#preliminary examination

[forensicfield]

Preliminary and Confirmatory Test for Semen

Semen is a bodily fluid secreted by males for the purpose of reproduction. Semen may be divided into two components for forensic purposes: seminal fluid and spermatozoa. Seminal fluid is a protein-rich bodily fluid that is produced primarily by the....

Continue reading Preliminary and Confirmatory Test for Semen

[newsepick]

UPSC postpones ESE 2025 to allow aspirants more ‘preparation time’ – Check new Prelim, Main exam dates

The Union Public Service Commission (UPSC) has postponed the Engineering Services Examination (ESE) 2025 to give candidates more preparation time, following changes in the recruitment process for the Indian Railway Management Service (IRMS). The ESE preliminary exam, originally set for February 9, 2025, will now take place on June 8, 2025, with the main exam scheduled for August 10, 2025. A new application window will be open from October 18 to November 22, 2024, allowing both new and existing candidates to update their details. A correction window will also be available from November 23 to November 29, 2024.

[discotxt]

*El Bigo Mistako*, lieutenant!

[mrindpolitics]

Sarkari Result: UPSC Combined Geo Scientist Exam 2024: Important Dates, Eligibility and How to Apply

Sarkari Result: UPSC Combined Geo Scientist Exam 2024: Important Dates, Eligibility and How to Apply Union Public Service Commission (UPSC) has announced the Combined Geo Scientist Examination 2024, offering a total of 56 vacancies. Interested candidates can apply online from September 20, 2023, to October 10, 2023. Here’s what you need to know: Important Dates: Application Start Date:…

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room. 

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand. 

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly. 

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table. 

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?" 

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body. 

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?” 

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?” 

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed. 

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile. 

"A table for two?" 

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...” 

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.” 

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.

[viviennevermillion]

The Sedative

✧ notes: i have a serious dan heng fic in the works too i promise, in the meantime, take this light-hearted crack fic

✧ summary: after you got hurt in the battle on the xianzhou, the doctors need to do an endoscopy on you. still under the influence of the sedative when you wake up, you think it's a wonderful idea to call dan heng and make your feelings clear to him.

✧ now playing: accidentally in love — counting crows

✧ warnings: reader is high on meds, talk of medical procedures, we're a little cringefail

Dan Heng had dedicated his afternoon to reading his newest book when the call came. Perhaps it was to distract himself from worrying about your health despite the fact that the doctor had said during the preliminary examination that you were most likely fine and that this was just a safety check-up to make sure that your organs were okay after you got wounded in your most recent fight. He knew that you had been worried about both the procedure as well as the results and he, as well as the rest of your friends from the Astral Express, had made sure to calm you down and reassure you that this was a routine examination and something that the doctors had done hundreds of times. Still, Dan Heng could only truly rest once he knew that you were awake and well.

Himeko and March had taken you to the doctor's office today for the endoscopy and he hadn't heard from them yet. He knew a little about how these procedures went; after all, he had read about them in the archives so he could rationalize any fears you might have and support you. He knew that you were likely going to suffer from short-time memory loss right after waking up as well as being a little bit out of it. So when his phone rang, he expected it to be March and Himeko; as they had promised to keep him updated on your condition and he didn't expect you to have your phone with you in the recovery room.

He picked up without looking at the screen, surprised to hear your voice instead. "Dan Heng?", you asked in a tired voice, making sure that you hadn't called the wrong number. "Yes, it's me", he confirmed in a soft tone, glad to hear from you, "how did the procedure go? Are you discharged from the hospital yet?" His heart sank because of worry when he heard your response to the question. "I need you to come here", you made it sound urgent, "I need to tell you something."

"Are you okay?", Dan Heng asked, his heart beating faster. "Can you be here soon?", you asked, "I'll explain everything then, I promise." Dan Heng asked if you were still under the influence of the sedative. You said no. You felt fine. A bit of Midazolam had nothing on you! Your thoughts were clear as day and they were telling you that it was wonderful that you were alive and well and you should appreciate every moment; especially those spent with Dan Heng! Life was too short to not confess your love to him right here and now! But that was a conversation to best be had in person.

"I'll be there in a bit", Dan Heng confirmed and rushed over to the hospital as fast as he could, calling Himeko and March on the way. They didn't pick up. When he arrived, he asked for you at the front desk. The nurse looked up to him. "Are you Dan Heng?", she asked with a sigh. "Yes?", Dan Heng responded in confusion, his voice still laced with uncertainty and worry. "They've been asking about you for the past 10 minutes", the nurse seemed so done with you but that didn't deter Dan Heng, "here I'll show you where the recovery room is; maybe you can get them to stay on the bed because they've repeatedly tried walking out of here when they're supposed to rest for at least 30 minutes after the procedure."

Dan Heng looked at the nurse in surprise. "They said they're fully awake and no longer affected by the sedative", he explained. "Oh I'm sure they think that", the nurse chuckled, opening the door to the recovery room, "sorry if they made you worry. The procedure went well, nothing to worry about." Dan Heng let out a sigh of relief and the nurse left him alone with you.

As soon as you saw him, he swore he could see your eyes light up like you had just seen fireworks explode across the night sky on your birthday. "Dan Heng!", you called out excitedly and tried to get up from the bed on your unsteady legs. Dan Heng hurried over to you. "No, no, you need to sit down and rest here for a bit", he reasoned and gently sat you back down on the bed. "What are you doing here?", you asked with so much wonder in your voice, "it's such a nice surprise to see you!" Dan Heng couldn't help but let out a soft laugh at seeing you in this state. "You called me, don't you remember?", he chuckled and sat down at your bedside. You looked surprised. "I did?", you asked and pulled out your phone, checking your call history, "wow, you're right! I don't remember that!" "I can see that", Dan Heng mumbled, shaking his head. He noticed that your voice still sounded a little slurred.

"Where are Himeko and March?", Dan Heng asked. "Went to get food for later", you yawned, "they told me to call them when I'm done!" "Well did you call them?" "I forgot", you giggled. "That's okay, I'll just send them a text...", Dan Heng sighed, wondering what he had gotten himself into, "how are you feeling?"

"Better, now that you're here", you smiled at him like a lovesick puppy, "but 'm a little cold." Dan Heng took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. "Better?", he asked. The response was you wrapping your arms around him and slouching against his body, closing your eyes with a tired yawn. Dan Heng froze. The only other time you had been this close to him was a group hug March had pulled all of you into. Still, you weren't in your right mind and Dan Heng didn't have the heart to just push you away. After all, he didn't even mind the affection. It just caught him off-guard. He supposed he'd just let you rest against his shoulder for a while until your head was clear again. Unfortunately for him, you were very talkative.

"You're so pretty", you cooed, nuzzling his neck, which made Dan Heng's cheeks flush. That was how it started. You were far from done. "I think your dragon form is so cute; you have little horns and everything", you giggled, "you're so beautiful, both on the outside and in your heart. Can I braid your hair?"

"B-braid my hair?!", Dan Heng stammered and had to blink a couple of times and gather himself to even process what was happening as you went on with your little rant. "Yeah. Your hair looks so soft. The Xianzhou doesn't know what they're missing", you exclaimed confidently, "you're the bravest person I know and you've come so far and I'm so proud of you!"

Your words sounded so confident and Dan Heng's heart was beating out of his chest. Was this really how you thought about him? Or were you just talking nonsense? Just when he thought that you were done, you decided to continue because you, according to your own words, had "a lot of thoughts about him".

"Your smile is so precious", you explained, scrolling through the gallery on your phone for evidence, showing him a picture that March took where he was actually smiling, "like, I mean, look. You're like the sun. You brighten up the day of anyone you smile at and you make me so happy." Dan Heng's face felt hot and he cringed at the awkwardness of the situation, despite the fact that you were very far from noticing it. You just looked at him with pure and unconditional love and Dan Heng didn't know what to do about it. It made his heart flutter and gave him hope there was truth to your words.

He eventually snapped out of it and held your shoulders, looking into your eyes. "I think you should rest a little... we can uh... talk about this later", he took your hand and squeezed it gently, "please rest. Can you do that for me?" You nodded.

"Okay. Please go out with me."

Dan Heng buried his flushed face in his hands, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation. I should just stop questioning this kind of stuff, he reasoned with a sigh. "I will. I promise", Dan Heng said softly as he pushed you back onto the mattress carefully and rubbed your upper arm in a reassuring motion. "Can I have a forehead kiss?", you asked with a quiet voice, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Did you have an ounce of an idea what you were doing to his poor heart? Probably not.

But Dan Heng couldn't deny that it was endearing to hear you speak about him so affectionately. He leaned over to press a light kiss on your forehead, closing his eyes and noticing how warm your skin felt under his lips. "There. Happy?", he chuckled, still holding your hand in his. You gave him a tired nod, drifting off into a short nap not soon after.

"Dan Heng?!", he heard March's surprised voice behind him not soon after. He turned around to gesture to keep her voice down. "What are you doing here?", she asked with a confused expression, looking at his flustered face, "your face looks weird." "Thanks, March", Dan Heng replied dryly.

He decided to stay by your side for a little longer and accompany you and the others to grab lunch. After all, he probably should be there to reassure you when you inevitably realized what you had said to him. Dan Heng smiled at how peaceful you looked, knowing he was close by to take care of you. There really was nothing for you to worry about. He was looking forward to your date as much as you were.

[queeranarchism]

Feel like this should be getting some more attention.

"Now, an investigation by the Guardian and the Israeli-based magazines +972 and Local Call can reveal how Israel has run an almost decade-long secret “war” against the court. The country deployed its intelligence agencies to surveil, hack, pressure, smear and allegedly threaten senior ICC staff in an effort to derail the court’s inquiries. ...

It is this spectre of prosecutions in The Hague that one former Israeli intelligence official said had led the “entire military and political establishment” to regard the counteroffensive against the ICC “as a war that had to be waged, and one that Israel needed to be defended against. It was described in military terms.”

That “war” commenced in January 2015, when it was confirmed that Palestine would join the court after it was recognised as a state by the UN general assembly. Its accession was condemned by Israeli officials as a form of “diplomatic terrorism”. ...

On 16 January 2015, within weeks of Palestine joining, Bensouda opened a preliminary examination into what in the legalese of the court was called “the situation in Palestine”. The following month, two men who had managed to obtain the prosecutor’s private address turned up at her home in The Hague. ....

“If Fatou Bensouda spoke to any person in the West Bank or Gaza, then that phone call would enter [intercept] systems,” one source said. Another said there was no hesitation internally over spying on the prosecutor, adding: “With Bensouda, she’s black and African, so who cares?” ....

after the ICC had opened a full investigation into the Palestine case, Gantz designated Al-Haq and five other Palestinian rights groups as “terrorist organisations”, a label that was rejected by multiple European states and later found by the CIA to be unsupported by evidence. The organisations said the designations were a “targeted assault” against those most actively engaging with the ICC. ....

A core ICC principle, known as complementarity, prevents the prosecutor from investigating or trying individuals if they are the subject of credible state-level investigations or criminal proceedings.

Israeli surveillance operatives were asked to find out which specific incidents might form part of a future ICC prosecution, multiple sources said, in order to enable Israeli investigative bodies to “open investigations retroactively” in the same cases.

“If materials were transferred to the ICC, we had to understand exactly what they were, to ensure that the IDF investigated them independently and sufficiently so that they could claim complementarity,” one source explained."

28 May 2024

[butchhamlet]

i said i was going to arrange a list of my favorite articles/criticism about shakespeare, so here’s my first little roundup! obligatory disclaimer that i don’t necessarily agree with or endorse every single point of view in each word of these articles, but they scratch my brain. will add to this list as i continue reading, and feel free to add your own favorites in the reblogs! :]

essays

Is Shakespeare For Everyone? by Austin Tichenor (a basic examination of that question)

Interrogating the Shakespeare System by Madeline Sayet (counterpoint/parallel to the above; on Shakespeare’s place in, and status as, imperialism)

Shakespeare in the Bush by Laura Bohannan (also a good parallel to the above; on whether Shakespeare is really culturally “universal”)

The Unified Theory of Ophelia: On Women, Writing, and Mental Illness ("I was trying to make sense of the different ways men and women related to Ophelia. Women seemed to invoke her like a patron saint; men seemed mostly interested in fetishizing her flowery, waterlogged corpse.”)

Hamlet Is a Suicide Text—It’s Time to Teach It Like One (on teaching shakespeare plays about suicide to high schoolers)

Commuting With Shylock by Dara Horn (on listening to MoV with a ten-year-old son, as modern jewish people, to look at that eternal question of Is This Play Antisemitic?)

All That Glisters is Not Gold (NPR episode, on whether it’s possible to perform othello, taming of the shrew, & merchant to do good instead of harm)

academic articles

the Norton Shakespeare’s intro to the Merchant of Venice (apologies about the highlights here; they are not mine; i scanned this from my rented copy)

the Norton Shakespeare’s intro to Henry the Fourth part 1 (and apologies for the angled page scans on this one; see above)

Richard II: A Modern Perspective by Harry Berger Jr (this is the article that made me understand richard ii)

Hamlet’s Older Brother (“Hamlet and Prince Hal are in the same situation, the distinction resting roughly on the difference between the problem of killing a king and the problem of becoming one. ... Hamlet is literature’s Mona Lisa, and Hal is the preliminary study for it.”)

Egyptian Queens and Male Reviewers: Sexist Attitudes in Antony & Cleopatra Criticism (about more than just reviewers; my favorite deconstruction of shakespeare’s cleopatra in general)

Strange Flesh: Antony and Cleopatra and the Story of the Dissolving Warrior (“If Troilus and Cressida is [Shakespeare’s] vision of a world in which masculinity must be enacted in order to exist, Antony and Cleopatra is his vision of a world in which masculinity not only must be enacted, but simply cannot be enacted, his vision of a world in which this particular performance has broken down.”)

misc

Elegy of Fortinbras by Zbigniew Herbert (poem that makes me fucking insane)

Dirtbag Henry IV (what it sounds like.)

Cleopatra and Antony by Linda Bamber (what if a&c... was good.)

[thescarletnargacuga]

I got a new fanfic ideas.

Human Caine realises that he’s gonna be a dad when he found out that his wife (human pomni) is pregnant.

I don’t know if that summery is good but at least I try.

A/N: ngl, I've missed the human au

EXPECTING

A HUMAN AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

WARNING: morning sickness, doctor visit

~~~

Pomni woke up feeling ill for the third day in a row, it was getting ridiculous. She kneeled before the porcelain throne with her disheveled hair in her hands, spitting up what little was in her empty stomach.

Caine came in with a glass of water and searched the medicine cabinet for some antacids. "You need to see urgent care today." He said with a heavy gravel in his voice from just waking up.

Pomni sighed and sat on the toilet lid as she sipped the water. "It's fine...it goes away later."

"It didn't go away yesterday." Caine shook out a few tablets and gave them to Pomni. "You could barely keep water down. You're going to the doctor. I'm not taking no for an answer."

Pomni had no energy to argue. She hadn't eaten in over a day and felt like she got no rest despite sleeping for over 10 hours. The antacids were at least helping her sore throat from the daily vomiting. She sipped more water as Bubble nudged the door open. The blue staffy sat right between her legs and pressed his nose to Pomni's abdomen.

Pomni pet Bubble, giving him the attention she figured he was begging for. "I think someone wants to come with us."

Caine spat out a glob of suds from brushing his teeth. "Bet he thinks we'll stop for a pup cup."

"Is that what you want, bud? You wanna pup cup?" Pomni rubbed Bubble ears.

Bubble's tail wagged and he pressed his face further against Pomni's abdomen.

Pomni hugged her affectionate fur baby, feeling better already. "We can stop for something on the way. Just because I'm not eating right now, doesn't mean you shouldn't." She looked at Caine.

Caine rinsed his mouth and trimmed a few wayward hairs in his beard. "I can't eat knowing you're this severely sick. The anxiety is killing my appetite. If you're ready, get dressed. The clinic should be open by now."

"Sir, yes sir." Pomni said light-heartedly. The lack of food made the nausea linger, but she powered through it. As lethargic as she felt, she wasn't dressing any better than a t-shirt and sweatpants. "I'll feed Bubble before we leave." She announced and went downstairs.

"Okay, I'll be down in a minute." Caine responded.

Pomni thought the simple task of feeding Bubble would be enough to keep her mind off the looming threat of another round of dry heaving, but the moment she opened the can of wet dog food she had to run to the sink. The water she just drank came right back up.

Caine could hear her all the way upstairs. He came down quickly, going to her to try and help, though there wasn't much he could do other than hold her hair back. "What happened?"

"The smell-" She dry heaved again. The dog food had never bothered her before, but now the very thought of it sickened her.

Caine looked at the half open can and Bubble standing up against the counter sniffing at it. "I'll take care of it. Try to drink water again once this passes. I'm starting to get worried about how hydrated you are."

With Bubble fed, the couple finally managed to pull themselves together to get going. Bubble happily jumped in for the car ride. Both tired and worried, no music was played on the ride to the clinic. Pomni clutched her water bottle, sipping from it.

Upon arriving, Pomni pet Bubble. "Stay here and keep him company. It's early enough that this shouldn't take long." She gave Caine a kiss and went inside.

Caine sighed and started scrolling through his phone to distract himself from his worry. "She'll be fine...stupid stomach bug." Bubble nuzzled his shoulder and he pet Bubble's head.

~

The waiting room was empty so Pomni was seen right away. After a quick preliminary check, she sat in an examination room. Eagerly awaiting the doctor. The nausea had thankfully subsided so she didn't feel like she was about to dry heave into the doctor's trash can. Being one of the first patients of the day, she didn't have to wait long.

A tall, heavy set man with a cheerful demeanor in a white lab coat entered. "Hello, I'm Dr. Kaufmo. How are you doing today?"

"Stomach hurts. I keep throwing up."

"Oh, dear. How long has that been going on? Have you been able to keep anything down?"

"Uh...since Monday, so three days? I couldn't eat at all yesterday. Haven't eaten yet today. It's just this persistent nausea that comes and goes throughout the day."

"I see. Have you been taking any medications? Have bowel movements been normal?" The doctor prepared to write down her answers.

"No and yes." Pomni answered tiredly.

"Is there a possibility you could be pregnant?" Dr. Kaufmo looked up from his clipboard.

That question hit Pomni like a truck. She hadn't even considered it. "Uh, well, I use protection."

"But you are sexually active?"

"...yes." Pomni answered with some trepidation. Like her having sex with her husband was supposed to be some kind of secret.

"Then let's go ahead and do a pregnancy test, just to get it out of the way. Have you had enough to drink to provide a urine sample?"

"I think so."

"Great. I'll have a nurse come get you when we're ready, shouldn't be a minute." He smiled at Pomni and put his pen away in his coat pocket before leaving the room.

Pomni covered her face with her hands, her cheeks burning. "Pregnant!?" She whispered harshly behind her hands. "We're not- I'm not- oh no..." She and Caine hadn't been planning for a child, not yet. They weren't ready. They could barely keep up with Bubble some days. They were both working to keep themselves financially afloat.

All the what ifs made her feel sick again.

The test was quick and easy, she got her answer in all of five minutes. "Congratulations, Mrs. Eden, you're pregnant." Dr. Kaufmo cheerily announced. "Now, since we now know what you've been experiencing has likely been morning sickness, I can prescribe you something for that. Be sure to drink plenty of fluids, and do try to eat when the medicine takes effect. I can also provide you with a referral to an OB-GYN if you need one. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Pomni could only breathe and shook her head. Being pregnant wasn't her worst fear or anything, but the unknown of what to do going forward was not helping her nausea. "No..I have a doctor...for that."

Dr. Kaufmo could see Pomni's fear and gave her a sympathetic smile. "Alright. I hope you have a good day, and good luck. Come back to see me if the nausea gets worse or persists through the medicine. I'll see you right away."

"...thank you, doctor."

"My pleasure. See the clerk on your way out about which pharmacy to send the prescription to."

"Yeah." Pomni made her way out to Caine and sat silently in the passenger seat. Bubble licked at her face excitedly.

Caine gently pushed Bubble back. "Down, boy. So, what did they say?"

"I'm pregnant." Pomni said it like it was a revelation to herself as much as it was to Caine.

Caine blinked, unsure if he heard her right. "What?"

"I'm pregnant." She repeated, meeting his gaze.

"With a baby?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my God."

"Yeah."

Once the shock wore off, Caine grinned ear to ear. "That's wonderful news! We're gonna have a baby!" He took Pomni's hand and kissed it. "A baby, Pomni. You're gonna be a mom."

"You're gonna be a dad." Pomni tried to share his enthusiasm, but her energy levels wouldn't allow it.

"I'm-...I'm going to be a dad." He said slower, like he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "How did that happen?"

That got a little laugh out of Pomni. "Guess, genius."

"Okay, I know HOW. Believe me, I know how." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "But, I mean, wow...this is so unexpected."

"I know. I thought we were being careful. Are we really ready for this?"

Caine gently squeezed her hand. "I don't know if anyone is really ready to raise another human being, but I promise to be by your side through this. I made a vow, remember?"

Pomni leaned on Caine's shoulder. "Yeah, I do."

"Exactly." He kissed her head and laid his cheek against her. He basked in a moment of silence with her before he spoke his stream of consciousness. "...we made life, Pomni. A little one."

"Not yet. They're still cooking."

"We're gonna have to clean out the spare bedroom and make it a nursery."

"That'll be fun." Pomni mumbled sarcastically.

"Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl? I hope it's a girl. Girl dads always seem to have the most fun. Oh my god, what if we have twins?"

"Jeez, I hope not." Pomni laughed.

Caine gasped. "We should invite the gang out to tell them! Oh, they'll be so excited!"

"Hold your horses, party boy. I am in no mood for a night out."

"Oh, right, sorry. Once you're feeling better, of course, but keeping it a secret is going to be so hard! I'm gonna be a dad!" Caine announced to the car. Bubble wagged his tail and lightly barked, feeling Caine's excitement.

Caine hugged Pomni across the center console. "I love you so much. I promise, you'll be great."

Pomni kisses Caine gently. "I love you too. We'll be great."

[alienpreg]

Fringe cases of men being impregnated are in the rise and can have many different effects and symptoms. Transformative pregnancy are seen to have the effect of causing pronounced feminine traits and reducing masculine ones. While many men are greatly distressed by these effects, a subset of transgender individuals find it to be quite cathartic.

Brittany is one such case as she was originally Bradford. His only recollection of the inciting incident was a woman he took home with him and her extremely aggressive sexual nature. After which the symptoms began manifesting rapidly. His body hair fell out within hours, his chest began to swell alongside his belly and his hips ached as the spread to accommodate his new womb.

The biggest surprise was that his male genitalia reminded, though shrank to only two inches in length with his testicles undergoing similar reduction. The initial panic was pronounced but somehow overshadowed by his embarrassment, which led to retreating into his home and cutting contact with a major of those he was close to.

The reports of his disappearance as well as several investigations into his home led to preliminary deployment of agents to find further information. Agents Cici and Camilla were able to report on Bradford's transformation into Brittany after calming them down. Before Brittany could be taken in for examination, they revealed that they had given birth twice before being found. The specimen had already escaped the home by the time the agents arrived, leading to a search of the surrounding area.

No results from the search turned up anything regarding the escaped aliens. Brittany has begun adjusting to her circumstance, her initial isolation working jn favor of the ACC as she could transition easily with little resistance from her loved ones. Bradford is publically listed as a missing person while Brittany is housed with the ACC in a civilian housing complex for those who are active in assisting the organization's endeavors.

[noybusiness]

Save Bugga!

People, please donate at least a little something if you see this; it's about saving a cat's health and life (as this condition will ultimately be fatal if it spreads) and it'll add up. Having lost my sweet Rumball recently to kidney disease, I hate the thought of anything serious happening to a cat when it can be prevented.

Below is the link and message from the creator of the GoFundMe. This is a housemate of a close friend of mine and my friend sees their cat every day, so I know for a fact this is for real.

(Oh, and I thought this goes without saying, but you don't need to tip GoFundMe itself when you donate, so please set the tip level to 0% and don't tip them anything if that would put you off from donating, just send the actual cat the money you want to send.)

"Hi friends!

Jaal [Bugga] was diagnosed with Stage III Peridontal Disease and requires surgery. With a grateful heart, I am humbly asking for help raising funds to help cover the cost of this upcoming procedure. I am just getting on my feet after years of my struggling with my own back to back surgeries, and my budget is very tight. Based on the preliminary examination, our vet predicts that he will need to have some teeth removed. The sooner Bug is able to have this procedure done, the more likely it is that the we can stop the disease from spreading so he may keep the majority of his teeth, and preserve his quality of life."

[sassenach77yle]

|| COUNTDOWN || SEASON 1 EPISODE 04 || THE GATHERING ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

Rupert surveyed Jamie critically, with an eye to the oatstraws in his hair and the stains on his shirt. I saw his glance flicker to the oatstraws in my own hair, and a cynical grin split his face. “No wonder ye’re late, laddie,” he said, digging Jamie in the ribs. “Dinna blame ye a bit.” “Willie!” he called to one of the men outside. “We need some clothes, here. Something suitable for the laird’s nephew. See to it, man, and hurry!” Jamie looked around, thin-lipped, at the men surrounding him. Six clansmen, all in tearing high spirits at the prospect of the oath-taking and brimming over with a fierce MacKenzie pride. The spirits had plainly been assisted by an ample intake from the tub of ale I had seen in the yard. Jamie’s eye lighted on me, his expression still grim. This was my doing, his face seemed to say. He could, of course, announce that he did not mean to swear his oath to Colum, and head back to his warm bed in the stables. If he wanted a serious beating or his throat cut, that is. He raised an eyebrow at me, shrugged, and submitted with a fair show of grace to Willie, who rushed up with a pile of snowy linen in his arms and a hairbrush in one hand. The pile was topped by a flat blue bonnet of velvet, adorned with a metal badge that held a sprig of holly. I picked up the bonnet to examine it, as Jamie fought his way into the clean shirt and brushed his hair with suppressed savagery.

The badge was round and the engraving surprisingly fine. It showed five volcanos in the center, spouting most realistic flames. And on the border was a motto, Luceo non Uro. “I shine, not burn,” I translated aloud. “Aye, lassie; the MacKenzie motto,” said Willie, nodding approvingly at me. He snatched the bonnet from my hands and pushed it into Jamie’s, before dashing off in search of further clothing. “Er … I’m sorry,” I said in a low voice, taking advantage of Willie’s absence to move closer. “I didn’t mean—” Jamie, who had been viewing the badge on the bonnet with disfavor, glanced down at me, and the grim line of his mouth relaxed. “Ah, dinna worrit yourself on my account, Sassenach. It would ha’ come to it sooner or later.” He twisted the badge loose from the bonnet and smiled sourly at it, weighing it speculatively in his hand. “D’ye ken my own motto, lass?” he asked. “My clan’s, I mean?” “No,” I answered, startled. “What is it?” He flipped the badge once in the air, caught it, and dropped it neatly into his sporran. He looked rather bleakly toward the open archway, where the MacKenzie clansmen were massing in untidy lines.

“Je suis prest”

he replied, in surprisingly good French. He glanced back, to see Rupert and another large MacKenzie I didn’t know, faces flushed with high spirits and spirits of another kind, advancing with solid purpose. Rupert held a huge length of MacKenzie tartan cloth. Without preliminaries, the other man reached for the buckle of Jamie’s kilt. “Best leave, Sassenach,” Jamie advised briefly. “It’s no place for women.” “So I see,” I responded dryly, and was rewarded with a wry smile as his hips were swathed in the new kilt, and the old one yanked deftly away beneath it, modesty preserved. Rupert and friend took him firmly by the arms and hustled him toward the archway. I turned without delay and made my way back toward the stair to the minstrels’ gallery, carefully avoiding the eye of any clansman I passed. Once around the corner, I paused, shrinking back against the wall to avoid notice. I waited for a moment, until the corridor was temporarily deserted, then nipped inside the gallery door and pulled it quickly to behind me, before anyone else could come around the corner and see where I had gone. The stairs were dimly lit by the glow from above, and I had no trouble keeping my footing on the worn flags. I climbed toward the noise and light, thinking of that last brief exchange.

“Je suis prest.” I am ready. I hoped he was.

Cap 9 The gathering ~outlander

[barricadescon]

We have our schedule for Barricades 2024!  Questions or comments about the schedule? Let us know! You can get in touch with us at this blog, or at our website!

Friday July 12

Track 1:

Welcome Session

The Cats of Les Miserables- Melannen

GOH Christina Soontornvat

The Yellow Passport-David Montgomery

Early Transformative Works- Psalm

Brick Readers Meetup

“Atonement”: A Theatrical Piece for 1 actor, based on Segments from Hugo’s Les Miserables.” - Alexiel de Ravenswood

Track 2

Fan Creators Meetup

Black and Pink National

Beat by Beat: A Les Mis 2012 Deconstruction-Eli

History Researchers Meetup

Saturday July 13

Track 1

GOH Jean Baptiste Hugo

Reflecting on Directing Les Mis-Cait

What Horizon: Tragedies, Time Loops, and the Hopefulness of Les Amis - Percy

Cosette: A Novel — The (Fanmade) Sequel to Les Misérables-Imiserabili

Barricades as a Tactic: How Do They Work?- Lem

Why is there a Roller Coaster in Les Mis?-Mellow

Obscure(-ish) Les Mis Adaptations To Watch-Pure Anon

Recovery: A Fanfic Live Read-Eli, Barri

Preliminary Gaieties-Rare, Percy,Barri

Track 2

The Fallibility of History in Les Misérables: A Look at Hugo’s Narrative Style-Syrup

1848 in Chile-Duncan Riley

Musical Fans Meetup

Fanfic Round Robin

Compared to Some People Grantaire is Doing Just Fine (No, Really)-Ellen Fremedon, Pilfering Apples

SUNDAY July 14

Track 1

Publishing, Podcasting & Promotion-David Mongomery, Alexiel de Ravenswood, Nemo Martin

GOH Luciano Muriel

The Unknown Light Examined-Madeleine

Revolutionary Rants: “Les Misérables” Onstage from an International Perspective-Tessa, Anne, Kaja, Marie, Apollon

Les Mis Letters: Building a Book Club-Mellow,Rachel

Closing Session & Dead Dog

Track 2

Femme/Butch: Dynamics of Gender and Attraction in Les Mis-Eléna

Lee’s Misérables: Jean Valjean, Confederate Hero-Sarah C. Maza

Musical Eponine and Grantaire in Song and Lyric Edits: Personal Research on Their Development- Ruth Kenyon

Paint & Sip-Psalm and Potato

Les Mis Singalong-Megan

[drjae69]

DOCTOR BONDAGE

Since you became a slave things have been a lot different for you . Not just the little things being kicked out of your bed and having to sleep in a crate now , constantly wearing latex all day long even in the sun , being furniture when ordered and of course, taking your meals on the floor in a bowl now. But now for your regular physical you had to visit a new doctor who specialized in seeing slaves like yourself . Her office was in a different part of town walking on all fours through those doors you wouldn’t pee around the lobby quickly, making eye contact with the other patients all in different states of bondage some rougher than other . When you had a chance you saw a man’s ass beaten, black and blue . As you waited for your mistress to fill out your form you looked at the wall, all reinforcing the power dynamic of mistress and slave. When they were ready for you were led into the examination where the doctor waited for you . Your mistress introduced you and she answered preliminary questions about you . Once satisfied, you were instructed to undress and climb up onto the chair and sit , Doing so you undressed, taking off your suit, but keeping your mask as asked by your Mistress and were restrained quickly to the chair tightly with belt restrains . She would firmly examine your naked body caressing and groping you and once satisfied would ask for the key to your cage. Your mistress would hand the key to the doctor and she would release you. Yours throbbing purple penis stood there erected now free to only be slapped with her whip. Recoiling you would sit there and anticipation for what would happen next . Once satisfied she would glove herself and grab a big black dildo strap on from her table and put it on.  She would tell you that she will now test your orgasmic reflex . She would proceeded to milk you friendly, gripping your throbbing penis tightly as she went while trusting into you with her dildo. You moaned and groaned as she went but when you did it she would whack you for it and shushing you to stay quiet as she worked. Then it happened after a long edging and teasing period you would finally blow cum loads onto her drapes and lab coat . Satisfied she allowed you to rest that she discussed further treatment options with your mistress. As you went flaccid she would fix the cage onto your cock locking it once more. Being brought down from the chair you and your business were walked out by the doctor and she talked with her. Home you spent the night as her toilet in the living room as she watched TV accepting her urine and stool albeit in a bag this time feeling it warm and disgust yet not tasting it . As you sat there you respond back to your session relieved that you were allowed it as next time you would be there it would be your Castration.



[misspermitted]

The fun thing about strategically masking rather than just going cold turkey, is that you spend a lot of your life workshopping when masking is worth it. It’s like an ongoing scientific theory. How and when to mask.

(And by fun I mean god I wish I was in a socioeconomic position where I could just unmask all the time. I’m so tired.)

So as evidence for my fellow masking scientists (I’m a humanities major), allow me to share my newly developed hypothesis:

Masking in Long-Term Jobs

Scientists know that the panic instinct to mask in a job interview and first few weeks of a job is strong, however, our hypothesis is that if you don’t need to mask to do the actual job, please consider resisting. Because the evidence shows that it really sucks to trap yourself in a persona. There are two observed phenomena that cause this:

Magneto’s theory from that scene in X-Men First Class that because Raven’s camouflaging she’s only paying half attention to everything else: Magneto is once again correct. The participant cannot fully focus on the job because they’re too busy masking for their coworkers. The outcome of this is massive frustration, exhaustion and eventual burnout.

Invitation to imposter syndrome: If you make any friendly acquaintances or get any positive reinforcement, evidence shows that you will feel like it’s not real. Participants describe being haunted by the idea that they are not an acceptable employee and/or person, only their mask is. Due to phenomena yet to be examined, this somehow leads to one believing their work actually sucks and they’re just pretending it’s good. This phenomena is objectively terrible. Participants in this experiment would not recommend.

Outliers to this hypothesis include the following:

Social service or customer service jobs: Job compliments are reportedly received fine, because masking is incredibly relevant to the ability to do the job well. Reported responses include: 🥰 oh thank you 🥰 I am trying to emotionally manipulate people 🤗 However, research also shows that the outcomes “burnout” and “exhaustion” are sooner reached by these jobs. This research is only preliminary and as of now it is unclear what phenomena cause this.

Jobs you’re just doing for money and you don’t actually care about: This is a false outlier. Autistic people never give 50% on anything. All evidence shows you will end up caring about this job.

The two current theories as to why Autistic participants can’t not care about their job performance are:

Holders of the “Autistic black and white thinking trait” are more likely to think they have a duty and responsibility to the job. (They don’t. We’re in late stage capitalism. You have no responsibility to any business.)

It is one of the behaviours that correspond to the Autistic core emotion: “desperate need to prove themselves worthy and superior because otherwise the damage they got for being different isn’t worth it.” (Other behaviours include: never giving self a break; always pushing self to do better; believing one is both the smartest and worst person in the room; fear and panic about doing something one could be bad at; and inability to sit with own thoughts.)

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return: Part 3

Chapter 3: Changes

Start From Beginning | Next Chapter | Table of Contents | Read on AO3

Characters: female reader x Portgas D. Ace Word Count: 3.2k

Ace was with you in your dreams, standing and staring at the sea. 

“Where do we go from here?” you asked, looking at him. 

His brows knitted together in confusion. “What do you mean? Dinner’s on the stove. The baby is still asleep, so-”

“The baby?”

Ace laughed. “Our baby. Don’t you remember?”

“I-” Canonfire in the distance cut off your sentence, and you could see fear all over Ace's face. 

“Go hide,” he said. “I’ll hold them off.”

You raced to the house in the distance; somehow you knew it was yours. You felt nauseous at the thought of being so careless. Of leaving your child alone. 

You were at the front door, stomach churning full of worry, when you woke with a start. Unfortunately, the nausea carried over from the dream. 

Ace woke to your clamoring over him, racing to the bathroom. You barely made it before you began dry heaving into the toilet, only bile coming up. You had thrown everything else up the night before. 

Ace quickly joined you, patting your back and holding you steady. 

“Y/N,” Ace said. 

“I know.” A pit formed in your stomach. You knew what was coming, knew how your life was going to change. “Let’s go see Marco.”

He gave you a smile of relief, thankful he wasn’t going to have to fight you on the matter.

But it didn’t really matter anymore. You knew what was making you sick. And there wasn’t a cure for it. Not an easy one, at least. 

The two of you walked hand in hand to the clinic, where Marco was working in his office. 

“Hi,” you said, smiling at him nervously. “You can run your stupid tests now.”

“You’re still sick?” Marco asked, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. 

“She threw up last night after dinner and this morning,” Ace answers, helping you sit on the examination table. 

Marco sighed, and you could tell he was disappointed that you let this go on for so long. “Any nausea?” He snapped on his gloves and prepared some vials for blood drawing. “Fever?”

“Yes,” you answered. “To both, I think.”

Marco raised an eyebrow, shooting a look at Ace, but Ace only shrugged. 

Marco handed you a sea prism stone to hold while he took your blood, and you suddenly felt very drained. The sea prism was the only way for devil fruit users to get their blood drawn effectively, but you still hated the process.

He hooked you up to a monitor, and gave you a liquid IV to help with your fluids, and then drew some blood from your arm. 

It was quick and painless, but you could feel your stomach churning with anticipation at the results. Your life was about to shift. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

A piece of you was still hopeful. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe you really were just sick. But on the other hand, a baby was something that you could be excited for. And dread. You weren’t sure which answer you hoped for, and you considered flipping Izou’s coin to find out. 

“Should have preliminary results in about two hours. So just rest and-”

“Marco!” A panicked voice screamed as a man entered the clinic, his eyes desperately searching for the first commander. “We need you. Now.” 

The urgency in his voice made your heart rate spike, and the monitor next to your bed began to beep excessively.

“What’s going on?” He asked, turning off the machine. An eerie silence covered the room for a moment. 

“It’s bad,” he said. “It’s Thatch. He’s-”

You didn’t hear the rest of it. You ripped the wires and tubes from your body and took off across the ship, sprinting as fast as you could across the deck. 

You followed the crowd, pushing your way through and burning people to force them to let you through. You were heading for the commander’s hall. The sea of people got thicker, but you continued pushing, pushing, pushing. 

Suddenly you saw Izou and Curiel standing in front of the crowd, blocking anyone from going any further. 

“What’s happening?” you yelled, trying to make your voice heard over the panic happening around you. 

“Turn around,” Izou said strictly. “Go back to the deck and wait.”

“Like hell!” you screamed, pushing past Izou. “Let me through! Let me see him!”

Curiel grabbed your arm and pushed you back into the sea of people. “Go back!” he shouted. “Just listen for once!”

“No!” you screamed, pushing again. This time when Curiel grabbed you, you turned your temperature as high as it could go, burning him the instant he touched you. 

You took the split second he pulled away to dart between the two men and broke through their barrier, rushing towards the commander's hall. Rushing towards Thatch. 

Fossa grabbed you as you sprinted through the common room, racing for Thatch’s room. You tried to burn him as well, but he resisted your heat with armament haki and held you firm in his grip.

“Trust me kid, just stay put.” His voice was tight, and it made you pause. You had never seen Fossa show fear or pain, but it was written all over his face now. 

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. “What happened?” you asked. 

Jozu and Vista emerged from Thatch’s room with solemn looks on their faces. They shook their heads. 

“He’s gone,” Vista said. “Looks like it happened last night. He’s been like that for a while.”

“Dude,” Fossa hissed, tightening his grip as you tried to break free.

“Let me go,” You shrieked, and everyone seemed to simultaneously realize you were there. 

“Fuck, kid.” Jozu’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here? How’d you get through?”

“Thatch!” you screamed, still desperately trying to pull free from Fossa’s grip. “Let me go! Thatch!”

Marco suddenly appeared behind you, and Ace following closely behind him. 

“Where is he?” they both asked, searching the crowd. 

“Marco-” Vista glanced over at you. “He’s in here. Let’s talk somewhere else.”

“How bad is it?” Marco asked. 

Vista and Jozu just shook their heads, and Marco’s entire body deflated in defeat.  

No. If Marco was giving up, then it was bad. Your heart rate drummed in your chest, sending your body into survival mode.

You kicked Fossa in the shin, and then punched him in the stomach. You knew you should’ve apologized, but you didn’t care. You only cared about Thatch. 

His grip slackened from the pain, and you yanked your arm out of his grip, dashing towards Thatch’s room. 

“No!” Jozu shouted, trying to grab you. But you were too quick, and you skillfully dodged away and in through the door. 

The moment you stepped inside, you could smell death. You froze, your blood running ice cold, but your eyes scanned the room. 

It was a scene of horror, you quickly realized. The blood across the mattress was dark and partially dried. And Thatch…oh Thatch. His once jolly and bright face was now pale and dull, his skin looking more like wax than flesh. Deep lacerations covered his entire chest, his shirt covered in tears and cuts. This was a personal and brutal attack. An attack against a person you loved so dearly.  

It was too late. You knew that. You weren’t stupid. The amount of blood alone was enough for you to know. Thatch was dead. He had been for a while.

“No,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes. “Who did this to you?”

You sat next to him on the bloodied bed, not caring about dirtying your clothes. Nothing mattered. Thatch was gone. 

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered, tears streaming out of your eyes and down your cheeks. “I think. Ace doesn’t know. We were about to find out, but then-” you choked on your words, starting to sob now. 

“Where is he?” Your father’s voice boomed as he stepped in the door. He saw you sitting on the bed, sobbing as you looked over at him. You quickly wiped your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. 

“Please don’t make me go.” Your voice broke as you spoke, your eyes silently pleading with him. “Please let me stay.”

Your father looked at you for a few moments, and then nodded in acceptance. 

He turned to the men at the door. “Everyone needs to report to their rooms and stay there until further notice. Commanders, enforce it. Anyone who disobeys is disobeying a direct order from me.” 

Fossa and Vista stared at you, waiting for you to move and follow orders. But you couldn’t move away from Thatch. You couldn’t leave him.

“She’s fine,” your father said. “Leave us.”

The men left you alone with your father, who said nothing as he watched you. 

It was all you could do to keep it together. You couldn’t start crying again. If your father had any suspicion you wouldn’t be able to handle this, he’d send you away. And you couldn’t leave Thatch. 

“He was alone all night,” you whispered. “Nobody even knew.”

“Curiel said he heard some commotion late last night.” Your father sighed, covering his face with his hand. “He just thought it was Thatch coming in drunk.”

He was crying. You had been around him enough to be able to tell from the slight change in his voice. But you didn’t say anything. If you spoke anymore, you probably would start crying again as well.

Instead, you reached out and grabbed Thatch’s hand. Even if he was gone, you wanted him to know you were here. 

That’s when you found it. A few black, wiry hairs, firmly gripped in his fist. 

You let out an involuntary gasp, pieces starting to click into place. You had passed the murderer last night, and he had said something about a dream. A dream that involved a devil fruit.

“Teach.” You breathed out. “It was Teach.”

Whitebeard stared at the hairs. “That’s a big accusation, Y/N. You might want to go off more than-“

“We passed him in the hallway last night,” you said. “He said something about being closer to his goal. He-”

You scanned the room, and then got up and began searching all of Thatch’s drawers and cabinets. 

“It’s not here,” you mumbled, your voice raising in panic. “It’s not here!”

“Y/N,” Whitebeard said. “What isn’t-”

“Thatch’s devil fruit!” you screeched, your hysteria rising. “His devil fruit is gone! The one he found!”

There’s no way Teach would kill for one fruit. There were plenty of them on the Grand Line. You had found one and offered it to him once before, but he turned it down. What could he want with a simple purple fruit?

“He killed-” you broke into a sob, unable to contain yourself, still slamming drawers as you searched. “He killed him over a fruit? No. No! There has to be more! There has to be another reason! His death can’t be so meaningless that it’s over a stupid fruit!”

You fell to your knees and covered your face and cried, unable to contain yourself. You could feel your body temperature rising, steam emitting from you. You could feel yourself gasping for air, just trying to breathe. The room was closing in on you.  

None of this was fair. Thatch was a good person. And now he was dead. There had to be a bigger reason. 

“Marco! I need you in here!” Your father called, and the medic rushed in. You saw him stagger at the door as he assessed the scene that laid out in front of him, and then he kneeled down next to you. 

“We need to get you out of this room, kid.” Marco said. His voice was even, but you could see tears in his eyes. “It’s not good for-”

“I can’t leave him,” you sobbed, pulling away from him and trying to crawl back towards the bed. “He never left me. I can’t- Marco. I can’t-'' You clutched at your chest, your breaths becoming low and rapid. You could feel yourself hyperventilating as you began to think about your future without Thatch. He had always been there. You didn’t know life without him. You didn’t want to.

You knew you had to calm yourself down. Slow, long breaths were what you were supposed to be doing, but you couldn’t get enough air to do them. If you kept panicking like this, you wouldn't be any help to anyone. And yet, Thatch was dead, and you felt like your heart was going to explode. 

“Ace,” you heard your father call, and your eyes waited at the doorway for him to appear. 

Ace suddenly appeared, his eyes focused on you. “Yes sir?”

Marco took out a needle and flicked it a few times. “This might pinch a little bit.”

“She’ll be fine. Go look in your division cabins for Teach,” Whitebeard said. “I want an immediate report.”

Ace nodded. You could see his eyes full of pain before looking back at your father. “Yes sir.”

You felt a small pinch, and the world went black.

--

Only a few minutes must’ve passed, because when you woke up, there was still chaos. You were now out in the commander’s common room, laying down on the couch. You kept your eyes closed at first, trying to listen for any reports. 

“Pops, I know what they both said they saw, but Teach is one of our oldest members,” Blamenco whispered. “And he was under division two. There's something to be said about-”

“Blamenco, son.” Your father’s voice was dangerous. “Be very careful about how you proceed with that sentence.”

“Well-” Blamenco stammered, trying to backtrack. “I wasn’t insinuating anything. I was just…”

“Division One is accounted for,” Marco said. You could hear his footsteps approaching you. “Is she awake yet? I didn’t give her much.”

“Not yet.” Ace’s voice was soft, and you almost flinched. You hadn’t realized he was there. “So every division is accounted for except for ours.”

“And only one person is missing from your division?” Your father clarified.

“Yeah. Teach.”

“I’m going,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes as you opened them. 

“Now hang on-” Marco said. “Nobody said anything about-”

“Teach didn’t follow the rules, and he killed a commander. He killed a brother.” Ace stood to his feet. “I’m going to make it right. I’ll be back soon.”

You grabbed his hand as he walked away, pulling him back to you. “I’m going,” you said more firmly. 

“I dunno, Ace.” Your father looked around the room nervously. “I think we need to let it go. I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.”

So did you, to be honest. Something felt off. But you had to get justice for Teach. If you showed even a sign of doubt, Ace would go without you. 

“We can’t let Teach get away with this,” you argued. “It’s our code. There has to be consequences.”

Your father frowned, looking at the two of you. “It’s a bad idea.”

“So Thatch will never get justice?!” Ace shouted. He was finally starting to crack, you could see it. But you wouldn’t comment on it until later, when you were alone. 

“Please, dad,” you begged. “The two of us can do it.”

Ace whipped his head around and looked at you, baffled by your words. “You are not going.”

“Like hell! Yes I am!”

“No. You’re not.”

“Yes I am!” You scoffed. “What happened to being equals like you promised?”

You saw your father and Marco shoot a look of “I told you so” to Ace, but they said nothing. 

Ace shook his head. “I’ll take care of Teach. I’m his division commander.”

“And I’m your strategist. So unless you have a plan, I’m coming.”

“I’d actually feel better if the two of you went,” your father admitted, but his eyes were directly on Ace. “Just keep each other safe.”

“Deal,” you said. You understood what he meant. Ace was reckless and preferred to do things the dangerous way. It would be up to you to protect him. You could do that. You would keep him alive, no matter what. 

The two of you quickly prepared a small amount of rations and clothes and grabbed a few thousand berries, and then you jumped into Ace’s Striker. You just had to get into the water, and then those results from Marco’s tests wouldn’t matter anymore. You could ignore them for another week or so. This would probably be your last mission for a while, but at least it was with Ace. 

“Let’s go,” you said, and you began to be lowered down. 

Marco’s eyes widened as he saw you leaving, realization hitting him. “Wait! Pops, hang on! Don’t let her go!”

“Stop!” Your father called. “Marco, what it is?”

The ropes stopped their descent. You knew if Marco saw those results, you wouldn’t get off the ship again for at least another year. You couldn’t bear the thought of Ace doing this without you. You needed to do this. For Thatch. 

You reached up and burned the ropes, dropping you and Ace down into the sea below. Ace shot you a confused look as the two of you struggled to hold on to the small boat as it collided with the water. 

“Did you forget we’ll drown if we fall in!?” Ace shouted. 

“Go!” you yelled back. Ace heard the urgency in your voice and immediately obeyed, roaring the engine to life and kicking the two of you off into the horizon. 

You couldn’t look back. You knew you’d only see disappointment, and people arguing whether they should stop you or not. 

You managed to keep your nausea under control, only throwing up over the boat once, so discreetly that Ace didn’t even notice it. It was clear he was deep in thought, his mind a million miles from you. 

The two of you were silent for almost half the day. It wasn’t until the sun was setting that Ace spoke.

“Wanna tell me why you burned the ropes?” He pulled out a sandwich and handed you half, but you declined. It didn’t feel right eating food that wasn’t made by Thatch, and you still felt sick to your stomach. 

You knew you had to tell him. It wasn’t fair to keep this information from him. Even if you could keep it from the crew, you couldn’t keep it from Ace.

And yet, you knew once he found out, everything would change. He would be angry and hurt, he may not even want you around anymore. You weren’t ready for the repercussions of that yet. 

“Marco wouldn’t have let me leave if he checked those test results. And I need to be on this mission. I need to-” your voice broke, and you couldn’t bring yourself to continue talking about it. 

The boat engine died, and you could feel Ace’s eyes on you, full of worry. “You’re really starting to scare me,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“It might be nothing.”

Ace bit his lip, clearly wanting to argue, but he decided against it. “There’s an island not too far from here. We’ll reach it by tonight. We’ll go to the clinic first thing tomorrow to have a doctor check on you.”

“Okay,” you whispered. A pit in your stomach formed, knowing you couldn’t keep up your facade much longer. You could only hope that Ace wouldn’t loathe you when he found out.

--

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