#somewhere between military and private security

[sgt-tombstone]

Marriage Fraud

John MacTavish and Kyle Garrick had gotten married at 15:00 on a Tuesday afternoon in October. There was little fanfare; the civil ceremony took place in the Register Office closest to base with Price and Gaz’s sister as witnesses. They had signed their names on the dotted lines with a flourish, had kissed each other through crooked, boyish grins, and that had been that.

John MacTavish and Kyle Garrick hadn’t dated for a single day prior to their nuptials, with the exception of a week-long drunken bet during basic that both of them had been too stubborn to back out of, and their engagement had lasted the legally-required 28 days. It was marriage fraud, plain and simple; the two men had met in basic training and had forged a brotherhood in between grueling days and sporadic nights, and then the pact was formed. Both of them had gotten thoroughly sick and tired of living in the barracks and relying on mess hall food and, without any long-term significant others to pop the question to, they had decided to take matters into their own hands. When they both passed SAS selection, both setting new records, it had seemed like a sign.

The marriage pact had been Kyle’s idea, so Johnny had been the one to propose, if his half-slurred, half-asleep suggestion could even be called a proposal, but Gaz had readily agreed and the next morning, they had burst into Price’s office, demanding both his blessing and presence at the ceremony. His eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline and he had nearly choked to death on his cigar smoke, but he had agreed to both nonetheless.

That had been over three years ago.

In the three years since, as they climbed the ranks from Private to Corporal to Sergeant, the topic of their marriage hardly ever came up. They wore their respective rings, both made from recycled bullet casings, on their right hands instead of their left, and they never mentioned it to anyone. If anyone wondered how they had gotten permission to live off base or why they commuted to work more often than not, no one ever thought to ask them, and they never volunteered any answers. They shared their house like roommates, respecting both each other’s privacy and dating lives, which were few and far between. Dating in the military was hard enough without being Spec Ops, so any relationship either of them ever had never lasted long enough for their fake marriage to ever be remotely close to an issue.

And then the 141 was formed.

It was a dream come true for both of them. They had both already been SAS under Price’s command, but the specialization of the task force brought a certain job security that ensured their continued cohabitation. The SAS’s base of operations was in Herefordshire, so that’s where Soap and Gaz had bought their house, but there had always been the threat of relocation to any of the other British Army bases across the world, and there was no guarantee that they would have been transferred together. The 141, however, was a cohesive unit, a permanent placement. Wherever one went, the rest were sure to follow.

The task force also brought Ghost.

At first, Johnny hadn’t given Ghost much thought, especially where his fake marriage was concerned. Ghost didn’t seem the type to concern himself overmuch with the personal details of his teammates, up to and including their sexual orientations, living situations, or marital statuses. He himself lived off base, courtesy of being a commissioned officer rather than enlisted, and never seemed to devote a first thought, much less a second one, to Soap and Gaz’s own off-base housing. More often than not, they were in the field anyway, which limited nearly every avenue of personal conversation and, after nearly four years of their marriage being little more than a technical detail on a form somewhere, both Soap and Gaz often forgot that they were even married in the first place.

So Soap didn’t think much of it when he started flirting with Ghost over the comms. Ghost was a scary son of a bitch, but that had always been his type, and he couldn’t deny that the mask did something for him. Hell, everything about Ghost did something for him. It had started as banter, really, but Soap loved to toe the line, and it was a slippery slope that he was all too eager to throw himself down. What was truly shocking was Ghost’s own willingness to play along. And then the flirting turned into… more. Turned into casual physical touch that Ghost would’ve slit anyone else’s throat for even thinking about initiating, turned into whispered promises in the backs of helos before missions, turned into kisses pressed into gloved knuckles and masked cheeks.

And suddenly, Soap realized that his marriage might be an issue.

His relationship with Ghost, while technically undefined, was by far the most serious and potentially long-lasting relationship he’d had since signing his marriage license. Most of the people he had dated over the years hadn’t been military and had quickly grown tired of the inconsistency, the missed birthdays and anniversaries, the lack of communication while he’d been on mission, and the lack of leave time in general. But not Ghost, because Ghost got it. Half of the time, Ghost was right there in the field with him. There wasn’t any inconsistency with them, no lack of leave time to grumble over, no shortage of communication between them, both in person and over comms. Their relationship worked for exactly the same reasons why his and Gaz’s non-relationship had worked for so long: they both understood.

And suddenly, Soap realized that, after four years of hiding a marriage to his best friend in the world from quite literally everyone he knew, he’d have to fess up. Not only that, he’d have to file for divorce, which was something that neither he nor Gaz had taken into consideration when they had signed their names in the Register Office all those years ago.

It all came to a head when Johnny got injured in the field. Nothing major, just a few broken bones and a hell of a concussion, but he had woken up to Gaz and Ghost sitting on either side of his hospital bed, Gaz’s clear contrition only matched by Ghost’s clear confusion. The first question out his mouth was why Gaz was listed as Soap’s next of kin and emergency contact, which snowballed into a full confession, corroborated by Price when he stuck his head in to check on Soap a few minutes later.

Ghost, after recovering from his initial shock, found the entire situation hilarious and, months later, after both the divorce papers and the new notice of marriage had gone through, took delight in calling himself Johnny’s second husband, which never failed to make any rookie caught eying the sergeant shake in their boots at the thought of what someone like Ghost did to Johnny’s first husband. Soap and Gaz still wore their rings, because they had always been more like friendship bracelets than anything else, and Johnny’s left ring finger was quickly occupied by a silver ring made from one of Simon’s ID Discs.

Gaz was disappointed about having to move back into on-base housing, but it didn’t last long because Price had been waiting for four years for his sergeants to figure their shit out and file for divorce so that he could make his move and he wasn’t about a waste a single second. And if anyone accused them of moving too quickly, well… they were all military men, after all.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Lovefool [dark!Konig x fem!Reader]

Konig gets to secure a little trophy from the battlefield. Hope you're in for a ride.

!TW! Kidnapping, Yandere themes, Dub-con, dark!Konig

Tags: Yandere, Dark Romance, colonel!Konig, dark!Konig, Size kink, Age gap(Konig in his thirties and Reader is in her twenties), Stockholm syndrome speedrun, Konig is a huge pervert, submissive Reader

You never knew who he was before he attacked.

Your teammates did – whisperers about KorTac getting on their tails, stories about their crazy psycho commander who could barely pass a word to his subordinates while smacking heads off trained men in full armor. Spooky tails for the recruits who refuse to train in their free time – something about “If you aren’t getting in shape by the end of the month, König is going to get you”.

You never knew who he was – you barely knew the organization you worked in.

Cyber security, lowly private military. They are hiring based on CV alone and didn’t ask for a fancy college and a few degrees in hacking that you could never get. They wanted experience, and you had at least a bit of it – you passed through basic training, never serving in the military before, but fine with promises of never actually going out in the field since you would be giving them intel and cyber support from the sidelines.

Well, they never told you that “the sidelines” would be 100 meters away from the actual battlefield.

You don’t even remember what the mission was about – something important, you guess, because they asked you to be here, on sight, computer in hand, and your comrades, with whom you barely talked outside of work, alongside you. Something about weapon smuggling, though you never actually understood if you were stopping it or doing it. Working in the middle of the European Union pays a lot, and it sort of counts as free travel – you’re somewhere in Germany, maybe on the border with Poland or Austria or Czech Republic. Nothing but fields of grass and occasional mountains. They gave you a riffle, a sidearm, and instructions to try not to get too wounded since they wouldn’t be dragging your body out of the field. S[read sheet with intel opened on your computer – you’re not their secretary, but at least they don’t want you to hack the Pentagon.

You heard screams from your tent: “KorTac”, “Compromised”

“König”

What was the weirdest thing – he was alone. A single man shouldn’t be able to take on a team of trained mercs, even as lowly as your company was. You all had weapons, armor, and means of at least taking him down as a group – and you were like a bunch of babies with toy guns on the playground when a pitbull came in.

Your leader fell first – you saw his head explode with a perfect shot right between his eyes. no one screamed sniper, but you still ducked under the field table, hoping that it would save you a few minutes of peace before you’d manage to delete all of the important files from your laptop. This was the protocol – if you are in the middle of dying, you need to first make sure that the enemy won’t get a hold of precious company correspondence and deeply personal photos of your cat.

You leaned forward to see what was happening on the field – you heard screams, you heard gunshots, you heard…

Laugh.

Deep, loud, the laugh that sounded both malicious and cheerful at the same time. It sounded like the man had a field day of breaking necks and stabbing his teammates. You've never seen so much blood on someone. You wish you never had.

Your teammates are falling like porcelain dolls when the elephant hits the kitchen, and you are trying your best to be a good little hacker and not let your company down before your inevitable demise. Turning on your laptop, waiting for whatever ancient version of Windows you had since the budget was mostly going into flashy guns and cool night vision headsets, you are getting ready to format all the disks when….

“The Windows update is in the process. Please, wait approximately 9 hours to complete”

Oh, hell no. You are not going to wait another 9 hours, you could barely survive for the next 9 minutes! Of course, naturally, obviously, you can just turn off the computer and get it off work because the files will get fried up and it won’t turn on again, ever. Which would still complete your goals, so…

— Come on, please…f-fuck, please, just let me…

“As a method of complete data loss prevention, Windows has disabled the ability to manually turn off your computer. Please, wait approximately 9 hours to complete”

— Found you, Maus.

Something – a hand, big, covered in the type of protection you never saw on your fellow soldiers – yanked your ankle, dragging you from under the table you were hiding under. The air stinks of blood and you involuntarily whimper, hands are going to grab the laptop. You need to smash it, destroy it, maybe just drop it hard enough on the floor, push it against the wall, and try your best to kick it enough to damage the disk and prevent KorTac from accessing the files.

The guy steps on your hand, taking the laptop away. You swear to god you hear a crack – you prayed that he would accidentally smash the laptop, but it was your hand under his boot.

— Hurts? Good.

You whimper as he carefully puts the laptop away, checking if it’s still working. He then returns to you – laying on the floor, fingers still shaking in pain, and attempts to grasp for the computer that was snatched away. There is nothing you can do – you have a gun, yes, and he has at least three guns and deadly man-bear hands, so even if you were fast enough to draw a gun before he would, he can just kick you like a puppy.

König – it’s him, it must be him, your teammates were screaming his callsign and talking about a devil who wears a sniper hood and has the height of a not very small tree – kicks you in the ribs, turning you from the side to your back, facing him. If you were stronger, you would do something cool – bite his ankles, for example. Or spit in his face as the last remaining tip of your dignity, before he would kill you or torture you or feast on your flesh.

— Verdammte Feiglinge, can’t even face your death like a man. Look at me, ja?

Crying isn’t a shameful thing to do. So, you cry. Soft little whimpers, sniffles, you are probably looking wet and disgusting, but you hurt, scared, and fucking tired and you want out of here, and you never actually wanted to be a soldier, and they all lied to you while promising to keep you out of the field, and this uniform is horrible, and you feel your tears soaking the half of bandana you were using as a face mask and…

He snatches the mask from your face. Look you in the eyes for long enough to make your whimpers even more audible. You can swear to god that his pupils were dilated. That his hands were shaking. You could see his eyes getting scrunched in that particular way that their owner is smiling – sincerely, openly, from the bottom of his heart.

— Please…p-please, be fast, I don’t know anything, I will…I won’t, I…

Rough, calloused hand goes to cup your face. The material of his glove is tough and soaked in blood as he smears it on your cheek, your fingers are going to wipe away the tears – you don’t understand what’s happening and you are even more scared, and your mouth is twitching in a terrified grimace. He pushes the tip of his finger into your mouth, making you suck on the blood and dirt of the fabric. You think you are going to throw up.

— Quiet.

You don’t understand why he didn’t kill you yet. He is touching your face, slowly, his one hand is enough to cover your entire head and you’re sure that if he’d want to just squish your brain like a rotten cabbage, he could just fine. He pushes his finger even deeper in your mouth and you lick it involuntarily because this is an intrusion and you have the brain of a two-year-old who sees the world through their ability to devour things, and his pupils dilate even more. He looks at your frown, your tears, and your lips wrapped around his finger.

He yanks you on your feet embarrassingly easy.

— You’re a hacker?

You blink a few times. Now, the protocol is that no, you can’t state who you are, If he knows that you are a hacker, he can take you away for interrogation, maybe torture you for passwords and the intel on your company, and being tortured isn’t something on your monthly calendar. Now, the protocol also states that you have to be able to die for your company, and…

He grabs your neck, lifting you – surprisingly gently, softly even, a hand supports your waist so you won’t be able to either kick him or get choked to death because of his grip.

— Answer me, Maus. I might have a reason to let you live.

You do want to live. Maybe not long, definitely not until you’re 100 years old with dozens of grandchildren, but being able to live past the next few hours and then days and then weeks does sound incredible.

— Y…yes. I’m a cyber security specialist.

He squeezes your neck more. Pushes you up, making you cough in your grip. You never experienced anything like this before – never had a guy strong enough to handle you like this. It would look cool from the side, probably – like something from a videogame. It would look hot in the porn, probably, if it was consensual and happening between two passionate lovers.

But you are his enemy, and he is yours – cold blue eyes peering right into yours. He is looking at you like a piece of meat, and not even in the lustful, hungry way. He looks like a butcher in front of a very good beef cut, thinking about where should he sink his knife to get the best steaks. A hunter standing over the wounded deer, thinking if he wants your head above his fireplace or taxidermy your whole body as a wicked trophy.

— Didn’t know they’d allowed someone so fucking small in the field.

You can swear to god that you saw him smile, under this hood. You can’t see his face, obviously, only the blood-soaked fabric and his eyes, but something still tells you that he is smiling. Enjoying your attempts to escape, maybe – you tried to kick him a few times, producing a deep, amused chuckle from his lips. He holds you so easily like you are nothing but a sweet little kitten. You might not be as big as him, but he still shouldn’t be able to lift a grown woman in full gear with just one hand. Right?

— I’m not…not s-small.

You don’t have much fight left in you. You are on the verge of just asking him to kill you, to be honest, your neck hurts and the pain spreading from your fingers pulsates and transforms. You hope they are not broken – even though you understand that your chances to live past these few minutes are very slim. Even your usual snark is lost, forbidden in the hands of a giant who likes to play with his food.

You do feel like a mouse – in a way that you would die under his boot very soon.

He – König, monster, colonel, fucking deadly mercenary – chuckles again. You can get used to this sound. Melodic almost, in a way that most alarms are melodic while telling you about inevitable catastrophe.

— Kleine verfickte Maus. Ich wette, dass du auch ganz eng bist.

He is laughing, again. Laughing and chuckling and you can’t take it anymore because he is so obviously stronger than you, it’s not fair. You want to put your foot on the ground and tap it like a spoiled brat, like a baby on the playground whining for their mom to take them home because other kids don’t want to play by their rules. The difference in skill is so obvious, that you aren’t even able to put on some sort of fight.

— Wh…I don’t speak German.

Your other hand – the one that didn’t get squished under his boot – goes to scratch his arm. Maybe put up enough struggle that he would accidentally let you fall right from his grasp. He doesn’t react and you feel hopeless. Weak, useless, you remember all the times you decided to miss training so you could just chill in the lounge with other rookies or do something on your computer.

— You will, Maus.

Then, there is only darkness.

***

You woke up…somewhere.

Come to think of it, it wasn’t the first time you woke up. You remember opening your eyes, feeling the vibrations under your cheek, hearing the noises of a car or other vehicle moving fast. Too fast for your already spinning head and stomach – you don’t remember if you were coughing or vomiting, but the movement wasn’t stopping to ever let you breathe. You were being transported somewhere, without a chance of knowing where you were heading. At least now, when you get to the final, as you think at least, destination, you’re clean.

As much as someone tied up to a chair somewhere that reminds you of a basement can be.

You’re stripped of your weapons obviously – not like you had a chance to use them anyway. Your hands are tied behind your back, your legs are bound to a chair, and your tragic lack of clothes is…more evident than you wanted it to be. At least you still have your underwear on – it still didn’t make the situation better. He saw you naked, completely, and he might do god knows what with you now.

Although you have some feelings about what he can do with a weak enemy hacker, half-naked and tied up in a secure place.

You would panic, but it requires energy. A resource that you don’t have right now.

— You woke up. Gut. Started to think I went too much again.

His accent is weird, you think. The thought only occurs to you now, when you can hear him more clearly while not being that afraid of getting out of this alive. His voice is weirdly calm for someone of his size – you want to think of gentle giants but this man is far from gentle and is almost too big to even be called a giant. A colossus, you want to say.

— Again?

Your voice is raspy, both from your sleep and from lack of water. When was the last time you drank anything? Probably more than a few hours – your throat is dry as sandpaper, and your head is dizzy from both your trauma – he either strangled you to unconsciousness or beat you hard enough – and the dehydration. You don’t want to spend another minute in this basement – you think this is a basement, at least, the high humidity on the walls and some garbage tossed to the corner is fairly evident. It’s large, too – you never saw anything like this. It might be a KorTac prison, but the remains of a bike and a few shelves of canned foods tossed to the other side of the room tell otherwise.

— We’re allowed to take trophies home. Sometimes I get…impatient.

You’re in his house? Does a monster like him even need a house?

“A trophy”

Funny how you don’t even feel that dehumanized. He didn’t kill you, you don’t feel the evidence of violation on your body – you are clean, neat even, your stomach and private parts aren’t hurting, and, as much as you hate to say this while tied up to a chair, you are as comfortable as a person in your position can be.

— What are you going to do with me?

You shake like a leaf. He finally steps closer to you, coming from the ladder – you can hear the lock and a heavy door being closed, setting your hopes of escape. Not like you could, in your position – the bruises already forming on your legs and hands, a numbed pain in your head and fingers. You feel shitty and comfortable at the same time, trying to tune off the discomfort and just concentrate on talking to him.

He didn’t kill you – this is good, you can work with this.

He left you alive – this is bad, he is going to torture you, he is going to do a million terrible things with you and you are not a part of a regular army, You didn’t get the torture resistance training. Maybe, if it was some of your friends, other girls in the group who got through military school and never missed gym to sit on their computers, they would have survived. You never felt so weak before – not even on the battlefield.

God, you’re scared.

— Your computer. My employer needs the info you had on it.

Oh.

It’s not personal, at least. He is here for the information, not to take advantage of your weak, fragile body. It made you almost feel at peace, almost made you forget about your lack of clothing and the damp basement you’re being put in.

— What sort of info do you need?

You slowly start to wiggle your hands in your binds – he used plastic locks, those stupid unremovable things that are slowly cutting the soft flesh of your wrists. You can’t untie them, but you can try at least tear them on the metal of your chair. You can try to, just to say that you did, and not feel bad about not resisting him at all.

— Your last mission. You were trying to smuggle weapons into the EU border.

— We were trying to stop the smuggling of weapons.

At least, you think you were – your head hurts, your memories are dizzy, and they never actually told you what kind of job you had. Come to think of it, actually, you never asked whether you were the good guys or the bad guys – it was always about money, paychecks, getting your job done and not dying from lack of nutrition because most tech-jokey jobs are already filled with uninspired chatbots and graduates from fancy colleges with a dick between their legs. Not reserved for tired women like you – so you turn to, ironically, paramilitary organizations. How the tables have turned.

— That’s not what our intel says, Maus. Do you want to lie to me?

You don’t. You just don’t know if you are telling the truth or lying because you are too fucking tired to even think straight.

He comes closer, and you whimper involuntarily. His breath hitches.

— Scheisse…they knew who to hire.

He grabs you by the neck again, and you can finally see him fully – towering over you, cold blue eyes staring right into you. You sob, not able to handle your emotions because, oh god, he is going to rape you, torture you, and then put a giant burning stick right in your ass because everyone knows that this is the best way to hack a computer – you just need to find the person who put the password in the first place.

— Can’t you just hack the computer yourself?

He chuckles – you’re getting tired of that sound. You hate that you found his voice attractive, you hate the fact he is keeping you down here. You want to destroy that part of your body that likes the attention – how his eyes are only kept on you. Never had a guy kidnapping you before, and you fight the feeling of disappointment that strikes you when you remember that he is here because he needs the intel. Not because he wants you.

— It wasn’t a…conventional operation. Can’t waste manpower on breaking the walls you installed.

His hand goes to cup your face again – you frown, breathing stops because he is so close and he takes off his gloves, allowing his rough, calloused fingers to linger on your cheeks. He squeezes your face in an almost adorable manner and steps back again. You lick your dry lips again, trying hard to keep at least one part of your body moisturized, and his breath hitches again.

He goes behind you, ruffles through shelves – you can hear something falling, his awkward grunt as he had to pick it up. He is more clumsy than you though – more nervous also, hands are jittering and fingers twitching every time you look at him. Adorable, really, how this huge mess of a man can look so innocent and almost nervous in front of you.

König returns after a minute or two, holding…a water bottle. Closed, lid still on, little plastic wrapping in place. You have half a mind about just drinking it, even though he doesn’t offer it to you. Not like you could open it yourself, with how your hands are still tied up behind your back.

— You don’t speak German.

It’s not a question – it’s a statement. you watch him opening the bottle with ease, large hands are working on something so fragile and delicate. You can’t remember the last time you had sex, not with how fast your head is spinning and memories still foggy, but you think it was a long time ago – because you feel your cheeks heated from the simple actions of his large fingers ripping through soft plastic.

God, you don’t really remember what was happening before you got here, not in detail, but you know that you needed to get laid like, a year ago.

— No.

— You will.

— Wh…what do you mean?

Is he going to make you install Duolingo? Is this what it all was about? Some elaborate prank, a marketing campaign, a tough lesson for silly girls who think that knowing just your native language is enough to live your life and…

— When you want something, Maus, you have to say “bitte”.

If you were a strong and cool soldier, you would use this moment to jump from your chair, using the weight of your body to fall on him and make him lose balance, and then spit in his face as your last remaining blast of human dignity.

But you aren’t a cool and strong soldier, and you really need to drink.

— B…bitte. What does this mean?

— Please.

He is almost whispering, the water bottle tanging in his hands in front of you. You take your time, considering the possibilities – you can play like a good little prisoner and allow him to take your pride and just toss it aside. You can play like an obedient hostage and ask him nicely, hoping that it would be enough.

You don’t know what to do – appearing too shy and soft can give him…ideas. And you don’t want this crazed giant who is keeping you bound in his basement to get ideas. You can…you probably can spend more time without water. Or food. Or shower and change of position.

You take your time answering, and his demeanor seems almost…anxious. His eyes are darting between the water bottle and your face, between his hands and your body – like he can barely keep a calm facade and not force you into doing something nasty. Like he is almost afraid that you are not going to cooperate and he would really have to hurt you in a meaningful way.

— Can I have water, bitte?

— Gutes Kätzchen. Drink, you’ll need it.

In the end, you broke down first. Not because you are this weak, but because being a brat won’t save you in a situation like this. You don’t want to die over something as trivial as your pride.

König seems…at ease. He takes off the bottle cap and brings water to your lips, allowing you to drink as much as you want. You lick the remaining drops from your lips and he puts a half-empty bottle aside.

— I won’t tell you the password.

You mumble under your breath, barely audible. He chuckles.

— I count on it, liebe.

[sstormyskyess]

Pitch Black - Prologue

author's note: hello hello everyone!! welcome to my first long form series on this blog! i'm excited to share this story i've been cooking up since summer last year and i hope everyone likes it as much as i've had fun brainstorming it 😊 this is gonna be a little short prologue to set the mood and give a little context for reader so things make sense later on! please enjoy 💜

cw: descriptions of injury, mentions of vomiting

word count: 1400+

Everyone and their mother knows that Russian winters were ruthless. It was a widely accepted fact, even for those who hadn’t personally experienced one of said agonizing winters. Snowfall was common for six months out of the year, and the temperatures could reach —44 degrees fahrenheit.

Cold air seeped in from under the door of the tiny room you were confined in. You shivered while you sat on the old, flimsy cot against the back wall of the solitary prison cell. Your vision was unfocused and blurry, though it was hard to tell because it was too dark to see anything. The walls were made of dark concrete and half-rotted wood slats. It smelled musty and stale, the air circulation in the room severely lacking.

You wince when the door suddenly opens, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to block out the blinding LED lights beaming into the room out of nowhere. Your breath catches in your throat from the surprise, your chest stinging from the feeling. You peek an eye open when a metal food tray clatters to the floor. The sound was deafening as it cut through the murky silence you had been wallowing in, making you bring your hands up to cover your ears. The man that dropped the tray barks something at you in Russian before slamming the door shut once again.

Konni Group.

An up and coming Russian private military company, the target of your squad’s operation, and the people that had taken you prisoner.

The stated goal of your team was to clear out a known Konni base and to capture or kill the colonel they knew was posted up there. The POI had led a recent attack on a U.S. arms convoy and taken a number of highly lethal weaponry from the wreckage. The weapons were likely hidden somewhere in the base, and it was imperative to locate them before they were used anywhere.

The operation had gone less than optimally. It was doomed to fail from the start; the intel your squad was given was faulty, you had your cover blown by an ambush, and to cap it all off, the chaos allowed for Konni to get their hands on you and whisk you away.

 The only thing you could think of was time. How long had it been since you’d been thrown in here? Days, weeks, months? You couldn’t tell. Just thinking about it made your head hurt.

The only measurement you had was how long it was between the miniscule amount of food you were granted by your captors on a seemingly random schedule. You were practically able to feel your body consuming itself, your stomach growling at you angrily. You would cry, but the waterworks had run dry ages ago. You couldn’t afford to lose any more water; you didn’t have that privilege anymore. 

Years of active service in the U.S. Marines had gotten you used to grueling conditions, but nothing like this. Even out in the field, dispatched from whatever base you were stationed in, you knew you’d be able to secure some kind of sustenance. Food and water felt like a luxury now.

Despite the cold, the hunger, and the wear and tear on your body, both internal and external, the worst part was the lack of contact. You couldn’t even hear anyone moving outside, no matter how hard you strained your ears. There was no light peeking from under the door, so you couldn’t track shadows moving. The only indication that someone was behind the door was the meager rations being put into the cell. Between those meals, for all you knew, no one was present in the facility anymore.

Too much time had passed for anyone to still be looking for you or trying to rescue you. It hurt, at first. The feeling of being forgotten or being considered disposable had been crippling for a while, so painfully debilitating that it had you weeping endlessly for days, maybe even a week or more. The muscles of your stomach ached afterwards. Mixed with all the kicks and punches you suffered from interrogations, your heaving sobs had you nauseous and throwing up bile frequently.

You ruminated over what could possibly be the reason you were still being kept here instead of being executed. You weren't being interrogated anymore by now. You were just left with the wounds that you sustained from hours upon days upon weeks of interrogation. The bruises had healed, but the cuts were infected from the shoddy cauterizing job they had attempted. It felt like the bones that were broken were healing incorrectly.

You sigh shakily, your perpetually shivering body getting uncomfortable, so you try to shift a bit. The only thing you accomplished by trying to roll over on your tiny stone cold cot was falling face down onto the floor. You wince and give a weak groan, curling up and holding your stomach. You try your hardest to just close your eyes and get some sleep, no matter how restless it was.

When you woke up, you were finally back in the present. You were finally back in the little old house that you found after escaping that Konni facility, the sun just barely rising over the horizon.

It had been two years since you were abducted. The realization hit you hard. Two years you spent in that dark, cold, suffocating cell. Two years you spent withering away, slowly but surely. Two years you spent in your own special hell, alone, battered and beaten, left scarred for years and years to come.

You roll over and get out of the bed, a headache already springing forth in your head, making you rub your temples. You sigh and amble over to your rucksack full of all the essentials—well, most of them at least. You frown at the sight that greets you. Only a few MREs left and all of them were your least favorites. But, you’ve been through worse.

You pace around the room as you eat, reading some of the files you pulled off the rickety table in the corner of the tiny one room cabin. You scan the files and run a thumb over the insignia on the front of the manila folder containing everything you needed for your next job.

Al Qatala.

A terrorist organization based out of Urzikstan, the current boogeyman of the western world, and your current contractor.

The life of a freelance intel agent was an interesting one, to say the least. You had been around the world making problems for a countless number of political and military bodies, but the money was worth it. Not to mention the anonymity that came with not being tied down to any one organization.

You went off the grid after you escaped from Konni. You wanted to go back to normal life, but something in you told you to stay away from it all. Maybe it was the fear of being found and captured again. The logical side of your brain told you that there was no reason they would want you back, but it was hard to reason with a brain torn apart by the sort of trauma you went through.

You hadn’t cared to check up on any of your old teammates. There was an underlying resentment present in the back of your mind. You were betrayed by them, after all. They left you for dead and didn’t look back. Thinking back on it made you frown. You watched them leave you behind with no hesitation, run away without looking back. So much for no man left behind, right?

By the time you snap out of your frustrated thoughts, you’re already finished with your food. Your headache has gotten worse. You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. You would really have to invest in some painkillers.

Based on how high the sun has gotten, you figure it’s about time to get moving. At least focusing on this job would keep your mind off the events that led you here. You flip through a folder and look at the location that was printed on one of the papers. Then, you take a peek at the pictures of the people you were meant to track.

Task Force 141.

A multinational task force recently founded, a team dedicated to making the world a better place, and ones that had been causing problems for your current contractor.

You take a deep breath and pack all your things away, ready yourself for the trek to the task force’s current location, and leave the cabin with the determination that kicks in whenever you set out on a mission.

𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[tanadrin]

[Map: The Lende Empire at its maximum extent and the surrounding regions. Borders of neighboring non-ally states are not shown, though in this period almost the whole area covered by this map (save the very furthest eastern parts) was occupied by various statelike polities.]

The Lende Empire was a complex composite state throughout its existence, but by the Late Lende period its provinces, territories, possessions, and associated states could be grouped into several general categories.

Provinces were territories directly administered by the Empire's bureaucracy; these were divided into "sovereign provinces," which had their origin in the demesne territory of the Eju, and had special privileges, and "subject provinces," which were governed by the General Courts. By the Late Lende period, the sovereign provinces also selected their own senior officials, which were chosen by the General Courts in other provinces. The General Courts were divided in two: the Courts of Gaaizetsol administered the Eastern and Central provinces (red and teal in the map above), while the Courts of Unluis administered the Western Provinces and the seaborn republics.

Order possessions were the last remaining feudal territories, private possessions of the mystical schools or orders that had furnished warriors for the empire during its early years. Because their martial history was generally behind them by the time the western conquests began, almost all significant order possessions are found east of the Ejutaane.

Council provinces were subject republics granted a large degree of internal administration. Only the five largest are shown on this map. Lagara, Nejvir, and Gaurela were granted special charters when they were frontier fortress-cities; Iscelar was a state conquered by the Empire that was granted special status as part of the peace treaty; and Irdalais was incorporated by the request of its burghers, in return for exemptions modeled on Iscelar's.

Seaborn republics were mercantile enclaves founded by Lende merchants and sailors during the Late Lende period which had ambiguous status somewhere between overseas possessions and subject states. Escana and Caduis originated as filibuster expeditions by wealthy scions of the Orders with more money than sense; the others originated as trading outposts.

Domestic realms were conquered states or vassals that preserved a degree of autonomous self-government (usually run by local elites) upon incorporation into the Empire. Some domestic realms did eventually suffer being reduced to or annexed by provinces, usually as a result of local unrest; others were dissolved on their leaders' own initiative, since the rules of citizenship in the Empire were different for the people of domestic realms, and disfavored citizens who lived and worked outside their "home" territory. These rules were eventually relaxed, but only after considerable protest.

Protected realms or protected states were formally subject states that were not considered part of the Empire proper, but to which Lende had obligations (especially defense, hence the name), and whose citizens were granted special status within the Empire. The people of protected realms had most favored nation status when it came to trade, and were immune from alien taxes.

Frontier commanderies were essentially permanent military occupations, in regions that were persistent security problems (e.g., they produced numerous border raids or were strategically sensitive regions bordering hostile states). These regions were self-governing and the Empire made little effort to extract taxes, but were patrolled and garrisoned to prevent attacks on the Empire proper.

Tributary states were states that had obligations to the Empire, but to which the Empire had few or no obligations of its own. Relations with the tributary states were managed through a separate body of diplomats.

Permanent allies were states that had permanent general treaties of alliance with the Empire. By the Late Lende period, these were few, since Lende was the undisputed hegemon of western Vinsamaren. Utunnar was an ally ever since the Lende warrior Tavar of Narsaane had deposed its ruler and made himself prince of that city; it was dynastically closely connected with several powerful Orders, including Narsaane, and helped to defend Lende interests in northern Tarun. The Haq states in the north originated as client states set up in the wake of the destruction of the Haxar realm. And Aurila was the largest and most powerful of the Eilascer states, courted specifically to safeguard Lende interests in the north, and to ensure no united front emerged in Eilascer that would be detrimental to Lende power.

The vast size of the Empire ultimately limited the effectiveness of its administration, and projecting power into neighboring regions was expensive--during the later part of the Late Lende period, the Empire would slowly contract, reducing its presence in Kesh, Eilascer, and beyond the Umain Hills; its rulers would also, over the objections of numerous powerful factions, attempt to streamline and rationalize the administration, replacing domestic realms with "autonomous provinces," and fully abolishing the privileges of the Orders.

This process strained state capacity mightily, and unfortunately it did so as states on both the north and south frontier banded together to try to oppose Lende hegemony; major wars ensued. In the final few centuries of the Empire, although its external borders were not much smaller than shown in the map above, it was internally very fragile. Eventually, it fell to a cataclysmic civil war that resulted in the effective destruction of the state, at least as it had existed for the previous two thousand Sogantine years. Several successors sprang up in its place, but none with anything like the old empire's wealth and power. In the post-Imperial period, thousands fled--those that went east over the mountains became the Kuthra, a reclusive people who did their best to maintain their ancient traditions while making a living in the wastelands.

[madamspeaker]

Nancy Pelosi, Speaker Emeriti of the House of Representatives, has a famously packed schedule. By midday she’s already been on the House Floor, speaking in support of the bill to force TikTok’s Chinese owners to divest its US assets. Before that, a sizeable portion of her morning was consumed by meetings with House and Senate’s 97 military veterans – part of her battle to get Biden’s stalled funding package for Ukraine back on track. Then there’s an interview with veteran NBC host Andrea Mitchell, where she reinforces the case for providing aid to Ukraine alongside retired Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Vindman.

Joining with the Ukrainian-born Purple Heart recipient and former national security council director for European Affairs to make the case is vintage Pelosi, who knows how to exploit political pressure points.

But at exactly one minute before the designated time slot for an interview with the Business Post, she strides down the corridor of the Longworth Building towards her corner office; a diminutive force of nature dressed in a fire-red pantsuit and stiletto heels.

She’s a strikingly attractive woman, with enormous dark eyes and an incandescent smile that belies the steely resolve that propelled her to the pinnacle of American politics, smashing glass en route.

Somewhere between her journey back from the House floor and our interview, she has exchanged the interlinked US and Ukraine flags that were pinned to her lapel with a one-inch square Irish flag.

As we enter her private office, she notices the spring blossoms that Washington DC is famous for at this time of year outside her window. “Look at that,” she beams, “they weren’t there yesterday.”

A consummate host, she invites me to sit where I can enjoy the view of the blossoms and the Capitol behind them.

Israel

House Speaker Mike Johnson’s refusal to allow a vote on the foreign aid package is deeply frustrating for Pelosi who knows the votes are there, on both sides of the aisle.

“How can this be the party of Ronald Reagan – ‘Mr Gorbachev tear down this wall’ - and they’re at a place that’s so far and so distant from that. It’s shocking,” she said.

“I'm rarely surprised at anything around here, but it is shocking to hear them speak in a pro-Putin way and that’s just a reflection of Donald Trump, there’s no question about that.”

Still, she is optimistic about passing the aid package: “There are other routes. They may take longer but we’ll get there.”

Her tenacity and willingness to apply pressure when persuasion fails has stood Ireland in good stead.

In particular, when it seemed as though it could unravel following the post-Brexit manoeuvrings towards a hard border – and the volatility introduced by Trump’s pro-Brexit stance.

“The strong bipartisan support in the House and the Senate for the Good Friday Accords enabled me to go to England and say to the parliamentarians there in different meetings; Don’t even listen to Trump when he says ‘if you get a bad deal in Brexit you’ll have a bilateral with the US.’,” she said.

“We told them ‘Forget that. It ain’t going to happen. You mess with the Good Friday Accords and the border issues and you ain’t got nothing,” Pelosi said, delivering the last line with relish.

Pelosi has been a stalwart supporter of Ireland since before the Good Friday Agreement, a tireless champion of its economic as well as its political interests.

Her affinity for Ireland is bolstered by family connections; her daughter Jacqueline’s husband Michael Kenneally. Their three children, Pelosi’s grandsons, were baptised in the church near the paternal family home in Kilquade, Co Wicklow.

Witnessing the joint address and standing ovation for First Minister Michelle O’Neill and Deputy First Minister Emma Little-Pengelly at the Ireland Funds Gala on Wednesday night provided her with another yardstick by which Northern Ireland’s transformation can be measured.

During their US visit, Northern Ireland’s new leaders urged the US to bring the same approach to pursuing a ceasefire in the Middle East as it did in Northern Ireland.

Israel’s prosecution of the war in Gaza is a vexed topic for Pelosi and she bristles at suggestions that Biden isn’t doing enough to help Palestinians – or that he needs to put more distance between himself and Benjamin Netanyahu.

“Well, I don’t think we ever gave our proxy to Netanyahu. I’ve had a problem with him for decades,” she said. “But our support for Israel as our ally in the region is strong. What happened on October 7 was barbaric. There has to be recognition that Hamas is a terrorist organisation. And if you had family members who were kidnapped or killed that day, you’d want some justice to be done. How that justice is done though, when it comes at the expense of civilian women and children, has to be calibrated in a different way.”

Pelosi continues: “I just really have a problem with everyone putting this at Joe Biden’s doorstep. This is at the doorstep of Netanyahu. This is at the doorstep of many of the Arab countries who never came to the aid of the Palestinians before.”

Trump

Meanwhile, there’s the overarching challenge of defeating Trump in November in what she agrees is the most consequential election in US history.

She runs through a long litany of Trump transgressions, concluding with a reference to former Trump Chief of Staff John Kelly claim last week that Trump told him Hitler “had done some good things”.

“This is a very strange person,” she concludes. “I say he's having a limbo contest with himself to see how low he can go.”

Asked whether she fears for the future of US democracy she replies; “No, I don’t because we just have to win the election. We don’t agonise. We organise. We’ll just go out there and get the job done.”

Few powerful women – except maybe Hillary Clinton – have enraged the cultural warriors of the right like Pelosi. Her effectiveness as a legislator and her fearlessness as a political leader prompted Steve Bannon to label her ‘a total assassin’.

The bitter partisanship that roiled America has impacted the lives and careers many politicians on both sides of the aisle. But Pelosi has paid a higher price than most. “Nancy, where are you, Nancy?”, the mob that stormed the Capitol on January 6 called as they roamed the Capitol corridors, vandalising and smashing as they went and ransacking Pelosi’s office.

Later that evening, Pelosi, unbowed by the violence, insisted that Congress reconvene and finish their constitutionally mandated role of certifying the results of the 2020 election.

For Pelosi, the events of January 6 cast a longer and more menacing shadow. In the early hours of October 28, David DePape broke into Pelosi’s San Francisco home where 82-year-old husband, Paul, was sleeping. “Where’s Nancy?” DePape demanded, in a chilling reprise of the January 6 chant, before attacking her husband with a hammer, fracturing his skull and inflicting multiple injuries to his arms and hands.

Last November, DePape was convicted by a federal jury of assaulting a family member of a federal official and of the attempted kidnapping of a federal official, charges that carry maximum sentences of 30 and 20 years in prison respectively.

The attack was devastating for Pelosi. “They weren’t after my husband; they were after me. So I have a guilt to carry for that. But it happened in our home, in our home,” she said, her voice wavering. “It’s hard when you have to go by the entrance place where the man came in, and into our bedroom.” Her husband, who she says is about 80 per cent recovered, is still dealing with the physical trauma.

Strangely she said they’ve never discussed the attack.

“We don’t talk about it. He and I have never had a conversation about what happened that night. I heard what he testified in court. That was required so I learned a little more then. But the doctors have said to him ‘don’t revisit it. Don’t watch it on TV. It only reinforces the trauma.’”

Despite the divisiveness that has roiled the country, she believes the majority of Trump supporters are ‘good people.’ “Insecurity about a role economically in the future for themselves and their children is what I think drives them,” she said.

Although she turns 84 next week, she shows no signs of slowing down. “I only intended to stay for ten years,” she marvels when I point out that she’ll have served four decades in Congress when she completes her next term.

The press obsession with age is selective, she notes wryly.

Pelosi was the chief antagonist in Trump’s presidency. “She’s going to get us,” Steve Bannon, then Trump’s chief strategist, warned following their first meeting.

Over the next four years, Trump wheeled in the television cameras to relay the battles that followed, confident he could humiliate and subjugate the Democratic leader.

But Pelosi proved far too nimble an opponent for his blunderbuss approach. And she seemed to relish cutting through his bluster and calling his bluff.

“To be very honest with you, he really didn’t know what he was talking about most of the time,” she said.

She cites Biden’s recent State of the Union address as an example of a president who “had command of the issues, who spoke of the legislation pending, of what he did but more importantly what he was going to do.”

“Donald Trump could never make a speech like that and that’s why he reduced his spewing forth to culturally hateful rather than professionally constructive issues,” she said.

Trump quickly discovered its limits when dealing with Pelosi. She refused to be cowed and there were plenty of mischief-tinged moments; including her exaggerated applause during a State of the Union and a reference to Trump as being morbidly obese.

Given the former president’s famously thin skin, was this a deliberate attempt to tweak him?

“Well no,” she said, wide-eyed. “I think I was just stating a fact.” Her expression gives her away before a chuckle escapes.

“About Joe Biden I would say this; he has the wisdom and knowledge – not just of issues but what has worked and what doesn’t work. Judgement that comes with experience and that’s so important,” she said.

“I can tell you this from personal experience in politics that as time goes by, you’re less judgmental. You’re much more. I don’t want to say respectful because you always have to be respectful, but you roll and you don’t get yourself bogged down. And I think because what’s his name – that other Bozo – because he doesn’t have any experience in politics, he just gets meaner.

“But this is a very sick person who needs an intervention from his family or from his advisers. Whatever is in it for them, greed for power, greed for money, I don’t know. But they should have intervened for the good of their family for the good of the creature and for the good of their country.”

Music lover

Pelosi’s long association with Ireland has brought her an unlikely dividend. A perennial access all areas pass to U2 concerts.

“I’ve attended more U2 concerts than any other politician. I’m certain of it,” she said, including in Las Vegas at the Sphere recently.

She picks up her phone and starts scrolling through it.

“There he is. Oh listen to this, listen to this.”

She beckons me in close and plays a clip where Bono, paying tribute to America concludes by saying; ‘I want to thank you Nancy Pelosi.’ From her phone you can hear excitement erupt amongst the family members who accompanied her.

An enormous smile lights up Pelosi’s face.

[wealmostaneckbeard]

The California-to-Texas War: A Dark Near-Future Political Drama/War Game

I read a complaint somewhere that mainstream realistic fiction isn't political enough so I decided to write this outline for a super-political near-future story:

An Anti-federalist movement sweeps through Congress of the United States of America. Enough far left and right politicians unite to indefinitely shut down the federal government.

This is the ridiculous premise that sets up the rest of the narrative:

Authority shifts to state governments backed by corporate consortiums. These governments need taxes and corporations want social stability so they work together to keep everything fine for about a decade. Trading state/corpo currencies becomes a somewhat lucrative trade for some people. Micronations form (somewhat) unopposed, some out of Native American reservations, others are religious or ideological enclaves.

Then on a particularly hot day, a number of illegal immigrant laborers die of heat stroke while working at a factory farm in the fictional town of Damocles, Texas. The survivors go on strike and demand better working conditions. The corporation that owns the factory refuses to negotiate and sends in scabs and strikebreakers. The workers don't let anyone cross the line, and in the resulting chaos a local neo-fascist militia gets involved by killing the families of striking workers. The violence is captured on cameras and put on social media.

Meanwhile the Governor of California, Stan Yee, needs to boost his popularity with the local labor unions. So Stan sends a task force to investigate the Damocles Massacre (as it's now being called) and bring to justice whoever was responsible for the killings. Doing so will violate the Texas Republic's territorial sovereignty, but Yee is betting that his Texan counterpart, Randolf Marshall, will allow a few neonazis to be dragged across state lines.

It turns out that Randolf Marshall has several personal connections to the militia, so he'll be damned before he lets some Leftists into His State. The delegation of californian investigators are threatened by various factions and are forced to flee.

Stan attempts to defuse the tension between the two states by opening up diplomatic channels. But Randolf decides to retaliate by secretly hiring PMC paratroopers to air-drop into the Port of Los Angeles and seize control of it. These mercenaries cause a lot of damage and kill a lot of employees working for overseas corporations from Korea, China, and Japan. But they are overwhelmed by angry dock workers, local police, and other security forces. Some of the mercenaries surrender and turn over evidence that Governor Marshall hired them.

Under pressure from all sides, Governor Yee declares war on the state of Texas with the goal of removing it's Governor from power. Shortly after, Governor Marshall reciprocates with his own declaration.

The Northern Theater of the war consists of New Mexico and Arizona, with Nevada, Utah, and Colorado and being on the fringes. The Southern Theater of the war consists of Chihuahua and Sonora, with both Baja California and Tamaulipas being fringe areas.

The forces arraigned against each other are diverse: There are Apache, Navajo, and Hualapai led militias, Foreign Corporate/National Legions, State Guards, and Private Military Companies. They fight each other over rural battlefields and urban fortresses using drones and other advanced weapons developed by the long gone United States. But a death by heatstroke is far more likely for the average soldier than one caused by a weapon, thanks to global warming.

In this near-future hellscape any number of small stories could be told.

[anarchistettin]

some birthday

just thought I'd paste in an article that's behind a paywall

By Shane Goldmacher and Maggie Haberman

Reporting from Bedminster, N.J.

June 13, 2023

Donald J. Trump went to bed Tuesday night, on the eve of his 77th birthday, as a now twice-indicted former president and current front-runner for the Republican nomination for the White House in 2024.

“Some birthday,” Mr. Trump grumbled on Tuesday as he visited Versailles, a popular Cuban coffee shop in Miami. “Some birthday.”

He had just been arraigned on federal charges. His co-defendant was working as his valet. And he didn’t eat Cuban — he had McDonald’s. On his plane headed back to New Jersey from Miami, Mr. Trump ate the fast food while holding court with advisers and finishing edits on the speech he would soon deliver and mostly adhere to.

The surreal scene that awaited him at his private club in Bedminster, N.J., was a blend somewhere between a summer garden wedding and a political victory party. There was an air of an almost post-arraignment celebration as women arrived in their finery: fuchsia and canary yellow dresses, embroidered Trump wares and heels. Men sported suits and red MAGA hats.

Then Mr. Trump arrived. Visibly deflated after pleading not guilty for the second time in three months, his dry and low-energy resuscitation of his legal defense — even inflected with the usual references to Marxists, Communists and fascists — pleased his advisers but drew a relatively muted response from a crowd that had minutes earlier craned their phones for a shot of his motorcade.

He had entered to the same track — “God Bless the USA” by Lee Greenwood — that he has used as an entrance theme so many times before. On Tuesday, the chorus landed differently.

New revelations. The 49-page indictment against Donald Trump and a personal aide, Walt Nauta, revealed a host of potentially devastating new details in the Justice Department’s inquiry into the former president’s mishandling of classified documents. Here are some of the most significant allegations:

There was a stunning pattern of obstruction. Prosecutors say Trump willfully ignored a May 2022 subpoena requiring him to return the documents — and took extraordinary steps to obstruct investigators. The indictment details how Nauta, at Trump’s direction, moved 64 boxes of documents so that Trump’s lawyer could not find them.

Boxes of documents were stored in a bathroom. In April 2021, Trump’s employees needed to move dozens of boxes from a ballroom at his Mar-a-Lago estate. “There is still a little room in the shower where his other stuff is,” one aide texted another. The boxes were hauled to a small bathroom and piled up nearly to the tiny chandelier next to the toilet.

Documents were stored sloppily. The indictment shows a picture of a box of top secret national security documents that in 2021 had spilled onto the floor of a Mar-a-Lago storage room accessible to many of the resort’s employees.

Trump made a “plucking motion.” The indictment recounts how Trump and his lawyer discussed what to do with a folder of 38 documents with classification markings. The lawyer said Trump made a “plucking motion” that implied, “why don’t you take them with you to your hotel room and if there’s anything really bad in there, like, you know, pluck it out.”

Trump was recorded sharing secrets. The indictment says Trump was recorded at his golf club in Bedminster, N.J., showing off secret U.S. battle plans to a writer. Trump described the material as “highly confidential” and “secret,” while admitting it had not been declassified.

Trump showed a secret map to a staff member. In August or September 2021, Trump shared a top secret military map with a staff member at his political action committee who did not have a security clearance; he warned the person not to “get too close.”

One of Trump’s lawyers is a key witness. Some of the most potentially damning evidence against the former president came from notes made by one of his lawyers, M. Evan Corcoran. The lawyer’s notes essentially gave prosecutors a road map to building their case.

“I did everything right,” Mr. Trump declared in his 30-minute speech, “and they indicted me.”

When he finished, he barely lingered to take in the applause. He gave an obligatory fist pump and mouthed thanks to the crowd. Then he turned and went inside.

All told, the day encapsulated the remarkable numbness to the extraordinary that has defined the Trump era. The former president entered federal court as a criminal defendant, and now faces hundreds of years in prison. The Republican front-runner’s early 2024 calendar now includes not only key caucuses and primaries but court dates. His rivals are at times contorting themselves while discussing his alleged crimes; one circulated a petition on Tuesday demanding they all promise to pardon him.

Mr. Trump’s appearance in a Miami courtroom was a humiliating moment for a New York businessman with a 40-year history of engaging in gamesmanship with prosecutors and regulators, viewing most every interaction as a transaction or something he could bluster his way through. By 2017, he had the armor of the presidency protecting him when the first special counsel investigating him, Robert S. Mueller III, began his work. And by 2021, as investigations began into his efforts to thwart the transfer of power, he had come to see another campaign as a shield against prosecutions.

But that grandeur — and legal insulation — had vanished on Tuesday. Instead, Mr. Trump’s team tried to create the sense of a man still in power. In Bedminster, he spoke with the white columns of the main house of his New Jersey golf club behind him. The indictment became another backdrop for the ongoing Trump Show.

He was comforted by a motley assortment of his most fervent supporters. They included former President Richard Nixon’s son-in-law; a former New York Police Department commissioner whom Mr. Trump pardoned in the final year of his presidency; and a former administration official whom Mr. Trump named as a representative to the National Archives.

It was the National Archives that began the winding road that ended with Mr. Trump facing charges alleging that he had defied a subpoena and kept highly classified documents. The agency, which is in charge of preserving presidential records, spent most of 2021 trying to compel Mr. Trump to return boxes of materials that he had taken with him when he left the White House. So did some of his lawyers and advisers. When he finally returned 15 boxes in January 2022, archives officials discovered nearly 200 individual classified documents, and alerted the Justice Department.

On Tuesday night in Bedminster, what amounted to a red-carpet MAGA crowd mingled to a carefree playlist of Trump-favored throwbacks: “Macho Man” by the Village People, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Frankie Valli, “We Will Rock You” by Queen, “Dancing Queen” by ABBA. Dozens of women wore matching red-white-and-blue outfits and chanted “We love Trump!” in unison as Mr. Trump was airborne.

The arraignment date happened to coincide with Mr. Trump’s first major fund-raiser, with those who had raised at least $100,000 invited to a “candlelight dinner” after his speech. The Trump campaign will be paying Mr. Trump’s private business in donor dollars for both events, a practice he has done for years.

Robert Jeffress, an evangelical pastor in Dallas and an early supporter who said he would not “abandon” Mr. Trump, got a call from a staffer for the former president on Monday, asking him to attend. He said Mr. Trump’s supporters saw the charges as “political.”

“I think they see this as Biden’s way of getting rid of his No. 1” opponent, he said, as music blared behind him.

Senator Tommy Tuberville, Republican of Alabama, missed votes in Washington to be there to cheer for Mr. Trump.

The gathering in Bedminster and Mr. Trump’s not-quite impromptu cafe stop in Miami were reminiscent of how he handled the gravest political threat he faced in his first 2016 campaign: the infamous “Access Hollywood” tape. Back then, he immersed himself in a crowd of his supporters outside Trump Tower. Now, he did so both at his own property and in a friendly corner of a city where he will soon face trial.

“You see where the people are,” Mr. Trump said after he was serenaded with a brief rendition of “Happy Birthday” at the Cuban cafe, called Versailles, where he also stopped to pose for a picture with a mixed martial arts fighter.

He seemed determined to project nonchalance as much as defiance. His co-defendant and valet, Walt Nauta, continued to assist him throughout the day, even as the judge cautioned against the two men discussing the case, after traveling to court as part of Mr. Trump’s motorcade staff. Ever image-conscious, Mr. Trump had entered the courthouse in Miami out of the sightlines of cameras, and he avoided a mug shot and handcuffs for the second time.

The act of indicting him, Mr. Trump said, “will go down in infamy.” And he pledged to appoint a “real special prosecutor” once he’s president again to go after President Biden and his family.

“The seal is broken by what they’ve done,” he added.

[mariacallous]

“In six months, you’ll go home, having received a pardon. (…) Those who come with us and on the first day say, ‘I ended up somewhere I shouldn’t have’, we’ll mark a deserter and execute. (…) You have five minutes to decide.”

So said Yevgeny Prigozhin, self-confessed founder of the Russian private military company Wagner, to a group of inmates at Penal Colony 6 in Yoshkar Ola, capital of the region of Mari El, 645 kilometres east of Moscow. After the video from the prison surfaced in September 2022, the same pitch went out to convicts across Russia. But on February 9, Prigozhin confirmed in a response published on social media to a Russian TV station that Wagner had ceased hiring convicts. “We are fulfilling all obligations towards those currently working for us”, he wrote. As Bellingcat has previously reported, Wagner originated in Ukraine back in 2014. This private military contractor has risen to newfound prominence following Russia’s full-scale invasion of the country in February 2022, most recently amid the fierce battle for Bakhmut in eastern Ukraine.

Extensive news reporting in recent years has illustrated Wagner’s operations not only in Ukraine but also in Syria, the Central African Republic, Libya, and Madagascar, among other countries. In January, the US Treasury went as far as to label Wagner a “transnational criminal group”.

As analysts from the Carnegie Centre put it in 2019, Wagner’s usefulness lies in the fact that it can do, or claims it can do, what the Russian state and its formal institutions can’t. It is “a vehicle the Kremlin uses to recruit, train, and deploy mercenaries, either to fight wars or to provide security and training to friendly regimes.” “It is quite clear from the preparatory work that went into building the Wagner Group’s profile ahead of the February 2022 invasion that [Russian President] Putin counted on being able to use the Wagner Group to fill gaps in Russian military units”, said Candace Rondeaux, a Professor of Practice at the School of Politics and Global Studies at Arizona State University, in an interview with Bellingcat. “All the evidence has long pointed to close coordination between the Wagner Group’s leadership and both the GRU and FSB [Russia’s security services]” added Rondeaux, who has researched the Wagner group in depth in a series of reports. Due to Wagner’s secretive nature, it can be difficult to verify the number of fighters it commands, As of January 2023 estimates by the US and British ministries of defence ran to at least 50,000, convicts or not. The head of Russia Behind Bars, an NGO which protects the rights of prisoners, says that figure is convicts alone. Rondeaux told Bellingcat that she did not find these estimates credible and believes that they are “likely based on the some 30,000 men who are counted as missing or released from prison since the start of the war”. 

Whatever the figure, Wagner has grown significantly since its inception. The fact that the group operates openly at all suggests that its usefulness to the state is recognised – although private military contractors are technically illegal under Russian law under Article 359 of the criminal code, in 2018 Russian President Vladimir said that Wagner does not break Russian law. So Prigozhin’s promises to these prisoners also have a presidential pedigree – Russian presidential Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov admitted on January 27 that Putin is indeed issuing pardons to convicts who fight for Wagner, noting that one of them received a medal from the president for his “heroism” in Ukraine.

Local media reported Wagner recruiters visiting prisons in every corner of Russia – Tyumen, Chelyabinsk, Kemerovo, the Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug, and many others. RFE/RL’s report from a prison in Primorsky Krai noted that over 100 prisoners are often enlisted in each recruitment trip. Prigozhin has also taken foreign citizens from Russia’s jails; one man from Zambia and one from Tanzania have died while fighting for Wagner in eastern Ukraine. According to news reports, both men were studying in Moscow before being imprisoned for drug offences. 

At the Yoshkar Ola prison, Prigozhin noted that Wagner wanted inmates under the age of 50. However, several recruited convicts have well exceeded this limit. Three of them include 59-year-old Sergei Maksimenko, 55-year-old Andrey Berezhnykh, and 55-year-old Igor Kusk. 

These three men are notable not just due to their age, but due to the fact that each led violent criminal gangs in the 1990s. One of the major legitimation strategies for Putin and his enduring political power is his claim of bringing stability to Russia after that tumultuous decade. This plea towards stability helped justify previous military interventions, such as in Chechnya early in Putin’s ascendance, and the country has come full circle – the men who helped create the instability of Russia in the 1990s are fighting, and dying, in Russia’s latest war. 

Each of these three former gang leaders tried to fight for a pardon, but instead died in Ukraine. Who were they, and how were their deaths received back home?

[neutralgray]

A Synthesized History: An Amateur Comparison of the Perspectives between the "Patriot's," the "People's," & The "True" History of the United States - Part 19

Full Essay Guide link: XX

The American Empire in the 21st Century

(Patriot - Chapter 22 & Conclusion | People - Chapter 25 & Afterword | True - Chapter 36-37 & Epilogue)

In 1776 a group of select colonial individuals wished to separate themselves from their mother country, England, and forge a new nation with their land. They believed their cause to be just and righteous. The country born of that rebellion became one of the most powerful nations to ever exist. Two-hundred and twenty four years after their declaration of independence from England, the United States welcomed the turning of a new millennium-- the promise of a bright and yet unimagined future.

The 2000 election was between republican George W. Bush and democrat Al Gore. Bush was the governor of Texas, and the son of past president George H. W. Bush. Al Gore served as vice president under Bill Clinton. The race was extremely close, with the ultimate decision coming down to the state of Florida. The night of the election, it seemed Gore was winning Florida, but by morning the voting count had fallen in Bush's favor. The result was contested, triggering recounts but the process dragged. Back-and-forth decisions between the Florida Supreme Court and the federal Supreme Court only added to the confusion, but the count was ultimately cut by the federal court. Bush was declared the 43rd president of the United States.

George W. Bush ran on a platform of "compassionate conservatism," criticizing the "nation-building" missions of past administrations and claiming he was not interested in the U.S. military being a type of world policeman. Most of Bush's planned policies, however, were largely more of the same policies of his republican predecessors-- opposition to environmental regulations and tax cuts to the wealthy. Bush, did, however propose the radical notion of privatizing Social Security, which had been federally run since its conception in the mid-1930's.

Another policy of Bush's, the No Child Left Behind Act, was passed early in his administration. While the laws in this act garnered much criticism, its intent might be argued as "compassionate." These laws expanded the federal government's role in education, requiring public schools to issue standardized tests to students. These tests would also collect demographic data such as race and special education status. This demographic data would then be analyzed to highlight struggling populations. Schools with low scoring students were expected to improve or otherwise face potential punishment such as staff changes or even closure. The focus of the bill was intended to improve the educational standing of disadvantaged children, but the schools most punished for failing to meet improvement standards were in low-income areas that needed more support, not less.

Whatever other policies may have shaped Bush's presidential term were not seen, as a massive terrorist attack took the nation by storm. On September 11th, 2001, four planes were hijacked by al-Qaeda associated Islamic radicals who intended to crash the planes into politically symbolic American locations. One plane crashed into the Pentagon, two crashed into the twin World Trade Center towers, and another crashed into a field after the citizens on the plane forcibly retook control. General speculation on the 4th plane's target suggests it was likely intended to crash somewhere in Washington D.C., the nation's capital.

In the heart of New York City, many assumed the initial plane crash into WTC 1 mush have been some terrible accident. The crash into WTC 2 quickly dispelled this hopeful notion. The president was in Florida at the time of the crash, reading to school children when he was informed of the attacks. Decades of unchecked foreign intervention finally led a to a consequence the country could not ignore. People were angry, though. The average American citizen had bills to pay, children to raise, and a job to go to-- the terrible reality of the U.S.'s intervention in other countries was so often a small blip in the average American's life that this attack did not register as some kind of "natural consequence." Instead, the average citizen felt fear and anger at the deaths of many of their own countrymen. The nation was in an emotional uproar; people felt scared, angry, and unsafe. In such a state, many backed the president and their country without question. It was time for another war. It was time for a national vengeance.

The FBI and CIA quickly determined al-Qaeda involvement in the attack. A "war on terrorism" was declared, and Congress granted the president nearly unconditional wartime powers. The Executive branch was no longer restricted by even the paltry limitations set during Vietnam. Bush then established the Department of Homeland Security, which would be responsible for domestic public security and to facilitate relevant information across all the United States' intelligence agencies.

The 9/11 attacks changed both domestic and foreign policies. On the domestic level, the USA Patriot Act was passed. The Patriot Act granted the Department of Justice the power to detain non-citizens due to suspicion with no formal charges. It also expanded domestic surveillance for law enforcement purposes, with emails and phone calls being potentially monitored at any given moment. The Patriot Act also expanded what constituted a "terrorism" crime and increased the penalties for those crimes. The fallout from this upsurge of patriotism coupled with unchecked government and police power was that Muslim and Arab Americans were subject to terrible hate crimes and unjustified treatment by representatives of the law. Bush cautioned the public not to treat Arab Americans with hostility, but this plea broke down on state and local levels.

On the foreign level, Bush made his position clear. He declared that no distinction would be made between terrorists and the countries that harbored them. In the War on Terror, the mission was to kill Bin Laden and destroy al-Qaeda. Bombing campaigns in Afghanistan (Bin Laden's calculated position) started roughly 2.5 weeks after the terrorist attacks. Troops were also put on the ground in northern Afghanistan. The Taliban, which was the ruling regime of Afghanistan and an assumed safe haven for al-Qaeda, was significantly weakened by the U.S. bombardment. Bin Laden fled to Pakistan, but terror cells continued to persist. By pursuing al-Qaeda with their full military might, an unintentional consequence was that the relatively small militant group was thrust onto the world stage, where it would have no shortage of sympathetic individuals looking to either join or aid the fight in some way.

Eventually the U.S. also began combat with the forces in Iraq, fearing that Saddam Hussein may have weapons of mass destruction (WMDs) that could be given to al-Qaeda. key politicians such as vice president, Dick Cheney, historically showed interest in invading Iraq even before the terrorist attack, however. No WMDs were ever found, but the U.S. still crushed the Iraqi army, captured Hussein, and prepared him for trial. Hussein would be convicted of crimes against humanity in an Iraqi court and executed on December 30th, 2006. Bush set in motion and finished a fight his father once started.

Some critics stepped forward and opposed the U.S. foreign policy at this time, including some families of victims in the 9/11 attack. Critics pointed out that the 9/11 attacks were planned and carried out as a direct response to U.S. foreign policy, and that if the country truly wanted to tackle the problem, a dramatic shift in the way the United States interacted with the world would have to occur. The patriotic fervor and call for blood made criticism difficult, however. Even when civilian casualties were reported and shown, the media spin was that it was all an act of retribution. Political commentary made from both republicans and democrats called for absolute destruction. Articles and think-pieces were written and published, promoting the advantages and practical considerations of controlled brutality as a measured response. For every Arab parent holding their dead kid or for every Arab kid wandering around with no living parents to raise them, it was a lesson in humility-- in what happens when you tread on the ground of a military giant. Humanity was stripped away in favor of a feverish blood lust. If any citizen still possessed the audacity to publicly question the wartime fever, there was a very real chance of questioning at the hands of the FBI.

The United States attempted stable control of the Iraq region through a new government system. This new government body was formally founded on June 28th, 2003. Despite American backing, the new Iraqi government struggled to provide security or regional unity. Just like in Vietnam, the United States was trying to bring its brand of order into a region it didn't fully understand. The dominant regional culture focused on virtues such as honor, family, and shame, which were all tied to the area's religiosity. Three major ethnic groups dominated the Iraqi demographics: Arabs, Kurds, and Turkmen. It would likely be difficult for any government installed by a foreign power to establish a lasting shared cultural unity.

Multiple other variables also contributed to the instability of the U.S. installed Iraqi government. For one, there was animosity present in some militant groups because the U.S. barred former Iraqi military personnel from joining the new Iraqi Defense Force. Some of these disgruntled ex-military became new guerilla fighters, further destabilizing the peace. Secondly, community leaders often had ties to al-Qaeda or other militant parties. Thirdly, raiding and looting of U.S. military supplies often ended up in the hands of the country's militant extremists. Lastly, suicide bombers frequently gave their lives (along with the lives of innocent civilians) for their causes. The suicide bombings demonstrated that these radicals were willing to give their lives for their cause. With such devoted followers, it was difficult to establish a lasting government strong enough to respond and prevent it.

Bush won a 2nd term as president in the 2004 election, but the optics of the war were beginning to change. Some voters felt it was dragging on too long. The true humanitarian value of the U.S. "liberation" of Iraq was also questioned when photos from the Abu Ghraib prison leaked to CBS News. The photos depicted U.S. officers and intelligence agents engaging in torture of several political prisoners, forcing the men to engage in demeaning/humiliating acts while in subhuman conditions. The photos sparked outrage, with many international agents condemning the United States. The Bush administration denied these acts as being indicative of national policy, instead claiming it to be an isolated incident. In response, 17 military staff members were removed, 7 individuals were charged with dereliction of duty, 2 individuals were sent to prison, and the commanding brigadier general of the facility was demoted to a colonel. The photo leaks discredited Bush as world leader, but it was not the last difficulty his administration faced.

A Category 5 hurricane (hurricane Katrina) made landfall on the U.S. coastline via the Gulf of Mexico, and battered the southern coast of the state of Louisiana. New Orleans, a major cultural center of the state, suffered horrendously. The city's below sea-level elevation meant when the flood waters hit, the city filled up like a bowl. Much of the city's population did not evacuate, likely not imagining the destruction the hurricane would bring. The massive storm was responsible for $186 billion dollars of structural damage, over 1300 lost lives, and many more trapped in the city.

The Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) was woefully unprepared for the scope of the New Orleans emergency. Over 700,000 people needed to be relocated. Bush and his administration responded in paltry ways but laid most of the responsibility on FEMA, which either lacked the capacity or leadership needed to effectively deliver humanitarian aid. Eventually the chief of Homeland Security, Michael Chertoff, would take control of operations. It would take over a year before the city was functional enough to host any major events or cultural tourism again.

The last few years of Bush's presidency were marked with financial crises, some of which were rooted in the start of his presidency. In the immediate aftermath of 9/11, the economy received a sort of "freeze" due to the national shock. Airline companies suffered because many in the country were afraid to fly. A new national mood settled in, that made it difficult for Americans to want to freely spend their money. The initial shock did subside, but with the country once again at war, federal spending ramped up.

The housing market crashed in 2007, with many in debt they simply could not afford. This debt hole cascaded into a flood of big investors like J. P. Morgan Chase, Wells Fargo, AIG, Bank of America, and others teetering on bankruptcy. Bush and Congress intervened, passing the Troubled Asset Relief Program (TARP), which dumped over $700 billion into the banking sector. The general understanding was that massive investors such as Chase and Wells Fargo were so large that the stability of the entire economy rested on the wealth of these private companies being stable. In order to prevent economic collapse, the federal government stepped in to save these companies, rather than let the "free market" kill them off for their failure to functionally operate.

The initial economic shock, the housing crisis, the corporate bailouts, and Bush's free war spending all contributed to an economic crash in 2008-2009, often called "The Great Recession." Despite a presidency that oversaw the generation of over 6 million new jobs, Bush's general economic decisions left the country in a worse state than it had been in a long time. It's easy to understand why, after such a demoralizing period, that when presidential candidate Barack Obama ran on a platform of "hope and change" that many flocked to vote for him.

Obama had a relatively limited political career, but his charisma and his platform made him easy to like. He was also younger than many of the president-elects had been at their start in office, which meant many felt he was more "in touch" with the modern culture. As proof of this, Barack Obama easily navigated the "new" era of internet social platforms such as Facebook, Youtube, and a rapidly growing new platform: Twitter. When Obama was inaugurated, he became the first black American president. Some of his followers saw this as a sign of hope in itself-- a symbol of a "post-racial" America.

Obama ran into office with a platform of "hope" and "change" but many of his decisions were moderate or standard for democrat presidents. It's possible to blame lack of radical change under Obama's administration to the obstinate stubbornness of Republican House and Senate politicians, but Obama's policies were generally weak compared to the more radical social changes of past presidents such as FDR. When trying to "right" the economy from the recession period, his administration approved of more standard corporate bailouts. Stimulus packages passed through congress but the added economic benefits were usually modest at best.

Obama attempted to "doctor" the American image overseas by going on a tour of conciliatory speeches. After the 2000's were dominated by the expansion of U.S. power internationally, Obama's administration attempted to "tackle" with history. For these speeches, Obama was rewarded with a Nobel Peace Prize. Many detractors felt these speeches were not enough, however. To truly heal the image of the United States away from an imperialist tour de force, the U.S. needed to commit itself to more than symbolic gestures. Republicans, meanwhile, criticized the president for his "apology tours," stating that it made the U.S. appear weak on the international stage.

Despite Obama's supposed "apologetics," however, his administration continued to manage Bush's war. In fact, more drone strikes (bombings carried out by unmanned aerial vehicles) were used in the first year of Obama's presidency than compared to Bush's total eight. This variable could be misconstrued easily due to drones being a relatively new technology during this era, but the point remains that Obama's administration continued potentially undue warfare in a region that had been battered for nearly a decade by hostilities.

On May 2nd, 2011, one of the original primary objectives of the Iraq hostilities had been achieved: the death of Osama Bin Laden. A highly trained group of military personnel, Navy Seal Team Six, tracked and executed the wanted war criminal. Later that same year, troops were completely withdrawn from Iraq (a process that started in 2007). Despite years of attempted stability, the U.S. was unable to create a strong government force. It was comparable to Vietnam, though the patriotic backlash resulting from the 9/11 attacks had allowed the foreign war to avoid much of the same criticisms. Without the continued support, the region grew unstable once again and new powers rose, such as the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS).

One of Obama's biggest changes while in office was the Affordable Care Act (ACA). Multiple times in the past, liberal leaning leaders pushed for a better national healthcare program. Many other 1st world countries had socialized medical care systems that allowed for citizens to be taken care of without incurring significant debt, which was a major problem for American citizens. Due to both the House and Senate being Republican majorities, however, any version of a democrat healthcare bill was going to face difficulty. To Republicans, national healthcare meant greater federal control of an enterprise that they believed should remain squarely in the private sector. The significant con of being a private sector enterprise, however, is that a profit driven motive is necessary to remain open. Profit and health were not a good combination, as it allowed pharmaceutical companies and hospitals to gain off the survival necessities of people. Ultimately, the version of the ACA that passed Congress was not nearly as radical as its opponents had accused of it being. Firstly, the ACA kept the employer-based insurance system (healthcare being directly tied to employment), which was fairly unique to the United States. Second, truly progressive aspects of the bill, such as the "public option" of buying insurance from the government and public funding for birth control and abortions, were eliminated from the final version.

Due to the Republican flip of the House and Senate in 2010, Obama's second term was difficult. In order to effectively do anything, Obama issued executive orders, which did not need congressional approval. With a limp executive office and a hostile Congress, the second term dragged while American people continued to grow frustrated with the government's inability to effectively lead the country.

School shootings similar to Columbine entered the national news cycle as a repetitive occurrence. Big school shootings like the Sandy Hook massacre reignited debates on gun control, with many opposed to government intervention on weapons ownership and others arguing that something needed to be done about dying American children. "Thoughts and prayers" became a satirical rallying cry for protestors angry with the government's lack of intervention, parodying the sentiments offered in response to the shootings by pro-gun politicians.

On a cultural level, race relation tensions sparked under Obama's presidency. Rather than become a symbol of the supposed "post-racial" America, cultural dividing lines seemed to only strengthen. With "smart phones" becoming common technology, the average American had complete internet access in their pocket. This access meant that anyone with a camera on their phone was mere seconds away from being able to upload their lived-in experiences to a wider audience. Videos of black Americans being subject to police brutality or even outright executions led to waves of protests and anger, and new political rallying groups such as Black Lives Matter (BLM). Many who identified with BLM thought Obama was too centrist on social positions such as race equity. In response to this growing movement, an opposed political position began to rally together, calling themselves the "Alt-right." The alt-right was named so as it was an "alternative" fringe of right wing individuals outside the scope of polite government republicanism. Alt-right individuals often espoused extremely traditional cultural and moral values, which aligned with white supremacy. While some in the alt-right movement denied any racist intent to their world view, others in the movement embraced the label of "racist" in a subversive attempt at rejecting the growing cultural movements that echoed those of the progressive 1960's.

Despite having pulled all the troops from Iraq by 2011, within a few short years soldiers were back on the ground in the middle east. A string of protests (The "Arab Spring") began across the middle east and north Africa, with groups opposing the militant and authoritarian regimes present. Most protests were met with violent resistance, though some held out. The movement began in Egypt and Tunisia, where it then spread to Arab countries. This massive uprising of people threatened the national interests of the United States, who then inserted themselves to help "stabilize" certain areas. American intervention included suppression of a civil war in Syria and the support of rebels in Libya. The United States, allied with England and France, began to a bombing campaign over Libya and removed the brutal dictator, Muammar Gadhafi. The Libyan rebels won, but the U.S. seemed to have no post-intervention plan and the country was left in the hands of warring fiefdoms.

The espionage on American citizens that was established under Bush continued under Obama's administration. A massive information leak on the country's espionage practices was published online via Wikileaks, a non-profit organization dedicated to publishing leaked documents. Edward Snowden was credited for the leak and fled the country. The documents revealed just how extensive and intrusive the U.S. surveillance program was. Citizens were outraged at this breach of privacy, but the federal government was hardly phased. When pressed for comment, some politicians stated that Wikileaks and organizations like it were a "threat to national security." In response to whistleblowers like Snowden, Obama prosecuted them using the presidential power granted by the antiquated WWI-era Espionage Act.

One debatable positive of Obama's foreign dealings was the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA). The United States, France, England, Russia, China, and Iran forged a deal to freeze Iran's nuclear program in favor of reducing international sanctions on Iran. Iran's compliance was questionable, though. Despite the agreement, the United States would end up withdrawing from the arrangement in 2018, under the leadership of the next president.

When Obama's second term was up, the country was undergoing a transformative cultural shift. Movements promoting critical race theory, LGBTQ+/queer acceptance, and 4th wave feminism dominated cultural relevancy. Fringe progressive movements that had been growing in the background since the 80's exploded into the mainstream, catapulted by the growing cultural divide and hostility between traditional right-wing conservatives and left-wing progressives. Complicating this dynamic between "left" and "right" further, many found themselves either pro- or anti-establishment. Despite the radically different values on either side of the American political spectrum, often the biggest difference in opinion was the "correct" utility of the government system.

Pro-establishment liberals sometimes espoused that the system was "broken" and that legislation would help restore checks-and-balances. Anti-establishment leftists believed the system was working as intended, and that the political system needed to be completely altered or destroyed. Pro-establishment conservatives typically believed that traditional moral principles made America great and that the government should reflect and enforce those values. Anti-establishment rightists believed the current government was not an effective system of order to maintain a functioning society and that these new progressive movements were proof of that.

The 2016 election was between Hillary Clinton, an experienced career politician and wife of past president Bill Clinton, and Donald J. Trump, a businessman billionaire with no political office experience. Hillary Clinton was the "obvious" choice according to media responses, with Trump receiving unprecedented negative coverage. The more negative the coverage, however, the more Trump's fans seemed to love him. For anti-establishment rightists who were disillusioned with the political system, the negative coverage proved to them that the "system" did not want Trump and only made their loyalty stronger.

The cultural division between left, right, pro-establishment, and anti-establishment camps began to make divisions between wealthy elites and the common folk as well. Despite decades of political experience, many saw the Clinton family as powerful elites who exploited the people for their gain and would continue to do so. They were viewed as corrupt, gaining their fortunes and power from career political manipulation. Despite Trump being a billionaire, his absolute rejection and ridicule at the hands of news media is precisely why so many disillusioned conservatives flocked to him. His brash personality and tendency to be blunt also held appeal for many. Clinton herself described Trump's followers as "racist, sexist, homophobic deplorables." When this news broke out, many embraced the label "deplorable" ironically, more determined than ever to shock the system and vote for Trump.

When it came to the election, Clinton won the popular vote but because of the electoral system (which gave all electoral votes in a state to the winning candidate in that state), Trump won the presidency and became the 45th president of the United States of America. Once again, an electoral victory went against the popular count. The fact that this happened so soon after the last (in 2000), when this had only ever happened twice between 1776-1999, highlighted the frightening and ever-widening gap in cultural values and beliefs between two distinct visions of America.

The election results caused a massive upset for many. Democrats began chasing phantoms to explain away the result, settling on stories of Russian collusion with the intent to disrupt and affect the American presidency. Robert Mueller, former head of the FBI, was selected to investigate but little to no hard evidence established the supposed collusion. Many wealthy liberals who opposed Trump stood by the collusion story, but for many average leftists and democrat voters, the collusion debacle was a waste of time that ignored what they viewed as a very real and threatening administration, which needed to be reigned in by the legislative Congress.

Under Trump's administration, the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) was renegotiated to give the United States better favor. Tariffs were imposed on China and European trading powers, to bolster the American trading position. He also expanded American oil interests by opening up the Arctic and more off-shore regions for drilling. The coal industry was de-regulated as well. Trump also approved the continued construction of the stalled Keystone pipeline project, which had been protested by environmentalists and Native American activist groups who feared the damage to environmental and ecological areas should the pipeline fail (massive oil spills in the 2000's and 2010's made this a fairly warranted fear). Despite the environmental and humanitarian fears of these decisions, profits swelled, the stock market rose, and manufacturing jobs increased. With Trump filling the Supreme Court with his conservative appointees as seats opened, he continued the conservative renaissance of the 1980's in full force.

In foreign policy, Trump made strides to establish open relations with North Korea while encouraging the dismantling of their nuclear program. Kim Jong-Un reciprocated and discussions between the world leaders were ongoing. Headway with North Korea was an accomplishment no president before had managed. Trump was also combative with friendly nations, however.

When campaigning, Trump focused on illegal immigration as a major issue. Most past presidents had been "anti-illegal immigration" to some capacity, but few made it a major point of their campaign. Trump disproportionately highlighted crimes done by immigrants who had not crossed the borders through official channels. His immigration policies were largely centered on the neighboring country of Mexico. Trump proposed a wall to close the borders and insisted that Mexico would pay for the wall that he wanted built. This brash and blunt strategy of demand made him a difficult world leader to reason with when negotiating with American allies.

--

This summary of history has reached the point where the knowledge contained in the books guiding it have ended. That does not mean the story is over, however.

We continue to live in this story as it unfolds.

After Trump's term ended in 2020, Joe Biden (Obama's vice president) was elected to the office of president. Under Biden's administration, the nation tackled multiple significant issues such as:

Continued poor treatment of immigrants at the border

A few decades of unchecked federal student loan debt that preyed on young adults entering colleges who had little understanding of the full scope of what they were agreeing to

how best to navigate potentially necessary restrictions and aid the country when strained by a pandemic resulting from the spread of a virus colloquially known as "Covid-19"

United States culpability in Allied nations' war crimes, as U.S. funds backed Israel's continued bombing, killing, and aggressive boxing in of Palestinians

It is now July 24, 2024.

It is once again an election year in the United States of America. It is once again an election year for the most powerful country on the planet.

On July 13th, 2024, an assassination was attempted on Donald Trump by a young adult Republican with no clear motivation identified as of this writing. The event riled Republican voters and lit a flame under Trump's supporters. Like Reagan before him, the failed attempt to take Trump's life only made him more beloved in the eyes of the general public.

Democratic backers began to call for Biden to step down and let a younger person run in the election. While there was talk of this before, the failed Trump assassination boosted these voices. Despite strong assertions he would not step down, Biden ultimately decided to withdraw from the race and endorse his vice president, Kamala Harris. Harris served as an attorney general and then a senator for the state of California. With the new democrat nomination, democrat voices returned strongly to the national stage, once again optimistic at the chance to win the presidency.

Whichever version of history takes hold in these next few months will steer the course of social, political, economic, and cultural developments in the United States for the next four years.

This is the United States of America.

This is Jefferson's Empire of Liberty.

As the people who are on this planet now, we have a responsibility to be educated and to use that education to best navigate the world in a better direction-- to navigate our countries in better directions.

We are characters in this story, and we have not yet finished our roles.

This story is not over. History is happening every day.

"It's the most powerful idea in the history of the world-- that idea is that we hold these truths to be self-evident: we're all created equal, endowed by our creator with certain inalienable rights-- life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. We've never fully lived up to it… to this sacred idea, but we've never walked away from it either. And I do not believe the American people will walk away from it now." -- Joseph "Joe" Robinette Biden, 46th president of the United States of America, addressing the nation on his decision to step down from the 2024 election

[unboundtravels]

🎲 yeet! i know i've yet to respond to your starter but i wanna see more possibilities for the future!

𝑀𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝗥𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲

send  🎲  and i’ll place our muses into this generator and post the resulting muse combinations and a few ideas on how to make it work! 

 Sorry, this one took so long! I featured everyone from the Academics, Warriors, and Protectors category. Mostly because I wanted to kind of make it as even a split as I could, but we ended up at 20/9 for our muse split. I included every Doctor from One to Pink since we just started writing together. I didn't include the Travelers list since we've got that first starter. Hopefully, these pairings catch your eye! 

The Pink Doctor & Adela Song

When Adela and a hunting party head to The Amazon Rainforest on the trail of a mysterious creature leaving a trail of bodies in it's wake, they come across a mysterious figure cloaked in bright colors. Also on the trail of this mysterious creature— The Doctor and Adela Song start as allies but end up going head to head when they finally corner the creature. A being of pure and total invisibility, arriving on Earth when a transport ship experienced brutal solar winds that shredded up it's cargo hold. Surviving the fall to the planet, the creature is not of this world and needs to be taken to a suitable environment— but when the band of monster hunters opt instead to deal with it while they have the chance... they find an army of one between them and it. 

The Bond Doctor & Marlene Whittaker

Hired as the private security force for a research base in sweden that's experimenting in the future of removing air toxins from the atmosphere, Marlene and her security force find that things get complex when UNIT arrives in response to the United Nations' inquiries toward the project. In addition to the top secret military squad arriving suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere— UNIT's scientific advisor, an eccentric chap callled The Doctor, arrives with a seemingly aggressive attitude toward the project. Things get even more bizarre when the security force, Marlene, The Doctor, and several members of UNIT personel are transported several thousand lightyears away... where they discover the horrifying truth of what's really been cleaning the Earth's air...

The Goth Doctor & Alessandra Iannucci

Serving on a NAVY Vessel called the Atlas, Alessandra and her crew find themselves lost at sea. By all accounts, they should be somewhere near the pacific ocean, but they find themselves in unfamiliar waters with a foreboding fog surrounding them. Things don't get easier when members of the crew start going missing across the ship. A stranger turning up, revealing himself to be The Doctor, doesn't bring any easy answers. Especially when he claims that it's the fog causing these dissaperances... and the truth of where the vessel is is even more horrifying then any of them realized.

[crescentcampbell]

Royal Ravka University Chapter 8: Alina Starkov

Eight:

Alina Starkov

            Mal’s date for shipping out to basic training had been pushed. Which meant it was a week after she had started college. Alina had decided to let him stay in her dorm. Since she was under a special scholarship from the university, she’d been given a private room. The better for studying. Of course, now that she had put two and two together about who had made the scholarship possible, she wasn’t sure if that was the actual reason or not. She still clenched her thighs together and flushed every time she thought about what they did in the lecture hall.

            Although since that first class, he had been on strangely good behavior. He treated her like any normal student. He ignored her. Which was exactly what she wanted. Alina didn’t want him thinking that she would get weak in the knees over him like some simpering school girl. Regardless of if that was what she actually was.

            The two of them were sitting on the floor of her bedroom, eating Shu-han takeout food straight from the cartons.

            “So,” said Mal, “I got a strange offer.”

            Alina raised an eyebrow. “What kind of offer?”

            “It seems that the prince is looking for a new security guard. They need to be part of the military, and close to his age. My recruitment officer thought that I might be good for it because I fit the profile. If that were the case, I’d be going to school with you…”

            Alina looked at him. “Wait, as…as an undercover student?”

            He nodded. “I’d have to take all of the same classes as him. No one would know who I was except for him and the faculty.”

            Alina poked anxiously at her food. Mal staying instead of being shipped off to saints knew where should have made her happy. Except, if he were taking the same classes as Nikolai, that would put him in her classes with Aleksander. She could only imagine what would happen if Mal found out what had happened between the two of them….

            “Mal, are you sure you’re not just considering this because you’re worried that I won’t be able to take care of myself?” she said instead.

            Mal furrowed his brows together. “You don’t want me to go to school with you? I thought you didn’t like the idea of me enlisting. This way, we could still be together.”

            “I know,” said Alina, “but you’d still be enlisted…and…I’m just now finding my own independence. I would love for you to change your mind but Nikolai Lantsov isn’t exactly an easy security target. He’s a high-profile royal. Second in line for the throne. If you were with him as his security guard, you’d be in danger every minute.”

            Mal rolled his eyes. “I’m going to be a soldier. I’ll be in danger every moment once I ship off.”

            “But if you’re here and something happens, I’ll see it. I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if something happens to you and I’m not able to do something.”

            Mal sighed. “You don’t, by chance, have a crush on Nikolai do you?”

            Alina laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a manwhore. Not my type. Besides, I thought we decided a long time ago that we were just going to be friends.”

            “You decided,” said Mal, “I’ve been planning our wedding since we were kids. I thought it could be in the summer, in Novyi Zem. Somewhere on a beach.”

            She rolled her eyes and took a bite of her food. “Yes, because that’s my favorite thing in the world…”

            “Where would you have it?” Mal asked.

            She shrugged. “I don’t know. I never really thought about getting married. Anyway, it won’t matter. You’ll meet some pretty girl when you’re off at basic training and have a gaggle of children and I’ll be your poor, artist friend that lives in the attic.”

            Mal rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so. I think Aleksander’s going to try and take you from me.”

            She made a face. “You’re being dramatic. Besides, I do have a say in the things that happen to me. Or have you forgotten?”

            He shook his head. “No. I haven’t forgotten. I just…worry. You’ll be here all alone with him. You don’t even know the kind of person he is.”

            “I’m not naïve, Mal. I haven’t made it this far on my own without thinking for myself. Besides, who was the one that kept the bullies away from you at the orphanage?”

            He sighed, and ran a hand over his buzz cut. “You.” He gloomily took a bite of his food. Alina smiled and nudged him.

            “That’s right. Anyway…I think we’ve relied on each other a little too long. It’s time for the two of us to have some adventures on our own.”

            “Right.” He took a sip of the soda he had in his hand. “You’ll wait for me, then?”

            She rolled her eyes. “Not on your life. But…I’ll be here when you get back, yeah?”

            “Yeah, okay,” he said. He kissed her on the cheek. “Just promise me I won’t come back and find you with the last name ‘Morozova’. I might have to kill someone… and think of the family scandal that would cause.”

            Alina huffed. “Oh, please. I’m not interested in your…nephew.” She winced at the word. “That still sounds weird to say.”

            “Trust me, I know,” said Mal, “although it is great fun to piss him off when I correct people about it. He gets all mad and sputters. He’s not exactly the sputtering kind, Aleksander. It’s quite refreshing.”

            She laughed. “I bet. Anyway, you want to watch a movie?”

            “Sounds good. Can I pick?”

            “I suppose so, since you’re going off and being the gallant soldier tomorrow…”

            “Gallant, eh?” Mal waggled his eyebrows. “I like the sound of that.”

            “Now you’re just being cocky.”

            “I like the sound of it too. So, something with Vin Diesel in it?”

            “You’re the absolute worst!”

            He laughed, and they spent the rest of the night binging shows, and eating until their stomachs were full. In the morning, Alina took him to the train station.

            “You’ll write, won’t you?” he asked.

            “Of course. Take care of yourself.” She stood on tip toe to kiss him on the cheek, but before she could stop him, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her close, and swooped in for a kiss.

            Mal grinned impishly at her when he pulled away. “Something to remember me by, yeah?”

            “Off with you, then.” She rolled her eyes and shoved him off onto the train. He waved at her from the window, and she waved back.

            When she got home, she found a note on her dorm room door.

            Dear Miss Starkov,

            We regret to inform you that do to a shortage in the university budget, the funding for your housing has been pulled. You have until the end of the month to remove yourself from the premises or you will be evicted.

            Regretfully,

            Dean Ivan Kaminsky

            Alina let out a very loud shriek when she saw the letter. She knew why it had happened. And she was going to kill him for it.

[apcgee]

@gunmetclgrey​ / “Alex Enfield”

What would these officers thing if they knew she was Sherlock Holmes’s sibling; would their polite smile and curious looks shift to irritation, concern, or fear? She knew her little brother had made a thorough nuisance of himself over the past years. For once, though, he wasn’t the reason why she was here. No, this was entirely unrelated, something that was a relief as she followed the duty officer through the maze of desks, away from the holding cells. When they pointed out her final destination to her, she murmured a polite thank you and approached the desk.

“Officer Enfield?” Not really a question, one of those social lubricant noises to make conversation move more smoothly. “I require your assistance in something.”

[rahleeyah]

Hi queen I have some questions: why do you think the show made the decision to make elliot not know about Lewis? Did he choose not to ever look her up? Was he abroad at the time? Undercover? Did Kathy know? Do his kids know? Why didnt they tell him? How has he still not heard abt it from someone? What do you think the purpose is? What are your thoughts?? It’s always been so interesting to me that he clearly doesn’t know still and I wanna figure out why that is, why the writers chose to do that

i don't know why they made it, but i know why i would have done it, if i'd been in charge -

bc leaving the door open for liv telling him about lewis herself, and him not knowing, is fucking grade a top tier angst. that is delicious drama. that kind of dramatic irony - when we the audience know something vital that a character does not know - is so, so compelling to watch unfold. it's such a good opportunity for entertainment purposes that the logistics seem to matter less than leaving the door open for that confrontation. narratively, it is a fantastic choice.

however, if we're looking for like meta, in-canon explanations, i actually don't think it's that much of a stretch that he doesn't know. he "went walkabout" for some period of time before starting the private security - which i have always read as like. military contracting work - gigs, which did involve him travelling. i don't recall if he tells us specifically how long he was "walkabout", but lewis is 2 years after he left. idk what exactly he meant by walkabout - how does he go walkabout while kathy is at home with a toddler? did he literally go on a little eat pray love adventure after Jenna, leave behind not just the job and olivia but kathy, too? where was he? in a cabin in the woods? hiding out in jersey patching up his relationship with bernie? what the fuck, elliot - but probably it wasn't 2 full years. i think it's safe to say that by the time lewis happens, he's in the private security work. so it's safe to say a) he's no longer reachable at his old number and b) he might not have been in the country when it happened.

so then the question becomes well does anybody else know what happened?

i think the kids are out; yes, what happened to liv was on the news but like. how likely is it that the kids, who are somewhere between like 18-25, are watching the nightly news? how likely is it that they're reading actual newspapers? how likely is it that any news other than big national headlines (which this wouldn't necessarily be, how often do stories about cops getting hurt become national headlines?) is getting to them when they're that age? not to be like "kids don't keep up with the news" but the scale of this news story and the speed with which stories get replaced in the news cycle and the fact that at this point there's no more physical paper on the doorstep makes me think it's entirely likely the kids don't know. especially if any of them went out of state.

which leaves kathy.

knowing what we know about kathy's relationship to eo on account of the letter, i don't think it's out of the question that kathy found out about it, and didn't bring it up. not bc she's keeping it from him, not even bc she thinks he doesn't know, but bc i do think, only two years after elliot left the job, when he's only just settling into his civilian life and then only barely, the last thing i think kathy wants to do is speak olivia's name. it doesn't have to be vindictive on her part; it could just be straight up self preservation. she doesn't want to know if he knows; she doesn't want to be the one to tell him if he doesn't, and if he does she doesn't want to see him grieving for someone else.

and i love the idea that he purposefully doesn't look her up. bc he can't. bc seeing her face, seeing her live her life without him, would break him. bc he knows if he sees her face, even on a computer screen, the ache he feels for her will threaten the new life he's built for his family. he can't do that to kathy, and he can't do it to himself.

aand i also think it's not unlikely that no one's talked to him about. for one thing, they probably all think he knows, and for another, it's been ten years. it's not a wound anyone close to liv wants to reopen, and it's not something that people who aren't close to her are likely to be talking about much.

honestly i would have more questions if he did know (bc wtf, how could he know and not show up for her????) and i would be really disappointed bc i wanna see liv tell him for herself and i want to watch his anguish at learning this news in real time.

[valdomarx]

time enough for counting (when the dealing's done)

McShep + Vegas fix-it, requested by @beautifulmonster. 2k, rated M.

Bad beat

John had always known it would end like this. 

Well, the space aliens and the shady government organization had been a surprise. But the bleeding out, alone in the desert - yeah, that was always how he was going to go.

There’s a kind of dark satisfaction in seeing the world turn out exactly as shitty and brutal as you knew it would be. Called it.

His moment of sick vindication is interrupted, though, by a figure standing over him and peering down with cursory interest.

Sharp black suit, spotless even in the heat and the muck. Hands in pockets, head quirked in something that might be amusement. “Should have known you’d pull a stunt like this,” it says, and John would smirk at playing to type but the blood loss pulls him under.

Ante up

He wakes to pain. Vicious, lancing pain and the cloying smell of antiseptic and the beeping of monitors. He tries to sit up and his chest screams until he collapses back onto the bed.

Next to him, a slightly rumpled McKay is tapping furiously at a laptop. “Don’t go dying on me now, Sheppard,” he says without looking up. “I’ve got plans for you.”

Buy-in

The next time he wakes, the light has faded. It must be evening. 

The hospital room - his own private room, he realizes - is nice. Far too nice for the local joint. Must be private. Must have cost someone a pretty penny. He would have told whoever it is to save their cash.

“You’re awake. Good.” McKay strides in, less rumpled now. Neat black suit back in perfect order. “I don’t have much time, so listen up.”

He tells John how they destroyed the Wraith target before he could get a message to his buddies in Pegasus. How this universe is safe, but the spacetime rift has sent that information echoing through other universes. How they’re putting together a team to visit these other universes; warn them, offer to help if they can.

How he’ll be leaving in a few hours to head up the program. How he thinks John might be able to help.

John blinks. His eyelids are sticky and his mouth is full of fluff.

“Why the hell would you bring this to me?”

McKay flashes him an enigmatic smile. “You did save the world. Maybe you’re more of a hero than you realize.”

On the flop

He gets unceremoniously booted out of the hospital a few days later, when it becomes obvious that he’s not going to die and whoever was bankrolling his stay isn’t any more.

His car is totaled. The money inside is gone. He’s got the clothes on his back, a mountain of debt, no job, and -

He sticks a hand into the pocket of his jacket. There’s something in there: a neat rectangle of card which reads, Doctor Rodney McKay, PhD PhD. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. There’s no phone number.

He heads for the nearest motel he can find, picks up two bottles of rotgut whiskey, and drinks until he manages to pass out amid the sounds of yelling and the scuttering of cockroaches. 

Into the muck

Whatever the fuck else might be going on in the world, there is always the constant: 52 cards, 4 suits, the flick of the dealer’s wrist as he lays out your fortunes, the wins and the loses and the ones where you came oh so close.

He’s back at Mikey’s within a week, borrowing more to get out ahead of this debt, even though he knows that’s never going to work.

Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe he can win what he needs, pay off the people he has to, and use the rest to make a start somewhere other than here. Anywhere other than this desert full of chips and blood and corpses and filth.

It’s going to be a good night, he tells himself as he settles into a squeaky plastic chair at a low-roller table and looks around at his competition. Tourists and chumps, and he can take these guys no problem.

Pot-committed

He’s woken by a shrill ringing. His head feels like he’s stuck it in a cement mixer and his mouth tastes like cheap whiskey and puke. He rolls over, covers his ears with a ratty pillow, and ignores it.

The ringing continues. What the fuck? It’s a phone. It keeps ringing. He doesn’t own a phone.

Whoever the fuck is calling is still going, so with a groan he sits up and, bleary-eyed, looks for the phone. He finds it in his jacket pocket, and he’s almost certain it wasn’t there last night.

“Yeah?” he says as he answers it. “What do you want?”

“Sheppard,” a crisp, familiar voice says. “I’ve got a job for you.”

Sheppard closes his eyes. The last thing he needs right now is a world-ending crisis. “Can’t,” he says shortly. “I’ve got… business to attend to.”

McKay snorts. “Another fortune to lose at the poker table? I’m sure you do.” John can hear judgement radiating down the phone line. Then McKay sighs and softens. “Tell you what, meet me and hear me out, and I’ll see what I can do about clearing that off-the-books debt for you.”

That pings John’s bullshit meter, for sure, because that much money doesn’t get casually tossed around even in defense circles. But McKay gives him the address of a pancake place to meet for breakfast and what the hell, he does like pancakes.

Check in the dark

“We keep running into you,” McKay says, shoveling maple syrup-covered pancakes into his mouth with great enthusiasm. “Or, well, other versions of you. Practically every universe we’ve visited so far, you’re leading the team.”

John raises an eyebrow. Not much surprises him any more, but parallel realities strain even his credulity.

“It would be easier,” McKay continues, “if you were with us. You could help us explain. People trust you.”

John jerks back like McKay has slipped a knife between his ribs. McKay doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he does notice and is tactful or manipulative enough not to acknowledge it.

“Come work with me. We’d need to get you some -” he gestures with a fork, “- training, obviously. But you could be useful. You could do some good.”

John shifts in his seat. “I can’t just leave.”

McKay scowls at him. “Right, because you’ve got so many compelling reasons to stay.”

Gutshot

He ends up in some anonymous Air Force bunker in Colorado, of all places, and being around so much military life has his hackles rising. He’s deposited in a blank, windowless room with a desk covered in stacks of carefully redacted mission reports from the Stargate program which he reads voraciously because this is wild, this is unbelievable, but it’s also all true.

McKay finds him a few days later, lounging in the doorway as impeccable as ever. John is suddenly very aware of the fact he’s been sleeping in his clothes.

“Keeping busy?” McKay asks, voice dripping with condescension and something else John doesn’t want to put his finger on.

John nibbles the pen he’s holding as he considers how to answer that, and he notices the way McKay’s eyes flick to his mouth. Ahh. Interesting.

“Staying out of trouble, at least,” he drawls, letting his posture slacken so he’s lounging against the back of the chair and his knees are spread wide. It’s been a while but he knows how to play this game. 

McKay walks around to his side of the desk, each step measured and precise. Not too fast, no sudden movements, a predator lining up for the kill. John tilts his head back and bares his neck, because he knows how to play the role of prey. McKay perches on the edge of the desk between his legs, looks down his nose, and says, “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I can behave.” He looks up from under his lashes. It’s not exactly subtle, but fuck it, they’re way past that by now. “When properly motivated.”

McKay leans in, all sharp smiles and gleaming edges, and John shudders. McKay notices and the sharp edges of his smile glistens. 

“I know you can, Sheppard,” McKay says in a low voice that has the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “I told you before. I know everything about you.”

Damn the man, John thinks, and then McKay winds his fingers into John's hair and yanks him in for a hot, messy kiss and John stops thinking altogether. 

Afterwards, as he makes vain attempts to pull up his shirt collar to hide the bite marks and to wipe the come stains off the classified military files, John reflects that he may truly be in over his head this time.

Under the gun

A stack of paperwork drops onto his desk with a dull thud. He looks up to find the scowling face of Major Davis.

“Consultant,” Davis says, chilly as ice. “That’s what the Pentagon is willing to offer. You’ll get a salary and accommodation, and in return you’ll help Doctor McKay with his research while he’s on Earth.”

John opens his mouth, though whether it’s to say thank you, to tell Davis to go fuck himself, or to ask for more money, he isn’t sure. Davis holds up a hand to stop him before he can find out.

“I advised against it, given your record. But McKay is a real pain in the ass when he wants to be. So this is what’s on the table. Take it or leave it.”

Tell

McKay’s brow is furrowed and he’s fiddling with some piece of machinery (probably alien, John thinks, and it seems that sort of thing is part of his life now). It blinks to life for a moment before the lights on the top fade away, and McKay swears and bangs it on the table.

“Hey, easy, Chewie,” John chides.

McKay’s eyes narrow. “I thought you said you didn’t like science fiction.”

“Star Wars isn’t science fiction. It’s science fantasy.”

McKay actually smiles at that, something joyous leaping up in the corners of his mouth.

“Knew you were a nerd,” McKay says under his breath, and John punches him playfully in the shoulder. He’s defending his honor, or something.

McKay ducks his head, and a blush creeps up the back of his neck.

Ace high

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” McKay looks even smugger than usual. 

“Yeah?” John slips a leer into the syllable.

But McKay just rolls his eyes. “Not like that. Come on, there’s something I want you to see.”

He leads him down through the base to a lower level, through endless security checks and into a dark hanger. There’s some technology they’ve acquired from an off-world source, he explains, deliberately vague. He’s trying to make some modifications to it, and he thinks John can help with testing.

John has learned to expect the unexpected in this place, but when the lights of the hanger flicker on his breath still catches. It illuminates a ship unlike anything he’s seen before: slick and cylindrical, rear hatch open to show seats and consoles inside.

“It’s fitted with inertial dampers, weapons, a shield,” McKay says breezily. “Oh, and you’ll like this.” He flicks a button on a control and the ship disappears in a haze like hot air. “It’s got a cloak too.”

It’s like something out of a movie, and John is struck speechless. He follows wide-eyed as McKay decloaks the ship to lead them inside and gestures for him to sit.

And woah, the moment he sits the chair glows and a holographic interface springs up in front of him, and he can feel the ship in his mind. He reaches out with a thought and - ping - the display shows a schematic of the hanger.

“Knew you’d be a natural,” McKay says, managing to sound both condescending and delighted. “Want to take her for a spin?”

Yes, everything in him screams, but he thinks about flames and smoke and the shrill, piercing whine of a tail rotor failing, and he grits his teeth against it and says, “I don’t fly any more,” instead.

McKay gives him a long, cool look. 

“We’ll start small,” McKay says, all business, and it’s so easy to relax and follow his lead. “I need you to activate the inertial dampeners while I adjust the shield field strength.”

Okay. Okay. He can do that.

The ship whirs to life.

Short stack

John stares at the blank white walls of his apartment.

It’s better than most places he’s lived in. No roaches, for a start, and it’s clean and has its own kitchen.

But it’s infuriatingly bland, and Colorado is infuriatingly empty, and there’s not so much as a slot machine within an hour’s drive and he is climbing the walls here.

McKay has disappeared on one of those weeks-long missions he can’t or won’t tell John about, and there’s a restless itching under his skin that’s urging him to drink or gamble or fuck or something, and this whole planet seems too small and too constrictive but he doesn’t want to climb under a blanket of booze and drain it all away.

He wants more.

On the river

“Modifications are done,” McKay announces. “Shall we test her out?”

The we makes something squirm in John’s gut but he dismisses it with a lazy, “It’s your alien spaceship.”

McKay looks for a moment like he’s going to say something, but then he pulls out a radio and talks into that instead. “This is Gate Ship One, ready for initial shield test burst.”

“Gate Ship One?” John scoffs. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“It’s a ship that goes through the gate,” McKay pouts, and damn, that’s kind of cute. “Why, what would your suggestion be?”

John tilts his head. He’s seen footage of the ship traveling through the stargate, leaping through the event horizon and leaving barely a ripple in its wake. “Seems more like a puddle jumper to me.”

“You have the soul of a poet,” McKay says acerbically. 

And damn if that’s not kind of cute too.

Dealer’s choice

“Come with me,” McKay says, and John is ready to say yes before he’s even finished speaking. “To Pegasus. To Atlantis. I need to get back there, and I’m sure we can find a way to make you useful.” A little smirk at the end there.

“I don’t know how the Pentagon is going to feel about that,” John says, deliberately languid to hide the way his heart is pounding in his chest. Escape, adventure, somewhere new, somewhere he could be a new person, and he wants it so much it aches.

“Eh, fuck them. They can’t say no to me.”

“Okay,” he shrugs. “Not like I’ve got anything better to do here.”

McKay gives him a look that shoots straight through his defenses and down to his sticky innards. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way that makes the ache in John’s chest twist into a deep burn.

All in

The jumper hovers in the air in front of the stargate. 

“Nervous?” McKay asks, carefully casual, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

John hums. The inside of the jumper feels as much like home as any place he knows. What’s another galaxy to a man with no ties?

“You’re going to love it there,” McKay says with a smile he can’t hide. He dials up the gate and it engages with a tremendous whoosh and a burst of brilliant blue light.

Here goes nothing, he thinks as McKay deploys the drive pods and fires up the engines. One last new start. 

[fific7]

Dangerous and Divine - Part 1

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: Some drinking & swearing.

(My GIF)

Your feet were killing you in those too-high heels. Heading firstly to the bar and then onwards to a comfy-looking sofa right next to it, you sank down into it and crossed your legs as elegantly as you could. Then you took the biggest damn slug out of the G&T in your hand that you could manage.

What a boring, tedious, stupid freaking cocktail party this was.

You owed your little cousin a major favour, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.

Saying ‘no’ to start with, she’d begged and pleaded with you, then finally threatened to tell your parents she’d recently picked you up from police custody unless you went along in her place.

Leaving work just as she called, you heard her tinny voice mentioning the Parent Threat and you stopped dead in your tracks, hastily taking her off speaker. People were tutting at you for being in the way, so you quickly moved to the side as you hissed, “Shut up!” at her.

Not so long ago, there had been a certain little public disorder thing you’d become embroiled in. Well, okay, had kind of started. In fact it was the reason why your boyfriend was now your ex-boyfriend.

You’d both been at a rowdy house party, got really very drunk and you’d eventually lost him in the mob of gyrating, smoking and over-imbibing bodies. As someone had cheerfully informed you when you asked where the Missing Link was, you found out he was very busy indeed on the patio with his tongue lodged down some unknown female’s throat.

You’d sucker-punched him and hard-slapped her, and a long, loud screaming match ensued. You’d been in the winning corner as far as you were concerned. But...ha, yeah... that was the sound of the police. Being let off with a caution not to be a naughty girl again, your ‘Angel Face’ look lasted until the door of the cop shop hit you on the butt on your way out.

The first thing you did as you walked away was send the “Fuck Off and Never Contact Me Again” text to your now-ex. Second, you texted your cousin and asked for a lift. Hence the favour you owed her.

You’d sighed and agreed you’d cover for her at this ‘do’. There was no way your parents could ever find out about this; you’d graduated with a Business degree a few years back, had recently opened your second cafe & patisserie in town and were therefore designated as a ‘responsible adult’ in their eyes. They’d be truly appalled if they knew what you’d done, although you were sure you’d get at least a little sympathy from them due to the circumstances.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were just taking another huge gulp of G&T when someone was suddenly looming over you, and you glanced up to see a guy who figuratively had “Lounge Lizard” written all over him. Inwardly you sighed, but just stared at him, expression neutral, to see what his approach was going to be.

“Well, hi,” he beamed, his eyes flicking over you, “can I buy you a drink, pretty lady?”

Yeah, about what you expected. You decided to go with Polite Reply No 1.

“Thanks for offering, I’m fine right now though.”

He parked himself on the sofa next to you, angling his body towards you. “Aw, you sure I can’t tempt you? You look a little... thirsty.”

Ooooh you asshole, you thought. You’ve just moved up the scale to Eviscerating Reply No 2.

You opened your mouth to speak, about to bring out the big guns, when another figure stopped beside you. A hand landed on your shoulder, fingers squeezing ever so gently.

“There you are, angel. Sorry I took so long.”

You looked up at the man who’d spoken; tall, lean, dressed to the nines in an expensive suit. And handsome. Very handsome.

“Uh.. it’s fine, darling. I just got myself a little G&T while I was waiting.”

Lounge Lizard put up his hands, mumbling an apology and moving away abruptly.

Your saviour looked down at you, a small smile on his lips, “You looked like you needed rescuing.”

“Well, I could’ve handled him perfectly well, but I appreciate the assistance.”

He held out his hand, “Billy Russo. CEO of Anvil. It’s a private security company.” “Oh, OK.. I’m sorry, I haven’t heard of it,” you replied as you shook his hand. You gave him your name, without saying anything else. He looked at you, a little puzzled.

He nodded his head back towards the main crowd, “These are all mainly current and ex military types, sprinkled with security guys like me.” His dark brown eyes looked deep into yours, “So how come you haven’t heard of Anvil?” You shifted on the couch slightly, damn - he’d found you out.

Your cousin - who worked in Admin at one of said security firms - had said you just needed to provide a face to go with the invite. She didn’t want to miss out on any future invites by passing up on this one.

“Look, Mr Russo...” you started saying. “Billy,” he interrupted you. “Billy... okay, look. I’m just filling in for my little cousin who works in security. I run my own business but it’s nothing to do with...” you waved a hand around, “....all this. Can we keep that between ourselves, please?”

A mischievous gleam came into his eyes, and he smiled at you. It was just a small smile, hardly lifting his lips, but you suddenly felt there was something dangerous behind it. “For a price.”

Oh here we go, you thought. Here you were thinking he was a nice enough guy, and he’s really just a smartass after all.

You raised an eyebrow, unsmiling, “What’s the price?”

“Come for a drink with me.... but not here. Let’s go somewhere else.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

[writingmorsels]

Prompt: Missing

You suddenly disappeared on the journey between your workplace and your home.

Alex, your current fiancé, is informed about this and wants to be involved with the search. Sullins gets him off the case almost immediately when foul play is presumed, considering Mahone one of the first suspects because of his (lately rocky) relationship with you.

Eaten by the thought of you dead, Mahone launches himself in a private investigation to try and find you.

Based off the song “Where’s My Love” by SYML

It had been Lang, that saint woman, who told Alex the news: you were gone and no-one knew where.

After leaving the administration building next to Alex’s office, you didn’t come home. People noticed only because you didn’t show up at work the next day and the interviewed doorkeeper of your apartment building confirmed never seeing you that night.

It had been also Lang, who kept him in the loop. The first days of your disappearance Alex had been shaking with adrenaline, sifting every video, every photo, every interrogation transcript Felicia gave him after Sullins took him off the case.

“I know that look,” Felicia spoke softly as her hands went to grab his ones. “You were out of State, it’s not your fault.”

Was it not?

The both of you didn’t stop fighting about anything, in the last days before her disappearing. Sullins thought it was obvious proof of Mahone’s culpability and Alex couldn’t but agree with his superior, just on a different note.

It was his fault.

He pushed you, pushed against your love and your presence because it was too good, too warm. You were too good for him and he broke you.

How many times he snapped at you? How many times has he let his work take priority over you?

Did he see the signals and didn’t care?

Or was he so blind he didn’t even notice?

Did you just… run away from him? Or were you in danger?

“How many hours, now?” Alex asked, his voice a whispery, ragged strand of what originally was.

Lang sighed, seeing his friend with his head hung forward and shoulders slouched down. He didn’t even try to hide the lack of sleep and food, at that point. “Alex…” “how many hours...days…?” his voice didn’t stop breaking from time to time, hardly keeping emotions where they had to stay.

Felicia remained silent, thinking about the last time she saw you, waving as you came out of your small little office. “Five days, more or less.” she confessed. “We searched along the road she usually takes, but nothing came up.”

Alex didn’t move, but his brain churned. “Have you checked-” “Looked at the CCTVs, in the park near her home, around the neighborhood...we even asked for security footage from civilians. I went out there myself and found nothing,” Lang exhaled, shifting on her side of the sofa, uncomfortable.

“Search dogs?”

“It had been raining since she disappeared. They can’t find a lead.”

“Interviewed coworkers? Someone that fancied her? Hated her? Or me?”

“He asked everybody, twice. Nothing came up beside office gossip. Listen, Alex, I know you know your stuff, but we know too. God’s know how much I want to find her, but you need to listen to me.”

Mahone went silent again, for a few seconds.

“Have you… looked where I told you to-” “...Alex,” Felicia's voice grew stern. “We looked. Every. Where… You need to start thinking that...maybe... she might be-” “DON’T-...Don’t say it. Please Felicia...just...let me...” and with that Lang couldn’t speak more.

Her chest tightened as she saw Alex curl up, hands gripping his own hair and tremble in what little tears he still had left.

With a small, weak “I’ll see myself out” she walked out of Alex’s living room, leaving the man to be with his sorrows with just a soft pat on his shoulder.

They didn’t search enough, Alex thought as he jumped up from the sofa, starting to pace around. He looked at your face peppering the place with various photos, smiling memories he still could feel, trapped underneath the surface of that agony.

They didn’t search well enough…! She had to be somewhere! If only Richard would listen to him!

She could die!

She could…

She is…

Anger came over him in a wave and Alex let out a pained roar, as he kicked over the coffee table, sending all its nicknacks flying.

A glass vase shattered, papers and flyers and documents flew around, the small piece of furniture rolled to the other side of the room.

You weren’t dead… you were just out of reach of anybody else.

That was it.

Fuck Sullin’s suspects, fuck everybody’s incompetence.

You were somewhere out there and if Alex found killers, rapists and even former military, he would find the love of his life.

He exited his house like a hurricane, not even grabbing his heavy coat to fight the cold of mid-autumn.

He had to check that place again. Even if his colleagues assured him the place was empty when they looked, Mahone had a feeling.

Because if you weren’t there...then you really just up and left him without a trace.

Five Day Earlier:

“What?!” you snapped, pressing your phone against your ear. You barely heard Alex through it, the sound of chatter and keyboards muffling his voice. “But we had plans...you know we had plans!” you whined, making some coworkers turn their heads.

You huffed, storming out of the office and on the emergency stairs, just so you could chew him a new one in peace.

“We found a new lead for the Ragman case-” “Like I care! You’re not the whole fucking Bureau, Alex! Let someone else handle it!” you barked, your free hand grabbing the railing.

It was that or it was crossing the street, up to his office and smacking him to kingdom come.

He sounded angry just like you, his voice cold and strained. “I can’t just step down! I’ve been following this case for weeks, you know it!” “I know that I’m planning this fucking dinner since EASTER, Alex! It’s not even the real Thanksgiving because you ALREADY HAVE that day filled, but no! No, you HAVE to be on the other side of the fucking Nation even tho you assured meー no, SWORE me you WOULD BE FREE!” you found yourself basically screaming into the phone.

It was like a dam exploded and now days and months of pushing down emotions kept pouring out.

It wasn’t only for a missed dinner, it was for the rest. The feeling of being less than his job, being unimportant. Not being enough for him.

Those thoughts gnawed at you for quite some time and now they came back in full force. “You know what?? Fine! Go be a superhero! Go hunt your next bone, good doggy! While you’re there, marry your fucking job too!”.

With that you slammed the phone shut without even listening to his voice anymore.

One after another, his promises kept missing...and you were at your wit’s ends. There was some talking to do, for sure, but before that you absolutely had to cool down or you would totally wreck what was left between you two.

So, after finishing your boring day at work you went out and, instead of going back to your shared home, you got on a bus and straight to your favourite place.

The park was nice even when the summer was just a memory, a thick fog rising from the browny waters of the lagoon.

You walked down a wooden path, feeling the wet earth beneath it shift slightly, and you breathed a long, long sigh; you didn’t need to be so mean, but you were so tired. Tired of battling for every inch of attention. Tired of tiptoeing around Mahone’s always full agenda.

You didn’t mind his line of work, being a federal was a very dangerous and busy occupation, but Alex seemed to always do more of what was expected of him. No one ordered him to travel and manually grab the killer of choice to bring back. No one ordered him to stay afterhours for days on end, leaving you to wait up until midnight with an empty plate in the kitchen.

He was the one going the extra mile for his job...but lately, you wanted him to take some, not all! But some of that mileage and invest it in his relationship with you.

Especially now that he proposed.

You chuckled a sob, remembering the day.

Was it just so you wouldn’t run away? Did he really love you?

Or did he love the cooking, the cleaning, the company?

You stopped in the middle of the wooden road and looked left, seeing a faint path in the tall grass.

That small, invisible trail led you to the best place of the park, where you played cop and thief with your friends.

It was a small, round clearing among the trees, with one L-shaped stone covered in moss you called ‘The Couch’.

You hopped on The Couch and groaned your anger away, laying down on the soft greenery.

You didn’t know what to do anymore...

Mahone stopped his car inches away from the main gate of the park, leaving the engine on as he got off.

He grabbed a torch from the glove box and ran inside, moving the light around like a blade cutting the darkness. His eyes swallowed every little detail as he walked, combing with his gaze through the trees, the grass, the waters.

Frantically he moved along the main path, flashing the wooden boards now dark and soaking wet.

The recent rain erased any single footprint that would have existed, but Mahone knew your favourite place.

You showed him once, making him find a basket full of good food, a blanket and some wine. “Twenty steps from the crooked tree… thirtyfive to the left,” he mumbled to himself, finding the faint trail almost immediately.

He walked like a pirate in search of a treasure, careful to never stray from the path.

“Y/n! Y/n honey!” he shouted.

Alex had this foolish thought, this little movie in his head that, once he overcame the underbrush and pierced the thick veil of trees, he would find you.

Maybe angry, maybe scared, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to hug you tight, to never let go.

As he walked up into the clearing, his already broken heart shattered.

Everything was as he remembered: the long, thin trunks of the ashes, the big green rock, the blades of grass.

Even the smell was the same, humid and woody.

But you weren’t there.

You weren’t sitting on that strange rock or maybe laying in the grass. Not you or your body or any kind of hint you were ever there.

Alex’s hand trembled, the light of the torch vibrating. “No...no no no…” he sobbed. “Y/N! HONEY!” he started to shout, “Y/N PLEASE! Y/N!” his eyes darted left and right as the realization started to really hit him. “Y/N I’M SORRY! PLEASE! DON’T...Don’t...p-please come back...” his voice crumbled as did his body, overexerted by the long days without respite.

The flashlight flew from his fingers in a fit of desperate rage and Mahone wept alone in the woods, almost wheezing in the constricting pain holding his heart.

Tears streamed down his face as his palms pressed against his temples, nails digging into his scalp.

It was his fault, all his fault...if he just said no to Sullins, if he sent Wheeler instead...if he listened to Felicia…

You would be home with him.

Eating a warm, good dinner together and then crashing into bed, holding each other until morning.

Now you were gone and his heart was, too.

c l a c k c l a c k c l a c k s p l a s h

Amongst the sobbing and the sounds of the night, Alex’s ears picked up on something. A sound that seemed to come almost from underneath him, faint and muffled.

Then, raising his head, Mahone noticed he was in complete darkness. His torch was nowhere to be found.

No, there was something: a few strands of grass seemed to shine, but the light was too feeble to be his flashlight...or was it?

He moved slowly, furrowing his eyebrows for a moment...and then his eyes shot open wide, for what he saw there, at the foot of the big green rock.

You lingered in that place for at least a couple of hours, watching the sky turning from grey to black as the night progressed. Your phone pinged a couple of times with messages from Alex, asking you to answer his calls, to stop being childish, to please reply. The last one was a defeated ‘we’ll talk when I’ll be back. Write when you’re home. Love you’ that made you melt a litte. You sighed, closing the phone with a little clack and laying it on your forehead, thinking. Now that you were calmer and level-headed, what had happened seemed a little excessive. Sure you’ll speak to Alex about your insecurities, about how you felt being always brushed aside, but at the same time you had to make peace with the fact that you still loved him, so very much. He had that job before you came into his life, it was one of the things that made you fall in love with him: his stubbornness, his logic, his courage. It was a new point in your life and it just needed adjusting, that’s all… “ehh...fuck me…” you whisper with a strange, sweet tone in it, as you took your phone and started to slowly type ‘Going home. Love you too’ to him. As you hit send, the phone froze for a second before giving you a small error message. “No signal? Where am I, Narnia?” you grumbled as you jumped off The Couch, lifting your cellphone at arm-high in search of signals. You stumbled around in the clearing, eyes transfixed on the little screen above your head. “C’mon, now that I wasn’t that angry anymo-” your voice yelped as your heel sank into rotten wood. Something behind you, on the ground, gave away and your entire weight dragged you down, down deep into the earth. You dropped like a stone, your fingers trying to grab the wet, rough walls as you plummeted down. Then a splash, cold water enveloping you with its sharp claws, but it didn't stop gravity enough for your bones not to break. You heard a snap and suddenly a jolt of electrifying pain shot all along your right leg. You cried in agony, scraping your nails against the rocks like running away from the hurt. After a few minutes of intense panic, your eyes started to watch around, to assess your position after the fall. You recognized it, between tears. It was a well. An old well hidden from everyone's eyes but nature, still filled with a couple of feet of freezing water. “Oh no...oh--ffffuck…!” you wailed as you tried to stand up, letting out another cry as you immediately fell down again, your own body too shocked to manage to stand up. The sandy bottom felt grimy underneath your hands, your phone dead in the water where it fell right after you. “HELP! SOMEBODY!” You passed all night screaming for help, watching the mouth of the well light up with the cloudy sky of the morning after. If you squinted enough, its form could be mistaken for a full moon in the middle of a dark sky. Unable to stand on your remaining leg for more than a few seconds, you leaned against the stone walls around you, trying to stay as far as possible from the water. It was too cold to sit in it without freezing to death and you surely didn’t want to die. You screamed and screamed until your throat felt raw and your voice cracked. Your thirst found solace with the same water threatening your life and you drank it with small sips, feeling its coolness fight your body temperature as you gulped it down. Another night came and went. The light grey sky became black again. It rained, water trickling down the walls and slowly pooling at the base of the well, around her legs. You drank your hunger away, using the rain to quench your thirst now that your small reserve of water got, alas, corrupted by your bodily function. Your voice carried less far away, tired but still trying. Third day and leaning against the wall with just one leg had been unbearable. Your knee buckled from time to time, sending you into the water now one feet higher. You convened with your body that sitting down, even if in freezing water, could be done for a couple of minutes at the time. You tried to scream for help again, but your voice croaked pitifully

and never reached the edge of the well, hidden among the grass. Surely someone noticed your disappearance. Surely there was police involved already...it had to be. You secretly hoped he noticed, too. Would he care, after what you screamed at him? You could not feel your leg anymore and looking at its bent shape made you nauseous. Or was it the hunger? "Please….! Someone…" Fourth day. You could not stand anymore. Water reached your chest now and the only moments of warmth is when your bladder empties itself. Rain stopped flowing down that night and you waved goodbye at your only source of clean water. He wasn't there. No one was. Death was. Fifth. Cold. Light. Alex…?

Mahone carefully palmed the edges of the well, double the size of a manhole.

He looked down, the light of his torch now reverberating along stone walls, impressing on them the dance of water. And his heart sank down the same moment he saw you.

You were sitting down with water lapping at your collarbones, your skin so pale you looked like a ghost.

His voice hiccuped a second, before coming out in full force. “Y/N!” he cried, but you didn’t move.

Only a slit of your beautiful, beautiful eyes was open. So were your lips, turned a dangerous shade of blue.

Quickly, Alex grabbed his phone and dialed Lang’s number, knowing full well she would still be in the office. She was leading the search, despite her pessimistic view about it.

The woman replied almost immediately, her voice tense. “Yes?�� “I found her!” he hissed, panicked. “Send me the firefighter, now! And paramedics! Please she’s unresponsive I can’t reach-” “Alex, breathe! I’ll send you a backup, but you need to calm down! Where are you?”.

Mahone breathed in, tensing his jaw, before moving his head to search for something to try and pull you out. “She fell into an abandoned well,” his voice was colder, professional. “There’s no time, just track my phone. I’m going down…!” “Alex wait-!”

With that, Mahone closed the call and safely left his phone a couple of feet away from the mouth of the well.

Without a second thought, the man slid one leg into the hole, then the other, slowly lowering himself inside with his feet searching for pursuit on the smooth stones. His fingers found cracks in between the rocks and slowly started his descent. Alex slipped a couple of times, holding on just enough for his shoes to find a ledge again.

The journey you made in a few seconds five days prior, took Alex at least one solid minute of intense climbing. When only a couple of feet separated the both of you, Mahone let go of the wall and fell down into the freezing water, feeling it gnaw at his legs. “Y/n…! Oh God honey...please answer me…!” he panted as he reached you, kneeling down into the stagnant water. His hot hands cupped your frozen face, thumb caressing your cold lips and your damp cheekbones.

For a moment there was nothing. No movements, no reactions but only the sloshing of water around your bodies.

Slowly, then, you came up from the dark, fuzzy place where you were drowning, your eyelashes trembled, stuck, unable to open.

Resuscitated by his warm touch, his presence. “A...lex…” your voice was barely a raspy whisper, but that was enough for Mahone.

He exhaled a deep breath, a smile cracking his tense expression as he lowered his head to kiss your damp forehead. “I’m here love… I’m here.”

For a moment you thought about wrapping your arms around him, searching for more of that scalding sensation against the skin. As you tried, a new explosion of pure agony rebounded in your body.

You couldn't move, almost frozen solid in that curled position. Your stone-cold body started to shake visibly, like a broken machine trying to power on. “h-h-he...reー” you whined under your breath, one hand fighting against the cramping muscles to reach his shirt.

You gripped on him with all the strength you had left, eyes rolling behind the eyelids from time to time.

Mahone immediately wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in his body warmth. “Yes Y/n I’m here. I’ll take you out darling...I’m here, I’m not leaving…” he whispered hurriedly in your ear, a big lump forming in his throat.

You yelped softly when he touched your broken leg, your only functioning hand pulling at his clothes in pain and Mahone furrowed his brows, watching down in the muddy water.

He saw your injury but didn’t say anything about it, only shifting his body to be able to hold you without causing any pain.

Cuddled into his arm, you let yourself mold into him, your heavy head resting on his shoulder and face searching the hot angle of his throat. “I’ll not let you die…” he sweetly spoke onto your wet hair. “You will not...leave me like this.”

You sighed against his skin, your trembling starting to subdue. Oh you were so tired, the weight of entire oceans on you… but you could not stand losing his voice into the fog. “h--urts-…” you let out a soft noise, desperate and scared.

Your eyes finally managed to unglue, lashes thawed and gaze glassy, but you watched his face, crossed by the undulating lights the torch created from the bottom of the water. If you died there, at least you managed to see the summer skies in his eyes one last time. “I let you down so many times darling…” Alex hushed, his voice low and closed in his throat. His hand never stopped caressing your face, brushing away locks of hair and heating up your skin with his palm. “But I’ll get you out of here...this is a promise I’m going to keep...you just...you just have to keep holding on.”

You wanted to speak, to reply to his sweet, sweet words. Transform your groan into words of love and pureness, but your hand felt heavier than ever before and your aching fingers lost grip on his shirt.

It had been difficult to even remain conscient at that moment, focusing on the beating of his heart in his throat. Focusing on your body now split in two: freezing death on one side, burning pain on the other.

“Stay awake Y/n, don’t sleep…! C’mon honey you have to stay with me now. Please..!” you heard Alex as if he spoke to you from the other side of a glass, the voice you always loved now muffled.

As your mind started to drift off again, a thought came into your mind.

You never managed to reply to his message.

You never said that to him. “ ーove... you…” your tired, hoarse voice managed to claw out of your mouth before passing out again.

Red and blue lights pierced through the trees and seconds after a group of men in uniform came rustling into the clearing.

Guiding them was Felicia Lang, her phone in her hand trying to reach out for Mahone without success. “Where are you, you dumbー !” her mumbling stopped as her eyes saw light coming through the earth, then a little mmmmhz-mmmmhz of Mahone’s vibrating cell phone.

“HERE! HERE!” she shouted, waving her arm. Both police and firemen crowded around the well for a moment, assessing the situation.

There was a man on the bottom of the well, standing in water up to his knees. He was holding a woman in his arms, trying to keep her as close to him as possible. “WE’RE COMING DOWN! STAND BACK!” one of the policemen yelled, as one of the firemen wore a harness.

Alex made one step back, watching intently at the man being lowered into the well by his colleagues. “C’mon…! C’mon!” he hissed under his breath, his body trembling with adrenaline while time slowed down to a crawl.

As soon as the fireman reached them, Alex neared him. “She’s hypothermic, unresponsive...I can’t find a pulse but I see her breathing…!” he spoke quickly, agitated and the fireman nodded. “Paramedics are on the surface, sir, don’t worry.”

You didn’t even make a sound as your frozen body passed from Alex’s determined hold to the arms of the unknown man.

Slowly, you were brought up and out of the moist hell you fell five days prior, and while the fireman carried you towards the on-coming stretcher, Alex was given a rope to use as a way to climb up right behind rescue.

He didn’t even feel the pain in his arms as training and fear both pushed him to move quickly, grasping at the edge of the well with one hand and the other being grasped by Lang. “She’s there, go…!” she whispered to him as soon as he came out.

Mahone neared the stretcher the same time the paramedics put it down for you to be laid on and start first aid.

They couldn’t find a pulse for a good thirty seconds, before one of them confirmed that yes, heart beats were present but slow.

“Shallow breathing. Have you temp?”

“25 degrees. She’s gonna collapse, wrap her!”

“On three. One, two, three-up!”

“Gently!”.

Alex walked near the stretcher, watching you being wrapped up in insulation blankets and with one of the paramedics pumping air into your lungs through a mask.

He never left your side, as the little procession sped through the park, towards the exit and into the back of an ambulance.

On the ride to the hospital, Alex never left your hand.

Your fingers never left his, too.