further into his life as the primary ruler and collects more experience.

And if there is anybody that gives him a particularly difficult time, it is you.

He has to watch you every year. He has to watch you stand up from your seat and take a deep, heavy breath as you link your hands and shut your eyes momentarily before proceeding with your speech. He has to see you do anything and everything to avoid looking at him as you speak up about what the monarchies and the governments must do to ensure the safety of peace the upcoming year, word out your opinion on the political problems that are the agendas for the session and your share of possible solutions that are up for a debate, and see the way you look forward frozen in place as you talk about the matters that regard his kingdom specifically. Even when you talk about the espionage, and the soldier you still could not hand over to his rule since his judicial process was yet undecided, you would not look at him. Never. Not a single time in years.

Yet, he cannot take his eyes off of you. Not for a single second, watching you as you act like the powerful and strong monarch he always knew you would come to be. It makes him proud.

The only thing— person— that pisses him off is the King. The man that took your hand in eternal marriage months, almost a year ago now, that was once your personal guard. The King that was once his friend, the only man outside royalty and his staff that he could share a laugh with, as well as a heart-to-heart conversation. Jeno does not hate him. But he hates the fact that Donghyuck gets to sit next to you and deliver speeches with you in this conference, and he hates that he can do it so well— matching your, a person who was born into the royal world, level of knowledge and confidence after such a short amount of training and education when Jeno had to pave the way for himself with his nails and teeth from day one. He hates that he gets to eat with you and see you from the moment you awake to the moment you go to sleep.

But when he finishes taking his notes and the conference goes into a break with the tired sighs leaving nearly everyone’s mouths, he can see you make your way to the doors opening to the balcony after a couple of words with your husband. Who, to his great surprise, does not accompany you because, to his great pleasure, a representative starts speaking to him.

Jeno knows this would be the right moment to talk to you. To tell you. Because you deserved to know.

So he follows you promptly, grooming his attire before making his way out.

The palace guards open the door for him, and he can already spot you, leaning on the parapet slightly. Your hair sways with the ocean breeze. He takes a second, not more nor less, to watch the way it does, because it is the most peaceful sight he has seen in a long time.

And then he walks over to you with his hands placed on his back. There is a growing tension as he does, he can feel it, but he feels fine. He is in control of every atom in his body. You, not so much. He can basically see the way you stiffen up when he stands beside you.

So he tries to ease you into the conversation. Jeno puts a smile on his face, partly because he finally gets to talk to you after all the years. “It’s a pretty day here,” The contentment is apparent through his words. He does his best at trying to sound welcoming but it still feels weird to be talking to you directly after all this time.

“It is.” Your voice sounds colder than the winter nights he spent traveling through the roads to get to you and your secret meetings. The signal gets across— you do not want anything to do with him. Hell, you sound more enthusiastic in the conference room doing politics.

Jeno knows you do not want to have anything to do with him. If it ever came to your defense, you had made that much sure when you spit the words take your men and never come back with all the disappointment and spite onto his face years ago, on that faithful night that ultimately caused all of this to happen according to the butterfly effect. But he does not give up on the opportunity to speak to you. Even if it will make you feel uncomfortable.

Because he knows how it feels when you do not get the news beforehand.

With a breath for starters, he turns his head to face your profile. You look so familiar, he smiles. “I need to tell you something, if you would hear me out.”

Either his words hold a weight to them heavier than he would ever like to make them out to be or you are so sick of him that you want him out, out of this area of peace or out of this world; out of your eyesight and out of your heart and mind because the way you breathe is almost concerning. That is, if he had not known you like the back of his hand still. You nod, and Jeno sees your eyes fixed on the harbor, where a carrier ship is being loaded. He can remember setting foot onto the pier during the war with his father.

It was the very place his father had smiled to him genuinely for the first time, and had landed his heavy hand on his shoulder, before telling Jeno how proud he was of him and his strength. He remembers having actual conversations during dinner for once, about what they would do with the land and how they would develop the towns and such without his father shutting him up even once. That very harbor was the first place Jeno’s father had listened to him and what he wanted. The first place he had acknowledged him as his son that needs to be heard rather than the Prince who needs to be educated and trained until he is perfect, and it was not even their home.

And then Jeno had given the city up as an area of peace once the war had ended shortly after his father’s passing. It seemed like the right thing to do although he knew his father would not have liked it.

Lost in the nostalgia of everything, the need to look into your eyes grows bigger. “Can you look at me as you hear me out then?”

Although he is very impatient, he relaxes the words as he speaks them out. He wants you to know that he respects your choice, even though love is not prominent in whatever it is the two of you have. And if your choice happens to be pretending like he is not there as you let him speak to you, that is fine too.

But you turn your face to look at him. Like the good monarch you are. Ready to face the past and the present and, as being a monarch demanded, the future.

But he sees something falter immediately. Truthfully, he sees many things falter immediately. He sees doubt and longing and nostalgia that is much like the one he had been experiencing just now. The look in your eyes are like ancient ruins to him: it looks so familiar, he knows what it means, yet it is impossible to make it into what it once was. Jeno chuckles even though he tries to help himself not to, because he sees it.

There is some sort of care in you for him still. Even after everything.

He almost feels this giant lightness, something so big it can swallow him whole, wash over him, but he brings himself back to the world so quickly that it is like the feeling never even existed. If anything, this made things harder to tell.

It is a pity that he cannot bring himself to care all that much, but he internally justifies it by telling himself you had not showed him half the mercy he has been showing you, months ago. “I’m to be wedded this winter.”

Shock covers your eyes. The kind that tells him you are clearly dumbfounded. But that only lasts for a few seconds before he sees it shift into hurt, and your breath hitches as the look in your eyes shifts. “Oh.”

The shaky response pulls a string on his heart only you can pull and it is hard to not give into it; maybe, just maybe, he would have given into it, had you not turned your face away from him back to the harbor before he could. It gets him feeling somewhat angry, though. He was being considerate of you, and he was being considerate of what you two had in the past, and he was being considerate of your right to know. All three of which you had not been considerate of when it was him that should have listened to you, and now you would not even face him after facing him. After showing him you can do it. He cannot understand that. “With all due respect, your Majesty, haven’t you been married for months now? I cannot understand your response,” He calls you out with every bit of frustration in him, laughing lightly in the hypocrisy you seem to be showing. “Especially when I’ve taken the time to tell you about it.”

“Everything was over with, I wasn’t obliged to tell you.” Your attacking defense comes just as he finishes what he is saying, but he can tell that even you do not believe yourself all that much. There must have been a mutual respect. Jeno would like to believe that you too had loved him magically and wonderfully like he feels he had loved you, and if you did, then there should not have been an excuse for him to not know until it happened.

With his own fair share of hurt now, he turns to look back at the town he once ruled, with his once-lover. But he does not dare drop his hands, or his shoulders, or his smile— like his father had taught him. If you stand straight enough, you will be strong. If you keep your head high enough, you will be stronger. And if you smile long and hard enough, nothing and no one will be able to break you, my son.

As he looks down he wonders if the shoemaker remembers him, because he is wearing his shoes today. Actually, he is wearing the pair that used to be his father’s. He had never used them or cherished them the way his son did, whereas Jeno had made sure he wore them until they lost any shape they held.

“Who are they?” His ear perks a bit at your question, and he looks at you from the side of his eyes, smile widening ever so slightly. “A princess,” He figures you would like the answer instantly. “From one of the state kingdoms. You must’ve seen her at least once, but I hardly think you know her name.” Maybe you did, but he would not bother telling you. You would be learning about her soon enough.

“Do you love her?”

Everything stops. You stop breathing, his heart momentarily stops beating, the world seems to halt.

Do I love her the way I loved you? No. Never. That is really hard to do, and for that matter, I do not think I will ever be able to love someone like I loved you. I may have kissed her, but never have I once ever got the same sparkling feeling on my lips or the warm feeling in my chest like I did with you. I may have hugged her, but not once did I feel like she would be able to catch me the way you did if I fell. I may have sobbed in front of her, but I never gave her the key for the lock on my mouth and just let her hug me into her chest as I kept everything inside— sometimes you inside. I may have danced with her, but only because she makes it easy to dance with the way she moves around. I may have let her sob in front of me and listened to her struggles, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not listen to her struggles as deeply as I had done with yours. I may have shared my body with her, and accepted hers, but only because she is in love with me and has told me herself that she is ready to accept me the way I am; once too in love to ever be in love again. But I care about her enough to take her hand in marriage and have children with her, because she might be the only one to love me ever again, and I respect her for it. “I presume we can say that. She’s the bearer of my child— the heir to my throne, after all. That must mean something.”

Jeno only looks at you again because of the deep, aching breath you take and the intense inhaling sound it makes. Your face is once again turned away from him, not even looking at the harbor anymore, just anywhere but him. Your body shivers only for a short amount of time, maybe a few seconds, before it stops and when it does, he can see your eyes from the side.

He knows that look. He would know that look anywhere at anytime, even if he forgot his own name. It is the same look you had given him when you looked at him for the last time. Hurt, broken, betrayed and so, so disappointed. And this time you would not look at him. “We could have been amazing.”

The way you say it, and the way your head tilts slightly in disappointment before going back to how it was, makes Jeno feel like a monster.

Because he feels the same way. You really could have been amazing.

He could have been the one to properly ask you to marry him, because with Donghyuck he was sure you had asked first, even though he once asked you in private, and you had asked him also. He could have been the one to hold your hands at the altar and to tell you he would love you day and night and in sickness and health and would have meant it. He could have kissed you in front of the thousands of guests, he could have been the one prompting the thunderous applause that followed, the one that he had learned from one of his close friends that cared enough to call him to tell him about it— your wedding. He could have cried after seeing you in your beautiful attire.

Jeno could have taken the oath with you. He could have taken a knee before you with the cape around his shoulders and the crown on his head. He could have hosted many royal balls with you, to dance with you again and again until you hated dancing. He could have gotten lost with you in palace gardens to reminisce the old days. He could have imagined the idea of having heirs with you, and he could have grown old with you.

He could have made you happy. He could have taken you to the forests he knew you loved more than anything, he could have played snow fights with you in the never-ending snow, he could have gotten lost in the library countless times with you as you read novels. He could have played guitar to you, and serenaded you with moonlight hitting your cheeks. He could have dragged you to the palace kitchen and the two of you could have made your own meals with all your staff, making them laugh with the way you act— dancing, singing, laughing, smiling, kissing, putting sugar instead of salt, stupidly in love— and at the end you could have had grand meals with your staff and their families. Could have established a festival celebrating your love and the unity of the two of the biggest reigns.

But that is the point. These are things that could have happened. Amazing is something the two of you could have been, not what you were supposed to be. He had his duties, and he had his family, and he had his people that he had to protect. The same went for you. And during the war, your stances were different from one another.

So it was maybe for the best that what once was ended when it did. Maybe, if what could have been  actually came to be, it would have gone worse, like his father had suggested him. Maybe the two of you would have used one another, like his father had suggested him. Maybe you would betray him, like his father had suggested him— and you did, because you acted like he never existed. Did not tell him anything, did not look at him, threw your experiences out the window just like that.

Maybe, just maybe, his father was right.

Yet, if he was, why did Jeno feel like the world was against him and he was all alone? Truly, and utterly alone, save for the soon-to-be queen?

He watches a tear run down your cheek, and sees you biting at your lip, and he thinks why? Why are you so upset by this? Are you really all disappointed? Did you have the right to be?

Jeno keeps on smiling. If he smiles long and hard enough, nothing will be able to break him.

The balcony doors open, and he knows who it is that is coming. This scenario has happened many times already, before he was the King but a guard, and usually he would tell you either that he had spotted royal photographers nearby and that you have to move, or that things were starting to get suspicious, anything of that sort. But now he did not know what Donghyuck might say or do, which is unsettling to him.

Without even making his presence known first, Donghyuck places a hand at your waist, and Jeno notices how you do not get surprised. “Dear,” He does not see even a bit of the discomfort on your face that you had on your face when he first approached you. Jeno is incredibly envious of that, and he must be glaring at your husband, because he turns to look at him in such a way. He can feel Donghyuck accusing him of screwing everything up yet again, and he can hear him asking what is wrong with him, what part of ‘never’ do you not understand?

Donghyuck looks at him only for a flash, but Jeno understands what he has to say.

He sees you lean against him slightly. “Shall we go inside? We can go get you something.” No, do not go yet, not now. I want to make things right with you.

If he only knew that he would never be able to do it.

You actually nod at Donghyuck without much consideration, which is almost bad enough in itself, but then you hold his hand, which seems to just emphasize everything Jeno did not like— and everything that once made him feel bad. And it infuriates him to see.

But it should not. Because he does not love you anymore. You cannot break him if he does not love you anymore.

He watches as you leave, wanting to be relieved, yet not quite able to feel that way. And he hates to admit it but there is hope in him, flickering in his chest much like a candle light in the wind, when you turn back around to him with Donghyuck.

“Send an invitation for us, too,” You say to him. Gentle and kind, and strong, despite your disappointment and hurt. Slightly, he sees you raise your chin a little to keep your composure as well, and he thinks of his father’s words. How true they are. “Our monarchs must be better than abandoning each other on their best days. Let us host you in our palace once honeymoon is over, which I hope is enough to make up for my mistake.”

It is not, he thinks. It is not enough. How do you expect me to come to your palace, where so many of our memories of love— kissing, hugging, listening to each other, seeing each other, looking deep into each other’s eyes, whispering sweet nothings and sometimes all that we know will keep the other one going, hiding from the photographers and the guards and your family and anyone who can catch us, adoring each other, cherishing each other, making love to each other, dreaming of the future will haunt the two of us, and be there with my wife that knows I will not love her fully like I did with you, and your husband that you have a deep enough relationship with that you give in to his support? How do you expect me to sit at the same table with you, knowing you told me to never come back and yet you invited me back? Knowing you would not even look into my eyes after all this time no matter how much you try? How do you expect me to look at you and see you when you will not do the same for me and expect it to be enough in return for your erasure of me and our memories?

He sees you smile, and once again you are eye to eye with him. “And if you do not, then I wish all the happiness to you and the queen, your Highness.”

You blow the flickering light in his chest.

Not your Majesty, no. You do not call him that, the title for the Kings and the Queens, and any primary rulers, but instead you call him your Highness. The title for the heirs. The name you would be calling him years ago, before he did any of what he did, before the two of you became what you have become.

You remind Jeno, with a sure and firm voice, that you do not, and you will not recognize the person he is today.

And when you turn your back and proceed with your way inside amongside Donghyuck, he cannot help himself as his shoulders drop— ruining his perfect posture for the first time since whoever knows how long.

Suddenly, Jeno cannot find it in himself to smile anymore.

[ramblefang]

Runaway Raccoon; BNA ep.1

Preface

Just finished watching the first episode of BNA, so I now I’ll be writing my first impressions of it. And I’ll endeavor to do this for the whole series. It’s not exactly my first time trying this sort of thing, but I’m still inexperienced with it, so this might get messy. But, as is the intent with this blog, I’m just here to Ramble on about stuff anyway, so a mess is to be expected.

Before getting into the actual episode, I want to note that I’m only mostly going in blind. I’m primarily watching this after seeing stuff for it show up on my dashboard, so I know the names of the main characters (who haven’t yet been properly introduced) and a few general themes of the show. I also know that it was made by Studio Trigger, and I’ve been a fan of some of their anime (including Gurren Lagann, which I understand to be by many of the same people, even if it was under a different studio), so that will probably affect some of my thoughts on things.

Opening

Things start out with the opening, which sounds silly to say, but many shows don’t actually start with the OP, preferring to leave it until the end or the second episode—I assume it’s to not “spoil” introductions to the characters. Starting with the OP right out of the gates strikes me as preferring to set the tone, as well as showing off style and aesthetic.

As for the OP itself, I mostly noticed how the setting is very much “our world,” especially with the pseudo-branding. All of that is apparent through the episode as well; I particularly remember the pseudo-Red Bull stall that Michiru bought a drink from. I’m not too knowledgeable about music, so about all I can say is that I thought it was a bop—well, also that it kind of reminded me of “Bad Apple” for some reason.

Animal Rights

The episode proper starts with Michiru trying to get money from an ATM in a nondescript hallway. A lot of attention is paid [by the camera, not Michiru] to a poster next to the ATM celebrating “Animal Rights Day.” Next, some ruffians also come down the hallway, prompting Michiru to hide while they spray-paint something hateful over the poster.

Just this cold open hits pretty hard in light of the protests that have been going on this year. As far as I can understand just from this scene, Beastmen (the “Animals” in “Animal Rights” I assume) gained their own rights somewhat recently—certainly recently enough for open bigotry and racism to still be rampant. With the way the ruffians were armed and the message they left, we can assume that Michiru wasn’t overreacting and genuinely would have been danger if she was caught. And in light of this year’s protests—what started them and some of the reactionary response—I can’t help but feel like this sort of situation isn’t too far from present reality; it’s at least certainly very real in our history.

Speaking of protests, we also see some news about that sort of thing. Apparently people aren’t happy about Beastmen getting their own district? With this information juxtaposed with the previous scene, I’m led to believe that these people aren’t protesting segregation and desiring unity. I’m pretty sure these protesters don’t want Beastmen to have anywhere to live. Or, at the least, they don’t want resources to be spent on the beastmen, but that amounts to the same thing.

En Route

While Michiru “catches a bus,” she pulls out her phone to watch a video about the place she’s traveling to: Anima-City. It reminded me a little of the introduction to the city of Zootopia; though the context is very different. (Anima-City being the refuge of an underclass, whereas Zootopia is the pinnacle of city life.) Something strange about this video is that it seems to be from a pharmaceutical company, not a government body. Is the company the same thing as the government here? And pharmaceuticals specifically worries me a bit: makes me think of attempts to “cure” the beastmen.

Oh, somehow I haven’t mentioned it yet, but I can’t help but think of the beastmen from Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann and wonder if they could actually be the same. It’s been a while since I last watched TTGL, so I can’t quite recall how the politics around the Beastmen went and whether or not this BNA setting could fit in with it.

Anyway, before the video can finish, Michiru gets attacked by, what we learn to be, “beastman hunters” who specifically hang around routes to Anima-City. One of them even has the gall to say that they’d puke if they keep seeing more beastmen around there, but they’re the ones actively looking for beastmen to hunt! These people could just let the Beastmen be in their own city and not worry about them. Again, I still have our very real protests and history in mind: of lynchings and genocide.

Thankfully, Michiru is saved by some other beastmen. My first response to this fight though were concerns about the oppressed group were clearly being presented as powerful and threatening and how that may translate to reality (my head still being in that space and all), but then I caught myself thinking that and remembered to actually pay attention to context here. This is clearly righteous self-defense regardless of how rough they get with these hateful bigots. Beyond that, it’s simple catharsis to see the oppressed being able to fight back.

The leader of Michiru’s saviors is named Marie, and Michiru is apparently savvy enough to understand that Marie would be expecting payment. It’s an uncomfortable situation honestly. The way that Marie’s group were able to fight to protect her suddenly hangs over Michiru as a sort of threat. Though, I guess Marie had intended to ask for payment after ensuring Michiru’s safe passage to Anima-City, so it’s just the exchange happening here that makes it seem especially threatening. Still, this grift makes clear beastmen aren’t perfect people either.

Now that I’m thinking about it, this sets up for the mercenaries that show up in the final part of the episode, showing how money can still lead Beastmen to harm one another, to varying degrees.

I wonder how Marie will fit in later. I do recall her showing up in the OP, so I imagine she has a bigger part to play. Maybe she has some sort of connection to Shiro.

Festival

(Ugh, this is going longer than intended with me trying to recap stuff. This method probably isn’t sustainable for me. Just try to make your points!)

Michiru’s entrance to Anima-City was quite unexpected. It honestly doesn’t make much sense if you think about it too literally; instead, it’s totally about getting certain feelings across. I think we’re supposed to get the idea that despite Michiru being a beastman herself, as an outsider, she still finds the idea of a place entirely filled with beastmen intimidating (especially given what we learn about her at the end of the episode: her having been human). And it also impresses upon the audience that beastmen can be legitimately threatening and even terrifying; I imagine they’ll continue to play with that idea going forward.

There’s also that wolf on the rooftops that Michiru sees. I wonder if that’s actually Shiro? The colors seem about right, and Shiro is a wolf himself. And I think the OP hinted at them being able to transform into more feral, four-legged forms? I don’t think we see such a thing directly, but there were some shadows that I remember.

Anyway, Michiru’s fears are cast aside once it’s revealed that everyone was just gathering for a festival and that they weren’t actually gathering to attack her or something. Michiru is able to let loose and just be herself: no need for a cloak or scurrying into vents.

Political Intrigue

After the mayor of Anima-City—the same person we saw on the video earlier who is also probably connected to that pharmaceutical company—shows up on a big screen to talk about the festival being a celebration of the city’s 10th anniversary, we cut to her in a call with the actual mayor of the city. I have to remind myself that despite the name, Anima-City is just the “beastman district” of a larger city. Of particular interest from this conversation is the mayor saying they can have this district so long as they don’t prove to be “dangerous”. The thing is that it’s entirely up to the human government whether they are “dangerous” or not; I imagine they can spin anything to make the beastmen out as dangerous or even fabricate something if necessary.

I figure the mercenaries and their terrorist attack on the festival could be connected to those sorts of plans. I also took note of the way that the mercenaries used guns and Shiro didn’t. I wonder if that will be something to clue the audience in to who has connections with humans and/or anti-beastmen sentiment.

Ideology

Lastly, I want to take note of the differing ideologies between Michiru and Shiro. Shiro has a very black-and-white view on things: beastmen good, humans bad. Shiro is also likely willing to kill people to fight for his ideals and to protect what he cares about. Michiru has a more nuanced view of there being good humans and bad humans, good beastmen and bad beastmen. But she also comes off as having a naive ideal of nonviolence in defending these people whose attack could have (and maybe actually did) hurt a lot of people at the festival. To be fair to Michiru though, it’s not really right for Shiro to be judge, jury, and executioner here. He’s already incapacitated them, and I imagine there are more proper ways to handle these terrorists than offing them in an alley.

Still, my current impression is that neither of their perspectives are meant to be “correct” right from the start. I imagine they’ll have to learn from one another. Regardless, I hope things end up being more about institutional powers being bad rather than leaving things at just individual people being bad. Like, even if there ends up being a main villain to defeat, I hope that villain serves to represent the power of their position rather than the villain being a uniquely evil person.

Closing

Okay, I think that’s all I have to write about the first episode. Honestly, I’ll probably need to work on Rambling less, because I don’t know if I can keep up with writing so much every episode. I had been thinking of doing these daily (with some breaks in the week maybe), but maybe I’ll do an episode every other day if this is the sort of thing I’ll end up with.

[eldritchsurveys]

957.

5k Survey LIV

2751. What's the most interesting assignment you ever had in school? >> I’m not sure. I hope people realise that my last moment in any kind of school was in December of 2005 (and my last moment in high school was June of 2004). I can barely be arsed to remember anything from 15 years ago unless it’s trauma-related. 2752. What's the most interesting thing you ever had to do for work? >> I thought working as a merch seller for local bands was very interesting. I had a lot of fun. 2753. Do you feel: insignifigant? unable to evoke change? like one person can't change the world? like one life and one person's suffering doesn't mean very much? If you answered yes to any of those can you describe why in detail? >> I, personally, feel insignificant fairly often, but that doesn’t extend to thinking that other people are also equally insignificant.  2754. Do you feel like you could contribute as much to society as ____ has? Albert Einstein: Abe Lincoln: Franz Kafka: Jesus Christ: >> Just because I already have self-esteem problems doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and consciously make “do you have as much worth as these people” comparisons. 2755. Are you aware that your brain is the same size as Albert Einstein's brain? Do you realize that you have the same number of hours in a day as Abraham Lincoln? Did you know that Franz Kafka wrote all of his amazing litterature during his lunchbreaks at work? Did you know that we are all made of matter and that you are made of the Same Thing that Jesus was made of? Do you still believe that you couldn't contribute as much to society as they did? If yes than WHY? >> This is an immensely irritating line of questioning, I hope it’s over now.

2756. Is your mind in the gutter? >> My mind is not in the gutter. 2757. What do you have to complain about? >> Whatever I want to complain about. 2758. Do you remember rock n' roll radio? >> ... Yes? Pretty sure it still exists, regardless. 2759. Is there such a thing as a food that you burn more calories from digesting than you actually absorb from it? >> I don’t know, try google. 2760. Hey, if you've gotten this far than you and me go way back. We've been hanging out for a while now and I gotta know..do you like me? >> --- 2761. What are you doing, Dave? >> --- 2762. As far as love goes do you feel it is better to become complete before looking for someone or find someone who completes you? >> People are already complete, despite however they may feel about themselves. I don’t understand what it means to look for someone who “completes you”, that sounds immensely absurd to me. So I guess I can’t really answer this question except to say “I don’t think people should be thinking about relationships in these terms...” 2763. What attracts you about the opposite sex (or same sex, or both sexes)? >> --- 2764. Do you need people or do you not need anyone? >> Of course I need other people. The fact that I have an attachment disorder is a direct result of my inherent need for other people’s love and support going repeatedly ignored. Even besides that, I need other people to physically survive, because that’s how ecosystems work, and believe it or not, we are still part of nature and beholden to its cycles and systems. 2765. Is selfishness always bad? Is selflessness always good? >> No. 2766. Do you feel like your life is being controlled by a power structure? >> Of course certain elements of my life as a social creature are controlled by power structures. 2767. Can you name three things in society that send the message that being completely yourself and that looking inside yourself and contemplating what's within is a good thing? >> Sigh. 2768. Can you name three things in society that send the message that materialism and the accumulation of stuff is a good thing? >> The entirety of capitalism. 2769. What is more important, a picture or it's frame? What is more important, spirituality or religion? >> These questions truly do get more baffling as time goes on. 2770. How many definitions can you come up with for the wword 'fuck'? >> I don’t have to come up with definitions, google is right there. 2771. Is it less offensive when a black person says Nigger than when a white person says it? Why or why not? >> The context in which a Black person says it is often a far different context from the one in which a white person says it. So, yes. It usually is less offensive by default, unless the Black person being addressed is uncomfortable with the word even when used in a friendly context. 2772. Do you rationalize often? >> Rationalise what? 2773. Do you believe that america is an imperialist nation? >> I mean, yeah. 2774. Would you agree that: hot topic is the new abercrombie? pink is the new black: you are the new you? >> *stares dully* 2775. Do you have more internet or real life friends? >> I only have Internet friends. 2776. What IS the feeding of 5000? >> The what?? 2777. What's an easy way to make money? >> I don’t know. 2778. What's your favorite slang word and what does it mean? >> I don’t think I have a favourite slang word. 2779. Are you uncomfortable? >> Slightly, because of noise issues. 2780. Is anything definate besides death and taxes? >> Taxes aren’t definite for everyone, but death certainly is. I don’t know what else is that predictable. 2781. Would you rather live fast and die young or live slow and die old? >> Living slow sounds nice to me. However it ends. 2782. Can you name 4 people who have committed crimes against humanity? How do you think they live with themselves? >> Probably, but I don’t feel like it. I don’t care how they live with themselves. 2783. If you could imagine, pure fantasy, any God you could concieve, how would you want God to be? >> I can imagine any god I want to imagine. It’s really not that hard, there are already so many to choose from, even if just to use as a template. 2784. do you think the smashing pumpkins have a strong christian theme? >> I don’t know, I’ve never paid a whole lot of attention to their lyrics. Their songs just sound pretty. 2785. Do you think this survey has a strong christian theme? >> I didn’t think that. I hope I won’t have cause to think it in the future. 2786. Fill in the blank for yourself" Give me ____ or give me death! >> --- 2787. Have you ever heard of the USA patriotism act? Apparently they have passed laws making torture legal. Also the FBI can sneak and peek into ANYONE'S home. They don't have to ask or even tell you they were there. This is already the law. So, whaddaya think? >> I mean, yes, I know that. I live here. 2788. The people in power step all over the average citizen, trying to secure all the power and money for themselves and leave us with no rights and under their control. They have the audacity to do this because they know that we will not lift a finger to stop them. Are they right? >> I don’t know if they’re right or not. I’m also not sure what the fuck powerful-ass finger you think we common folk all have. 2789. The Free State Project is a plan in which 20,000 or more liberty-oriented people will move to a single state of the U.S. to secure there a free society. They will accomplish this by first reforming state law, opting out of federal mandates, and finally negotiating directly with the federal government for appropriate political autonomy. They want to be a community of freedom-loving individuals and families, and want to create a shining example of liberty for the rest of the nation and the world. What's your opinion? Could this work? Why or why not? >> Didn’t a bunch of libertarians want to do this at some point? Anyway, I don’t know if this could work or not. I don’t know nearly enough about any of the elements involved to have an informed opinion about the feasibility of this kind of project. It does sound plenty audacious, though (and way too vague). 2790. Have you ever seen the Neverending Story? Remember when Bastian has to prove his worth by looking in that mirror where you see yourself the way you really are with no pretenses, rationalizations or mental lying? Could you stand yourself if you looked into that mirror? >> I do remember that, vaguely. I wanted to rewatch this movie but then I didn’t get to it in time and HBO took it down :( Anyway, I don’t know if I could stand myself if I looked into a mirror like that. I can’t conceptualise what that experience would actually be like. 2791. What is soilent green? >> Oh, you know. (That’s another movie I’d like to rewatch, in fact.) 2792. What are you proud that you have never done? >> *shrug* 2793. What things are hopeless? >> *shrug* 2794. What Are People For? >> Making Soylent Green out of. 2795. What book do you feel could change someone's life? >> Any book could change someone’s life. 2796. Didja ever want to just walk up to the Bush administration and ask them, 'What the fuck?' >> No, I wasn’t really paying much attention to the administration during that time because I had a lot of personal issues taking up my immediate focus. But from what little I remember about it, it’d be a valid question to ask. 2797. How do you take your coffeee? >> Decaffeinated. 2798. Have you ever played: paintball? lazer tag? which is better? >> I’ve never played these. 2799. In what ways are you lucky? >> A lot of ways, I guess. A lot of fucked up shit has happened, but a fair amount of strangely fortuitous stuff has happened, too. Guess something has to even the other shit out. 2800. If Jesse Jackson wants reparations to be given to black people because he thinks that black people don't have equal opportunities in this country than why does he drive a Jaguar? >> “Black people don’t have equal opportunities in this country” is still a fact of life no matter what the fuck kind of car Jesse Jackson drives. Focusing on his personal “success” or whatever like that is just a diversion from the heart of the matter.

[sweetsweetnathan]

A Plea, and an Outburst (Robyn x Yugiri)

[Yugiri and Robyn travel to Ul’dah together in order to secure funding for Yugiri’s ever-mysterious operation. About 2200 words.]

(Chapter One)

(Chapter Two)

(Chapter Three)

Robyn leaned against the wall of the Royal Promenade as Yugiri paced back and forth and the carpet. "You're quite nervous," Robyn mumbled. It had been a week since he completed the last of the acupuncture sessions and he was at least able to speak comfortably again, if do little else. He found himself slouched and brooding more often than usual, with the upside that he was less nervous that before and the downside that he was also less happy, angry, and driven than before. Trading in ambition for tranquility was the life goal of many philosophers, but exactly the opposite of what he wanted to do with himself. In these periods of unprecedented introspection he had the opportunity to give serious thought to Yugiri's challenge. Yugiri had asked him if magic was all that he was. In his mind, Robyn answered "Yes, obviously!"; if magic allowed him to act how he wanted to act and do what he wanted to do, then Robyn's magic and Robyn's "self" were the same thing, in Robyn's opinion. But that answer revealed itself to be a bitter self-condemnation. Finding himself talking less, thinking more, and lacking the energy to reverse that state of affairs, Robyn realized how frequently he had been resorting to his most immediate, powerful emotional reactions to make his decisions for him. His vindictive resistance to Yugiri's authority was evidence enough of that. So when he was called forth to accompany Yugiri on her meeting with the Sultana he decided it was time to prove that he was also a person that could hold his tongue if he had to. "Today the Sultana will decide if our operation receives further funding," Yugiri said in the tone of a babbling lunatic, "funding we need if we are to actually go through with it. So we need to convince her that it's a worthy endeavor. That means briefing her on what we plan to do and assuring her that we can do it." Yugiri was certainly talking to herself more than to Robyn. Robyn had never once see her this nervous. Or any amount of nervous. Combat didn't make her tense. Debate didn't spur her into passion. But for some reason leaving her mission's fate in the hands of a bureaucrat had her absolutely quaking. "Why?" Robyn asked, "Why all the pacing? Why all the fear? She gave you funding for the headquarters. Why wouldn't she fund the operation itself?" "Oh, a number of ridiculous reasons," Yugiri answered, staring off into space. Before her eyes was a constellation of bad experiences with Ul'dah's government with which Robyn was only tangentially familiar. She began to describe them: "Initially I asked the Sultana to finance the entire operation. In order to position herself as the 'pro-Doman' representative of Ul'dah she agreed to fund it... But the amount she dedicated was nowhere near enough to actually go through with the operation. I made a judgment call and directed that money towards troops and equipment-- yourself included-- rather than attempting the operation on a piddling budget. It never mattered whether the operation was of strategic merit to the Alliance, to the Sultana it's just one splinter in one plank of her massive political platform." Robyn scowled and nodded, "I see. So we just have to convince her that the mission itself is useful to her." "Indeed," Yugiri's voice was dark and heavy with disbelief that such a thing was possible. There was a thought behind her eyes, a shinobi instinct, that Robyn had seen flash in the eyes of her subordinates. He recognized it as a brief surge of treacherous ideation. Ninjas like Yugiri were spies and assassins and, as Robyn had learned over the last three weeks, usually peasants elevated from their station in order to carry out high-risk operations like the one Yugiri was preparing. When they became good enough at their work, however, a dilemma presented itself: What does a peasant really owe a feudal lord? The feudal lord owns the land under the peasant's feet, but only because they have the military power to enforce that "ownership". If the peasant is a good enough ninja, why can't they just kill the lord that asks too much of them? Ninjas are specifically trained to kill nobles, aristocrats, and other members of "high society" no matter how much military might they surround themselves with. How does one control a ninja? Furor faded from Yugiri's eyes as quickly as it flared up. The answer lied in Yugiri's own personal philosophy, which Robyn discerned even though she never talked about it. If a ninja can't be forced to work for a lord, then the only option for a lord looking to make use of skilled ninjas was to inspire their loyalty, rather than their fear. Once Robyn realized this fact, he saw its evidence everywhere: the Empire's ninjas were mercenaries brought over from Doma with no loyalty beyond that which they had to money. The Alliance had a similar relationship to its ninjas, but constant tension existed between these foreign soldiers and their aristocratic wardens, who had a long history of prioritizing oligarchical economics over justice for their lower classes. Robyn could not say where or not Doma had secured the loyalty of its ninjas, but he could be sure that they had succeeded in that endeavor more than the Alliance currently was, as evidenced by Yugiri's brief instinct to use her ninja abilities to find a less scrupulous way of securing the Sultana's funding. "Mr. Sawyer. Ms. Mistwalker. The Sultana will see you now." - The lavish, brightly colored silks of the Sultana's chamber made the pair stick out like a pair of potatoes in a jewelry box. Robyn and Yugiri both wore their ninja gear to the meeting, Yugiri having convinced Robyn that looking readily militant and capable was an important appearance to keep up. The more Yugiri worried over details, the more Robyn worried that securing funding would be impossible: The Sultana wasn't going to be convinced by scraps of cloth or martial force. The anxiety politics caused Yugiri was leading her to wishful thinking. Robyn knew that the only cloth the Sultana respected was money, and the only force she respected was compound interest. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sawyer. Ms. Mistwalker. I understand your operation has yet to begin, yet you still require more money. Why is that? Did we not agree the original amount pledged was sufficient?" Robyn immediately wanted to stand up and, in some way or another, react to this highly political language. "Of course she agreed to whatever pathetic amount you pledged her. You hold all the power and she has no choice in the matter. Don't act like you don't know how little you did for her. Don't act like it's charity for you to listen to--" Robyn bit his tongue and breathed out through his nose before he said any of this. Meanwhile, Yugiri reacted far more diplomatically, saying, "This is true, and I apologize that I need more from you. But the operation cannot commence with the current funds." "Hmmm," the Sultana tapped her finger as if she was thinking. As if she didn't already decide on what her answer would be. "In order to responsibly make use of the Ul'dahn treasury I must know, Ms. Mistwalker: What return on investment should Ul'dah expect from this operation?" "I... I'm not sure I understand the question, Sultana." The Sultana was quick to clarify: "I mean: What material benefit does Ul'dah stand to gain from this operation?" Yugiri was uncomfortable with the question. She was a military leader, not a political one, and her instincts to that effect were overwhelming. Yugiri's purpose was to fight for the Doman people, and no action taken in the service to that cause required excessive meditation or explanation. When it came time to prove the economical worth of the Doman people to another country, Yugiri was practically a fish trying to climb a tree. Ironically, Robyn could think of a number of ways to justify investing in Yugiri, even though he was still in the dark about the specifics of the operation. But speaking for her would undermine the goal if the meeting, Robyn knew, as well as stunt his efforts to contain himself. "If the operation is not carried out," Yugiri collected herself enough to respond to the Sultana's question, "everything Ul'dah has invested up to this point will go to waste." The Sultana responded without a moment's hesitation, "Mm. That, Ms. Mistwalker, is what we in the Alliance call the 'gambler's fallacy'. It is the belief that any investment, no matter how misplaced, can be justified by the potential it has to yield results. It's a fallacy because not every investment will yield results. And one has to be ready to recognize when that time comes." Robyn felt Yugiri's heart sink. For the Sultana to even hint at withdrawing her support felt like a death knell. But there was something more bothersome about the situation than just the feeling of inevitable defeat: The way the Sultana addressed Yugiri felt wrong. Robyn had watched Yugiri fight, and train, and lead... And here was this soft-skinned aristocrat lecturing her about how little value her cause had. And besides... "...It's the 'sunk cost fallacy'." Robyn said it before he realized. But having said it he felt compelled to finish the thought, "What you just described is the sunk cost fallacy, not the gambler's fallacy, Sultana." There was a moment of quiet as the room acclimated to the sound of the Sultana being corrected. The Sultana was a woman of poise, however, and simply tilted her head and asked, "Do you know why I invited you along with Ms. Mistwalker today, Mr. Sawyer?" "No." Robyn said. He felt strange. His blood was beginning to pump like it did when he had aether coursing through him. His mind felt alive and his vision felt sharp. Suddenly conforming to his whims wasn't seeming like such a bad idea, especially when his whims were in agreement with his conscious mind: "The Sultana," Robyn decided in his mind, "is useless." "You are here because i need a second opinion on Ms. Mistwalker. My administration has suffered quite a bit because of her and her people. You just spent three weeks with her that you could have spent serving the Alliance elsewhere. Have you anything to say on the subject of her operation's financial viability?" Robyn took the question, processed it in less than a second, then sighed. "Damn," he said, "here I was hoping I'd get to interrupt you in order to address that very thing. See, the thing is, I think you're asking the completely wrong questions here. And that's impressive, because you've asked a lot of questions." The Sultana asked yet one more: "What is your point, Mr. Sawyer?" "My point is, Sultana, that if you ask Yugiri to justify herself based off of all the questions you can think to ask, then she'll only be allowed to show you what you're willing to see. Here's a question for you, Sultana, that I think you need to ask yourself: What happens if General Raubahn dies?" The Sultana finally showed a crack in her poise, blinking and pausing before saying, "Pardon?" "The General is the most experienced commander you have. If the Empire launches a full scale invasion, he's the one who will be in charge of repelling it. So what if he gets assassinated? Everyone from Ul'dah to Garlemald knows who he is and how valuable he is. So what's the plan if he dies? Do you think there's a factory out there producing great generals?" The Sultana, to her credit, seemed to be actually considering what Robyn was saying, even as he shifted in his seat to say it more intensely, "No, and even if such a thing existed you probably wouldn't fund it. Because what return on investment would it give? A soldier doesn't make Ul'dah any money. Ul'dah can't exist without soldiers to defend it, but I guess you can't see that. Let me tell you the correct answer to my question, Sultana: If you think General Raubahn will die tomorrow, you prepare by funding Yugiri's operations today. You could have funded them properly last time, but I guess you got off lucky that the Empire didn't invade between then and now. And now you lucked out again, because here's your second chance to put your money where it's really needed: There is no commander on this continent more qualified for military leadership than Yugiri." - Robyn and Yugiri left Ul'dah in a caravan loaded down with boxes upon boxes of gil and supplies. Their trip was a quiet one in which both contemplated what Robyn had said, as well as the reality of the impending operation. They did not speak until they arrived back at the headquarters. "Thank you for saying those things," Yugiri said to Robyn before pausing and adding, more softly than before, "Did you mean it?" Robyn answered readily, having anticipated a question like this since they left the city, "That's 'what I am'. Even without magic to make it easy for me. So, yes. I could not have said anything else.”

Yugiri averted her gaze and said, "Thank you." "Think nothing of it," Robyn said. "Listening to that pompous aristocrat fill the air with her self-serving rhetoric was painful. I didn't want to see such a person defeat you, who came so close to defeating me." Yugiri seemed to trip in place at this comment. "'Close'? I seem to recall I defeated you quite soundly." "Hmmm, I'd have to disagree. You backed off when I threatened to blow us both up." "You--!" Yugiri was prepared to have an actual argument before she realized Robyn was smiling. A few weeks ago this taunting would have infuriated Yugiri. Perhaps a few weeks ago it would've been meant to infuriate her. But what Robyn previously said with a scowl and an aside glance he said with a smile. Yugiri smiled as well. "Now Yugiri," Robyn said, "about this operation... I think it's about time you told me precisely what we'll be doing."