#they are correct that the government is lying to them

[redheadedbrunette]

Cool so I reread the series and I noticed a lot more than I did the first two times I read it which is fun. The relationship between Ben and Erica is more explored than I remembered which is good and I can definitely see her character arc a lot clearer.

X is still my least favorite book and there’s absolutely a corner that Gibbs wrote himself into on that one unless he’s entirely giving up on the idea of having Ben and co. be secret agents.

Ben’s a lot more of a competent spy than I remember too, which is refreshing.

I also completely forgot that all 10 of these books happen in the span of like a year and a half which is hilarious.

Oh and the age gap seems like something that would be a lot more of an issue if there weren’t only like 300 people in the world they could have contact with. Even Erica and Josh had a bit of a gap since she had to have been 14/15 or so while he was 17/18. A gap of 2.5 years would be problematic for normal kids but I think different rules would apply.

I'm so glad it was clearer on a second go around! Honestly, I didn't even really see it all that clearly until I reread the series a couple years ago (SSAS came out my first week of college) and had a lot more experience with how stories work on a fundamental idea. Erica's development is very much in the background, but when you're looking for it (excluding SSPX, but that's a different rant) it's so clear and interesting and I love it.

SSPX bothers me for SO MANY REASONS the biggest of which is that Mr. Gibbs puts the message before the overarching plot of everything, and then! It's not even a relevant message! Like, what twelve year old is hardcore believing QAnon (it's pretty obviously meant to be that or something similar). I feel like something could have been achieved and a message about privacy, like Murray makes getting a video of Ben part of some TikTok knockoff challenge, because that seems like a much more likely thing kids would do, but gotta make fun of people who remember what the news said two years ago and comparing it to what they say now! Can't have people with good memories! But yeah, it does shoot the series in the foot kind of, and I understand the reasoning behind why things were done the way they were! I just don't agree with it most of the time.

It's even funnier when you realize that it's not a year and a half evenly spread out, it's one mission his first year with five months before summer, one that summer, and seven his second year. Eight if you want to count SSGS and SSBI as different missions (I go back and forth as to whether or not I do). It's so funny. Please give poor Ben a break.

And yes! Ben is actually so much more competent than people seem to give him credit for sometimes. It's just that his skill set tends to be less flashy and useful in battle scenes, but he's very much the chess master of the group. He's the one planning and strategizing, and all the karate moves in the world aren't going to do you any good if you can't actually foil the plans.

My reasoning for why I'm okay with the age gap is because the narrative treats them as equals who are more or less in the same place in life. Like, yes she's two classes ahead of him, but for all intents and purposes, they're teamed up together constantly with others in Ben's class and I think Erica is the only one we really know about in her class (can't remember Chip's age, but he might be? idk, doesn't really matter). It's never dwelt on, and it bothers me when people try to make a deal about it! Like, they're not going to be in the same place in their lives forever. It's high school. Almost no one marries the person they dated in high school. I've long held that they'd break up sometimes after Erica graduates and starts her adult life while Ben is still in school (or something similar depending on how Mr. Gibbs decides to do things moving forward).

[amphibianaday]

day 1246

[smytherines]

This is such an interesting like 20-30 seconds to me. We go from this wholesome Sears portrait studio setup where Cynthia asks "is that Owen??" and they both grin like lovesick fools

Then Cynthia insults Curt and praises Owen and tries to recruit him. Owen looks surprised and shuts her down immediately, but Curt is (understandably) not thrilled about it and ends the call in a hurry

Owen says "what are you, jealous? You know I'd never work for the Americans," but Curt is already getting the flask out (hello rsd spiral my old friend)

And then we have Owen seeing the flask and saying "Oh Curt, no, not until we're out of here," and Curt responding defensively by mocking his accent and his concern, and then handing him the flask

Whenever I listen to 54 Below and hear Tessa say "when these two spies are together they are gay and unstoppable" I imagine that first image, and when Lauren says "until Curt's ego gets in the way" I think of the flask

I just find it fascinating because, to me, this is the moment it all starts falling apart. When it was just the two of them, before this call, they seem pretty happy to see each other. You certainly get the sense that they're competitive, and Curt initially seems a bit annoyed or embarrassed about Owen rescuing him, but uhh. I mean just look at them:

It isn't until Cynthia sort of pits them against each other, until the outside world starts to intrude on them, that things start to get tense. Curt starts dismissing Owen's concerns and taking bigger risks to prove himself, lying to Owen to take a bigger risk than Owen agreed to (Owen saying "make it four," and Curt deciding to set the timers for three minutes instead)

Just. Something about how painful it must have been for Curt to believe that he lost Owen not to some grand fateful accident that he never could have seen coming, but over something as small and petty and ultimately temporary as his own insecurity. That he wanted so badly to save face in front of a partner he loved and respected that he ended up getting that partner killed

And how painful it must have been for Owen to love Curt and trust him, only for Curt to lie to him and leave him for dead. How Owen must have thought back to this a thousand times and believed that it happened because Curt cared more about being the best than about him (which I don't think is correct, but is understandable from his perspective)

To have the kind of relationship that seemingly survived being separated by an ocean, and being property of two different governments, and being gay in the 1950s, and they still look at each other like that, and then to lose it all because you're so used to having to maintain this stereotypically masculine role in your hypermasculine profession. That seeing the man you love is dependent on you being the best, and trying to live up to that impossible standard is what ends up destroying the both of you

There's just something so fucking... tragic and futile about it

[ddejavvu]

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

contents/warnings: single mom reader, bau!reader, brief mentions of typical cm violence, mutual pining, coworkers to lovers (no arc completion)

based off this post

You’ve been held at gunpoint. You’ve been beaten, battered, and bruised within an inch of your life. You’ve been threatened, harassed, and abused. Yet there’s no fear as debilitating as what you’re feeling now, when you look around the crowded room and can’t find your toddler anywhere. 

She knows not to run off. As much as you withhold from her about your career, her tiny ears unprepared for the horrors you face, you’ve told her a thousand different ways not to leave your side. And she’d been doing so good, her little pudgy fist clasped in the fabric of your dress until midway through your conversation with Emily. You’d reached down to feel her pigtails after she’d dropped your dress, content that she was still there even if she wasn’t holding onto you anymore. And yet, here you are, childless and panicking.

You start ducking into open rooms, figuring that she wouldn’t have shut the door after her if she was wandering into them. She’s nowhere to be seen, though, you don’t catch a glimpse of her black-ribboned hair or her blue-dotted dress.

Your shoes hit the scratchy carpet with urgency, and you feel many-a-head turning to face you. You don’t feel like explaining, though, not when your little girl is loose in a government building.

Government buildings are no place for children. Too many people have guns, and, though they won’t be turned upon her, she’s more than likely to be morbidly curious about one left lying around and end up worse than seriously injured. Or she could get into an elevator and lose herself among the maze of floors and desks. Or she could walk straight out the front door into traffic. Or she could lock herself in a bathroom stall. Or she could stumble upon photos she shouldn’t be seeing, crime scenes and corpses strewn about less child-friendly areas of the place.

Or, you find out, as you head for Hotch’s door, intent on pleading with the man’s parental instinct to aid you in your search, she could be dancing with your boss.

She could be on her tip-toes, ruffled socks bunched up around her ankles and mary-janes toeing Aaron’s sleek black work shoes. She could be stretched all the way to his waist, her arms hung above her head as she grips one of his thick fingers in all of her tiny ones. She could be grinning up at him, baby teeth on full display as her hair bounces to the beat of the song he’s making up. You’ve never heard him hum before, nor have you seen that fond of a glint in his eyes, but he’s beaming down at her, a happy little tune flitting through the air from his throat. He’s jutting one foot out after the other, tie swaying against his chest as he gives your daughter the dance of her, admittedly short, lifetime.

Neither of them have noticed you hovering just outside the crack in the door, and she looks down just in time for one of her shoes to slip from his own. Her weight goes with it, but he holds steady to her hands, pulling her upright until she can latch her foot onto his again.

“Woah!” She gushes, giggling with exhilaration. 

“Woah,” He parrots, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” She nods, a slight lisp invading her words from her pacifier habits, “You’re strong, Uncle Aaron.”

“Well I have to be,” He muses, and though he’s no longer humming, the song lives on as he continues moving their feet in sync, “Just in case someone needs protecting.”

“I think mommy needs protecting sometimes,” Your daughter decides, and your cheeks grow hot at the mere mention of yourself, “She runned into my backpack yesterday and tripped!”

He doesn’t correct her poor grammar, nor does he point out that she was probably the one to put her backpack in a less-than-ideal place. All he does is raise his eyebrows amusedly, nodding at her statement.

“Well, maybe you could start protecting her.”

“How?” She stares up at him skeptically, unsure why the man is insinuating that a three year old can be so heroic.

“I think you should put your backpack somewhere where she won’t trip over it,” There it is, the parental voice of reason, “Maybe on a chair? Or the couch?”

“I think you should do it.” She blazes past his suggestion, typical for a child who doesn’t understand responsibility for their actions. He seems to notice the cliche as well, chuckling mirthfully, “Alright. If I see any backpacks on the floor, I’ll save her from them. Deal?”

“Deal.” She grins toothily, squealing as he lifts her straight into his arms from only his grip on her hands.

Her legs curl effortlessly around his waist and you worry about her shoes staining his shirt, but you’d seen a grape juice stain on his tie only days before, and you remember that your kid isn’t the only one crawling all over Aaron. You rush down the stairs when they begin heading for the door, posing as if you’d just began your ascent by the time they swing the hinges open.

“There you are,” You try acting relieved, though the panic you’d felt only moments prior is long gone, replaced by sticky-sweet adoration, “What, did Hotch lure you away with candy?”

“Just my natural charm,” He defends, squeezing her where she’s curled around his hip, “And a dance move or two.”

“A dance move,” Morgan repeats teasingly from the other end of the room, a few downcast smirks shot from the rest of your teammates, “I don’t recall you ever teaching me any of those, boss man.”

“You’re too big to stand on my toes.” Aaron laments with a goofy smile towards your daughter, who giggles at the thought of her big, strong Uncle Derek balancing on Hotch’s feet.

“Well if we don’t visit Auntie Penelope soon,” You accept the arm that your daughter throws out to you at the mention of her bubbly godmother, taking her from Hotch’s strong arms, “I’m going to be given a very long lecture, and you’ll be given one less cookie than usual.”

“Only five?” She gasps in real, palpable terror, fingers clenching in the fabric of your dress once more, “Let’s go!”

The bullpen shares a chuckle at her dramatics, and Reid steps aside from where he’s aiming to ask Hotch a question at the base of the stairs. You’re crossing your own desk, intent on ducking into Penelope’s lair for a chat, when Hotch’s voice rings out across the room, urgent and strong.

“Y/N!” He doesn’t often use your first name, and that’s what gets your attention the most. You turn towards him, bewildered and hesitant to take another step.

“Backpack,” He points down at the floor where you’re about to step blindly, a tinkerbell-themed bag discarded in the middle of the walkway. You eye your daughter rather unimpressed, but her attention is focused solely on Hotch, who’s already engaged with Reid.

“Pick it up,” You groan, holding your daughter’s waist and angling her towards the floor. She giggles jovially at the headrush she receives from being held nearly upside-down, and her little arms reach eagerly for her belongings.

Once she secures the backpack and deposits it on your desk rather than in your path, you tuck her back against your hip. She’s got her chin hooked over your shoulder, out of your eyesight, which means that you don’t catch the thumbs-up that she throws towards Hotch. You don’t happen to notice the wink that he throws her back while Reid’s head is ducked towards a paper he’d brought along, another one of his rare smiles aimed at her as he holds up his end of the bargain.

[elumish]

Sort of related to the post I just reblogged about the anti-abortion movement, but:

I think that some people have an impulse in recent times when writing antagonists and villains to shy away having them be acting based on truly held beliefs or even beliefs based on reality.

They have to be grifters or incorrect or misunderstand the world. If they truly believe in something right (correct and/or morally good by whatever standard), if they truly hold their beliefs, then they can be an anti-hero or a minor antagonist but eventually they are revealed to Have Been Right All Along and someone else is the Big Bad of the story.

And there's nothing wrong with doing that, with having the villain be someone who is taking advantage of average people or is lying about their beliefs or whose belief is based in something inaccurate. The villain can be mistaken or confused or just wrong.

But the thing is that, in real life, many people who we see as villains are acting under truly held beliefs that are based largely in reality. The things that make them villains in our view are what they want to do about it.

Part of what galvanized Stewart Rhodes to begin to take action against the U.S. government was his opposition to what he saw as unconstitutional overreaches of the surveillance and detention powers/efforts taken by the federal government in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. It galvanized a lot of people and faced a huge amount of opposition in the years following the attacks. In that sense, not only was this belief "real" but it also would considered "morally good" by many people, including probably most people here on this site.

The problem is that Stewart Rhodes founded the Oath Keepers and has since been convicted of seditious conspiracy, obstructing an official proceeding, and evidence tampering for his part in the January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol.

The leaders of Islamic State/Daesh are acting based on truly held beliefs. Bin Laden's demands were based in reality. Many anti-abortion people operate based on an internally-consistent logic and belief system--it may just not be one that makes much sense to or fits the belief of people who disagree with them.

My point here is that you don't need to shy away from villains who have extremely strong beliefs, where "proving them wrong" isn't possible or isn't relevant because they are also acting based on facts, where the problem isn't the validity of the beliefs but the actions they are taking.

In many ways, those can be the hardest villain to stop in stories, because they can't be talked out of what they're doing any more than the protagonist can.

[intothedysphoria]

He was organising a collection of 90s dance records in a shop window when Steve saw him. He looked much happier. And, most alarmingly, he was alive.

Steve had watched Billy die. He’d had to go into therapy for twenty one years after watching Billy die. If Robin hadn’t taken a few steps back, Steve would have assumed he was hallucinating.

Billy looked up and their eyes met. It was at the point where there was grey in his beard and lines around his eyes but he still looked incredible.

Much better than he had when he’d been impaled straight through the chest, blood spraying everywhere.

It might have been a level of masochism but Steve found himself running straight into the shop and almost barrelling straight into Billy.

Robin, clearly alarmed, mumbled something about needing a drink and abandoned Steve in favour of rejoining Kali on the other side of the road.

Steve made a desperate grab for her but it was too late. She was gone and Steve was staring into the bright blue irises of his not quite dead ex (?) boyfriend.

Billy was appropriately sheepish during Steve’s highly emotional confrontation. He may have cried, a lot and Billy had to flip the sign at the door over to closed.

It was some shady government shit of course but a bit of Steve still wilted at the thought of not even being sent as much of a postcard. A photograph. Anything.

After a healthy amount of crying, the ridiculousness of the situation started to hit him. Billy was 57 and owned an independent record shop. They’d both survived aliens. What the fuck.

The proposition certainly wasn’t as smooth as it had been in 1985 but they weren’t teenage boys anymore. They were middle aged men and Steve appreciated the slightly awkward “want a coffee?”

Coffee was fantastic, with just enough milk and sugar. Steve stared down a massive poster of Hot Fuzz while Billy wrangled the cats and a large husky in the kitchen. There was a calm feeling to the house, everything being in the correct place, that Steve’s place lacked. At the very least, it was making Steve want to get a cat.

They ate spaghetti off Jason Voorhees plates and Billy gently rubbed his foot under the table. Steve had never tried picking things up after a thirty nine year gap and he stupidly decided to go all in.

Assuming that they would both have the same libido that they’d held at 18 was maybe unrealistic. When Billy walked back in to see Steve lying on the couch, doing his best to emulate times gone by, Billy went scarlet and mumbled that he didn’t have any condoms in the house.

So, Steve had definitely been too forward then.

They slept together literally instead, which felt intimate in a way Steve hadn’t prepared for. Nobody had stayed with him the entire night since Billy. Steve hadn’t let them. It never felt right.

It felt right now. They managed to hold each other all night through the nightmare and it finally let Steve hope.

[david-talks-sw]

George Lucas & Karen Traviss' visions of Star Wars are NOT the same...

So whenever I come across this image:

I keep in mind that it's from a book written by Karen Traviss, who is a brilliant author (I adored Legacy of the Force: Bloodlines and Sacrifice) but whose stance on Anakin, Yoda & the Jedi and Star Wars morality is this:

As opposed to George Lucas' stance on Anakin, Yoda & the Jedi and Star Wars' morality, which is this:

In a children's story about Light and Dark, good and evil, selflessness vs selfishness, George Lucas marks the Empire as absolutely evil and the Rebels as absolutely good, in the Original Trilogy.

In the Prequels, the situation is more complex (the Jedi are drafted into a war and forced to do things they know they shouldn't be doing, but have to for the greater good; the Sith bring about order to a corrupt government) but the morality stays the same... the selfish, greedy Sith are absolutely evil and the selfless, compassionate Jedi are absolutely good.

That's George's thesis.

And, as a character, Yoda's function is to deliver that thesis. It's no wonder why Lucas treats Yoda's words as absolutely correct:

Yoda is Lucas' mouthpiece in the Prequels, his self-insert.

George Lucas' narrative frames Yoda as objectively right.

So when Karen Traviss questions the Jedi, particularly Yoda's character and wisdom, she's disagreeing with George Lucas' thesis.

Which is fair. Traviss, is a different person than Lucas, she's an ex-journalist with a more "grey" view of the world and a different philosophy re: fiction aimed at children. "Death of the author" and all that. Again, fair enough.

And if you like Travis' interpretation and philosophy more than George's, if her read resonates with you more... also fair enough.

But the EU is not a reliable source on Lucas' vision.

I've talked about this in MUCH more detail here, but if you do care about George Lucas' vision, then maybe don't draw from the Expanded Universe, which includes content written by authors who expressly disagree with him, like Traviss.

Sounds logical, but for some reason people will read the above-posted Dooku quote and treat it as reflective of Lucas' vision, when it's not the case.

George Lucas' Dooku doesn't have an issue with Yoda or the Jedi (at least not openly, as Darth Tyranus, the Sith Lord he wants them all dead). Dooku's issue is with the Senate and the Republic.

George Lucas specifically added that most Jedi share Dooku's concerns. Before he's revealed to be a mass-murdering, Sith who enslaves neutral systems, the Jedi think he makes a good point and are even reluctant to consider him a murder suspect.

But let's not start saying that Lucas' Prequels are meant to be about "the Jedi's failure" and "Dooku being right that the Jedi are corrupt.

Because that's not the case.

If that's how you see them, great. It's certainly how Traviss saw them. To each their own, authorial intent be damned.

But it's not what they were about, to Lucas. Stating the contrary is... I dunno, lying? Rewriting history?

It's as if I got hired to write a Lord of the Rings prequel seen from Gandalf's POV. And y'know what, maybe I don't like Gandalf. So I write him as a scheming asshole going “myahahahah, fuck hobbits! I’m gonna let them keep the One Ring so a bunch Nazgûl will swoop through the Shire and murder them!” and suddenly, everyone starts writing posts about the notion that “Growing up is realizing that Tolkien always intended for Gandalf to be the secret villain of LOTR!” as if that had always been the case and I didn't just reframe him that way retroactively.

Finally, I'd also encourage you to read @rendar-writes' well-made point here about the fact that, while claiming she "doesn't give the answers", Traviss nonetheless shows a clear anti-Jedi bias.

[xclowniex]

How interesting that you fail to speak on the fact that they disguised IDF members as humanitarian workers and proceeded to massacre 200+ Palestinians, but of course not you don’t ever talk about the wrongs of the IDF or Israel you simply are not capable of talking down on either and simply just hide behind the whole “oh the hostages” excuse when each ceasefire deal that would GUARANTEE the hostages to be returned is rejected,

I have said multiple times that i do not like the Israeli government and do not agree with their actions or the IDFs actions. If you want someone to go more in depth with that type of stuff, go to someone else blog. You are not entitled to every thought from my brain about the war. Just because I focus on one thing does not mean I endorse another thing.

Hamas is the one who has rejected most ceasefire deals. Hamas is also the one who breaks ceasefire deals. if you are going to come into my inbox, at least have correct information

The IDF being dressed in humanitarian aid uniforms is tik tok fannon and has no basis in real life. The most i could fine is Al Jazeera talking about how they used trucks, kinda in a trojan horse situation, however you should take Al Jazeera with a grain of salt considering they lie all the time. Throw back to the post I made sharing a video about them lying which started my blog getting attention. Also no other news agency has reported such claims besides using Al Jazeera as a source which also speaks to the lack of probability of it being true. Happy to eat my words if it is verrified by reputable news orgs but until then, its likely to be a false claim. Again, at least have all the information correct before coming into my inbox.

I will not let you silence my joy that 4 hostages have been brought home.

[makeitmingi]

Cause Baby You're My Muse [Chapter 20]

Genre: Romance, Idol!AU, Music, Slight angst

Pairing: Mingi x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Producer!Reader, IdolLyricist!Mingi, IdolProducer!Hongjoong, Idol!Seonghwa, Idol!Yunho, Idol!Wooyoung, Idol!San, Idol!Yeosang, Idol!Jongho, cameo(s) by other celebrities

Summary: You always preferred producing underground, having an unknown face and governed by your own rules. But when you start freelancing for idol groups, you say goodbye to your lone wolf lifestyle as you learn to work with idol producers and lyricists.

Word count: 3.2K

So what was this now? You couldn't just sit still anymore. Your foot tapped against the floor as you tried to make yourself focus on the screen in front of you but your brain just wasn't corporating. There was a weird feeling in your stomach.

"Ugh." You slammed your forehead down onto your desk, your arms tiredly hanging down. There could be a few reasons why you were productively producing anything now. One, it was 4 am. Two-

"What are you doing up?" There was reason two and possibly the biggest reason.

"Couldn't sleep so I thought I could get some work done." You replied, head still pressed against the surface of your desk.

"It's 4 am..." You felt fingers on your chin, gently lifting your head up from your desk. Despite the sleep evident on his face, Mingi still maintained a soft smile as he met your eyes.

"Go back to sleep. You have a schedule tomorrow and you need to go back to the dorm before that." You held his hand.

"We should both go back to sleep." Mingi corrected.

Mingi raised his hand to cup your cheek, leaning down to give you a peck. He tugged your body upwards and out of your chair so that you fell into his arms. You scoffed at how he was using his strength to move you, making him chuckle. His deep voice, ridden with sleep was even deeper, making you shiver.

"Can we go back to bed, please?" He rested his head on top of yours, his cheek pressed to your crown. When he felt you nod, he led you back to your room.

"You need to wake up in two hours." You told him as Mingi laid his head on your chest, his arms around your torso.

"That's fine." He mumbled, closing his eyes.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" He asked out of the blue.

"Not at all." You denied. You weren't lying because it's not that he made you uncomfortable. There was just a lot of other emotions and feelings that made you feel overwhelmed now.

"I'm glad you're here." You raised a hand to stroke his head, your fingers running through his hair.

"I promise, we'll talk about this later." Mingi removed one of his hands from your waist to lace fingers with your free hand. He just wanted to be as close to you as he could now. You let out a hum of acknowledgement, grateful that he said that.

"Just sleep now. You need the rest." You spoke softly. The continuous running of your fingers through his hair put Mingi to sleep in no time. His warmth and scent also sent you back to dream land quickly.

When you woke up, Mingi was gone. You realised that it was close to 9, which meant he was probably at his schedule now.

'Hey, I didn't want to wake you up when I was leaving. Thanks for having me over. We'll talk about whatever this is when you're ready. Have a nice day! - Mingi'

'I just woke up. And yes, we'll definitely talk. Have a great day, stay safe at your schedule. - Indigo'

'See you later at KQ? - Mingi'

'Of course. - Indigo'

After that short text conversation with Mingi, you got ready to go back to work. You brushed your teeth and went to pack up the equipment you needed. Only when things were packed, you went to shower. You decided to forgo breakfast and took a cab to KQ with all your things.

"Glad to have you back, Indigo." The other producers welcomed you back with hugs and smiles. You still wore your mask around them so they couldn't see you return their smile.

"Thank you for accommodating and sorry for any inconvenience." You bowed to them.

"Nonsense. Family always comes first. And you were still working anyway, doesn't matter whether you're here or at home." Eden patted your shoulder.

"Agreed." Maddox smiled.

"So regarding the meeting I had with the executives yesterday, I would like to share the updates that concern us as the production team. Is everyone able to meet later in the afternoon?" Eden asked.

"Sure." You all agreed after checking your respective calendars. You went to your studio to unpack your equipment.

"Feels good to be back." You sat back in your seat. With all your monitors working, you put your headphones on and got into the zone of working. In your studio, there was a different type of flow and energy for your work compared to your home.

'Updated guide recording. - Eden'

'Thanks. - Indigo'

You opened the file that he sent you. Now that you were back in the studio, you could start recording for the tracks that needed guide vocals or actual song recordings.

'Congratualations, Prod. Indigo! Your track was chosen for CJ E&M's upcoming drama OST. The production team will be contacting you soon!'

"Drama OST?" You were intrigued. Your works have never been used as a drama OST before. You wondered if it would be different.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

You went to open the door and saw Seonghwa and San there. Seonghwa had a box of cupcakes in his hands, holding it out to you with a big smile.

"Welcome back!" The two of them grinned. You chuckled, stepping aside to let them in. Once you shut the door, you pulled down your mask, inviting them to sit down on the couch. Even if you were not expecting anything, trust the boys to be kind enough to do something to properly welcome you back.

"I was still working, you know? Just remotely." You laughed as you went to your desk to get your coffee and to wheel your work chair over to the seating area.

"Still, you like the surprise, don't you?" San teased. You had to admit, you did like it.

"Don't you guys have a schedule?" You folded your arms, taking a cookies and cream cupcake to eat.

"Nope. Oh, I like the red velvet." Seonghwa pointed. But instead of taking the cupcake for the older, San broke out into song, singing and dancing to a popular Red Velvet song.

"Just give me the damn cupcake." Seonghwa slapped San's arm in annoyance, making you and San burst out laughing.

"Looks like there's a lot of work." Yunho noted, nodding to your computer monitors.

"Actually, it's not much. It's mainly things that I couldn't do at home. And since Hongjoong was able to come over to work with me, it helped a lot. Or else I might actually be swimming in work now just trying to catch up." You explained.

"Could these tracks be in our next album?" Seonghwa asked.

"Maybe... I'm deciding which ones I will present to the judging panel. But we're meeting Eden later to discuss what the higher ups told him for your next comeback." You informed.

"Ooh, that sounds fun, yet intimidating." San said with a conflicted look and you nodded with a giggle.

"I agree. I honestly haven't done this in real life before. Usually if companies want to use my song, they would approach me. I've not had to present my song before." You scratched your head.

"You'll do fine, Indigo. Have more faith and trust in your ability." Seonghwa smiled.

"I'll propose the track we worked on for song camp. Since it was a group effort, the company might be more inclined to promote it, knowing fans would like it... But it also depends if the songs fit the concept that the company wants for your comeback. In that sense, it's out of our hands." You said.

"Agreed. But it would be nice to promote a song as one that we all wrote together. You know, it has our own personal touch to it." San said and Seonghwa nodded.

"I think you guys add your own personal touches to anything you do. Even if you aren't a part of the producing team, you still record, you still dance. That's adding your own touch." You defended.

"How smart." Seonghwa patted your head. You blushed, chewing on your bottom lip.

"Aww, look at you get all embarrassed by Seonghwa hyung?" San cupped your cheeks, cooing cutely at you.

"Stop it!" You slapped his hands away.

When the recording called for a break, Mingi excused himself to the bathroom. He emerged from the stall to see his best friend there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Mingi shot him a quizzical look.

"Where were you last night?" Yunho asked.

"Uh... Sorry, I didn't know I had curfew, appa." Mingi rolled his eyes with a scoff, wondering why Yunho was suddenly asking him this. He walked to the sink to wash his hands.

"You were at Indigo's place yesterday, weren't you?" Yunho let out a sigh and locked the main door.

"What's up with you?" Mingi was now genuinely confused.

"No, I should be asking you that. What's up with you? Or rather, what's up with you and Indigo?" Yunho asked, raising an eyebrow. Mingi blinked, hiding his surprised with more confusion.

"What are you talking about? Me and Indigo? There's nothing going on with us." Mingi lied.

"Liar."

"I don't know what you want me to tell you, Yunho ah." Mingi sighed. But his brain was scrambling on what to reply next, wanting to keep up this facade. Mingi only just made his move last night, how could Yunho already catch up to something so quickly? Plus, Mingi didn't even have any chance to give anything away.

"Mingi, we've been friends for years, we grew up together. I don't know why you're still trying to lie to me when I can see through you. I know you more than you know yourself." Yunho said.

"I kissed her last night, okay?" Mingi gave up easily, knowing he can't hide from his best friend.

"You WHAT?!" Yunho's eyes widened as he yelled. Mingi leapt forward, wrapping his hand around the other male's mouth.

"Shhh, do you want the whole broadcast to hear you?!" Mingi hissed. Yunho was still so frozen from shock as he processed what Mingi just told him. He lightly slapped his cheek.

"So you're together?" Yunho asked.

"No... Yes... I don't know. I kissed her, stayed the night then left in the morning. We were supposed to talk about it when we have the time to." Mingi explained.

"Wow, that sounds cruel, Mingi ah." Yunho clicked his tongue in disapproval. Mingi punched his arm.

"Get your head out of the gutter. We didn't do anything except sleep, that's all. And it's not like I'm not going to contact her again..." Mingi glared. Yunho nodded his head, rubbing his chin as if he was in deep thought about this whole thing.

"Stop that. There's nothing for you to think about. It's a kiss, that's all. She may not even like me back." Mingi rolled his eyes. Then it dawned on him now that he said it out loud.

He likes you.

"Oh my god..." Mingi face palmed. So that's what he has been feeling around you... Mingi has feelings for you.

"Did you actually just realise that you like her?" Yunho snickered, knowing the look on Mingi's face. Mingi nodded slowly as he was still stunned. How could it take him so long to notice his own feelings?

"I so knew before you even realised. I knew you liked her." Yunho smirked proudly.

"Wow, I'm dense." Mingi slapped his own forehead. Yunho hummed in agreement, unlocking the door to walk out. But Mingi grasped his arm.

"Don't mention this to anyone, just act like you don't know anything. I don't even know what this is. I haven't even got a chance to really speak to her on what we are and what's going to happen going forward from last night. The last thing I want to do is pressure her." Mingi said, almost pleadingly.

"I'm offended that you think I would mention it to anyone. But Mingi, you need to be careful, okay? You and I both know how relationships crumble in our industry." Yunho cautioned.

"What do you mean? I'm sure I can protect her."

"I know you can protect her. Just... take care of yourselves." Yunho said.

After filming, Yunho, Mingi, Wooyoung and Hongjoong headed back to KQ. Hongjoong was sitting in the passenger seat, on his phone.

"Aww, look. Seonghwa and San brought cupcakes to welcome Indigo back to the studio." Hongjoong said, lifting his phone to show the photo that Seonghwa sent.

"Ask them to leave some for us!" Wooyoung yelled from the backseat. Yunho shot Mingi a side glance but Mingi didn't react to the news at all, continuing to focus on the game that he was playing on his phone. He did clear his throat, knowing Yunho would look at him.

"I didn't know she was coming back to the studio today." Yunho said. Hongjoong nodded, humming in agreement.

"We've got some guide recordings to catch up on. Those were the things we couldn't work on while I went to her place to work." Hongjoong explained.

"Mingi ah, maybe tomorrow we should schedule studio time with Indigo." Hongjoong suggested.

"Sure, hyung. Our dance schedule only starts at 4." Mingi replied.

"Speaking of." Hongjoong's phone rang. It was you.

"Oh, Indi ah. We were just talking about you... Nothing bad, don't worry. Unless you did something bad?" Hongjoong laughed as he teased you.

Yunho and Mingi, who were only in the second row, heard your outraged yelling through the phone. Mingi did adjust himself to sit up and hopefully hear the conversation more.

"Producer meeting with Edenary? I'm still on the way back though... Sure, you guys start first. I'll just join you guys when I arrive. We're not too far... Yes, Mingi is with me... Okay, I'll bring him if he doesn't have any schedule after this." Hongjoong spoke. Mingi perked up at the sound of his name being mentioned.

"We'll see you soon. Bye." Hongjoong hung up.

"Indigo said Eden hyung called for a meeting with the production team to talk about comeback concepts. So we'll join them when we arrive." He said to Mingi.

"Yes, captain." Mingi lazily saluted. He knew he was going to see you again but just the thought of it now made him feel giddy.

"Hyung, could you drop us downstairs? It'll be easier for us to run up." Hongjoong turned to their manager.

"Sure." He said. When the van stopped at the front door, Mingi and Hongjoong ran into the building. They took the lift up to the producing floor. Hongjoong hushed Mingi as they entered.

"We're looking to submit 3 songs per producer and they are hoping to maybe push for sub unit pieces." Eden was speaking. Hongjoong and Mingi came to sit beside you. Mingi sat next to you but you were too focused on Eden to greet him.

"Should we push for the group produced song?" You raised your hand and questioned.

"We can... How far along are you with that?" Eden asked.

"The final revisions and edits were done with Hongjoong last week. I'll try to do the guide recording some time this week. If Jongho can come into the studio." You replied.

"Alright, keep me updated on the progress." Eden said and continued on while you wrote the info down.

"What are we doing for the b-sides?" Maddox brought up.

"If we are going with the third installation of The World, I would think they're looking for more techno, EDM type of songs." Hongjoong voiced out.

"It would be nice to have or two ballads in there though."

"Those who have ballads ready can submit ballads for the song pick. If the higher ups like it then they'll pick it. At most, they'll add 1 inside. Because like Hongjoong said, they want more upbeat, heavier beats in this album with the concepts from the first two parts of the collection." Eden proposed.

"If there are any questions, just ask. Meeting dismissed." Eden adjourned the producers meeting. Mingi heard you let out a long sigh at the end.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Mhmm." You nodded. As Mingi opened his mouth to talk to you, your phone rang and you stepped aside to answer it.

"Indi, busy?" Hongjoong came over to where you and Mingi were after talking to Eden. Mingi nodded his head, watching you speak with some production company.

"Let's wait for her by her studio." Hongjoong suggested and the two left the meeting room.

"Sorry, guys. What's up? Come in." You ran over after seeing the two rappers waiting outside your studio. You opened the door for them. They let themselves in while you went to sit by your desk.

"Busy day?"

"I would say it's normal, just catching up. I'm sure you heard Seonghwa and San dropped by with cupcakes to welcome me back." You chuckled, not taking your eyes off the screen as you typed away to reply to a message.

"Yes, we heard. Glad you like the cupcakes. We won't take up too much of your time though. Just wondering if you have time to work tomorrow for studio time with Mingi and I." Hongjoong asked.

"Tomorrow?... What time are we looking at?" You finally turned to them, pulling your phone calendar up.

"We have a schedule at 4." Mingi said.

"Meet for lunch? Then we'll work until 4?" You asked. The two nodded, taking their own phones out to input the timing into their schedules for tomorrow.

"Actually, Hongjoong, do you have time now? I just want to ask you something real quick about another project." You suddenly said. Hongjoong nodded, taking a stool to sit beside you.

"Mingi ah, if you have another schedule, you can go first. Don't wait for me. Or you can stay." Hongjoong said.

"I-I'll stay." Mingi sat down.

"I got a message this morning saying my beat was chosen for some drama OST. I have no clue how an OST is edited and made. Do I have to make it in line with the genre of the drama? The producers just called me and said they'll be sending me the info pack soon to work on the instrumental." You said.

"Wow, Indigo. Unfamiliar territory, huh?" Hongjoong laughed at your completely lose expression.

"Like a fish out of water." You sighed.

"Hmm, I know you can't tell me much but maybe just the genre of the series? And send me the track they chose. I'll work on it and get back to you tomorrow." Hongjoong said.

"Ah, Yeosang is calling me. I'll see you upstairs, Mingi. Bye, Indi." Hongjoong jogged out of the studio.

"You alright?" Mingi towered over you. You looked up from your seat, eyes growing soft at the sight and feeling of him being near you.

"I'll be okay. I'm sorry, I know we're supposed to talk about stuff but I just... All the work came rushing in and I feel like there's so much to do." You said guiltily.

"Don't worry about that. We have all the time in the world. Don't stress yourself out too much, hmm? With both work and us." He smiled, resting a hand on the top of your head.

"Thanks, Mings." You said. Seeing that the door was still closed, Mingi leaned down to quickly kiss your forehead.

"I'll call you tonight." He whispered.

"Okay." You hummed and he withdrew his hand slowly as you watched him exit your studio.

~

Series Masterlist

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sam

WC: 2007

Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, canon elements, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnabobingo -Arranged Matings

A/N: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

*This is combined/edited together with part VII

A/N II: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

Part VI

John walks down the hallway and is met by his eldest's concerned expression, “Dad, what’s wrong? You were gone for a long time.” Looking at the young, almost grown men he’d raised affirms his gut-wrenching decision was correct. “Nothing but the usual bureaucratic BS that needed sorting. Grab the O, we’re leaving.”

John’s nostrils flared at Sam’s ‘they’re not going to let us go yet’ response. “And why n..?” His sharp inquiry was interrupted by the sound of wheels squeaking down the hallway and they all turned to see a male Beta pushing a cart with various metal implements lying on top. “Hi, I’m here to do your O’s branding.” John appeared confused, and Sam piped up again.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you. This state mandates to prove ownership bought O’s have a brand burned into them like livestock.” John looks at Dean, demanding an explanation, and repeats what the register told him. 

John turns his attention back to the brander and asks how he would do it. Nervously, he details creating a mark out of the aluminum and applying it on the O. “If you’re not sure what you want, I can sketch an idea. Most people like to incorporate the first letter of their surname.” 

The brander quickly works. “Ignore my freehand. The brand will be clean.” John barely glanced as he held it up and nodded in acquiescence.

“Great. Let me administer the numbing agent; it needs a few minutes to kick in.” He picked up a vial of clear liquid, drew it up and walked towards the O when a deep growl reverberated off the walls making him freeze. Sam, instinctively flanked by Dean, placed themselves between the brander and the unconscious O. “Dean, take your brother out of this building now!” John commands in his Alpha voice, making Dean flinch.

Dean’s instincts tell him to follow Sam’s lead and stay with the O, but his designation forces his wolf to submit to follow their Alphas’ orders and wrestles his agitated brother outside.

“I apologize for my youngest; he’s recently presented and hasn’t yet learned to control his wolf.” The brander accepts, and John watches as the O’s rolled onto her side and injected the numbing agent into several places to deaden the area. Then, with deft precision, he bent the aluminum into shape and lit a propane torch, heating it before asking John, “Could you lay across its thighs? Sometimes, they still feel this. Don't want it moving and messing up the brand.” 

Sam was chewing on his thumb cuticle, the tell-tale sign of his wolf's nervousness getting to him, when it yelped, spotting John emerging through the clinic door carrying the O. Handing her back to Dean, they resumed their previous positions in the car as John drove back to the rental. 

Sam followed Dean down the hallway when their Alpha ordered, “Dean, take her to my room, set up an O sleeping mat, then move your stuff in. I’ll take the couch.” The brothers shared a look before Sam asked why, and John said, “I saw your reaction to her back at the warehouse.” Sam’s eyes flashed and John growled, “Right there is why. That O is here for your brother's use, not yours.  So, until its suppressant implant kicks in, you’re staying well away from it. I have an errand to run,” John picked up his truck's keys and walked towards the door. “Don’t forget to resalt the door.”

Sam spit out, “What’s so damn important you have to go back out at this hour?” John didn’t acknowledge his youngest sass, “Dean, I expect you to ensure your brother doesn’t go near that O.”

“Nothing changes. Heading to the nearest bar to get loaded as usual.” Sam snarled after John left and Dean gave him a look. “Can you stow the attitude for one night?” Sam peered at his brother with chagrin. “Sorry. I’ll leave that bedding for her by the door and pack your bag.” He proceeded towards their bedroom when Dean called out…

“Don’t touch my porn, you freak!”

John parked his truck in the darkest shadow he could find, flipped open a burner phone he’d bought, and dialed the number he’d gotten from Bobby. 

“I’m here.” The voice on the other end instructed him he'd have five minutes to accomplish his task. When he got the all-clear, John got out and began counting down as he entered the building's back door. 

Reaching the doctor's office, he sat at a computer and, following the voice’s instructions, found the pertinent file and opened it. In a blink, the previous information was deleted and replaced. John then clicked print, and as the new pages printed, he found the original physical file and began swapping them. 

Pocketing the originals, he stuck the file back in place and walked out. The voice instructed him to go out to the middle of nowhere, drive over the phone until it was in smithereens, burn it along with paper paperwork, and then hung up.

John destroyed the phone and was ready to flick his Zippo to incinerate the papers, but something told him not to. Instead, he opened his weapons catch and retrieved an unfinished curse box.

***

The sun had barely risen when John let himself into the rental carrying coffee and donuts. He found his sons already up: Dean was cooking breakfast while Sam sat at the kitchen table, slumped over open schoolbooks, catching up on his homework. 

“That smells good,” John says, placing the items on the counter. Dean pulls out a couple of the to-go cups, sipping on one, and hands the other to Sam, who immediately pops the lid off, adds milk and sugar, and asks suspiciously, “You take care of that errand?”

“Yes, I did. I’m going to grab a shower, and then we’re,” John paused, staring directly at Sam, “Going to discuss the ground rules concerning that O.”

Monday

Sam poked his head out of his doorway and, hearing his Alpha’s snoring, snuck down the hallway and let himself into Dean's room to find him kneeling next to the seated O. “Sam! What the hell? If Dad catches you…”

“He’s still passed out,” Sam frowned when the O cringed as Dean smeared the healing agent swapped from the clinic onto her brand. “Almost done, sweetheart,” Dean reassured her; she continued flinching until he finished. “Done. Okay, let’s get you dressed.” 

Dean slid his most worn flannel on her, and the O hissed when the super-soft material touched her raw skin, eliciting a viscous-sounding growl from Sam, causing Dean to shoot a look that said shut up or get out. Chastised, Sam comments, “Jeezus Dean, your clothes swamp her,” instantly regretting the thoughtless remark as a brief flash of shame crosses Dean's features. “Had those jail fines, and what was left barely fueled up my car.” Sam commented back, “My spare jeans should fit better since I’m closer to her size.” Dean rolled his eyes, “Sammy, remember what dad told us. The pamphlet clearly states that we shouldn’t confuse her by mixing-up our scents.”

“Oh, for fucks sake! We practically live on top of each other! She’s been exposed to our mixed-up scents for nearly two days! And who’s the one she’s skittering around? Dad!” Sam pointed towards the door, “He needs to stop trying to brainwash you into believing the bullshit in that pamphlet the clinic gave you. It's ridiculous nonsense! She’s not some dumb animal. You’ve seen it yourself!”

“Sam, just because she knows how to blink once for yes-two for no doesn’t mean she comprehends things like we do!” 

“Wow, could you sound any more like Dad?” Sam shot back loudly when a grunt echoed through the thin walls and they all froze. Dean slowly cracked the bedroom open, whispering, “Shit, that woke Dad up.” He exhaled and relaxed, “Good, he’s going to the kitchen. I’ll distract him ‘cause you need to get ready for school, I gotta drop you off early. Gonna meet with the lawyer before my hearing this morning.” 

“You need to make a good impression on the judge today.” Sam reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out some folded bills. “It’s not much, but it should be enough to get you something more presentable from Goodwill.”

“Thanks, Sammy, but I can’t take that. It’s not your responsibility to take care of me or her; that’s my job, always has been.” Dean reopened the door and almost stumbled upon hearing his brother's words.

“Dean, you’re not taking care of her. You own her.” 

Deans Hearing 

10:07

The judge slammed their gavel down. “John Winchester, if you do not control yourself, I’ll have the bailiff not only put you in restraints but also gag you!” The Alpha ignored the judge and continued arguing with the prosecuting attorney. “What the hell is this about Dean having to claim her?” 

“Your honor, I request a fifteen-minute recess to confer..,” The judge interrupted the public defender. “Councilor, you have five minutes to remind your client’s Alpha that he accepted this plea agreement. And make sure he also understands the consequences of outbursts in my court!” 

John was still fuming when the lawyer slammed the conference room door shut. “Your stupid, domineering Alpha crap is what got Dean into this situation!” Taking several deep breaths, the lawyer began explaining. 

“It’s the standard procedure in this state to include the claiming statute in cases like Deans. However, in ninety-nine percent, the presiding judge will not enforce it and instead accept the branding as the claim. If the prosecutor had pressed for it, I was prepared to show precedent that it wasn’t applicable since you're not a state resident.” They pointed a finger in John’s face, “If the judge doesn’t kick it, you have only yourself to thank!”

John quickly strategized. “What if I do a mea culpa? Say my wolf has been under extreme duress, and I reacted badly to the possibility of being unable to choose Dean's mate?” The lawyer shrugged, “It’s worth a shot because there’s nothing I can do now since you agreed to the plea deal without consulting me first for the record.”

“The court accepts your apology, Alpha Winchester.” The judge sat back. “As per the rules of the claiming statute, I have to consider the factors that led to your son ending up before this court. I have reviewed your family history obtained during the investigation of this case and, to be honest found your parenting skills atrocious.” The judge began reading a file out loud.

“Since the death of your mate, you’ve denied your sons a stable home life, constantly moving; the only paper trail of their existence is from the numerous state schools they’ve attended. Then there’s a multitude of notifications to CYF of suspected abuse, neglect, and exposure to unsavory elements in our society that, unfortunately, has led your eldest sitting before me, awaiting my decision on his future.” The judge stared at both Winchesters briefly before gesturing to Dean to stand. “This court finds that Subordinate Alpha Dean Winchester has complied with all but one of the requirements of his plea agreement within the time frame stated.”

“Because of the previously cited circumstances and, being unmated Alpha going into a rut, resulted in the death of another, I am obligated, per the state of North Dakota law, to ensure the defendant is not in a situation to commit such a heinous act again. Therefore, I order the claiming statute to be carried out immediately.” They bang their gavel and left.

Dean stood there in shock, half listening as John conversed with the lawyer about the logistics(?) of what this forced mating entails. The bailiff gripped his arm and led him out the prisoner entrance, down the short hallway, stopping in front of a door painted with an A/O symbol. When the bailiff opened the door, what Dean saw returned him to reality, and yelled...

“I CAN’T DO THIS!”

Part VII

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @kazsrm67

[starswornoaths]

3. Tempest

Post 6.0, things are changing for the Scions.

They just haven't told all of them yet. So naturally, that becomes an issue.

word count: 1,313

-

“Big things ahead for us, I should think,” Alphinaud chimed happily without looking up from the letter he had brought in to work on. 

“Hmm. Bigger than what we just finished?” Serella asked, her own focus deterred from goldsmithing between his comment and the ache in her ban.

“Oh heavens, I should hope not! Many changes loom on the horizon, but much will feel familiar. It will be nice to go to ground again, so to speak. Not that we should hasten to our next task, of course, but having a plan is preferable.”

There was a peculiar pause there—only a few moments, but long enough that Serella caught the way he flitted his eyes toward her with as little movement as possible. Had she not stopped fiddling with her project, she might have missed it entirely…which she suspected he had been hoping for.

“What do you mean,” she asked slowly, “when you say we will go to ground again?”

That got him to set his pen down, though he kept his eyes on the paper in front of him. 

“We Scions have been talking—”

“—Without me?” she asked with care.

“Oh!” Alphinaud was startled into actually looking at her when he seemed to realize how horrible it sounded when put like that. “No, not with the intent to leave you out of the discussion, of a certainty, but we thought to bring it up when you were perhaps a bit further along in recovery—”

“What are you lot talking about, then? What’s this plan I’ll find out about later?” she pressed, already thin on patience.

Silence stretched for another few heartbeats, drawn out further by Alphinaud’s resumed refusal to look at her.

“I— well, ‘tis hardly a plan just yet, but…given all that we have accomplished, and how far the Alliance has come—”

“The Grand Company of Eorzea.” Serella corrected him.

“Yes, yes, the Grand Company,” Alphinaud hastily corrected, adding, “though even that name change proves how far they have come. Far enough along that I believe it time for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to slip back into the shadows. We aim to announce our disbandment upon your medical clearance—”

“Disbandment?” Serella gawked. 

“Not in truth! Only insofar as the official story will tell!” Alphinaud reassured, at last turning to her fully.

Serella wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation, at the way he looked surprised that she might take umbrage with the notion.

“We are an organization that has always worked in shadow in service to the star—”

“Oh come off it,” she cut him off waspishly, “Minfilia called us the worst kept secret in Eorzea before we had even moved to the Rising Stones. If you think for one second we were ever fully hidden—”

“I am under no such delusion.” Alphinaud huffed. “Even if only in principal, however, we were not outwardly acknowledged.”

“Until Minfilia specifically declared that we would be a public institution. To be open and honest with the people we fight to save. And you would undermine that, Alphinaud?”

“The world has changed, Serella,” he sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “to even begin to speculate on what Minfilia would do after all of this is a disservice to her memory.”

“And the choice to lie to our friends isn’t? To our allies? After fighting alongside them in the name of truth and unity? When we have only barely started pulling back as arbiters for advanced technologies and mediators between peoples post-Calamity? For what purpose, even? So you won’t be pestered by the things they don’t ask of us anymore?” she asked.

“Not—not lying—well, alright, ‘tis a lie, but one that we feel—”

“We?”

“—is necessary. The city-states will continue to grow independent on their own—”

“You know they only asked us for help when they couldn’t do what we did, yes? That such needs were why the Scions were even founded to begin with?” she pressed him. “I don’t even particularly like the governments we’ve worked with, and even I would not be so uncharitable as to consider them demanding.”

“They did ask much of us—” he began.

She was having none of it, however, citing, “Eorzea was losing to Garlemald when I joined the Scions. Do you even remember that? It was a lifetime ago, aye, but they didn’t even ask us at first—do you not recall how close they came to surrendering? Now that they have the means to combat primals without the Echo and a cure for tempering, you cannot even trust them to restrain themselves from asking needless favors?”

“‘Tis not only up to me—” he sidestepped.

“But you suggested it, I’d wager.” She countered.

When the silence re-entered the room, it was incredulous. Stifling. 

“That…is a cruel assumption,” Alphinaud said slowly, eyes averted.

Unfazed, Serella blanched, “Am I wrong?”

Silence chimed in to answer on his behalf: of course he did.

“I think it more than fair for us to step back from—” he tried to pivot.

“So do that. Assign other Scions to Eorzea’s care if you feel you’ve done your part. Disbanding would displace dozens of our colleagues. How many of us have rooms in the Rising Stones with nowhere else to go? For how long was I one of those colleagues?”

“Everyone would remain on the payroll—”

“But disbandment would require us to scatter. To “keep up appearances” and give credence to the lie. Have you factored in where our colleagues will go? How long will we be scattered? What will happen to the Rising Stones and the Waking Sands?”

“We’re barely starting the talks for this now, I know not what we will do to address these things—” he tried to argue.

“Have you told Estinien?” she asked pointedly. “Does he get a vote?”

Silence once more interjected—of course Estinien doesn’t know yet.

Nor was he an Archon.

“Well…” Alphinaud meandered.

“After all the effort the lot of you used to cajole him into joining, finally reassuring him he’s got a steady place to rest his lance outside of Ishgard, this is his thanks not even six moons on?! And what of the others?!”

“As I said, we’re still working it out—”

“So you’re bringing this to the table with no logistics, no plan, and nothing to act as a safety net for those of us that aren’t Archons?” Serella pressed.

“Were our deaths not enough?” Alphinaud asked, tired. “I care for our comrades’ well being. You know I do. But I haven’t the answers yet.”

“Were any of mine?” she countered. “You got to come along for the full ride once, and that was enough, was it?”

“I know not why this is an argument,” he huffed, throwing his hands up in the air as he added, “I still want to work to help Garlemald—your betrothed leads the charge in that—”

“Which makes it all the more insulting you would have me lie to him. You would leave no organization behind the lot of you, nothing to help future generations, no “guiding light” like Loui—”

“I know,” Alphinaud said in a low voice, “what my grandfather wanted. And I know what we want.”

“And who is we, Alphinaud?” Serella asked again in a matching tone.

Silence’s presence made itself known in the room again. It hummed in her ears, it buzzed in his blood. 

“I think…I should go.” Alphinaud murmured, easing himself down from his chair. “Mayhap we can revisit this once you are better. You’re talking like you did years ago when you thought yourself alone.”

“And little wonder. You talk like you did when you thought to form the Braves. You’ve never seemed younger.” Serella quipped, already leaning back into her pillows.

If his flinch was any indication, Alphinaud understood it as the furthest thing from a compliment, yet silence saw him out of her room.

[lexivass]

what changed your mind about the Israel/Palestine conflict?

Hello, anon! I got this ask this morning, and it took me some time to respond to it because this is a delicate issue and I wanted to measure my words the best I could. As I was writing this I realized many of my beliefs were rooted in antisemitism, so I apologize in advance. If any Jewish person reads this, please feel free to correct me, and again, I’m sorry. Some of the things below really make me feel ashamed.

I wouldn't say I "changed" my mind about the conflict, but that I've begun to see things in a wider perspective, especially when it comes to the October 7 attack and the veiled (but not really) antisemitism that’s been growing lately (I don’t mean to say it didn’t happen before, but that people are getting more comfortable doing it now under the guise of being pro-Palestine. Many people aren’t even trying to sugarcoat it anymore, they’re straight up saying “the jews are to blame for everything and they control everything”).

It’s clear that the government of Israel has been conducting brutal attacks in many parts of Gaza and killing innocent civilians since October 7 - no one can convince me the 20.000+ people who died were Hamas terrorists and that every single building bombed was a Hamas hideout, and that a ceasefire is not the best solution.

But at the same time there has been a lot of misinformation (and insensibility)  going around, and the way people react to it shows that antisemitism is still very present, it is still very easy to look at jewish people with distrust or to ignore what they say because we think that after the Holocaust their troubles ended forever, and they shouldn’t complain about anything. Basically, that they are not a minority, therefore what they say shouldn’t be taken into consideration. But that is not the case.

The government of Israel has done terrible things in the past decades, no one is denying that.  But a government doesn't always represent its people. It’s a very old saying, one that we preach so loudly but when it comes to the people of Israel we tend to forget about it. Like many others, when October 7 happened I thought Hamas was a resistance group, and that the hostages were not being hurt or murdered. I believed it without even running a background check on them. And whenever I saw Jewish people saying that a new wave of antisemitism was growing I simply didn’t believe it. It’s not something I’m proud of but I genuinely believed that they were only saying this because they didn’t want people to criticize the government of Israel. 

It was only after I swallowed my own arrogance that I realized this was not an exaggeration. There are people who frankly think jews are subhuman, that Hitler was right, that the Hamas hostages deserved everything they went through. I saw a post with a link to an article about the victims who were violated by Hamas terrorists. I did not read it because I heard it was extremely brutal, but I saw the comments and the insensitivity in those comments was disturbing. I saw people saying it was pure propaganda, that nothing happened to them because they were just “lying jewish women”, that even if it happened it was “resistance against oppression”. I cannot say if it happened or not, but it’s not normal to look at someone who was kidnapped, kept away from their families for months and put through God knows what and claim publicly and out loud, with 100% conviction, that everything that comes out their mouths is a lie.

Why is it “believe the victims” until they’re jewish? Or “listen to minorities” until the minority in question are jewish people? Why is it that we wave an anti-nazi flag over our heads but still treat jewish people like shit? We, and by we I mean people who believe in social activism, don't do this to black, queer, indigenous people, so why do it to jews?

As I began to read more about nazi rhetoric and antisemitism I came across a reblog from one of my (now former) favorite poets, in which the OP was basically preaching for the “ruin” of Israel. They didn’t say “I hope Netanyahu leaves office”, “I hope the army soldiers who were filmed practicing brutality towards civilians are punished”. They said Israel as a whole, forgetting that there are people there. Civilians who are against violence, protesting in the sake of Palestine, people who do want Netanyahu out of the office, and people who have nowhere else to go. How do you expect to move millions of people to another country? What guarantee that this country even wants them? We see it every two months tragedies that occur involving mass immigration. “Oh, but the US can help them!” Do you think the US gives a shit about jewish people? Do you think the UK put Israel in the middle east because they wanted jews to have a home? Look me in the eye and tell me you believe that.

Palestians have the right to recover their seized territories and to live dignified lives. Israelis have a right to have a Jewish state. Both peoples deserve better, it’s not a competition about who suffers more. I’m not a diplomat, expert or judge of an international court of justice, but it’s clear that the minute people start to take sides one of the sides will be seen as the victim and the other as the villain. When people preach for the “ruin” of Israel they are no better than the people who say Palestinians deserve to die.

[fulesthefirst]

Today, I interviewed at a high-up, official government place. If I get the job, I would have to go through a very serious national security screening.

Basically, I would be observed for a month, and there would be a long questionnaire about me where they would already know the correct answers, they just want to check if I'm lying. I asked for an example question, and I kid you not, the HR person chose to say this, "Well, for example, they will ask if you're gay or not". And then they tried to correct themselves by saying, "They don't care if you're gay, they just want to know if you're lying about it." 

Yeah, I still don't understand why this particular info would be relevant in a national security interrogation...

So I might actually get a government agent who has to look through my Tumblr for real. Good luck to them, I guess... Maybe they will get an eye-opening experience out of this.

[somethingvicked]

True love of mine part 3.

An Eddie Munson story

Stranger Things AU (no Upside-Down)

warnings: Female reader, slight angst, flexible timeline.

Chapter 2

Now

Y/N

Brent hadn’t come home yet when you arrived, so your little conversation had to wait.

You were restless and walked around in the apartment, turning and twisting your fingers around each other, trying to think about what to say to him.

That’s when it hit you to do something else to kill time. You may not know exactly what to say to Brent, but you knew exactly – or at least somewhat – what you wanted to tell Eddie, if you had the chance.

You had heard about the method of writing a letter to the person that had hurt you, that even if you didn’t send it, it could be a good way to get everything out.

You decided to do that.

An hour later – yes, that’s how long it had taken you to get everything you wanted to say down on paper – you folded the letter and looked down on it.

It felt… wrong to have finally expressed all of your feelings and just throw the letter away. Or to hide it away in a box; you had done that more than once through the years and obviously it hadn’t helped.

You had kept written poems over the years, even published a collection of your poems under a pseudonym.

And yet, that collection wasn’t even all of them. Benath your bed was several boxes of notebooks and loose papers of your writing – and for the last eleven years Eddie had been connected to each and every one of them, one way or another.

No one knew, though. Brent knew that you wrote poems, of course, he knew about your published work – you had a special account on Instagram dedicated to them – but you had never told him what you really wrote about. No, that wasn’t correct either, you had lied to him, plain and simple and told him that all those love poems, the longing ones, the sad ones talking about such deep hurt were poems you had actually written back in high school and had simply rewritten in present time.

You felt bad about lying to him, but the writing was more important. Somehow it felt like communicating with Eddie, through the channels of the universe, by putting your thoughts into words.

But since the words hadn’t run out, that you still felt the need to talk to Eddie said something, didn’t it?

No, you decided, you were going to send this to Eddie. To talk to him for real, once and for all. Make sure that he heard you.

 You wanted him to read it – to understand how much you still loved him, despite how he had hurt you and you had no idea why.

That you felt there was something wrong with you, that you couldn’t love anyone else to that degree – that it was like he had ruined everyone else for you, which was ironic since he was also the one person that had caused you the most hurt out of everyone you had ever met, not just boyfriends.

You looked online and found an address to send Eddie mail. But the problem was that it was an address for fan mail, and being a rockstar, Eddie surely got a millions of them every week. How could you make sure that this one caught his eye, that he understood that it was from you? You didn’t want to write a return address, in case the letter was read by someone else, you couldn’t be sure that that wasn’t a regular occurrence in by his team.

Then you had it. His full name. You would make out the letter to his full name.

Most people could probably figure out that ‘Eddie’ was short for Edward. But as far as you knew, he had never told anyone else his middle name. The only ones that knew were his parents (and his mother was dead, his father long gone), Wayne, the government… and you.

He had told you after all, even though he had sworn you to secrecy.

You wrote his full name and the address on an envelope, put a stamp on it and decided to go out to mail it. You didn’t want there to be any connections to you. Eddie would understand who it was from when he read it. If he didn’t… well, then you had done the best you could.

You still couldn’t understand what had happened, why Eddie had just taken off like that. The fact that he hadn’t offered any explanation – he hadn’t said that he had met someone else, or that the long distance thing had made him stop loving you.

Nor had his note said that he was fed up with going through his senior year for the third time – with a principal that had some kind of personal vendetta against him on top of it all – or that he was tired of being poor, living in a trailer park with his uncle despite being almost twenty, having to sell weed a prescription pills to rich ass high scool kids that tormented him and called him freak to his face yet had no qualms about buying his wares.

If he had written anything of the sort you would have understand. You would’ve been sad, angry and hurt, but you would’ve understand.

But instead he had only written: “I need to leave. Don’t look for me.”

You still had that note, in one of those boxes underneath your bed. Another thing you had in there, except your notebooks and the note, was the thing that had made you fall in love with him in the first place.

The first gift he gave you.

Then:

Hawkins, 1977.

Eddie

Eddie had been fascinated by the new girl since she read the poem at the talent show the other day.

He still remembered every word of her poem – which said something, since he rarely remembered anything anyone told him or unless he read them more than once; which reflected in his grades.

That talent show had made him notice her. But the time he fell in love, was when they had workshop together, two days later. That had also surprised him, that she had chosen shop instead of needlework.

He glanced over at her as she handled the tools with experience, her long hair tied into a bun so it wouldn’t get stuck in any of the machines, her front teeth worrying her lower lip as she concentrated.

It was as if she felt him watching her because she looked up just as she was moving the small jigsaw, meeting his eyes. He held her gaze, and she didn’t turn away, not until her eyes widened and she let out a loud yell.

Both of them looked down on her hand and saw that she had managed to cut herself on her index finger, clearly not concentrating on what she was doing.

Every guy - Eddie included, and he was ashamed to admit it afterwards - had expected her to cry.

Instead she all but growled – Eddie swore that she actually growled, muttering curses under her breath that would’ve given Eddie’s father a run for his money.

No tears. She kept muttering under her breath as she stomped over to the first aid kit, rubbing some saline solution on the wound before putting a band-aid on it. The teacher walked over and wondered if she wanted any help but the girl just bared her teeth at him like a cat, and growled again, something akin to ‘no’.

The teacher walked off – Eddie didn’t blame him.

He wanted to cheer her up, feeling like part of the accident was his fault, for making her lose focus, so five minutes later he came up to her and held out a flower he had made with steel-wire and copper cables. "Here."

Her eyes widened. "What... what's this?"

Luckily it didn’t seem like she was that angry anymore. She had probably had time to cool down while Eddie was busy.

"I... I made it. I wanted to cheer you up. I'm Eddie."

Her eyes lit up. "I know who you are. I remember you from the talent show – you guys were really good!"

She remembered him?

"Your poem was really good too," Eddie told her. "Deep. You're gifted."

She blushed, taking the flower from him, her hair catching the shine of the overhead light, making him notice how soft and lustrous it looked.

"Thank you, Eddie," she said, smiling at him. "I'm Y/N."

Y/N. The name that would from then on always be associated with the strongest feelings of his life.

Overwhelming love.

Deepest agony.

taglist: @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @mewchiili @melodymunson @ches-86 @jenniquinn @eddiemunsonfuxks

(let me know if you want to be on the taglist!)

please, like, comment and reblog!

Your likes are wonderful but reblogs expand my reading circle.

[crowfootwrites]

Devotion & Diplomacy - Part VII

Hi hello! Apologies for the like, 6 month hiatus. I want to promise it won't happen again, but really, it's not a money-back guarantee. 😅 I'm very excited to post this chapter and hopefully get the rest of them out in short order, as there are only 11 total! So we're almost there! Shit's about to get really real in this story, too, so I'm practically vibrating (though that might be the coffee).

Tagging my usuals: @horta-in-charge, @starrynightgardens, @sleepycat82, @vreenak, and @deepspacedukat 😘

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Read on AO3

Warnings: lots of political tension and discussions of occupations, obviously; general Cardassian douchebaggery; some fluff that fades to black in the beginning | Words: ~3,415

The distinctly ashy golden light of Cardassia’s sun filtered through the thin window coverings in Daro’s bedroom, and Emrys stirred. The light on this planet always reminded her of some old Earth photos she’d once seen of the sky during “wildfire seasons”, before fire suppression systems were so readily accessible, and as she found herself lying in a room bathed in dusky light, she was hit by a sudden pang of homesickness. 

She rolled over languidly, searching for Daro, but the bed was empty. Today was a day of rest on Cardassia, meaning she had a rare day off. She was sorely tempted to stay in bed, but the appeal was lost with Daro nowhere to be seen. Stretching, she pulled herself out of his bed, wincing at some soreness between her thighs and tightness in her muscles. She went to swipe Daro’s shirt from the day before off the floor to tug on, when she heard a content hum coming from the doorway.

She glanced up to see a smiling Daro leaning leisurely against the doorframe with two mugs in his hands.

“I could get used to this view,” he murmured. Clad in only a pair of his thin sleep pants, Emrys took a moment to appreciate his broad chest, the pattern of his scales and ridges beginning to feel familiar already. 

“I could say the same,” she volleyed back, her eyebrow piqued in interest.

Daro chuckled, moving into the room before handing her a mug. Dropping his shirt back to the ground, she took her cup and crawled back into bed with it. He followed her lead, settling himself beside her in the soft sheets and resting his back against the headboard. It was the most relaxed Emrys had ever seen him. She curled up against his chest and sipped her tea quietly.

“You don’t have to report to Central today, correct?” Daro asked, resting his cheek against the crown of her head.

“Blessedly, no,” she said with a quiet huff of laughter. Her mood soured slightly as she realized what the next meeting would be like - the next topic on the table was Bajor, one that was sure to fan the flames that characterized nearly every treaty session they’ve had over the past several months. 

Daro noticed the slight change in her demeanor and shifted, lifting her chin with a finger so he could study her. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed. “I know it’s counterproductive to spend time off worrying about the next time I have to go to work, and I don’t intend to dwell on it for long, but… I was just thinking about our next session. If I had to guess, it’ll likely get very ugly.”

“What points will you have to discuss?” he asked curiously, tucking her head back under his chin.

She hesitated, prepared to dance around the question as so often had to when meeting with Central Command, or other Cardassians in general. But this was Daro. He’d already made it clear that he disapproved of many of his government’s decisions, although Emrys would never share that with anyone else. 

She took a bracing sip of tea before setting it on the small table beside the bed. “The Occupation.”

“Ah,” Daro responded quietly above her. 

“The Federation won’t sign a treaty as long as Cardassia continues to occupy Bajor,” she noted.

“Understandably,” he agreed. 

Emrys breathed a laugh. “I wish everyone in power here thought like you.” She traced patterns absentmindedly along his chest. “I think I’m mostly concerned because I’ve been given so little to work with. It seems ridiculous to even have to say that - there shouldn’t have to be any bargaining to end a literal occupation, but to Ziven and the rest of Central Command, controlling Bajor is paramount. They won’t give it up, even though we know it’s costing them a fortune, and rather than recognize just how hard Cardassians will fight to keep their place on Bajor and give me something to negotiate with, my superiors believe that the Ziven will just… I don’t know, bow to my will. I suppose I just… I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, how I’m going to handle it.” 

Daro remained silent above her and, unable to see his expression, Emrys worried that she’d offended him somehow. She lifted her fingers from his chest but before she could move away, he’d grasped them in his hand and placed them back against his skin, pressing her hand flat to his chest beneath his. 

“I am immensely sorry that you are having to fight with them about this. We… we should have never gone to Bajor,” Daro murmured, his hushed voice full of regret as his thumb rubbed slowly against the lip of his mug. “The people on Cardassia had little knowledge of what was really going on – the Central Command painted a very different picture of the Occupation. They still do, really.” He paused, his eyes unfocused on the wall before them. Instinctively, Emrys adjusted her hand on his chest to intertwine their fingers together. Daro’s gaze followed the movement, his heart heavy in his chest.

“I appreciate,” he began gently, shifting so he could look in her eyes again, “that you do not judge every man for the actions of others. I am certain I don’t deserve that kindness.” His fingers tightened around hers for a moment. “I carry a great deal of shame for what has been done, and my part in it.”

Emrys recalled what he’d said to her when they first met. We all carry things with us that we’d sooner forget.

“Central Command,” he continued, “has always had a way of telling parts of the story, painting part of the picture, twisting facts and situations. That way, they can convince you to think and believe whatever they want. There are… many terrible things that I was a part of because we weren’t given all of the information, or because Central Command had lied to us. But even in those times when I wasn’t involved directly, or when, afterward, we’d discovered how they’d used us- I remained silent when I shouldn’t have. And I will have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

Emrys guided their clasped hands toward her, placing a soft kiss on the back of Daro’s. “If you hadn’t, it’s very likely you wouldn’t be here with me now. And for that, I’m very grateful.”

A somber smile crossed Daro’s face as he contemplated the woman in front of him. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to wind up with this merciful, lovely human in his arms, but he knew in that moment he’d do anything to keep her. 

Determined not to ruin their day, Emrys gently extricated herself from Daro’s arms and sat cross-legged on the bed facing him. 

“What are your plans for today, Glinn?” she asked with an impish grin. 

Daro schooled his features into a serious mask before leaning over and setting his cup on the bedside table. Before Emrys could react, he’d shifted onto his knees and pinned her beneath him on the bed. Her initial yelp morphed into an infectious giggle as his lips latched onto her neck. She could feel his smile against her skin between kisses.

“My plans look a great deal like this, irc’lin.” 

— — —

Emrys took her usual seat between Romar and Varsek, feeling prepared for the day’s session. Daro’s presence over the last few days had been a source of intense comfort for her, so gratifying that the mere thought of seeing him had the power to get through long days at Central Command. That very morning, she’d woken curled into his reassuring warmth – their sunrise had been colored by tender whispers and lingering touches. They’d had breakfast together and Daro walked with her to the Imperial Plaza before departing with a fervent kiss. Thoroughly lost in thought, Emrys’ fingers brushed fleetingly over her lips as she recalled the greed of his mouth on hers.

“Beck!” 

The gruff utterance from Varsek at her side broke through her daze and she shifted in her seat, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin. Varsek rolled his eyes and faced forward again, the disapproval in his visage obvious. 

Emrys tried to ignore it, knowing that he was likely on edge about the topic the Federation would be bringing to the table today. Just as she was. But unlike Varsek, she couldn’t afford to lose her head. She’d prepared as much as she could. She’d also requested more time to lay the groundwork with Central Command before bringing this particular negotiation point up - that her request had been denied wasn’t her fault. Should today’s session go sideways, she could always politely remind her superiors that she’d solicited a different approach.

Gul-Tar Ziven settled in his seat, his countenance severe and, as always, giving nothing away. His sharp eyes seemed to find Emrys more often than usual as the remainder of his officers seated themselves, and Emrys shifted almost imperceptibly in her seat when she noticed.

“It is my hope that everyone had a restful night.” The rumble of his voice carried over the long conference table. “As discussed when last we met, there are matters of critical importance to be raised today, and it is my sincerest hope that the Federation will be willing to recognize the,” his gaze zeroed in on Emrys, “considerable sacrifices that our great Union has made over the course of these negotiations, and will grant us the few propositions that we are extending today.”

Despite the growing desire to roll her eyes, Emrys maintained composure. Ziven was certainly starting on a bold foot this morning. 

“The Federation,” he continued, “denies our legitimate claims of mapping errors which detract from the expansion efforts that the Cardassian Union has worked toward for hundreds of years.” Varsek huffed loudly beside Emrys, a sentiment she shared although she wouldn’t show it – they hadn’t denied anything, they’d simply proven that their claims were unfounded. Ziven argued onward. “Despite this refusal, we are taking under consideration the request to finalize the border as it exists on Federation maps, despite the deleterious effects it will likely have on our nation.”

Emrys generally prided herself on her temperate nature; she was normally slow to anger and mostly unflappable. But almost a year of listening to Ziven make these kinds of arguments was starting to wear on her. “That is very gracious of you, Gul-Tar,” she asserted, her voice carrying strong and even across the room. “I assume that, in exchange for your acquiescence on that point, you would request additional allowances from the Federation on other points.” 

She paused, loath to detonate the room as she knew she was about to. “Bajor, perhaps?”  

The background hum of people shifting in their chairs and the occasional slide of water glasses against the table died down and a pall of utter silence settled over the room. All eyes darted to Ziven. He sighed dramatically.

“Please understand, Lieutenant Commander,” Ziven offered, an appeasing tone to his voice. Romar hummed quietly beside Emrys, an almost smug sound – Ziven was giving away just how important this objective was for him.

“Cardassia Prime is a planet with limited natural resources. Over the last two centuries, our people have faced famine, disease, and terrible poverty. We survived and came away stronger only because of our expansionist approach – we have successfully welcomed new worlds and new species in, to make a more perfect Union for us all, one in which we all distribute resources amongst each other to ensure the safety and prosperity of all of our citizens.”

Emrys had begun shaking her head before Ziven had even finished speaking. These outright lies were too much, even for Emrys. 

“And… the Federation is to believe that the Bajorans you’ve enslaved are safe and prosperous?”

One of Ziven’s eyes twitched – she could see it even from the far end of the table. But she didn’t give him the luxury of time to reply.

“Your continued occupation of Bajor is unacceptable,” Emrys declared, her tone sharp but unwavering. “It is a point of non-negotiation for continued peace with the Federation.”

Ziven opened his mouth to argue, but Emrys barreled onward, her hand held up to silence him. “I am well aware of Cardassia’s reliance on the materials that they… obtain,” she added, attempting to remove most of the derision from her voice, “from Bajor, and the Federation would be willing to help lessen the impacts of this transition with provision of certain resources, but the Federation can not, under any circumstances, remain on peaceful terms with an empire built upon oppression.” 

The room was quiet as Emrys finished, but she could feel the tension simmering below every Cardassian chest plate around the table.

“If I may, Gul-Tar,” Emrys ventured, leaning forward slightly in her seat for emphasis. “In addition to the significant cost that I am sure this occupation is creating for the Union, the Federation has received reports that the resistance on Bajor is only growing more fervent. Their continued plight is garnering sympathy from others – some of whom are not quite so diplomatic as the Federation and whom, I would imagine, would be quite happy to supply Bajor with materials needed to give the Union a run for its money.”

“If I recall correctly,” she added with emphasis, “I believe there have even been whispers that the power of the Bajoran Occupational Government is eroding, their stance against their own people softening.”

Ziven’s expression gave nothing away, but Emrys noted the uncomfortable look on the faces of the advisors seated closest to him.

Silence stretched onward, so Emrys opted to move forward with their demands, hoping that her reminder of the ways in which Cardassia’s occupation of Bajor was a greater cost than an asset had been effective.

“In addition to the cessation of the occupation, the Federation would require that the space station Terok Nor be surrend-”

“No.” The Gul-Tar’s voice boomed across the table and Emrys’ mouth snapped shut, her fingers clenched around the arms of her chair. 

Not wanting to risk losing ground, Emrys spoke up again. “To which part are you refusing, Gul-Tar?” 

“All of it.” He sat rigid in his chair across from Emrys, and she didn’t need Romar at her side to feel the anger coming off of him in waves. Many of the Cardassians seated by him began shooting concerned glances at one another. “The Federation demands too much,” he challenged, a sliver of a threat at the edges of his words.

The Cardassian seated directly to his right, Legate Domat, if Emrys remembered correctly, leaned close to Ziven, murmuring something to his leader before righting himself, his calm visage a sharp contrast to Ziven’s. A strained silence had settled over the room, everyone in attendance waiting with bated breath to see what might come next.

Beside her, Romar shifted in his seat, leaning closer to her as well. “He is reminding the Gul-Tar,” he whispered, “that the Union has expended significant resources in the course of the occupation and war and that they would be at a significant disadvantage in returning to combat with the Federation.” Emrys inclined her head towards Romar, meeting his calm gaze with lifted brow, once again grateful for exceptional Vulcan hearing. She studied her lap for a moment, trying to piece together her next move. With the Cardassians having little to bargain with themselves, she felt her confidence rebuilding. 

“Respectfully, Gul-Tar,” she began again, “the Federation has received reports of the working conditions and various… safety hazards on Terok Nor, which only reinforces the Federation’s insistence that Cardassia withdraw from Bajor. Releasing all Bajoran workers from Terok Nor would be a compulsory part of that withdrawal. And what purpose will a refinery station serve with no Bajorans to perform the operations of that station?” 

Ziven rose from his seat, despite Legate Domat’s hand on his forearm, perhaps trying to keep him calm. “Perhaps,” Ziven managed through gritted teeth, “you did not understand the gravity of my earlier explanations. Or perhaps… you simply were not listening.” Emrys fought not to roll her eyes and Varsek practically growled beside her. 

“Our Union relies on the uranium ore that is mined on Bajor and refined on Terok Nor. In destroying Cardassian efforts to expand and unite new planets with our Union, the Federation will be condemning innocent Cardassian citizens to the suffering of our past - to a future of famine and poverty.” Ziven had begun pacing behind his chair and even the Legates on either of his sides looked somewhat nervous. Emrys had to admit that this was the most agitated she’d seen Ziven in a while. She considered rethinking an approach – perhaps she needed to mollify him. There was, after all, a small but loud part of her that worried about what could happen if Ziven, or any of his men, truly snapped in this room. Would she survive it? 

But when she considered again what was at stake, recalling the detailed report from a Federation mole on Terok Nor, describing the truly hideous brutality there, she suddenly had no desire to offer Ziven anything. 

Straightening her back in her chair, Emrys interjected. “While I would hardly consider Cardassia’s forced occupation of other planets to be uniting them with your Union,” she responded sharply, and Ziven turned on his heel to face her, his expression murderous, “I was indeed listening to your shared concerns.”

Emrys rose, hating the feeling of being looked down on by the Gul-Tar. Clasping her hands behind her back so he would not see her fidgeting, she lifted her chin and continued. “As I stated earlier, the Federation is prepared to support the Cardassian Union in ensuring its people’s needs are being met. We are happy to assist with the provision of resources – perhaps our assistance will be useful as your Union determines how they might provide for themselves without enslaving others.” 

Ziven had begun making his way around the table, but Emrys refused to show fear. “The Federation would be willing to assist in the formulation of additional treaties and trade agreements that would offer Cardassia access to materials that you are sorely missing.” As Ziven stalked menacingly around the remaining corner of the table, two of his own men rose and called out to him and Romar stood to tower stoically in front of Emrys. Emrys heard, rather than saw, Varsek and a few other Federation members rise from their chairs as Ziven encroached upon their space. The heavy press of apprehension seemed to slow everything in the room.  

“I would advise against this course of action, Gul-Tar,” Romar warned calmly, his hands still clasped loosely before him. He was the picture of calm and for not the first time, Emrys wished she could appear as cool and collected as Romar. 

Ziven stopped just short of Romar, the two men evenly matched in stature, although Emrys knew Romar was much stronger than Ziven. Not that that would matter if Ziven had a weapon, she chided herself. Sighing, Emrys stepped up beside Romar, gazing at Ziven’s furious countenance. 

“We mean no offense, Gul-Tar,” she assured him patiently. “However, it would seem to us that the relinquishment of Terok Nor should be neither surprising nor debatable. If the Cardassian Union agrees to withdraw from Bajor, would it not also follow that they would need to release the Bajorans in residence on Terok Nor?”

Ziven glowered at her, his chestplate shifting rapidly with the rush of his breath. Emrys’ eyes flickered to his jaw working, as though grinding his teeth, her hands trembling behind her back.

A wad of spit shot from Ziven’s mouth, landing on the floor just before Emrys, the sound of it slapping the ground harsh in the quiet, cavernous room. 

Before Emrys could even process what was occurring, Romar had stepped behind her to secure Varsek, who had taken an offended stride toward Ziven. Every Cardassian in the room stood uneasily, the screeching of their chair legs against the floor cacophonous in Emrys’ otherwise stunned mind. With Romar occupied with a pissed off Varsek, Ziven leaned close for a moment, a deadly look in his eye as he hissed, “Hear me well, siml’vrerUj. Cardassia will never relinquish Bajor.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched from the room, leaving a host of edgy Cardassians and Federation members in his wake. 

Translations:

siml’vrerUj (seemul-vreh-roozh) - "filthy female"

[astrangeraccoon]

Tmagp first listen : ep 18!

Finally up to date

Teddy! Why was he trying to ignore Alice?

He sounds very tired and like colder? Than we ve seen him before

Okay this whole conversation make me think one of my theory about leaving this work being more complicated than we think is correct

The audio scratch when he says maybe, he has nooooo intentions of contacting her

"In a hot way" Alice your bi is showing (also not at all projecting with that "obsessions w sam" comment

Pretty sure the audio scratchs again when he says he ll text her back, but why doesn't he want to do that? Like they clearly were friends what is blocking him?

Sam is so akward in lena s presence and I feel that so much, like same my guy same

Oh I hope Jack's okay, but I feel like Sam shouldn't have given his name to lena

"I hope you enjoyed our talks" yeaaah I'm suuuure he did

Ooooh it's an Augustus case! Grandpa is back

Oooh this one is very very recent like happened less than 2 weeks ago recent

"I hope she stays silent" who? The corpse?

Yes the corspe

That s our second talking corpse

À house equivalent of the spiral corridor w bonus spider?

"fog and smoldering yellow" lonely and corruption y/n

That one is kinda confusing me ngl

I appreciate Sam immediately warning Alice about it

I respect Alice decision to refuse to touch all that W a ten foot bar BUT I don't think that s gonna work

Alice is asking the right questions honnestly

This is just the latest flavor of awfull

You have no idea how right you are Alice

"if there's one thing I noticed [...] is that it's curiosity that get you killed" that explain so much of Alice behavior actually (wish Sam would follow her footsteps)

Oooh lena and Gwen are angry again

Alice please stop being an asshole for 5 second

Gwen is opening up!

Shit gwn s just broke my heart here. I have tears in my eyes she sounds so broken up

I'll go into Sam reaction in another post but the guy really accidentally went right into her trauma

Alice ignoring anything and everything supernatural... I approve of the technic but I hope she ll stop doing that before it get her or any of them killed...

Georgie!!!!! She s here!!!

"who keeps taking Georgie s face" ISTG if this is foreshadowing I'm gonna throw hand

Is it me or was there definitely a audio distortion when celia says "she s been all over town to find somewhere in stock"? That's feel like a weird thing to lie about, also which part was a lie?

The way the more she s lying the bigger the audio disturbance is...

"you don't need to lie to me" Georgie what do you know?

Oooh that s paranoia about being spied on by the government, soooo she can feel fear? She definitely can

Oh celia was lying bc she slept walk/teleported again!

Oh that episode was something there's so many interesting point!