#tried to cram in too many issues

[slashmeharderdaddy]

Y'know, if Netflix wanted their Texas Chainsaw movie to have social commentary in it, they could have had the body count characters be true crime youtubers instead of gentrifiers. It'd fit in with the opening scene where they show a documentary about the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre on the gas station mart's TV, especially considering the Texas Chainsaw merch for sale in the mart. Instead of the locals being pissed off about the gentrifiers, the locals could be pissed off about the merch, and how a real life tragedy was exploited, and they could see the group of kids coming through as being a part of that. The kids get in too deep while exploring the old Texas Chainsaw house while filming a video for their channel, and find out that Leatherface never really left.

Oh, and Sally wouldn't fucking die.

[januaryembrs]

TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader

Description: The ONE time the BAU needs you + the FOUR times you need them.

word count: 24k (what on earth was I thinking)

trigger warnings: mentions of spencers addictions + use + side affects. MOMMY ISSUES thankyou ambassador Prentiss. hostage scene + injuries. mentions of forced/pressured marriage. fem!reader. reader and Emily struggle to bond.

authors note: We never meet Emily's dad nor do we see a picture so while reader is given a nickname of Bugsy, she still keeps her real name (no use of y/n) and is given ZERO physical descriptors. ALL of my fem!readers should feel included here, let me know if this is not the case! also I don't speak any language besides English however she does speak many because of her mom, so I really tried to get it right, message me if I'm being stupid!!

series masterlist | next chapter

[this] means its spoken in another language.

—

‘trouble on my left, trouble on my right,

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life’

1. the one where you become a translator.

“I’ll make some calls, I may still have some friends in the Eastern countries,” Ambassador Prentiss announced to the room, standing from her place on the plush sofa. 

A case had landed quite literally in Emily’s lap when her mother had come by that morning asking for Hotch, a Russian migrant looking for her father with a ransom note and a sliced off finger shoved through her mailbox, wedding ring still attached. 

It wasn’t every day Emily wished she’d brushed up on her Russian, but today of all days she was struggling to keep up. 

“We don’t have much time, we need a division of labour,” Hotch’s serious face settled, the time constraints making him just that bit more dictatorial, “Morgan, someone needs to go to the Chernus’s house in Baltimore in case they are contacted again,” 

“What about the language barrier?” Derek raised, smoothing a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “We can’t have the unsub speaking with the family directly. He could say anything to them without us knowing,” 

Bugsy would hate to admit she fit the criteria for youngest daughter of a workaholic mother and distant father to a tea, but Emily would say different. 

Elizabeth Prentiss had never been a warm woman; Emily used to tell her the scowl was a side effect of the overplucking of her eyebrows, not the serious nature of her job. Her youngest girl once said her mother’s lips looked like she’d sucked a lemon. Of course they admired her work, but world peace meant jack shit to a little girl wanting nothing more than a mother’s hug. 

Despite the fact she’d pushed away her husband and both her daughters in favour of her career, the one useful thing about being the Ambassador’s daughter wasn’t just the money, but the widespread culture the girls had been crammed full of since they could so much as beg for a sippy cup. 

“Baltimore, you say?” Emily asked Hotch with a somewhat doubtful wince, “I mean you could always-”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother cut her off, rubbing the stress lines already creasing her forehead at the very notion of her other daughter, despite the fact Emily hadn’t even finished her thought.

Emily’s sigh was a reflex, the years of her mother cutting her off sparking the frustration on instinct. 

“She lives right in the city, Mother, it can’t hurt to have her just talk for them-” Emily tried to bargain, only for the sharp mouthed Ambassador shoot her a frown. 

“End of discussion, Emily,” Elizabeth snipped, her manicured fingernails twitching with annoyance, “Your sister is much too young for an assignment so serious,”

Emily rolled her eyes with a scoff, as if the two had slipped back into the role of rebellious teenager and scathing mother without much thought. 

“She's twenty-two, mom. She’s getting her masters degree for Christ sakes, she’s not ‘too young’,” The dark headed woman fought back, clicking her pen a few times as if the spring loaded ink would take away some of the temper Elizabeth seemed to flare up. 

Her mother’s lips pursed, in the way Bugsy hated, in the way that meant she was going to be mean.

“Immature may have been a better word, then,” She replied, and Emily seemed to pause. She couldn’t argue with that. “Or perhaps lazy, or puerile; callow, wild, irresponsible. Would you like me to name more?” 

“Asinine would be a good term; deriving from the Latin asinus it not only means foolish, but to be stubborn and lazy like an ass,” Spencer input helpfully to the Ambassador, only for his bright smile to fade when he saw the daggers Emily stared at him with, “Sorry, I love word games,” He muttered into his lap. 

“Asinine. Perfect, Dr Reid,” Elizabeth said, and Emily could only roll her eyes harder.

Hotch huffed, the victim’s daughter watching between the two women’s quarrel with wet eyes, the ice box with her father’s finger clenched tightly in her lap, the cold of the limb bleeding into his own gaze.

“Unfortunately, Ambassador Prentiss, despite just how asinine your daughter might be, Morgan is right. Having the Unsub possibly speaking with the family without us understanding what he’s saying could prove fatal,” He explained, ignoring the way the older woman’s mouth scrunched in bitterness. They didn’t need to be profilers to see that despite how tempered the relationship between Emily and her mother was, a tension seemed to fall between the women the moment the younger Prentiss was mentioned. 

Spencer was sure he was the only person who even knew Emily had a little sister. 

“Very well, but don’t be surprised when you find your hands full of the girl,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head as she led the victims, a mother and daughter that seemed to cling to one another for comfort as if to rub salt in her matriarchal wound, into the break room to get away from the frosty atmosphere that now lingered around the table.

Emily sighed, picking around her fingernails the way she did when she was bothered. 

“I’m going to hate these next words that are gonna come out of my mouth,” She started with a long exhale, “But my mother’s right. Bugsy is a handful. Just try not to get her wound up, that girl smells fear,” She looked to Reid who seemed none the wiser, “I’m talking to you, wonder boy. She’ll eat you up and spit you right back out,” 

Spencer gulped quietly. 

Derek only chuckled, slapping a hand down onto Emily’s shoulder, “Relax, Prentiss. Your mom’s just got you all worried. Need I remind you I grew up with two sisters? This will be a piece of cake,”

–

Those were the famous last words of Derek Morgan. 

Loud, heavy metal music jumped through the wooden door, so loud Morgan worried his three polite knocks would go unheard as the two of them waited outside her dorm for her to answer. Morgan was about to knock again, figuring the music had drowned out the first lot, when the door swung open and a frown the spitting image of Emily’s stressed expression met their gaze. 

She looked so different to their Prentiss, but the way she seemed already scorned by the two of them told them they had the right woman. 

“Miss Prentiss?” Morgan asked formally, though he felt the warmth grow when he caught sight of a beat up friendship bracelet around her wrist amongst newer gold chains, five white blocks spelling out her sister’s name pulling tight on her skin, as if she’d quickly outgrown the thing but hadn’t the heart to remove it. 

It was then that he and Reid seemed to both reel back slightly at the fact she was standing in a large shirt, ratty around the edges, and what seemed to be a pair of men's boxers covering her bottom half, clearly not suspecting particularly important visitors. 

She looked him head to toe with a frown, a dozen piercings in her ears, her hair highlighted with streaks of cardinal red, as if he was the one confronting her in his underwear, before she moved onto Spencer, who’s face seemed to be getting hotter by the second as he forced his eyes away from her bare legs. 

“Are you guys strippers? Did someone send strippers to my door?” She asked, strawberry gum smacking between her lips as her gaze seemed to finish mulling over Spencer’s tall form and returned to Morgan.

“Emily sent us.” Reid said shortly, the music blaring in his ears making it difficult to focus on what it was she was saying, “As co-workers, no-not strippers. We’re with the FBI,” 

He hated loud noises anyway, cringed at the sound of particularly cutting rock songs, but since he’d developed his … problem, the dilaudid had him feeling like someone was clawing at his skull, tugging his brain through his ears.

“Emily sent you here?” She asked with a scoff, looking the two up and down again. They both easily caught the way her face hardened, “Are pigs flying today or something?” 

“We’re here to ask for your help on a case,” Spencer rushed through a sweaty brow, “Emily said you’d be able to act as a translator for us and some Russian citizens who are being targeted,” 

She sighed sceptically, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame, “Any strippers or non-strippers can fraud an ID. Emily’s name was in the paper just the other week. I’m gonna need a little more than that,”

She keeps track of her sister despite the supposed distance between them. Spencer was quick to profile, his mind whirring at all the ways she reminded him of her sister down to the way she raised her eyebrows expectantly at them. 

“Emily was born October twelfth, 1970 at 7:12am, graduated from Garfield High School in 1989,” Spencer said as if reporting the weather, her eyes narrowing in on him all the more coldly, “She attended Chesapeake Bay University and speaks six languages, as I expect you do from moving so often with your mother. She coined your nickname Bugsy from your childhood love of ladybugs, which she said you grew out of by the time you turned eleven yet the name stuck, though you still like counting the spots to identify their species. Your parents split when you were five and your father moved in with his now wife, born September ninth-”

“Alright- alright. What are you, living in her walls?” She interrupted incredulously, before turning her attention to Derek who seemed to hide a chuckle with a cough. “Either you really are a stripper or you’re a terrible friend,”

“She loves Kurt Vonnegut,” Derek held his finger as if to prove her entirely wrong, although not much else came to him. Maybe he was a bad friend, he thought guiltily, or maybe he simply lacked an eidetic memory like the wonder boy next to him, who had been about to tell her how old she was when Emily’s pet betta fish died, “Slaughterhouse 5?”

Rolling her eyes, she grunted at them, kicking her door open for them to enter. 

“Everyone loves Vonnegut; only losers under a rock dislike Vonnegut,” She drawled, edging back into her room, the heavy bass rock growing in volume as they followed her in, “I’ll be ready in a second- Emily’s always bugging me about wearing pants,” She said vaguely, scanning around the dirty dorm, until she found one particular pair of jeans laying half under her bed, quickly yanking them up her legs. “Come in, come in.” 

She flicked the speakers way down to which Spencer took a breath of relief. His eyes fell to the laptop that had been set up on her desk, the five different textbooks littered around the spare space, energy drinks and empty mugs filling the cracks where he could barely see the generic white of the table top, his nose crinkling. About as gross as he’d expect from a college student. 

“Emily said your Russian was pretty good,” Derek made conversation, his eyes wandering over the various posters plastered over her walls, some fraying round the edges from where she had likely been moved from bedroom to bedroom when the Prentiss’s inevitably had to move country again. 

“Yeah,” She snarked, pulling a nicer top over her head, “Kinda tends to happen when you live in Russia,”

Morgan raised his eyebrows to Spencer who seemed to give him the same look back, though the latter was biting back a snicker at her words. 

How in the hell was she the Ambassador’s daughter?

–

“This all involves Russian Mafia, it’s really beefed up here the last ten years or so,” Agent Cramer, a tall, slim man who looked entirely overwhelmed by the workload on his shoulders reported, as she listened intently. 

She had been somewhat de-briefed in the car, Emily messaging her for the first time since Christmas, the message a simple: “Have you met with Morgan and Reid yet? Make sure to put on pants,” to which she sent her a thumbs up emoji. She didn’t have much to say to her at the moment, barely even knew her sister anymore. 

“It started off mainly in New York and LA but they send lieutenants from the old country,” Cramer went on, and she caught Reid scratching his arm beneath his shirt. She knew it was mozzy weather, and he was already under the blaring sun in a little sweater, it wouldn’t surprise her if he felt a bit prickly. 

“Pahkans,” She interrupted, the man named Gideon shooting her a glance as she dug through her purse. 

“Your Mom do much work about the Mafia?” He asked, as she produced a clear nail varnish. 

“Here and there, I had to sit with her in her office for a whole Summer once when I got caught sneaking out. Picked up a few things, though,” She said, holding the polish out to Spencer, nodding to his arm, “Here. Supposed to help bug bites,”

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, perhaps question her sources for such an old wives tale, but he stopped himself quickly, taking the varnish out of her hand with a dejected nod. 

“Thankyou,” He muttered, shoving it in his pocket. 

Three months he’d been in this rabbit hole. She had noticed it in a matter of hours. 

“They open up branch offices in other cities. Baltimore, Saint Louis, Chicago, Dallas, the list goes on,” Cramer added, nodding at her words, “They’re mainly offshoots of the Odessa Mafia and they’re especially tough to crack from a law enforcement standpoint. I mean beside being well organised with sophisticated technical equipment, there’s Vory v Zakone to contend with,” 

“The thieves code, eighteen principles they live by,” Reid jumped in before she could, to which she nodded as Gideon looked to her for more. 

“It means ‘thief in law’, or ‘thief with code’. It's a system of repeatedly jailed convicts that have been crowned or ‘made’ with a strict list of ideals, breaking them usually means death,” She explained, kicking a stone between her feet. 

“It’s like bible to these guys. We’re not gonna be turning any of them informer anytime soon,” Cramer said. Gideon seemed to tune the three of them out however, his gaze locking on the house across the street, where a curtain twitched, and a man’s face appeared in the window, watching the crime scene with guilt. 

“Then we’ll need a witness who will talk,” Gideon replied, heading straight towards the neighbour who seemed just a little too invested in what was happening, much more than a concerned third party should be. Though, she had barely noticed, digging through her purse once more for chapstick. 

“So, you study Russian or something?” Cramer asked as she applied it gently, Spencer swore he could smell the cherry flavour from where he stood beside her. 

“I lived in Moscow until I was six, moved back to France, then back to Italy, then Algeria for a bit. Bounced around Europe for a bit longer, but I still speak better Russian than anything else,” She clarified, and she saw Cramer’s eyebrows shoot up, “Military brat except I don’t get the cool discount at the store,” 

“You must have had a lot of friends though, going to so many schools,” Spencer added, and though there was nothing teasing about his tone, she laughed sharply anyway. 

“You’re funny,” She snarked, but smiled at him anyway.

Spencer had never been called funny in his life. ‘Funny looking’, ‘funny sounding’ maybe, but never funny. 

In fact he was so confused by what she had meant, whether it had been a taunt or genuine that he almost missed the sound of the whole street locking their front doors, dead bolting their lives away when a black prius, an expensive one at that, pulled through the street and swerved into park next to them. 

“Guess who,” Cramer bit, her eyes ripping away from where Gideon had the door slammed in his face. 

Detective Cramer aged by about five years when two tall men got out of the luxury car, opening the door for a shorter man in the back seat, their faces thunder. 

“You familiar with them?” She asked, shoulder brushing against Spencer as she turned to watch the men approach, entirely aware of the .9mm on each of their hips. 

“Arseny Lysowsky,” The detective identified, his voice cold, eyeing the two men who flanked the leader, towering over them. 

“Agent Cramer, how are you?” Lysowsky smiled at him, which oddly enough seemed somewhat real, as he also took stock of the three other people around him. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, noting her lack of gun and badge, trying to decipher if she was local or just a very unprepared fed. 

“Lysowsky, what brings you out?” Cramer asked, a tightness to his tone, his hand all too eager to grab his own pistol. 

“I heard Chernuses had problems,” He kept it vague, didn’t reveal too much, and looked back at the victim’s house with a scorned frown. 

“How did you hear that?” Gideon challenged, stance unwavering as the mob leader turned to meet his cold gaze. 

“And you are?” He asked, a sinister smile on his face that flipped her stomach. She didn’t like the tension that had overcome the little patch of sidewalk they took up, and she was quick to notice how Spencer moved towards her. 

He, by far, wasn’t the best shot on the team, but he was sure Hotch and Prentiss would have his and Morgan’s heads if any harm came to her. 

“Churneses said they hadn’t told anyone,” Agent Gideon ignored his question, hands firmly planted on his hips. If he was unnerved by the criminal in front of him, he never showed it, not even when Lysowsky’s grin widened horribly. 

“It is a small community. Word gets out,” He said simply, looking past him to the neighbours house that had kicked Gideon to the curb, “Are you a friend of Gorban’s?”

A second of silence passed between them, neither of them backing down from the moral standoff they’d engaged in. 

“Mr Gorban wouldn’t talk to me,” Gideon admitted, and Arseny only smiled again, flicking a look at the house behind him, as if hearing his dog had obeyed without command. 

“Would you like me to talk to him for you?” The threat was there clear as day, clear enough to have Gideon’s eyes narrow, “I can’t promise something will come of it,” 

“You!” In a second, Natalya, the victim she’d briefly met when Morgan had pulled up around an hour before, had stormed out of her house, her black kitten heels clicking against the concrete, “Where’s my father? He has my father!” 

“Wait a minute,” Derek called, restraining her where she stood, trying to pull his muscled arm from her shoulder, “Do you know he has your father?” 

“He’s responsible for all of this,” She spat, her eyes cold as she glared at the three men with vitriol hate, “Why everyone’s afraid, him and his animals,” She threw a hand up to his bodyguards that seemed barely contained by Cramer’s silencing hand. 

“I am only here to help,” Lysowsky replied, confident and calm in his words, though not as taunting as the agents would have thought, as if he truly cared for her.

A vast difference to the sadistic mob boss Cramer’s team had painted him to be. 

“Help?” She laughed woefully, tears in her eyes, “You’re a dog,” 

“Natalya,” Arseny said in a warning, the way a teacher would to a student, as her breath rattled in her chest through a weep. 

“How exactly can you help them?” Bugsy braved to speak, Gideon and Reid both flashing her a look. She’d always had trouble holding her tongue. 

Lysowsky turned his attention to her then, his eyes running down her figure, still deciphering whether she was armed; she looked much too young to be an agent. 

“In any way that they’d like me to, darling,” He replied, the disdain in her frown clearly not deterring him in the slightest, though again the act of concern held up in his own grimace, “As I said this is a small community. If one is in pain, we’re all in pain.”

Natalya weeped behind Morgan, sniffling as the boss made his way over to her, “Natalya, [you didn’t have to bring in outsiders],” 

The younger woman’s ears pricked up as he spoke in his native language, Spencer’s eyes flicking to her from behind his sunglasses. 

“[Let me help you],” He continued, taking a step towards Natalya, unthreatening yet she saw Morgan tense, his fingers twitching towards his gun. 

“[My family will never come to you for help],” Natalya hissed back, also in Russian, her face contorted in disgust, “[Get away from my house],” 

“[You are not right, Natalya],” He replied, yet again the concern in his eyes was either genuine or very well faked, “[You have made the wrong decision],” 

Taking a step away from the victim that wept with a scorned sneer, he looked back to the agents, noting the way the youngest of them glared at him hotly, before retreating to his car. 

“What did he say? Did he threaten you, Natalya?” Morgan asked, the woman watching the group of men drive away, as if Mr Chernus wasn’t still missing and they hadn’t just bumped themselves up to number one of the suspects list. “Talk to us and we can do something about it,”

“He said I made the wrong decision,” She said wetly, frustration turning on Derek as he pushed her for an answer, “I hope I didn’t,” 

With that she stormed off back into her house, the same stomping of her kitten heels in her wake, leaving the agents to all look between one another before they simultaneously turned to look at Bugsy, questions hovering on all of their lips. 

“What did he say exactly?” Gideon asked without frills, a hand rubbing his brow. Relaying the information, the men’s faces all drew into frowns as they heard Lysowsky’s parting statement. Gideon huffed, turning to Morgan and gesturing for him to follow Natalya inside. 

“Morgan, keep an eye on her, Reid and I are going to Cramer’s office to look over the files,” He looked at her then, worry lines littering his otherwise friendly face, damn near scowling as she looked over at him, “You are here to interpret, you understand? You do not speak to the suspects, that’s our job.” He growled, watching her with disappointment, the same tone a father used when scolding a petulant child, “Do you have any idea how much danger you could put yourself in? These guys won’t hesitate to take you out the second we’re not around, kid,” 

“But-” She started with a bite, though her whole fight left her when he silenced her with a raised hand. 

“Buts are for cigarettes, kiddo,” He interrupted, and Spencer winced slightly, knowing he’d heard that one a few hundred times when he’d first started under Gideon and had yet to mature entirely. Reid watched something rebellious flare in her eyes, and he worried for a moment she might just slap his boss for the patronising tone he took, “Just keep your mouth shut, you’re doing great so far,” 

She opened her mouth to protest, only to then register his words entirely and stay silent once more, appreciating his praise with a guilty smile. For once, she listened. 

–

The grandfather clock chimed to tell them it was merely 11am; two hours until the unsub would start cutting more if they didn’t get the ransom fee, two hours to figure out who wanted Natalya’s family to suffer. 

Said woman paced her living room at the sound of the hour, as Bugsy picked over the knick knacks on her fireplace, a small smile teasing her lips when she saw a picture of three small children grinning toothily at the camera. 

She had never gotten any photo’s similar, Emily being fourteen years older. The majority of their childhood photos consisted of a very grumpy teenager holding her baby sister that seemed to squirm in the tight, formal dresses Elizabeth Prentiss had forced them into, identical scowls on their faces as they were made to sit for the picture. 

There were some good memories, ones where Emily let herself be a sister and not a mom, where she would put makeup on her for fun and do her hair, let her have all the clothes out her wardrobe she thought looked nice, reading to her before bed, even letting her sister keep her pet corn snake when she left home for good. 

But now, it seemed like she was too caught up in her super serious grown up job to give a shit that her sister lived just an hour away. Still messaged each other for holidays, but the last few times she’d braved a call to the eldest Prentiss, it had gone unanswered. They argued the majority of the time they spoke, or there was an awkward long silence in between words, whichever was worse, but they each knew the other would come running if they were to ever need them so desperately. 

“Are you hungry? I could make something?” Natalya offered kindly, Derek having a poke through her collection of books that sat on the end table, though he’d have a tough job reading them as she’d already caught most of them were in her home language. 

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine,” He replied with a small smile, putting down the books to calm the clearly on edge woman that looked to the twenty-something year old hopefully. 

She shook her head, “I’m good, thanks,” which seemed to deflate her entirely as she sat next to Derek with a sigh.

“I guess I’m like my mother. When she’s upset, she cooks,” Natalya said with a sad huff of a laugh, running a hand through her short, dark hair. 

“Yeah, mine does too. I think that’s just a mom thing,” He replied, and Bugsy felt the two of them look at her as her finger traced the old brass ornaments gently, “How about you, baby Prentiss?” 

She snorted, “You’re kidding, right?” smiling bitterly, “My mom never cooked for us, she said we needed to figure it out for ourselves rather than relying on the staff. Didn’t stop her from trying to end world hunger though,” 

It wasn’t lost to Morgan the way her eyes trained on the picture of Natalya and her mother, cuddled together with genuine love in their embrace, the snarky humour as she spoke, the same longing Emily seemed almost too good at hiding from them. 

“Your mother is a great woman,” Natalya complimented, though she missed the way the girl’s face steeled over, chewing her bottom lip as if to stop herself from snapping at the woman who meant well. She said nothing. “Where is your mother?” She turned her attention back to Derek who seemed the more talkative of the two of them. 

“Chicago. That’s where I’m from,” He replied, watching Bugsy turn away from the two of them to inspect more of the Chernus’s trinkets on their walls. 

“I’m from Dolgoprudny. Just North of Moscow.” Natalya replied. Opening her mouth to add something else, she was cut off by a knock at the door and the three of them froze in their place. 

“Are you expecting someone?” Morgan asked Natalya in a hushed tone, reaching for his gun and heading for the door. 

She shook her head, “No,” She whispered back. Morgan pulled the curtain back the smallest inch to see a small blonde boy staring back, a box in his hands and a bored look on his face. 

It all happened too fast from there, Natalya opening the door for the neighbourhood kid, opening the box to see a decapitated ear, the blood fresh and pooling in the bottom of the box. It couldn’t have been taken longer than an hour or so ago, unless they were keeping the parts on ice. 

Bugsy’s hand slapped over her mouth, Natalya’s scream piercing through her as she shoved the box into Derek’s hands, fleeing to the toilet, and she heard the woman retching. Part of her felt the same nausea settle in her stomach, looking away from the body part with a wince as Derek got straight on the phone to Gideon. 

“They didn’t wait, man. They sent a box with-” He swallowed thickly, “With Mr Chernus’s ear inside.”

Gideon replied, and whatever it was, it had Derek looking back to her. He agreed, hanging up the phone and rooting through his pockets, producing a set of rattling keys, holding them out for you between the tips of his fingers. 

“Gideon wants you, kid. He said they’re at the Little Kiev restaurant, they’re going to talk to Lysowsky,” Morgan said, grimacing as he held the ear away from her, “You sure you’ll be okay to drive?” 

“I’d rather be on the road than look at what’s in that box,” She said in disgust, taking the keys and heading out to the car.

She thought it best for everyone she didn’t tell him she hadn’t yet got her licence as she made her way over to the restaurant. 

-

“Reid and I will do the talking, just see if anything he’s saying connects with Vory v zakone, think you got that?” Gideon instructed her the second she got out of the car, taking the keys and handing them back to Reid who gave her a small nod. 

“We think the reason it was Mr Chernus who was targeted has something to do with the code,” Reid explained, his hands in his pockets as the three of them approached the restaurant, “You said earlier you understood the tenants,” 

“Why me, though? I thought I was just translating?” She repeated Gideon’s earlier words, almost cocky that they needed her.

“Lysowsky would feel the need to show face in front of men like Morgan and Cramer, even in front of Natalya since she lives locally. Between the three of us, he had less reputation to uphold, less so with a young woman like yourself,” Reid added, holding the door open for her to go in front. 

And so there she was, trailing behind Gideon and Reid over to where Lysowsky sipped a spoonful of borscht, as she tried not to marvel at the grandeur of the establishment inside. Clearly, Arsney had money to build a place like this, and wasn’t afraid to be flashy about it either, that much was apparent from the other clientele that tended to their beers around their own tables, Rolex watches and designer shoes adorning nearly every one of them. She hated to think of how many ears or fingers those suits had cost. 

“Would you like something to eat?” He asked, a chunk of bread in his hand dipping into the thick sauce, seemingly unbothered that they were there, “This borscht is exquisite, it’s my mother’s old country recipe,” 

“Didn’t you forsake all your relatives when you swore the thieves code?” Reid asked, which she guessed was hit foot in to get Lysowsky to talk. 

“I didn’t forsake her recipes,” Lysowsky replied with a shrug, looking to her where she seemed to be staring at his plate, “Borscht?” 

She shook her head, her nose wrinkling, “Much preferred stroganoff, mom used to force me to have borscht to make sure I ate my veggies,”  

His eyebrows raised, surprise written over his face, before he gave a short laugh. 

“[Where are you from]?” He asked in his mother tongue, gesturing for the three of them to sit down, though his eyes lit up as he watched her carefully. 

“[I was born in DC, but my mother worked in Moscow for a few years],” She answered shortly, and he seemed to find it even funnier that the near child they’d brought along on their case spoke as fluently as he did. 

Laughing with a heavy hand smacking on the table, he gestured to a nearby waiting staff to come over. 

“What are you having then, borscht for the gentle man?” He looked at Reid and Gideon, the former shaking his head while Gideon nodded with an awkward smile. 

“I’d love a taste,” He said, though any enthusiasm seemed to have drained out of his voice. 

“And what is the little lady having?” Lysowsky asked, his eyes falling back to her, as she straightened in her seat. 

She chanced a quick glance to Gideon, who nodded at her to play his game. She had not expected to be so deep in criminal territory when they’d said they needed a translator, and truly they hadn’t planned on getting her in the field until they realised she would know much more about this than they would.

“Do you have sharlotka?” She asked, returning his smile wearily as he clicked at the waiter who all but bolted to the kitchen. 

“A sweet tooth. I like it,” Arseny replied, shovelling a heap of beets into his mouth, “Our favourite was always Leningradsky,”

“Ours?” She prompted, giving a polite thanks to the waiter who returned too quickly with a slice of cake. She caught Spencer glancing at the bowl with intrigue, the hunger clear on the quiet man’s face. Gently pushing the bowl and clean spoon towards him, he flicked a look up at her, “Apple cake,” She whispered, sending him a small smile, “Really yummy with the sugar on top,” 

“Mine and my mother’s,” Arseny replied, though Gideon and Reid both caught how he paused before he replied, as if he had to think about the answer he was giving; the oldest tell that it wasn’t entirely true, “We didn’t have much when I was a boy, but that was always our dessert of choice,” 

She stopped for a mere second, missing the moment when Spencer spooned the tiniest bite of the cake into his mouth, trying to ignore the way his tongue exploded in the sweet, fruit taste. He hadn’t eaten anything properly in days, and maybe that was why it tasted so good, but more likely it was just the fact that everything sweet tasted even better when he was on his come downs. 

“We need to talk, Arseny,” Gideon interrupted, ignoring the way Spencer pined to go back in for a second mouthful, but chose to hand the bowl back to her with a small smile. 

“We are on first name basis?” Lysowsky asked, shaking his head, and she took a small bite of the sweet cake for herself, “I still don’t even know who you are,” 

“I think I understand something about this,” Gideon replied, his thumbs tapping together, the waiter returning with his borscht, “You have a problem,” 

“I do?” The pahkan titled his head at the agent, the annoyance clear on his face. 

“That’s why you came to the Chernus’ house this morning,” Gideon answered, unbothered as he began to scoop the borscht onto the spoon, the apple cake in her own mouth going down a treat. 

She kept her head down, took tiny bites of the dessert that certainly tasted like a fresh baked sharlotka. But her thoughts lingered on what Lysowsky had said, about his own favourite pudding. 

It made no sense that he would have ever tasted Leningradsky shortbread, not for the time that he was born, nor with the amount of money he claimed his family lacked. Infact, the way he fully pronounced his vowels, the akanye, the stress he put on certain parts of his words, all pointed to the same dialect you’d heard back in Moscow, more central than anything else. 

So how on earth would he have eaten the so-called ‘Royal Cake’ that had only been made eight hours from there, in the town it grew its name from. 

There was something glaringly obvious about his story missing. 

“A man like me?” She tuned back into the conversation, swallowing another mouthful down as Gideon took another bite himself, though it seemed the topic had turned sour as Arseny wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin. 

“Four watchtowers and a convict signifies a stay in prison,” Spencer cut in, nodding towards the tattoos branded across his knuckles, “Each one of those crosses symbolises an individual sentence,” 

“Twenty three years in prison in the Ural mountains,” 

But she was still stuck on what it was she was missing. It had been such an odd thing to lie about, particularly when he’d even admitted himself that they hadn’t had much money, so he clearly hadn’t been lying to fake a reputation. 

So why lie?

She was ripped out of her stumped silence when Natalya entered the restaurant, her voice grabbing the men’s attention immediately. 

“Mr Lysowsky. You said you could help me,” She said, her purse over her shoulder and her own car keys gripped tightly in her hand as if she’d all but thrown herself out the vehicle to get there faster. 

“Don’t you already have help,” Lysowsky snapped, clearly Gideon had dug under his skin enough to garner a reaction. 

“I made a mistake,” Natalya replied, barely meeting Bugsy’s gaze as she stared at her from her seat at the table. “I talked to my father on the phone,” 

The girl frowned at her, “That’s a lie,” It came out before she could hold herself, brows furrowed at whatever it was she was trying to pull. Gideon said her name in a reprimand, though he too was looking at the woman as if she’d grown a second head. 

“Thankyou for coming, but I don’t need your help,” The woman met her confused look with a saddened expression, nodding to her solemnly. 

Leave it alone, she seemed to be saying, there’s nothing more I want you to do. 

And with that, the two of them left the restaurant, Natalya walking by his side obediently, her purse tucked in close under her arm, as Morgan and Cramer filed in from the parking lot, watching their only leads drive away without a fight. 

–

The team were quick to head back to Natalya’s home, only to find the ear missing and the finger gone too, the only evidence left of any crime being committed leaving with the victim’s daughter herself. 

“She’s not here, and the garbage was never taken out,” Morgan said with a grimace as he walked down the front steps to meet the four of them on the sidewalk. 

“Her dad just went missing, surely we can cut the girl some slack-” Bugsy words were hidden in a huff, rolling your eyes at the man who cut a glance to her. 

“No, no. When Hotch first talked to us, he said she noticed her father’s car in the driveway when she took the garbage out,” Morgan explained, his shades blocking the way the cogs turned behind his dark eyes. 

“Right?” Reid asked, his own sunglasses now covering his eyes that winced at the brightness, surrounding them.

“Garbage can in the kitchen is completely full, she never took it out.” 

“She lied,” Gideon said with finality, the penny beginning to drop for him too. 

“She could be half way back to Dolgo-whatever by now,” Morgan scoffed, his arms smacking against his side as the lightbulb went off over her head, the final puzzle piece falling into place. 

“Dolgoprudny?” Spencer asked, exchanging a glance with Cramer, “Isn’t that where Lysowsky’s from-”

“Yes, YES, of course!” She exclaimed, grabbing onto Spencer’s arm as he spoke. 

He looked at her with wide eyes, not that she could see since his shades blocked the way, only to feel her shake him harder in the midst of her enthusiasm. Part of him wanted to rip his arm out of her grip, waiting for the sickness to crawl up his throat at a strangers germs touching him, but the oddest part of him reasoned she had the same germs as Emily did, that the fifty percent DNA the women shared negated the fact she was a stranger, just as it did when he met Jack. Jack had Hotch germs. Bugsy had Emily’s. He didn’t feel so sick thinking of it like that. 

“I knew I was missing something,” She said, turning to Gideon, “He was lying before, about his favourite dessert. There was no way he could have had Leningradsky with his mother. Given his age, at that time in Soviet Russia, shortbread was incredibly expensive, only extremely wealthy families could have eaten it. That, and given the Central dialect he speaks in, I’d pinpointed he lives somewhere near or around Moscow, which means there was no way he was eating that cake considering it was only ever baked in one shop at first, one way up in Leningrad, where St Petersburg is now, like nine hours away from Moscow-” 

“What’s your point?” Cramer asked, tired of the somewhat slew of thoughts she’d been saving until she knew for sure what she meant. 

“Before when he said it was ‘our favourite’, I don’t think he was talking about him and his mother,” She explained, looking to see if Spencer at least understood what she was getting at. 

“It was him and his own child…” Spencer finished, as Morgan’s phone began ringing.

“Yeah, what?” He asked, the frustration clear in his tone that they were all still without the evidence needed to pin it on Lysowsky, “You’re sure? Uh-huh. Okay, thanks doll,” 

The four of them looked at him expectantly as he nodded to her, “Garcia just got into the bank’s system, somebody wired 500 thousand dollars into the account ten minutes ago,”

“Who wired it?” Spencer asked, though he was still reeling from the way she’d touched him, the way her voice went up about five octaves and a dozen decibels.

“She didn’t say, but the name on the account is Lyov Fulenko. She says that’s Lysowsky’s wife’s maiden name. Fulenko.” Morgan replied, and her brows furrowed. 

“Why did she bring us into this?” Gideon asked, though the solemn look on his face said he already knew, “Because she needed to put pressure on the other victim,” 

Gideon headed towards Mr Gorban’s house once more, though it was clear he had already sketched out in his head who was their unsub and Natalya’s involvement, he simply needed the confirmation. 

Morgan clapped a hand on her back, “Nice job, baby Prentiss. Those were some mean profiling skills out there,”

She frowned at him, scoffing,  “I’m not a profiler, that’s Emily’s job. It was just basic linguistics really; more a display of how I need to lay off cake for a while.”

The man kissed his teeth with a grin, “Don’t put yourself down. What’s your degree even in?”

She shrugged, picking under her nails for something to do, “Individualised genomics and health.” She said as if it were child’s play, though Spencer’s head shot to her. 

“Biotechnology?” He asked, and she glanced at him with a nod, “What’s your thesis on?” 

Gideon had returned by the time he’s asked, and began corralling the two of them back to the car, “We’re heading back to the restaurant. We need to speak with Lysowsky again,” 

But it had fallen on deaf ears as Spencer looked at her expectantly. 

“Just some new research into prenatal screening, nothing too fun,” She simpered, climbing into the back seat as he nodded with her. 

“I read a fascinating paper on the uses of hCG in a woman’s body-” 

“Reid,” Gideon cut him off with a short glance from the front seat, “Continue this conversation once we’ve found Mr Chernus alive,” 

Spencer blushed, feeling like a kid caught in the cookie jar, “Sorry, sir,” He looked over at her, only to see her hiding a smile to herself. 

He thinks it was then he’d decided Emily had been wrong about her.

-

“You paid the ransom already,” Gideon said plainly, the four of them trailing behind him as he followed Lysowsky to a small seating area in the front of the restaurant. She could tell the whole way Spencer had been itching to ask her more questions about her paper, barely contained as his fingers had twitched in his lap, but he seemed to straighten himself out once she’d reached the restaurant, “You paid all the ransoms,”

“Sit,” The boss ordered, barely glancing at them as he held his strong whiskey up.

“Are they going to kill Mr Chernus?” Morgan asked, cutting to the chase as Lysowsky spared him a bored glance.

“No,” He replied shortly, the look on his face about as grumpy as when they’d left. 

“The account is in the name of Lyov Fulenko. Lyov is a man’s name.” Spencer input, crossing his arms as the boss glared at him, “A son’s name. Vory v Zakone. Never have a family of your own. No wife. No children.”

“Lyov,” He looked at her then, gesturing to her with the glass of strong liquor, “You know what it means?”

“The Lion,” She replied gravely, steeling herself against his dark eyes. 

“No one else would be so stupid,” Lysowsky ran a hand over his weathered face, swigging his drink as if it was the only thing keeping him talking. “At first it didn’t mean much. It was a way of letting him earn his own money. I could afford it, it came from the fund. And no one questions the use of the fund-”

“Where is he?” Gideon asked, his elbows on his knees as he leaned in.

“What else could I do?” He was ignored, “I couldn’t admit I wasn’t blessing the kidnappings, I couldn’t even admit my son existed.” He huffed when he saw Gideon’s face unmoving from the glower, his question still unanswered, “Chernus will be home in a few minutes. You should be there, he will need medical attention,” He shooed them away, with his final words, drink sloshing in his hand. His face darkened, impossibly so, and the five of them looked at him, something sad and remorseful shining back. 

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer. 

“Vory v Zakone.” He said heavily, nodding to her, “We take care of our own troubles.”

It was a silent journey back to the Chernus’ house. 

-

Morgan and Reid pulled up to the campus, the younger girl in the back seat almost dozing off with the rhythmic hum of the engine, the evening sun much nicer on Spencer’s sensitive eyes. 

“This is you, baby Prentiss,” Derek’s voice jolted her out of the half sleep she was in, straightening herself from where she had her head pressed against the window. 

“Thanks,” She muttered, rubbing her eyes and unbuckling herself as they did the same, assuming they wanted to walk her back to her dorm since it had gotten dark, “I’ll be okay on my own, campus security should be out by now,”

“You sure?” Reid asked, flicking his watch up to his eyes to see the meagre 6:13pm staring back at him, “I thought they started at 7,”

She blinked at him, her eyebrows quirking for a moment, “How do you know that?”

“Johns Hopkins was my backup option- well actually it was my third, I much preferred Caltech’s curriculum, Yale was my second-” He started, flicking a glance to her where she waited for him to finish, “Not that Johns was bad, there were just better- alternative options out there-” 

“Don’t shit your pants, I’m hardly the dean of the university,” She chuckled indignantly patting them both on the shoulder before sliding over to open the door, “Nice meeting you both, I’ll just get back to my mediocre college with my poor curriculum, nothing like the solid gold bathrooms at Caltech-”

“I never said that!” She laughed again, with her whole chest, at his defensive tone as she stepped out the car, hand on the door to shut it behind her. 

Leaning down to give them both a wave goodbye, Derek’s voice stopped her again, “Baby Prentiss, do us all a favour and enrol yourself into forensics, we need more people on our team,”

Smirking at him, she shook her head, “Very funny. Never gonna happen. I like my little slides and samples, thankyou,” 

Slamming the door on the two of them she headed for the front gates, swinging her purse over her shoulder. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, and she quickly realised she’d been too tired to even realise a set of footsteps jogging after her. 

Maybe she should have taken that walk home after all. 

Whirling around, her eyes widened as Spencer had clearly not been leader of the track team as he was half out of breath just from the few feet he’d covered, though she reckoned she could have guessed that seeing his lean ribs beneath his shirt.

He shoved a business card in her face as he caught his breath, though it was more just his name and credentials followed by a phone number. 

“I-I don’t have email otherwise I would-” He huffed, scratching his forehead as she frowned and looked at him.

“I’ve never been hit on via business card before,” She bit her lip with a smile, reading over the card again as he choked on his words even more than before.

“N-no, I-” He spluttered, ignoring the way Morgan beeped the horn for him, seemingly in a debate with a ticket metre that had caught him parked on yellow, “If you needed us for anything, or if you needed a second pair of eyes for your thesis, I’m happy to help,”

“You don’t have faith in the dummy that got into Johns?” She asked, and his head couldn’t shake fast enough, though he seemed to catch her teasing and shared her smile, “Thanks, Dr Reid,” 

“Spencer’s just fine,” He said, giving her a small nod and a wave as Morgan’s palm bounced on the horn a dozen times. She flashed him one more smile, pocketing his number and heading back to her dorm, wondering what the doctor would think about the paper due in tomorrow she’d yet to get started on.

+1. The one where you get arrested.

The case had been heavy. They’d felt it in the car on the way back to headquarters. A little girl, molested and groomed by her own uncle, his own wife covering for him. 

His mother always told him love makes you do crazy things, but Spencer hoped that whatever part of him worth loving would at least stay sane by the time he found the one. He was loyal to his team, to his mother, but that was where he drew the line. He was loyal to his family, undoubtedly so. 

Yet so was Emily. 

The call came to the second SUV, her phone set up to hands free mode, quickly flicking to answer the call on speaker, the other half of the team ahead of them on the freeway. 

“Prentiss, speaking. Who is this?” She spoke clearly to the unknown number, her knuckles going white at the wheel when she heard a nervous laugh.

“It’s me,” Her sister mumbled through the speaker, “You wouldn’t by any chance be near DC would you?” 

She huffed, cursing the knack Prentiss women had for showing up at the worst times. 

“Can’t this wait, I’m on the clock,” Emily hissed, her finger edging towards the ‘End Call’ button, “I’ll call you after,”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up!” As if sensing her movements, she all but screeched, “This was my one phone call, they won’t let me have another,” 

The car went silent for a moment, Spencer’s eyes narrowing on the dash from his place in the passenger seat, JJ also leaning forward from the back with a frown. 

Emily grit her teeth, her upper lip twitching the way it did when she was mad. 

“What do you mean by one phone call? Where are you?” She bit in a cautious tone, though knowing how reckless Bugsy tended to be, she had a pretty good idea. 

The hesitation on the other end of the line was palpable, as was the way she awkwardly cleared her throat. 

“Fairfax County Jail,” She murmured sheepishly, “But it wasn’t my fault, these assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, I swear-”

“Stay there and keep your mouth shut,” Emily ordered, her expression furrowing into a sneer, “And for the love of god don’t antagonise the officers,” 

The agent didn’t even wait for a response, knowing it would probably be something snarky, her mind already racing at what the hell her sister could have done this time, every worst possible explanation jumping to the forefront. 

“I’ll call Hotch and tell him to turn around,” JJ offered, her fingers already searching her contacts for their boss, as Emily sighed through her nose. 

“Tell him not to worry, I’ll drop you guys back to headquarters, make my way there myself,” She said, picking the skin of her nail softly with her thumb. 

“By the time we’ve reached Quantico, visiting times will be over and she’ll have to stay the night,” Spencer pointed out, his own surprise evident. Sure, she had certainly been a personality when they had met, but a criminal seemed a stretch. 

“Maybe it would teach her a lesson,” Emily mused, shaking her head to herself, “Who am I kidding, that psycho would Shawshank her way out of there by dawn,”

“You don’t actually think she would hurt anyone do you?” JJ said, the dial tone ringing out from the phone she held to her ear. 

“Wouldn’t put it past her. She once cut a girl's pigtail off for wearing the same dress as her on her birthday,” Emily winced as Spencer’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. 

“I thought getting swirlied was bad,” He muttered, watching out the window as Emily made a U-turn at the traffic lights. He and the now twenty three year old had been bouncing research papers back and forth for a few months, the odd one every week, Bugsy even once joking it was much more interesting and riveting than foreplay, which had his face red hot at his desk.

She was like that, he’d quickly realised, had a vulgar sort of humour about her, yet he couldn’t help the snigger that came out whenever he’d receive one of his papers back through the mail with pink writing scrawled all over his ideas. The little hearts that dotted her exclamations whenever she wrote “AMAZING!”, the odd time she’d written “sexy ideas, doctor Reid” which he’d come to understand meant it was really good. He’d even gotten back the drawing at the end of the paper of a stickman of the two of them, his hair a curly scribble and a purple tie which told him immediately who was who, her line of a hand pointing at his caricature with the speech bubble, “everyone point and wave at the smart man,” which had made him laugh. 

She was odd, toeing the line between childish and witty, nothing like the scholars he usually worked with, and the writing he usually sent back on her papers were all in standard black ink, his own pharmacist handwriting staring back at him as he crammed in his every thought of her research into the margins. If she couldn’t read it, she hadn’t said, but he liked to think she took notice of it all, even if it wasn’t strewn with stars and doodles and the occasional flirt he knew meant nothing. He knew her from her writing, knew her from her ideas that sometimes kept him up at night thinking more about them, but the two of them hadn’t spoken directly, most certainty hadn’t seen one another since that day with the Chernus’.

Emily hummed, fingers drumming on the wheel, entirely unaware of the thoughts rattling around in Spencer’s head, then again that’s how it always was, “I just pray to god she’s listened to me for once in her damn life and keeps quiet,”

-

“Fucking bitch. The nuns in Moscow hit harder than you,” She spat, blood dribbling from her split lip. She wasn’t entirely lying, but god did her mouth sing with pain as she tried to muffle a moan. 

“You got jokes, pig lover?” The other woman asked, a tattoo covering half her cheek, her nose crooked from the shiner the Prentiss girl had already given her. “Won’t be fucking laughing when I’m done, bitch,” The woman was quick to tackle the girl around her stomach, slamming her into the hard concrete of the holding cell. Bugsy felt her skull rattle, the wind whooshing from her chest as rough hands grab her shirt and pin her down harder. 

The younger girl reached the nerve under her opponent's armpit, the soft of her ribs, twisting until the woman gave a bark of shock, and she took the opportunity to shove her off, climbing on top of her as they both scrambled for some sort of control.

“I got one for you. What’s got a broken nose, a black eye and doesn’t know what’s good for her?” She swung twice as hard, the other women in the cell rattling against the bars as if watching a matador taunt a bull, the air thick with excitement as the two of them cursed eachother out.

Emily’s sigh was audible across the room as the wardens separated the cat fight, the largest of the officers all but grabbing her sister by the scruff of the neck like a feral beast, dragging her over with stubborn feet to where the BAU stood in the lobby, eyes widened at the state of her. 

“You better start acting your age, little girl. Mommy’s not gonna be around forever to save you,” The officer hissed in her ear, manhandling her over to where Emily glared daggers into the side of her head. She knew that look, it was eerily similar to mom’s that time she’d been caught sneaking out of the house, something in the warm brown of Emily’s eyes frosting over into a cold blackness. Fury. 

She chewed her words for a moment, waiting until the man had turned around with a grunt of acknowledgement to the badge Emily had flashed to get his attention, before she spoke. 

“She’s not my mom, she's my sister, dumbass-” Emily slapped a hand over her mouth, gripping her shoulder with the bear-like strength her jagged nails possessed when she was mad, the scoff of disgrace leaving her mouth as her team trailed behind the two of them. 

“What the hell happened, baby Prentiss?” Morgan asked, ignoring the way Emily’s heated gaze turned on him, “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Don’t entertain her, Morgan,” Emily seethed, all but shoving her into the back of the SUV. She looked up at her sister with an open mouth, the guilt flashing in her eyes as she wavered under the pointing finger Emily jabbed in her face, “Don't you even dare,” 

“But-” She stammered, cut off when she saw the glare intensified, if that had even been possible. 

“I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day unless you’re prepared to give me a good explanation why I’ve dragged my team out here to save your sorry ass,” Emily hissed, and the girl’s mouth bobbed a few times, feeling the rest of the team watching as she got thoroughly chewed out. 

“Wait-” Emily’s hand lingered at the car door, ready to slam it in her face as she rubbed her cuff over her chin, mopping up the damage. Her head tilted for a moment, hoping her sister had something good to say, only for it to be; “He just called you old, I hope you realise that,”

Emily’s gaze darkened, slamming the door shut with an anger she imagined her mother had kept warm for the past twenty three years, whirling around heatedly when she heard a snigger from one Derek Morgan. 

“Damn, mama, hear the girl out.” He said, slapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he passed, heading back to their own SUV, “Maybe she’ll surprise you,” 

If Emily was going to bite anything back, she didn’t. Instead she ran a hand over her brow, the group disbanding to their cars now the problem child had been picked up from daycare, except for Hotch who watched the older Prentiss with a scowl, despite the worry in his eyes. 

“Hotch, I’m so sorry, just take it off my timecard, I’ll cover all the costs,” She said shakily, her own frown adorning her face as she felt herself blush from embarrassment under her boss’s gaze. 

“I understand she’s your sister, but this was a gross misuse of agent time and resources, Prentiss,” He said, his gaze drifting to where Spencer sat next to the girl, pulling a packet of tissues and hand sanitizer out of his satchel while JJ rooted through her own purse for a plaster, “Don’t let it happen again,” 

Emily nodded vehemently, flushed with anger, her palms sticky as she wiped them on her jeans. 

“Absolutely sir. Believe me, this ever happens again, she’s on her own,” She replied, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. Emily would never. 

He nodded stonily, deciding quickly that it was punishment enough that she felt so ashamed, he knew from his years of arguments with Sean what it was like to have a sibling stray so far. 

“We can fill out reports in the morning, just get Reid and JJ home,” Hotch said, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder as he passed her to head towards his own vehicle, “And try not to kill each other in the company car. It doesn’t look good on paperwork,” 

She beat off the smile on her lips as she got back into the driver's seat, the air that engulfed the four of them foul as she glared over her shoulder and into the back. Spencer twitched in his seat uncomfortably, his hand still passing over tissues to the bloodied girl. 

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” Emily asked, her tone brittle and warning, not in the mood for any snarky response she could give, “Or is this old lady going to have to lay into you some more,” 

The smell of strong ethanol engulfed her nose as she held the soaked tissue to her face, frowning into her lap silently and avoiding the burning stare as Emily stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

“Let’s start with why you were there,” JJ input, the same tone of voice she used as when talking to victims, calm and motherly, unlike the pissed off snarl Emily gave, “You wanna tell us why you were arrested?”

“You two really gonna pull the good cop, bad cop on me?” She snapped, her lip swelling around the wound, tongue grazing it softly despite the heavy taste of the sanitizer.

Emily said her name in a warning, her last warning, and she knew better than to push her luck even more, the SUV pulling out of the station and onto the road. 

“I was just shopping for groceries,” She started, fiddling with the bloodied tissue, wincing under her tongue stroke, “Store clerk made a pass at me, I told him I wasn’t interested. So he put a pack of smokes in my handbag while I wasn’t looking; the alarms went off. I didn’t even know what was happening until security grabbed me at the door,” 

JJ flashed a glance at Emily, like two parents deciding an appropriate punishment, the brunette’s lips straightening out into a line. 

“You’re telling the truth?” She asked cautiously, glancing in the rear view mirror to see how her sister balled the mess of paper between her palms. 

Rolling her eyes, she gladly accepted the other packet of tissues Spencer slid over the leather seat between them. 

“I went out for milk and oranges, I was not looking to get picked up, Em,” She bit back, groaning when she felt it jostle the cut, “And certainly not for cigarettes, you know I only smoke on New Years,” 

Spencer looked at her with a frown, and she caught his confusion quickly, pulling another leaf of paper from the packet. 

“Emily and I had a rule after she caught me smoking when I was like fourteen, that we could have one cigarette between the two of us on New Years eve,” She explained, JJ also perking up to hear it, “So that by the time morning came around, it would be last year’s mistake, and it would be like it never happened,” 

JJ smiled to herself, remembering the time she caught Roz sneaking one of her dad’s cigarettes on the back porch back when she was just ten. She remembered the little secrets the two of them kept back then, held them even all these years later. 

“So how did that lead to, well,” JJ gestured to her lip, “That,” 

“Yeah, didn’t I specifically tell you to not antagonise anyone?” Emily chimed in, signalling she was changing lanes as they headed down the freeway for a second time that day.

“Technically you said not to antagonise the officers,” She pointed out, before Spencer had the chance to, shutting his mouth as he caught the glare Emily shot through the mirror.

“Keep talking,” The older Prentiss ordered, as Bugsy sighed and blotted her lip some more. 

“That woman, Mira I think her name was, anyway, she recognised me from that picture mom had us take on Independence Day, the one they put in The Hill, and she asked me if it was true my sister was a fed,” 

Emily’s fingers twitched at the wheel, knowing the status agents and even people associated with agents held in prisons; knowing just being a Prentiss in a jail cell held a big, dazzling price over her head that said ‘kill me, kill me!”

The air sucked out of the car, a look passing between JJ and Reid as they thought the same thing, waiting for her to go on. 

“So then you hit her?” Emily guessed, the bitterness slowly ebbing as she understood maybe her sister wasn’t as unruly as she thought. 

“No, I told her to leave me the fuck alone, but she said you guys sent her brother down for something a while back, and she asked again if my family were all Pigs,” She picked her nails, the blood stain on her sleeve staring back at her, “I told her if she didn’t stop calling you a Pig, I’d make her squeal like one. And then I hit her,” 

Emily tried to pretend she didn’t smile hearing that, her cheeks tightening, lips pulling down as she fended it off. 

“Is that good enough, officers, or will you be needing fingerprints?” The girl chimed after a moment, a weight seemingly lifted from the car as Emily quickly realised she had, for once, not been entirely at fault. 

“I want a handwritten apology to my boss for wasting his time,” Emily demanded, her unforgiving gaze softening when she saw her smile, “And you owe my team coffee,”

“I can do coffee, coffee coming right up,” She agreed, shoving the used tissues into her purse with a crooked smile, “It’s a date,”

Spencers ears turned red, looking over the seat at where she dabbed at her lip gently. She didn’t look much older for six months, but she had gotten her nose pierced since the last time he’d seen her, unless he just hadn’t noticed it before, and the streaks of red were slowly fading out into a blush pink that said it was old, and he wondered if she’d done it herself in that tiny little cubicle bathroom of hers she shared with the four other girls in her block. 

“You finished your stats papers yet?” He made polite conversation, though part of him was dying to know out of curiosity if she could crunch numbers and equations as well as she could in her own labs. 

“Got two more this week, they’re kicking my ass man,” She replied with a huff, and he didn’t think he’d ever been called ‘man’ by a woman before. He knew if he’d known her in college, ignoring the fact he would have been twelve, he would have thought she may just be the coolest person alive, “I miss my labs with my microscopes and watching all the little baby cells move around in the ethanol. Stats are like, just not sexy,” 

He smiled at her as she stared out the window, unaware of the way she’d managed to make DNA sound like a play pen full of kittens. He held off from telling her he found stats really quite sexy, knowing it would never sound the same coming from his mouth.

He pulled a leaf of the tissues from the packet, producing his own pen from his pocket and began doodling carefully so as not to rip the delicate canvas. 

Sliding it over to her after five minutes as Emily and JJ made conversation in the front seat, she didn’t care that the grin tugged on her split lip, the reaction was instant, she couldn’t stop it if she tried. 

Two stick men stared back at her, her hair a close match in texture and a childish triangle drawn as means of a dress, a very tall stick figure next to her patting her metaphorical head, a speech bubble coming from his mouth. 

“Maths is fun!” It said, and she flicked a glance at him, her smile the most genuine he’d seen yet. He just smiled back. 

+2. The one where you graduate

Emily felt the looks on her the moment JJ had mentioned Maryland. The case was a little under their pay grade, nothing more than a stalker, no bodies or bloodshed, but one very rattled woman that had turned to the communications liaison with fear for her life. 

With Hotch and Rossi in Boston helping a case of their own, the rest of the BAU had been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to come across their desk. 

“This case is in my hands now, and if we do nothing and something happens to her,” JJ took a heavy breath, her eyes lingering on the three names Keri had given her in case of her untimely death, “I’ll be the one notifying her family,”

Derek, despite his own hesitations about using their time for a case like this, caved the moment he saw the guilt on the blonde’s face. 

“Okay,” He shuffled the papers into a pile, Emily and Spencer gathering their own resources on the case and standing from the round table. 

Luckily, one government SUV was more than enough to carry the four of them for the hour drive North, all of them well aware Hotch would flip if they used more funds than necessary.

JJ piled into the front beside where Morgan climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Emily next to a particularly fidgety Reid. It took all of fifteen minutes of the man flicking a glance at her, his mouth quirking as if he were about to use it, before he thought better and looked out the window, and the whole thing would start again. 

Derek, the less shy about his thoughts of the two men, even glanced at her through the rear view mirror, before he too returned his gaze out the window silently. JJ shifted in her seat, knowing she had to tread carefully around mentioning Bugsy to Emily, particularly after the last time they’d seen her. Emily had said they’d grabbed coffee once or twice since then, but that was all she spoke about it, which left her team walking cracked eggshells at the thought of bringing her up. 

It seemed the three of them were bursting at the seams with the same thought, and it wasn’t until Reid cleared his voice, his puppy eyes stuck in his loop, that she had had enough. 

“Does anyone here have something to say?” Emily huffed, Derek immediately reaching to turn the radio up the same time that JJ flicked the AC on for something to do. Realising they weren’t easily broken, she turned to Spencer who already looked slightly guilty, thumbing at his sweater, “Reid?”

“Did you want to see your sister?” He asked without hesitation, as if the words had fallen out of him, “You know, since we’re so close on this case. It would be a good excuse to-”

“You did say she owed us a coffee,” JJ pointed out, spurred on by Spencer’s nerves, “Wouldn’t mind cashing in if we’re coming all this way.”

“Morgan, do you have anything to add?” Emily asked with raised brows, though she already knew what was coming.

Derek chewed over his thoughts a second, “I’m just saying, you only get to see your baby sisters grow up once- you know, and it couldn’t hurt to see her even if she runs rings around you with that smart mouth-”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the case?” Emily cut him off incredulously, but received three knowing looks back. She met JJ’s gaze where the woman had swivelled in her seat to talk to her, and Prentiss was fast to catch the buried grief in her best friend’s eyes. She knew it pained her to even bring up sisterhood, let alone watch Emily throw hers away for the sake of a decade and a half between them. It was the desperation in JJ’s face that did it, knowing she would give anything to spend just an hour with Roz one more time, that had her drawing her cell out her pocket and calling the contact with the little ladybug next to it, “Fine,”

As a profiler she would have been tempted to ignore the way Spencer smiled into his lap; as a sister, her eyes narrowed at him.

The phone rang surprisingly only once before she answered, and she heard an unnaturally tame version of her sister answer.

“Emily?” She asked, her voice hushed, worried almost, “You okay?”

Her brows furrowed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” She got no more than a hum in return, somewhat agreeing though Emily could tell clear as day she was holding something back. “Look, we’re gonna be in Silver Spring, I was thinking tomorrow we could grab lunch-” 

“Can’t, I’m busy, it’s an all day thing,” Her sister cut her off, yet it wasn’t rude or demeaning like usual. Nervous almost, sad, “Sorry,”

“What’s an all day thing?” Emily asked, the concern matching her words. 

Her sister swallowed on the other end of the phone, before she found her words, or maybe even the balls to actually speak, “I’m graduating tomorrow,”

Emily’s face lit up, the smile spreading fast on her face, ignoring the way Morgan’s words seemed to ring true in her ears; she was growing up too fast. 

“Graduating, why didn’t you say!” She asked, the joy in her tone unmissable, “How’d your papers go?”

Spencer held himself off from correcting her that she’d only done five papers, that the rest of her results had come from theory and labs, thinking better than to interrupt the one conversation they’d had where there was no underlying argument brewing. 

“Full honours, obviously.” Bugsy drawled with a snicker, and Emily shook her head, the smile never dimming. 

“Look at you, y’little superstar,” Emily bit her lip, ignoring the guilt that tore at her when she realised she barely knew what Bug spent her days doing, “Did Mom and Dad get good seats? Oh god, dad’s not bringing Stephanie is he?”

The silence on the other end had her halting, the light in the conversation wavering for a second, before she understood the nerves, the quick defence her sister had been on the moment the call had been answered. 

“Bug-”

“They’re not coming,” Her heart ached in her chest hearing it, “I sent Mom the details, she said she’s in Ukraine this week settling some papers. Didn’t even get a chance to ask Dad before he and Stephanie were off on their fifth honeymoon in the Bahamas until October,” A painful laugh echoed down the line, as if she were holding back the gravity of the situation. 

“Bug,” Emily tried again, picking her thumb viciously, punishingly, hating herself for being so blind to her sister’s troubles, “Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I figured you’d be busy,” Came the reply, sad and tender, the most honest she’d heard in a while, “You’re always busy,” 

“Never too busy for you,” Emily’s guilt tripled when her sister didn’t answer, knowing if she were to counter the statement with hard evidence it would only hurt both of them, “Look, I have some time today, probably,” She didn’t, not even a few minutes, “Why don’t we get that coffee, you don’t even have to pay,”

Bugsy gave a sad laugh, “Sorry, Em, I gotta get my dress fitted today, and some of the lab techs invited me to a party later. Maybe some other time,”

“A party with biology nerds?” Emily asked with false excitement, the air turned stagnant between them now, “Well, rock on, science freak. Don’t leave your drinks with strangers, and don’t walk home alone, and for god sake use protection-”

“Bye, Emily,” She said with a chuckle, the older of the two gracing her with the same, as they put the phone down. 

The car was quiet, waiting for Prentiss to speak, none of them missing the way her lip pulled between her teeth, a bitterness on her face that told them she was holding in something close to sadness. You’re always busy. It echoed around her head, stabbing at her chest to think her sister was graduating alone, no one to congratulate her, no one to pat her on the back and tell her how clever she is despite the fact Bugsy would happily tell anyone just how smart she was on her own. Never too busy for you. 

“She’s graduating tomorrow,” She said to the three people waiting for an update, Spencer’s brows shooting to his hairline. He hadn’t heard from her since her last paper got sent off, and why would he? They had exchanged a few little anecdotes and doodles, sent each other research papers to be graded like teachers exchanging lecture notes, “She didn’t even tell me. She’s gonna be alone,” 

JJ grimaced, “What? What about your mom- or, or your dad, an uncle, someone-” 

“Mom and dad are out of the country, Mom’s brother lives in Mexico with his seven kids, he can barely get a night’s sleep let alone a day off to travel up to Maryland. Dad’s sisters passed away when I was a kid,” Emily explained, running a hand over her face, “I can’t let her go up there alone,”

“So we don’t,” Spencer said, as if he’d never been more sure of anything in his life, “We don’t let her do it alone,”

-

“Graduating with Masters in Biotechnology; Jasper Adams, Tom Adamson, Kristen Afkins, Gavin Agriths-” 

The dean read off the names of the students as she fiddled with the hem of her dress. 

The dress fit beautifully, her make up done to near perfection, her hair styled neatly, she was graduating with full honours for christ sakes. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had? Why had she got to be so spoiled? 

Lots of peoples parents missed their graduation, lots of people her age didn’t even have parents anymore, she ought to be grateful her mother was increasing famine aid in foreign countries, all the lives she would save, or even be happy her father had found a pretty, rich new wife to tour every known vacation destination with. Or even that her sister had called her just yesterday and told her in a few words she was proud of her. 

But none of them quelled the feeling of loneliness that blossomed inside Bugsy. The kind that had always been there, the kind that just wanted someone in her corner, telling her she was doing pretty good for a kid who raised herself in all those big houses they’d moved to, who saw the au pair more often than her own mother. 

All those rooms were so empty, the houses so quiet besides for her. It was like living in a cemetery. 

“Robert Lewsinsky. Marcus Linford. Tara Lorence. Katie Macauley.” 

P would be up soon. Each name of her classmates drew an applause, some whoops and screams, one family she swore there must have been ten of them in the back row cawing and howling like monkeys at a zoo, proud of their son for making it. 

She willed a smile on her face, hearing Orla Parkins get called up, and she knew just by the steward that directed her where to stand in line she was close. 

“Kenneth Patterson. Joshua Perriman. Harriet Pimms. Lauren Pintons.”

She held a rattled breath as Renly Prackett walked ahead of her, strolling over the stage to collect his degree, flashing the crowd a wide smile and a fist pump. She had always liked Renly, having been his experiment partner for a year, despite the fact he never washed up after himself in the lab. 

Then it was, her name was called. The one no one but her mother and Stephanie ever called her, she solely went by Bugsy courtesy of Emily. It was a family name, a nice one at that. Maybe it had been the fact she had been eight and her cool big sister crowned her the new name, or maybe it just rolled off the tongue better, made her feel less like a Prentiss, that she chose to go by her monika. 

She tried not to think about where or what Emily was doing, only hoping she was safe, as she began walking over the stage, her heels clicking loudly with her hesitant steps. 

To her utmost surprise she heard a loud whistle echo through the auditorium, a group of jeers and screams of her name, even an air horn signing off that had her almost tripping over her own feet turning to see who it was. 

Surely it was a joke, a cruel prank, she barely had any friends in her class. Acquaintances sure, but no one so bold as to make such a fuss over her. 

Squinting down at the audience, her cap nearly slipping off her head as her head turned to the source, she felt her chest burst when she saw the dark hair and bangs, her sisters butchered fingertips in her mouth with a loud cattle whistle, screaming like a firework right to the stage where she graciously accepted her award, despite the fact she barely paid any attention to the dean anymore, more to her sister who smiled at her widely as she clapped. Behind her, her team she’d met on the off chance, the pretty blonde, JJ, who pressed the air horn a few more times, cheering just as loud for her. Morgan, the handsome one who had stood himself on top of his chair, cupping a hand over his mouth to scream “Kicking ass, baby Prentiss!” at her, ignoring the way other people stared wide eyed at them. 

And Spencer, tall enough to be seen over the crowd even without the help of a chair, who smiled at her, clapping those big hands of his loud enough to reach her, his own whoops never ceasing even as she stepped off the stage to head back to her seat. 

The rest of the ceremony dragged, a speech from one of the alumni and the exit music playing, but she simply grinned into her hand, where her degree smiled back at her, counting down the moments she would be allowed to stand. 

And then she was fast walking down the stairs, amongst the bustle of students, the black gowns flurrying around her as she burst out into the square where parents, fiancees, brothers, sisters, cheered their loved ones, pulling them into tight hugs. 

Her eyes scanned the wave of black hats, landing on two dark eyes, the thick sable hair framing the dazzling smile that awaited her with open palms. All but shoving her way through the crowd, she stopped in front of her sister, the urge to jump at her with a hug shying the moment she got close. 

“Told you. Never too busy for you, Bug,” Emily said, pulling her in by her shoulders for a tight hug. She knew her sister wasn’t one to beg for affection, wasn’t one to let her guard drop so soon, but she also knew she’d needed it by the way she melted against her, the way she chuckled into her hair, pulled her closer. 

“Do I owe your boss another letter of apology for this or do I get you guys for free?” The girl asked, as her sister pulled away, keeping an arm around her shoulder as they turned to the rest of the team. 

“No, this one is entirely on us, promise,” JJ said with a smile as she saw Emily beaming maternally over at the girl, the flat of the cap knocking against her cheek as she squeezed her in once more, “We’re very proud of you,” 

She heated under the woman’s words, wriggling in her shoes as bad as Emily did when she felt awkward, Derek chuckling and taking the degree out of her hand. 

“Alright, lets see the creds, Prentiss,” He held it up next to her face as she shrugged, the ‘4.0’ clear as day next to her name, “Good looking, and smart. Those boys in the lab ought to watch out,”

She grinned under his teasing, “What can I say, I got the deep end of the gene pool,” She teased, feeling Emily swat her ear, her eyes falling to where Spencer held a plant pot with a poorly wrapped bow of twine around it, the soil a little displaced from the journey.

“This is for you,” He said, handing her the small green sproutling, his cheeks blushing as her face lit up, reading the small inscription on the front, “It’s-”

“Dionaea muscipula,” She said, biting her lip as she smiled at him, “This is so cool! Where on earth did- I had a paper last semester on the ways to study their electrophysiology you just have to read- oh thank you!”

“English, please?” Emily asked, though the warmth flooded her chest when her sister threw her arms around a very rigid Spencer. 

Thinking she should grab her and warn her the man disliked touch almost as much as she does, she was surprised to see him give her a small embrace back, smiling proudly the way he did when he’d made someone happy. 

“Piège à mouches Vénus,” Her sister responded cockily, tugging herself away from the tall man, to inspect her new plant, well aware that Emily rolled her eyes at her use of French, “Venus Fly Trap. I’ve never seen one so young, still I should be able to pull some slides on the Rhizomes in the soil-”

Emily put a hand to her temple, JJ smiling widely as she saw for once Spencer be the one on the receiving end of an earful, chuckling to himself when she began dishing out name ideas for the sapling. 

“Holy shit, there’s two of them,” Morgan grumbled, nudging his shoulder into Emily who simply sighed, her migraine already starting as Reid began jumping in with his own thoughts, which didn’t take much effort.

“Don’t even,” 

+3. The one where you’re taken hostage

“Tell us about the 911 call,” Spencer requests, flicking through the file himself beside her in the back seat. She had her own set of paperwork in front of her, her pen attached to a clipboard the lanyard around her neck reading her real, honest credentials, unlike the fake ones Emily and Reid were given. She’d been to one of these sects before, invited kindly as part of her research on the effect isolation has on cultivation of crops, knew one of the mother’s well from her last research paper, and had managed to get the group a foot in the door to entering the Separtarian Sect with little fuss. 

Hotch, usually hesitant to allow outsiders in on the job, especially as young and spirited as Bugsy, had to admit it would calm any potential unsubs and make them see the team as unthreatening if they had a friendly face there. He’d signed the papers with a frown that morning, and they were on their way to the little apartment the girl occupied just outside Baltimore, sample tubes stuffed into her pack ready. 

“I believe the he that they refer to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus,” Nancy, a woman from child protective services, replied from the driver's seat, Emily thumbing through her papers as they neared the compound. 

“Benjamin Cyrus, no criminal record; no record of him at all actually,” Reid replied, watching Bugsy scribbling notes into her lab book, perfecting her report before she had even begun, “What else do you know about him?” 

“The sect I spoke to before, the one in Utah, said he was rumoured to be practising polygamy and forced marriages,” The younger woman said, looking back at him with a frown, “They were much more modern in their beliefs than these guys. Last time I spoke to Marina she was happy there, I can’t see why she would want to move here,” 

Spencer looked as if he were about to answer, perhaps to tell her he was sure her contact would be just fine, when Emily shrugged and turned to Nancy. 

“Do we know who the caller is?” She asked, sipping her now lukewarm coffee out of the disposable cup. 

Nancy’s head tilted in a so-so motion, “Uh, Jessica Evansen is the one who the age fits, but we can’t be sure.”

“Well given their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI.” Emily instructed, handing Reid his new, fake credentials and his gun she’d kept in her bag through customs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.” Nancy nodded, the compound coming into view, the dust flurrying under the car wheels as the road turned into nothing more than a sandy path. 

A guard seemed to be expecting their arrival as he stood, unarmed at the main gate, unlatching the bolt in the middle and opening it wide for their vehicle to pass through. She nodded in thanks, her eyes flicking out the dirty window to see a collection of mobile homes surrounding a large church, a few smaller outbuildings dotted around the compound. It was quiet, not full of laughter like the last group she had been to, the children nowhere to be seen, only a few of the handier members of the flock that were either fixing up walls, trimming trees besides a man sprawled too casually on the steps of the chapel, a bible in his hands he seemed to be catching up on. 

The car pulled to a stop in front of the man that barely batted an eye at their arrival, the safety locks flicking off each of the doors, Nancy collecting her briefcase and exiting the car first. 

She had all but reached for the handle when Emily stopped her, swivelling in her seat to look her dead in the eye. 

“Your job is mediator, you got that?” Her sister had never looked more serious, but then again she did know her almost too well, “You and your field research are a… buffer between our investigation and the unsub. Just try to take the focus off what we’re doing, but do not provoke anyone,”

She raised her hands in innocence, “Got it, jeez, what could I possibly do that could ruin this investigation?” 

Emily stared back at her blankly, unnamused, as if they both knew there was a lot she could, and would, do that would blow the whole thing. 

“You look like mom when you give me that look,” She bit back, leaving the car, as Nancy spoke to the man laying on the steps, “It’s terrible,” 

“I’m looking for Mr Benjamin Cyrus?” Nancy reported, her tight, knee length skirt and blouse entirely out of place amongst the dirt track. 

“You found him,” The man replied, still not so much as granting them a glance of interest as he flicked through his passages. 

“I’m Nancy Lunde, we spoke on the phone regarding the allegation,” She replied, which was the only thing that garnered his attention as he looked up at them behind slightly bent reading glasses. 

“Savages they call us; because our manners differ from theirs,” He said, though it was clear it wasn’t entirely his own words, more likely a segment of his preach he’d repeated a handful of times. Bugsy tried to hide her disgust behind her hand tightening around her lab books she kept tightly to her chest. 

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr Cyrus,” Nancy snipped as he approached the group, pocketing the glasses though he kept hold of the bible in hand as if it was part of his own arm. 

“Actually it’s Benjamin Franklin,” Spencer murmured to the woman, which had Cyrus’ cold brown eyes narrowing at the tall man, assessing for a motive.

“Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid. They’re child victim interview experts,” Nancy introduced them quickly, the two of them flashing their badges, the unofficial ones at least. Gesturing to the youngest woman, she introduced her with her real name, his gaze flicking to her as he seemed to recognise it.

“Marina’s friend? The plant lady?” He asked, face half amused as she fought her lip from twitching into a sneer. Instead she smiled, holding out her hand. 

“That’s what they call me,” She said, shaking his hand, ignoring the way he flashed her a cheshire cat smile, “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, Marina said I could take some samples for my research,”

He laughed, shaking his head, looking at Spencer, “Women and their flowers, right?” Spencer swallowed back a retort, shrugging his shoulders, though Bugsy’s eye twitched. Benjamin patted her on her shoulder, “Of course you can honey, I’ll find Jared, our head gardner, and you can run along for your research,” 

He said it as if she were lying, that her degree and endless hours of work would only ever chalk up to a few doodles in a notebook, or a garden full of hydrangeas, or tulips, or roses, because she couldn’t possibly care about anything else but pretty flowers. 

Nodding her head graciously, choking back the hateful response she wished to spit in his face, she gave him a polite thankyou, feeling Spencer’s eyes burning into the side of her head. 

“The children are in the school as I indicated,” Cyrus said, turning back to the other three, Emily and Nancy taking off in the direction he pointed, the former knowing her sister was at risk of blowing a fuse if they were here for long. 

Spencer hung back, partially because he had a plan of distraction in mind to allow the women a chance to speak with the children whilst Cyrus wasn’t around, partially because he didn’t want to leave Bugsy anywhere on her own. Sure, Emily had said they were both trained in self defence when they were kids, but with no weapon of her own, he was reluctant. 

“You're using solar power?” He prompted, gesturing towards where the eight blue panels warmed under the Colorado sun.

“We’re completely self-sufficient,” Benjamin nodded along, catching the impressed look on both their faces, “Electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said ‘God helps those that help themselves,’ you look surprised,” 

“No, impressed actually,” Spencer replied, and he wasn’t entirely lying. The system was incredibly complex, particularly if they received no help from outsiders, for as many people as there were in the compound. 

“Thankyou; for admitting that,” Cyrus said earnestly, flicking his gaze back to Bugsy who studied the solar panels, “I’ll go find Jared, he can take you to the greenhouses,”

Thanking him again, he led the way towards the school where Nancy and Emily had headed, as the two of them exchanged a look, Spencer smiling half piteously, wishing he could shake her and tell her just how smart she was and that Cyrus knew absolutely nothing. 

He didn’t miss the way she walked closer to him, or how she thumbed the corner of her notebook, or how she looked back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He thinks he might get slapped if he pointed it out, but Emily had the exact same tell when she was nervous, which is why he bumps their shoulders together in means of reassuring her he was still there. 

It was only then she gave him any sort of smile back. 

-

Jared, as expected, had been just as condescending and patronising as Benjamin whilst she slipped on her latex gloves, scooping no more than a handful of homemade fertiliser into one of her test tubes. It had been a partial cover, their story, but she had been telling the truth when she’d contacted Marina and asked if she could drop by. She’d been meaning to expand her field research in hopes of stumbling on a job opportunity since she spent most of her postgraduate days reading while her cat pawed at her leg for more treats than he deserved, the odd phone call with her sister much more common than it had been before. 

She didn’t miss the way Jared’s hand fell into the small of her back as he led her back towards the school, after having noted down a few more readings, fussing over the state of the carrots that seemed to grow entirely naturally thanks to the systems they’d been smart enough to set up. He seemed rather bored by the whole thing, for a head gardener, more interested in staring at her legs as she leaned down to identify the fat black beetle that crawled along the rockery. 

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the school that the sound of tyres on a dirt path met her ears, and she saw five armoured SUVs out the corner of her eye. 

She hadn’t even the time to question what was going on, before Jared’s face dropped, the hand gently holding the soft of her back grabbing on her forearm hard enough to leave bruises, as he was dragging her to the chapel they had seen when they had pulled up.

 Emily had said the rest of the team stayed in Quantico, if it wasn’t them, who was it. 

“Whats going on- who is that?” She asked him lamely, her feet stumbling as she half fought his heavy hand off. 

That was when the shooting started. 

She thinks it came from the compound first, she’d seen two men stationed on top of one of the outbuildings, thinking nothing much of it, until she saw clearly now the assault rifles they bore, pointing it straight at the vehicles that drew closer. The whistle of bullets, bangs of the chambers emptying their artillery, and it wasn’t until she heard the doors to the SUVs start opening, more gunfire began hitting the wall ahead of them that she started running. Running fast, for the cover the church provided until she figured out just what the fuck was happening. 

Jared all but threw her past the chapel door, where Cyrus and four other men were waiting, a heavy barricade in their hands, her chest pounding with adrenaline, she couldn’t help the yelp that left her as Cyrus whirled on her, grabbing her shoulders firmly and looking her dead in the eye. 

“Did you know anything about this?” He asked, his calm demeanour cracking when she scrambled for a response, “ANSWER ME,”

“No-no not at all.” She shook her head, voice weaker than she’d like, but the sight of more guns in the men’s hands twisted any resolve she had, “Where are the others- the- the experts-”

“Take her into the tunnels,” Cyrus ignored her question, nodding at one of his men to grab her as Jared armed himself. She felt another callused hand yank on her upper arm, and part of her wondered if that was how men handled all women here, as if they were herding cattle, as she was dragged down into the catacombs below the church. 

They’d made plans for a day like this to come, she realised. 

Her heart constricted at the sound of bullets rattling above them, she hadn't been able to tell in that last moment whether Cyrus believed her or not as, nor whether she was being taken to the tunnels for her own safety or to be questioned harder about the gunmen. 

She could only hope Emily was safe. 

She felt her tongue too big for her mouth as the man all but shoved her into the bunker, the nervous chatter of women and children, some of the more elderly men, as they clung to one another for safety, the scathing remark she would have usually made about his heavy hands failing her as she scanned the room for her sister. 

Emily was faster however, and she nearly yelped again as two bony arms yanked her into a hug, a rare one, and she knew by the blazer and the sigh of relief in her ear it was Em.

Usually she would bat her off, tell her to stop fussing like a mother hen, but today she embraced her right back, trying to note if her sister had any bullet holes in her before she allowed herself the same relief. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Emily asked, the whole thing coming out in a slew of worry, and she nodded, pulling away as if she needed to see the proof in person. 

Bugsy’s eyes were wild, as if she were a doe in a meadow hearing a rifle cocking near. No scratch that, she was a doe being chased and shot at and hunted, narrowly escaping being mounted on a wall. 

“They were all shit shots,” Bugsy said, through a laugh she didn’t quite mean, “You would have done much better.” 

Patting her sister on the shoulder, Emily finally released her when she realised the humour meant she at least had her head on her shoulders. Spencer watched her with meticulous eyes, knowing the shock that registered on her face, knowing it was the same one he wore when he first had shots fired at him. He saw her own eyes quickly check him over, satisfied with a breath of relief when she saw they were both fine. 

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked, and she realised then Cyrus had followed her down into the shelter, two of his men grabbing handfuls of guns she had never seen before, likely imported out of country, and returning to the ground level, preparing for more shooting. 

“It wasn’t us,” Cyrus replied, as if that negated the fact their recklessness had gotten the agent killed. 

“What? You can’t shoot it out with the cops, you have children in here,” Emily seethed, her voice harsh and incredulous.

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus bit back, looking towards his men as they grabbed boxes on boxes of ammunition, “I’ll take the front, you take the roof,” 

And with that they stormed their way back through the tunnels, leaving the three of them to look between each other, knowing this could only end badly. Knowing the only people that could figure out how to get them out of this mess was the BAU, all 1,700 miles away. 

–

They’d been in the bunker for fourteen hours when there was finally movement. The shooting seemed to have quietened down, in which Spencer whispered it was around 11pm and it was likely neither party had a clear shot. She’d managed to fall asleep leaning against the wall, Emily’s blazer draped over her legs. She’d regretted wearing cropped pants, despite how the shade of green complimented her eyes nicely, and she’d been shivering by the time she fell asleep, Emily’s hands stroking her hair gently as if she knew she was struggling to relax. 

She hadn’t realised she was staring at her little sister, frowning even as she slept, which made part of her want to laugh, until she caught Spencer’s tired eyes looking between them, something knowing and warm in his gaze. 

“You know, she’s always scowled in her sleep, ever since she was born,” Emily said, quiet enough it didn’t interrupt the hum of small snores, the odd baby cry that filled the bunker, but loud enough for him to smile at her, “She used to sleep walk terrible too. I’d find her in the kitchen trying to make pancakes with a cheese grater. It’s like that big brain of hers doesn’t know how to shut off,” Emily shook her head with a fatigue, rubbing her eyes. 

“Was it weird? Being fourteen years older?” Spencer asked, his own hands shoved into his sleeves to try defend from the draught. Emily thought for a moment, her hand slowing for a second on her sister's hair, before she answered. 

“I felt guilty leaving her in that house with my mom when I went to college,” Emily answered, Bugsy unconsciously tucking her face closer into the jacket, “I think part of her kind of hated me for it for a while.” She went quiet, the shame in her voice thick as the silence that encompassed them, “She’s never been very affectionate you know? Before her graduation I don’t think I’d hugged her in twelve years,”

Spencer held himself back from pointing out that she had been just as touchy with him since they’d met, and that maybe it was Emily’s own regret that seemed to shut the both of them down. He wasn’t one to rub salt in the wound, not since he’d gotten this job and learned to watch what he said. 

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to give her advice, knowing the whole subject of their slowly repairing relationship was a sore one. He had no siblings of his own, had a mother who loved him despite how much she grappled with her own mind, and he had only known the girl briefly enough to consider her a friend at a push. 

“I always thought the two of you were similar,” Emily chose to continue, offering him a small smile. He returned it, his face blushing at the fact that was a huge compliment to him, “Granted, you roll your eyes at me less and don’t act like I’m dumb, but you remind me of her,” 

“Thankyou, I wish that were true,” He replied, eyes flicking to her sleeping form, the way her eyebrows were indeed scrunched in a permanent frown. He wondered if she was actually angry, or if she was just thinking hard, perhaps her dreams were full of equations or labs she needed to sort through. Either way, he wanted to know. “She’s much cooler than I’ll ever be,” 

Emily snorted, shuffling against the wall to cosy herself, “That’s one way to put it,” She said, smiling over at him as he did the same, his head resting against the wall, Bugsy’s legs stretching out to knock against his feet, and he didn’t mind that she scuffed the bottom of his already dirty trousers. “Get some sleep,”

And so they did. 

–

Cyrus had corralled the whole flock into the church, where the shooting had stopped and the bodies had been removed, stating at the break of dawn that there was a hostage negotiator coming in to make sure everyone was safe before they made any deals. 

She sat next to Spencer, the three of them stiff from their sleeping arrangements, and her stomach churned with hunger. It had been over 24 hours since they’d gotten here, and besides the small bit of bread and water Cyrus gave everyone for breakfast, she was starving. 

“Remind me to never leave the house, ever again,” She grumbled, as everyone waited in the pews for the negotiator to arrive, “My cat is gonna be pissed I’ve not fed him,” 

“Since when did you get a cat?” Emily inputted from the other side of Reid, keeping one eye on the door in case any agents start shooting again. 

The girl shrugged, “I got lonely, there’s not much to do now I’m not studying anymore,” 

Reid watched how she clutched her stomach, feeling his own complaining at the lack of nutrition, “Morgan wasn’t lying when he said you should sign up for the academy. We could always use the help, we wouldn’t have solved that case in Baltimore without you,” 

She snickered, nudging his foot with her boot, “You’re being modest, you would have done it just fine,”

He was a little, wasn’t surprised she called his bluff either. “Okay, so probably yes- but it would have taken us a whole lot longer. Mr Chernus likely would have died,” 

She shook her head, glancing at Emily who watched her carefully, “That was all you guys. I just translated.”

Emily and Spencer exchanged a glance, leaning back in their uncomfortable seats calmly. 

“You’re probably right,” Spencer said, dusting the dirt off his trousers, “Probably couldn’t handle it, high intensity mind games and such,”

She blanched, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, not knowing him to be so brutally honest, realistic yes, but not bordering on rude. 

“And it’s a lot of work,” Emily jumped in, her mouth a straight line, “I don’t know if you’d be dedicated enough,”

Bugsy scoffed, indifferently. “I have a masters degree, I was offered a scholarship to do a PHD, asked to be an assistant professor at Yale, I can work hard, Emily,” She snipped, and perhaps she was particularly just hangry or they had struck a nerve with their doubt, “and I could do it if I wanted to, I’d have the best shot they’d ever seen, guaranteed- mom made me take lessons when you left- trust me I could do it-”

She shut up when she saw their small smile exchanged, as if she’d told them a joke, or moreso they’d had the same identical thought and that alone was hilarious. 

Scowling at them, she looked from where Spencer looked almost, almost, guilty at making her the butt of the joke, to where Emily had a ‘told you so’ smirk, and she kissed her teeth at their childishness. 

“Are you guys reverse psychology-ing me? Seriously, so original guys,” She snapped, crossing her arms and straightening herself in her seat, ignoring the snigger that passed between them. 

“You’re not wrong though,” Emily replied quietly as Cyrus walked past them, his eyes falling to them with a frown. Bugsy kept her head down, heeding Emily’s warning of not provoking anyone, and Spencer eyed the way she leaned closer to him.

If she was going to retaliate, whether agreeing or not, she stopped herself, the doors the church opening and an older gentleman walking through the doors, arms full of supplies she’d figured must have been part of the negotiation. He was patted down by an armed guard, searching for his own weapons do doubt, or a wire perhaps, as he handed the box over to another who took it without a thankyou. 

“Rossi,” She heard Reid whisper beside her, and from the look he shot Emily and Spencer she gathered he was from the BAU, just as they’d expected. His eyes fell on her, softening as alot of Emily’s team did when they saw the two of them, as if they were picking her face apart for the tiny ways in which she resembled their Prentiss, or maybe it was the way she curled up in her seat, tired, hungry, on the defence. He just looked sorry for her. 

 “The children,” Cyrus said with no greeting, the air between them particularly frosty. He gestured towards the three of them, though Rossi had already clocked their tired faces staring at him with worry, “And our guests,”

She saw him trying not to react, guessing they had not let it slip to Cyrus he worked with the two undercover FBI agents, looking away from them as if the sight of their forlorn figures was enough to turn him sick. 

Judging by the way Cyrus and he spoke quietly, tensely, Bugsy just hoped they had a plan to get them out of here soon as he soon left with a rigid handshake to the man keeping them hostage. 

–

The three of them had been moved to a backroom a few hours later. Her stomach ached, the little sustenance Rossi had brought being distributed to the community before they’d been offered anything, which hadn’t left much. Reid and Emily had tried to get her to take some of their sharing, and despite how her insides cried out for it, she declined, stating they would be more use than she would; that they needed their strength more than her if they were going to get out of here alive. 

The two of them hadn’t liked that answer judging by the frowns on their faces, but they sat in their seats with little fuss as they waited for things to quieten down after Cyrus’ staged “mass suicide” that had turned out to be nothign more than a test of loyalty and grape juice. 

They had been sat in silence, aside from her foot bouncing on the floor impatiently, as she picked at the threads on her pants, the material uncomfortable on her skin after a day of wearing it. The door slammed open, Cyrus entering the room with nasty scowl. She didn’t know what had changed in the man in a matter of hours as he stormed over to them, two of his men behind him, loaded rifles in their arms. 

This was not good. 

“Which one of you is it?” He asked almost too calm for his demeanour, his eyes flicking between the three of them, where Emily attempted to brush her hair using her fingers, Reid played with the hem of his cardigan, an she sat beside him, resting against the cold stone wall behind them, her eyes narrowing at his furious expression. 

The three of them remained silent, waiting for him to explain more, though clearly it was not the answer he was looking for as he threw his jacket open, revealing a loaded pistol tucked into his jeans. Drawing it into his dominant hand, her body tensed up, her back straightening like a rod as she looked up at him through fear. 

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?” He repeated in that same calm tone, and her heart fell through her stomach. 

She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation, though the way she saw his hand shaking with fury, she knew it was better to stay quiet in case her voice would be the final straw that made him trigger happy. 

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer replied softly, and if he was panicking even a fraction amount she was he held it back, though his eyes flicked to Emily. 

But it was a tell. The smallest movement alone was a tell he was lying, or perhaps it was the fact he’d answered a question with one of his own, distracting from the attention on them with the unsubs own answers. Maybe his quiet and calm showed how trained he was for a situation like this, showed he had gone up against bad guys before and won. 

Whatever it was about him, it had Cyrus cocking the barrel of the gun straight at Spencer’s temple. 

“God forgive me for what I must do,” The preacher murmured, his finger moments away from the trigger, when she lurched forward in her seat, hand shooting out to grab his wrist deathly tight. 

“It’s me,” 

She hadn’t realised she’d said it until the room went quiet. She thought for a moment it had come from Emily, Emily had always been the braver of the two of them, but it wasn’t until Cyrus’ unforgiving, dark gaze fell to her where she froze in her spot, that she understood her mouth had been the one moving. 

Emily looked as if she was about to vomit, Spencer looked dumbfounded, but all she could do was stare back at Cyrus as if to will herself not to back down, knowing all three of them could fall victim if she gave them reason to doubt her; he could kill all three of them just to be sure the mystery agent was dealt with.

“It’s me,” She repeated, voice stronger this time, and she felt her chest relax just the tiniest amount as he turned the gun away from Spencer’s head. 

He stared back at her for a moment, before the weapon smacked across her face in a sharp whip, her cheekbone crying out in a sting she knew was going to bruise. 

He grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her into a stand hard enough she yelped, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction of the torture. 

“Watch the other two,” Cyrus barked, dragging her out of the room as she squirmed under his hand, feeling it only tighten into an unforgiving pull. 

She barely caught Emily bolting out of her seat to yell at the other men, all but fighting in their heavy grasp to follow wherever it was he was taking her, only for the door to be slammed shut behind them. 

It was only then she realised how fucked she truly was. 

–

She struggled to breath through the blood clotting in her nose. She didn’t think it was broken, not that she could check where her hands had been tied to the bedpost, tape over her mouth to stop her calling for help, her feet bound. She’d done nothing but give him hell as he’d been laying into her, keeping her cries and groans of pain silent as he’d kicked her in the ribs hard enough to know he’d damaged something at least. 

She’d not made it easy for him to tie her down, worried about what they were planning next, she’d managed to headbutt him in the mouth, and the way he clutched at his jaw when he’d left gave her a sick satisfaction, though her temple now hurt more than she’d like to admit. But they’d only covered her mouth after she’d screamed obscenities at them for an hour or so, hoping to attract attention, hoping if the BAU were on their way, Emily and Reid would be able to find her fast before they could dispose of her. 

Bugsy didn’t want to go like this. Tied up like cattle, gagged and beaten, the spirit kicked out of her as the dehydration gnawed at her limbs, making her too weak to even try wriggling out of the binds. 

She felt herself dropping off to sleep, or maybe it was a concussion, he’d slammed her face into that mirror quite viciously, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had rattled her head around. Fighting with her eyelids to stay open, she jumped in her battered skin as the door unlatched, and she thrashed on the rickety bed to get away from the impending second beating. 

But it wasn’t Cyrus. A fawn haired woman entered, her eyes falling on the girl on the bed, where blood trickled down her cheek, pouring from her nose like a thick liquor. Frowning, she was on high alert as the woman approached, a small, damp cloth in her hand. 

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you honey,” She hushed, approaching the young girl. Bugsy didn’t believe her for one second, her head pulling away from her as far as it could, her eyes wild and distrustful as the woman kneeled down beside the bed. “I’m Kathy,”

Bugsy debated jabbing an elbow in her face then and there, telling her in few words to stay as far away from her as possible, that the moment she was free she didn’t care who she hurt; she was getting out of here even if she had to crawl. 

“That woman’s your sister right?” The blonde said, and the words stopped her heart for a moment, giving the woman the chance to run the cloth over the dribble of blood, “Emily,”

“Where is she?” She tried to ask, but the gag made it little more than a muffled cry, the woman’s eyes turning down in sadness. Pity. Bugsy hated every second of it.

“She’s okay, she’s worried about you though,” Kathy said, wiping under her nose, making her wince at the feeling, “Put up a hell of a fight after they took you away,” 

She must have rolled her eyes, or perhaps it was just telling on her face that that didn’t surprise her as the older woman wiped over the superficial cut on her forehead she hadn’t realised was deep until the cloth went over it and she yawped like a dog having it’s tail pulled. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Kathy cooed, and she seemed genuinely guilty as she did. She tutted, shaking her head, fighting the urge to smooth the girls hair down the way she did when her own daughter was upset, “Emily said they’ll be coming for us at 3am, Cyrus has a mass suicide planned but they think they can stop him, you just have to hold on a little longer honey,” 

“I want to see her,” Bugsy tried to talk again despite her mouth being covered, only for it to come out unintelligible once more. Huffing, she resigned herself to glaring at the ceiling, biting back frustrated tears. Kathy seemed to want to say something else, but thought better of it as the twenty something year old turned away from her to stare out the window, as if she were being dismissed. 

Sighing, she rose from the bed and headed for the door, praying the FBI would get them out in time, before Cyrus put his plan into action. 

–

Bugsy didn’t start panicking until it hit 2:50. She’d managed to kick the small analogue clock on the beside into working, the red numbers seeming to take a millenia to change over. 

Yet it wasn’t until 3am neared, and the hallways remained silent, did she start to wonder if Kathy had been telling the truth at all. What if they had found out Emily and Reid were FBI and not her? What if they’d already been caught?

She really had wanted to see Emily, wanted to scream at the woman, who had meant well, to bring her sister to her or she would make every damn bible basher in this compound regret the day they were born. She felt helpless. She despised feeling helpless. 

It was only when she heard shots rattling from outside did the cold fear set in. 2:52. Any minute now. 

It was then an even worse thought struck her. What if they didn’t bother to come for her? Reid and Emily were safe downstairs, at least that was how Kathy had made it seem. If they got the women and children, the agents out first, she wondered if they would leave her for last since she wasn’t their top priority. 

2:53 stared back at her. 

At least Emily would make it. She was more important, had more going for her. She was supposed to be an only child anyway, mom had said it herself. Bugsy was the product of a failing marriage and a shared bottle of 1896 Bourbon that had been a wedding gift they’d never opened. 

2:54.

She could have sworn she tore something the way her head snapped to the door as it swung open on its hinges, as if two large men had thrown their weight into it. But it wasn’t two men at all, just one frantic Derek Morgan with an FBI grade assault rifle. 

The relief in his eyes was immediate, and he pulled a pocket knife from his boot, rushing over to where she lay, almost in shock, wondering if he was real at all, her heart pounding as she heard shouting in the corridor. 

“I’m gonna get you out, kid,” The man promised, slinging his gun over his shoulder as he sliced through the rope on her ankles, her eyes trained on the 2:55 that watched them as if to laugh at them. 

She whimpered, cursing behind her gag when she heard footsteps pounding through the hallway, and she was sure they were going to get caught. She thought then it would have been better if they’d forgotten about her, that at least Derek would have been safe, and he could have made sure the children got out safely, could have gotten Spencer and Emily medical. 

Derek whirled on the doorway the same as she did as a tall figure all but skidded around the corner, his legs weak as hers felt, too long and not at all built for running. Clumsy almost. 

Spencer. She should have known from the way he looked white as a sheet the moment he saw her it was him, but maybe she really did have concussion, as it seemed within moments he was fussing over her face, tearing a little too sharply at the tape over her mouth. 

She thinks she groaned, or maybe cursed him out, as he started apologising immediately, his eyes a puppy kind of sad as she stared up at him, Derek handing him the knife to cut her arms free. 

He was talking, but she couldn’t make a lot of it out, just that he was really sorry, it was 2:56 now. It was like her brain switched itself back on when she realised she was free, and the two of them were trying to haul her to her feet. 

“Come on, princess, we gotta get out of here,” Derek said, as Spencer looped an arm around her waist, helping her limp across the room where her weak limbs did little to hold her upright, her ribs throbbing with every step, “We managed to stop Cyrus from detonating it manually, but the circuits are all still live,”

Morgan took the lead with the rifle, knowing some of Cyrus’ men had stayed to look for them, that they would go down with the building even though he’d already shot their leader the moment they’d breached the front door, because that was how loyal they were. They’d proven so already with the wine. 

She kept her groans behind tight lips as they made it down the stairs, knowing Spencer didn’t mean to hold her bruised bones so tight, that he was just worried and her legs were doing the bare minimum to keep them both moving very fast. It wasn’t until they made it within a few feet of the door that they seemed to pick up the pace.

And she saw why. 

Jesse, Cyrus’ child bride that had been the reason they’d come here in the first place was holding the detonator, her face tear streaked at the sight of her husband and prophet dead on the floor, the people responsible all but dragging a lame girl through the foyer and to the doors as if they hadn’t killed a handful of her flock tonight. 

Bugsy saw the moment Jesse decided she wanted vengeance on them, but then, she guessed Spencer had already acted as he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, yanking her out the front door in a matter of seconds as Morgan pulled up the rear, and the two men shoved her down behind the small wall outside the church steps. 

Bugsy expected the bang to be louder as the rubble flew over their heads, the floor shaking with the impact of the bomb detonating, and it was then she realised one of Derek’s large warm hands held her head into his shoulder, protecting her already rattled skull as best as he could. Spencer had done the same, throwing half his body over her back as he covered his ears, the two men tucking into the wall tightly and waiting for the dust to settle. 

Spencer started coughing first, though his position over her never faltered, and she heard his chest wheezing, and knew they needed to move away from the thick smog that blew into their faces. Morgan released her ear, tipping her head back to check her over once more. 

“Kid! You okay?” He fretted, noticing the way her nose had started bleeding again from all the movement; the way the bruise had already started blotching her cheek from where Cyrus pistol whipped her. 

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” Was all she could say, and Derek thought it was the saddest he’d ever heard her. 

Reid was pulling her to her feet then, where he was still hovering over her, despite the fact the blast had already cleared,  still sputtering and hocking up a lung, but it didn’t stop her from throwing herself at his middle, burying her face in his dusty sweater, not caring one bit if he jostled her aching ribs. 

He was trying to be gentle with her as he squeezed her back, but she knew by the way he pressed his face into her hair he needed it just as badly. 

“You saved my life,” He said, his long arms wrapping around her waist, hauling her whole body against his. 

She laughed through a cough, their cheeks brushing past one another as she pulled him in tighter, thankful, relieved. 

“You saved mine,” 

And then she heard Emily. Emily, who sounded frantic and heartbroken as she called for her, her voice breaking as if she was crying, or atleast on the verge of, and as comforting as Spencer’s long arms around her cracked ribs were, she needed to see her sister was okay. 

Ripping herself from his embrace immediately, she tore off after the sound, and there she was. Her older sister, who had always seemed immovable, like she wouldn’t so much as budge for a bucking horse, like water couldn’t drown her, or however many unsubs she’d faced could stop her from catching them. Her older sister, who looked like she’d taken a few punches of her own, judging by the blood on her blue blouse, that looked around the crowd of fleeing people with watery eyes and a shaking bottom lip.

“EMILY,” She yelled, her voice a bleat, a lamb calling for its mother, as she sprinted down the steps, whatever strength she had left carrying her to where Emily was rushing towards her, taking the stairs in threes, “EM-”

She crashed into her sister’s chest, and it was only then she started crying. 

“I swear I’ll never give you trouble again, I’ll never talk back, I’ll never be a bitch ever again-” It was all a slew of mumbles against her sisters shirt, that was beginning to wet through at the rate the tears were coming, “I thought he was going to shoot you-”

“I was so scared, Bug, oh my god,” Emily murmured into her hair, squeezing the life out of her baby sister that sniffled and sobbed, “You don’t ever, ever do that to me again,”

Bugsy shook her head, clawing at Emily’s back as she pulled her closer, feeling Emily stroking her hair softly to calm her even in the slightest. They stayed like that until she managed to wrangle her sobs into little sniffs, the fire burning her eyes where it burned the rest of the church to ashes. 

She stayed with Emily for a month after that. 

+4. The one where you leave the altar. 

She knew she was turning heads, walking down the street of a drizzly day in Virginia, hair wet and sticking to her face, makeup running down her cheeks, and the sodden, dove white wedding dress clasped in her hands as she paced towards the government building. 

Whether the guards recognised her as the Ambassador’s daughter, or whether they really didn’t want to get into it with a bride looking like that on her day, she didn’t know, but they opened the door for her nonetheless, exchanging raised brows as a trail of wet followed her gown over the marble floors. 

Heading up the desk, she flashed her driver's licence, which was enough to gain her a visitors pass she didn’t bother putting to use as she headed for the elevator, her ballet pumps squeaking under the body of the dress. Waiting for the doors to start closing when she finally let a few tears slip, burying her face into her cold, drenched palms, undoubtedly making the mess of mascara even worse. 

Her heart gave a leap when she heard someone stop the doors, hoping she could get to her sister with little delay, and she quickly wiped her face with whatever was left of her pretty, dobby cloth shawl she had yanked on before she’d ran. 

Whatever excuse she was about to give, whatever one liner she was about to drop to clear the awkwardness this agent was about to walk in on was sucked out of her when she saw Spencer staring at her, his briefcase in his hands he’d used to hold the doors, a wide eyed look plastered on his face as soon as he saw her state. 

“Bugsy,” It was somewhere between surprise and sadness, jumping into the elevator before the metal could shut again, the button for the sixth floor already lit up in a ring of red, “What are you- I didn’t even know…”

“Spencer!” As seemed to be a common occurrence between them now, she threw two very cold arms over his shoulders, tugging him for a hug he quickly reciprocated, feeling like she needed it in the moment, “It was so awful, I just couldn’t all those people staring at me, and he- I just feel so-”

“Hey slow down,” He soothed, slipping his favourite cardigan off his body to put over her shoulders, ignoring the way he cringed as it quickly got sodden, “Let’s get you to Emily, I’m sure we can fix this,”

She nodded, though he could tell she was still shaken up, the elevator dinging to a stop on the fifth floor where an agent looked ready to step in, his face dropping when he saw the sight. 

“Sorry, we’re full,” Spencer said, with little room for discussion, pressing the button to close the doors once more, and taking her by the elbow as she began shivering, “We’re gonna be just fine, you look beautiful,”

She laughed sadly with a roll of her eyes, the tears sticking to her cheeks. She knew she looked no better than a drowned rat, windswept and disgruntled, her dress full of muck from the street. 

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She mumbled, the door sliding open to the sixth floor, where Penelope and her everlasting smile greeted her favourite boy genius. 

She almost dropped her glitter pen when she saw the woman stood next to him looking like Dorothy dragged through the twister. 

“Oh you poor little lamb, what has happened to you honey!” She all but cried, the cute little pom poms in her hair bouncing as she brought Bugsy closer, taking her hands tightly. “Your hands are ice! You’ll catch cold with that wet hair, and your gorgeous dress-” 

“Garcia,” Spencer cut her off, though the woman didn’t seem to mind being manhandled into the kind grip, he guessed her state had her letting her guard down, “This is Bugsy, Emily’s little sister.”

Penelope gasped, her ponytails swishing around some more, the gems on her glasses as bright as the light in her eyes as she yanked the younger girl in for a tight hug. 

“It is so nice to meet you! Emily talks about you all the time,” She said, pulling away and fumbling through her pockets for her fresh pink handkerchief she always carried around, mopping up the girl's eyeliner. 

“She-she does?” Bugsy asked, sniffling, her body trembling as the AC beat down through the water ladened on her body. 

“Of course she does, come on, let’s go get you coffee, I have a new machine in my office that makes the best espresso-” Garcia grabbed her hand as if they were kids in the playground, as if she’d known the girl years, which she sort of had. She had, of course, stalked every single one of Emily’s known relatives, even a distant cousin that never left Europe, and that had thrown up the quiet corner of the internet that Bugsy took up.

“I needed to talk to my sister, if that’s okay,” Bugsy braved enough to say, the swishing of her dress on the carpet making her wince, practically hearing the gallon of rain that soaked the expensive fabric. 

“Ofcourse! How silly of me, I’ll bring it out right to you, little bug. You just go with Spencer,” Handing him the handkerchief, she set off towards her ‘bat cave’ in search of a hot beverage for the shivering woman, “Spencer, clean her makeup!” 

He did as he was told, dabbing the water off her face as he led her to the BAU, where Emily and Morgan sat on their desks, chatting as they finished off lunch, Emily flicking through photos on her phone of baby Henry that JJ had sent over to her that morning from maternity leave. 

“He’s just the sweetest little boy, he’s got the biggest blue eyes just like Jayj,” She said through a smile, “You know Will even said-”

“Holy shit-” Morgan cut her off, and she glanced at him, wondering about his use of a curse. Following his eyes over her shoulder, she swivelled in her position to see where Spencer led a very wet, shaken version of her little sister through the doors of the BAU, a snowy ball gown hanging off her, a veil clinging to her hair that had seen much better days. 

“Holy shit,” She agreed, immediately darting for the girl that tugged Spencer’s cardigan tighter to her body, “Bugsy,” 

“Emily, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t take up too much time- I just couldn’t do it- and I know mom’s always saying ‘Bring home a doctor, bring home a rich man,’ but I just couldn’t no matter how rich his daddy is, he wasn’t even too bad-” It all came out in a slur, not making too much sense, and she didn’t stop until Emily held up her hands, as if easing a wild dog. 

“Woah, take it easy, kiddo,” Morgan hushed, as Emily brought a hand over her sister’s cheek, wiping away the last of the mascara, “What happened?”

Bugsy took a deep breath, looking between Emily and Derek, feeling the rain drip down her back. 

“So a few weeks ago, Mom made me go to that stupid debutante ball,” She started, rolling her eyes already as Emily winced, knowing Elizabeth loved any excuse to dress her youngest up like a Barbie doll. 

“I hated those things,” She confessed, shaking her head, “I thought you’d agreed you didn’t have to go to them anymore,”

“That was while I was in college, she said at least I could focus on my studies,” The girl explained, as Garcia tottered back through the office, a steaming cup of coffee in her beloved Bratz mug. Taking it from the chirpy woman, she took a deep gulp, not caring if it burned her mouth as she wished for the damn chill to go away, “Thankyou- But she made me go to this one on the condition she would pay off some of my college loans, and I was dumb enough to fall for her bribe,” 

She huffed, taking another sip, her stomach warming with the hot liquid settling through her throat. 

“You know how she is at these things, she knows everyone, and everyone knows her. I had four guys asking for my dance card within minutes of arriving there, it was like trying to walk through a dog pound wearing a meat suit, all the hand holding, trying to touch my waist- one guy even called me Madam Prentiss,” She grimaced, shuddering at the thought of it, “Madam? No one even calls mom that-”

“Focus,” Emily reminded gently, and she seemed to nod to herself, setting back on track.

“Right. And then he was there. Byron Hastings.” Bugsy said, wrapping her hands around the mug some more. 

“Oh, isn’t he that super yummy bachelor that just inherited his fathers business?” Garcia jumped in, not noticing how it made her wince, “I hear his dad totally owns a bunch of shares in Facebook and as like just signed a deal with a new company that will change the future of computing-” 

“Not now, baby girl,” Morgan said calmly, patting Penelope on her shoulder when she saw the bride’s crestfallen face.

“Right, sorry. Your turn, little bug,” She said, shaking her head and fiddling with her dozen rings. 

“Yeah, that’s him.” She replied, running a slightly warmed finger over her eyelash where rain even collected there, “And you know, I wasn’t complaining, he was certainly easy on the eyes, and he smelled nice, like he just smelled rich, but man alive he was so boring,” She sighed, “I like computers as much as the next girl, no offence, but he didn’t once ask me what I was into or, and when I tried to bring up my degree he just patted me on the head and said ‘That’s nice’ like I was some child that had brought him a pretty colouring or something,”

“Ouch,” Emily grimaced, rubbing her arms over the cardigan to warm her up a little more, “And then?” 

“And eventually, his dad and my mom cut a deal that we’d make a good pair. He said we could be married within the season, and suddenly everyone seemed up for it, and it was like no matter how hard I tried to dig my heels in, no one would listen, and mom just seemed so pleased with me-” She spluttered, sipping her drink to catch her breath, “I just let it happen and just thought, you know, maybe we could learn to like each other, or we could just be like mom and dad and separate in everything but paper,” 

“It’s your life, who is she to tell you how you’re gonna live it,” Emily was outraged, the tip of her nose pink, her dark eyes stormy as her hands fell to her hips, huffing as if it had been her backed into a corner, “I can’t believe she would do this to you,” 

“I was fine with it, really. It's not like its the fifteenth century when I’d be forced to consummate- anyway,” Bugsy rubbed her face, “I just got there, and mom put on my veil and told me I’d make a lovely Mrs Hastings, and just the sound of it- I couldn’t-”

“What on earth is going on?” A new voice cut through the BAU, and the group disbanded like kids caught trading answers to the homework. Rossi and Hotch stood by the unit chief’s office, brows furrowed at the wet bride and his team that tended to her as if she were a princess. 

“Should we be expecting four wet bridesmaids too?” Rossi asked, the two of them making the steps down to the floor, approaching the guilty faced woman, noting Spencer’s cardigan wrapped over her shoulders. 

“Nope, just me,” Her joke fell flat as she met the stony face of Aaron Hotchner, who looked thoroughly unimpressed, “Nice to see you again, Mr Hotchner, sir,” 

His gaze slid to Emily, mouth opening to share whatever scathing remark bounced around his mouth, but the younger girl beat him to it, everyone’s eyebrows raising when she all but cut him off. 

“This wasn’t on Emily, sir, I just showed up out of the blue, I can go- I’ll go- I just need to figure out where I’m staying since I left my purse at the church- don’t you worry I’ll be out of your hair, Aaro- sir,” Bugsy stammered, plonking the mug onto Emily’s desk, backing away to the doors of the office, clutching her visitor pass tight in her fist. 

Maybe it was because she looked so hopeless, or maybe it was the way his team shot him the same look of horror he would be so regimental, or maybe even it was the fact part of her reminded him of Sean, only his brother wouldn’t have had the courtesy to apologise for his mess. 

Sighing, he gestured her to come back, “Wait,” He said her name, her government name because the other one didn’t fit right in his mouth, “Reid, get her some clothes out your go bag. Emily, tell your mother she’s safe and will be staying in Quantico until you can figure something out,” 

Heaving a sigh of relief, she launched her still sodden form at the chief, wrapping him in a stiff hug, bolder than anyone else on the team had ever dared to be. 

“I swear to god, Mr Hotchner, the next letter you're getting will be the best one yet,” She mumbled into his hard chest, and he fought off the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. Patting her on the back gently, he ignored the way his dress shirt wet through. 

–

let me know what you think! mAYBE A FEW MORE PARTS COMING UP ??

Edit: This is a part one of 3 or 4 I have planned, thankyou so much for all the love on this I did not expect the reaction 🥺🥺

SECOND EDIT: part two and three are out now!! Have a look at the top where it says ‘next chpt and it’s there bbys!!

THIRD EDIT: we are now balls deep into this universe here's th link for the masterlist

[mostlysignssomeportents]

UK publishers suing Google for $17.4b over rigged ad markets

THIS WEEKEND (June 7–9), I'm in AMHERST, NEW YORK to keynote the 25th Annual Media Ecology Association Convention and accept the Neil Postman Award for Career Achievement in Public Intellectual Activity.

Look, no one wants to kick Big Tech to the curb more than I do, but, also: it's good that Google indexes the news so people can find it, and it's good that Facebook provides forums where people can talk about the news.

It's not news if you can't find it. It's not news if you can't talk about it. We don't call information you can't find or discuss "news" – we call it "secrets."

And yet, the most popular – and widely deployed – anti-Big Tech tactic promulgated by the news industry and supported by many of my fellow trustbusters is premised on making Big Tech pay to index the news and/or provide a forum to discuss news articles. These "news bargaining codes" (or, less charitably, "link taxes") have been mooted or introduced in the EU, France, Spain, Australia, and Canada. There are proposals to introduce these in the US (through the JCPA) and in California (the CJPA).

These US bills are probably dead on arrival, for reasons that can be easily understood by the Canadian experience with them. After Canada introduced Bill C-18 – its own news bargaining code – Meta did exactly what it had done in many other places where this had been tried: blocked all news from Facebook, Instagram, Threads, and other Meta properties.

This has been a disaster for the news industry and a disaster for Canadians' ability to discuss the news. Oh, it makes Meta look like assholes, too, but Meta is the poster child for "too big to care" and is palpably indifferent to the PR costs of this boycott.

Frustrated lawmakers are now trying to figure out what to do next. The most common proposal is to order Meta to carry the news. Canadians should be worried about this, because the next government will almost certainly be helmed by the far-right conspiratorialist culture warrior Pierre Poilievre, who will doubtless use this power to order Facebook to platform "news sites" to give prominence to Canada's rotten bushel of crypto-fascist (and openly fascist) "news" sites.

Americans should worry about this too. A Donald Trump 2028 presidency combined with a must-carry rule for news would see Trump's cabinet appointees deciding what is (and is not) news, and ordering large social media platforms to cram the Daily Caller (or, you know, the Daily Stormer) into our eyeballs.

But there's another, more fundamental reason that must-carry is incompatible with the American system: the First Amendment. The government simply can't issue a blanket legal order to platforms requiring them to carry certain speech. They can strongly encourage it. A court can order limited compelled speech (say, a retraction following a finding of libel). Under emergency conditions, the government might be able to compel the transmission of urgent messages. But there's just no way the First Amendment can be squared with a blanket, ongoing order issued by the government to communications platforms requiring them to reproduce, and make available, everything published by some collection of their favorite news outlets.

This might also be illegal in Canada, but it's harder to be definitive. The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms was enshrined in 1982, and Canada's Supreme Court is still figuring out what it means. Section Two of the Charter enshrines a free expression right, but it's worded in less absolute terms than the First Amendment, and that's deliberate. During the debate over the wording of the Charter, Canadian scholars and policymakers specifically invoked problems with First Amendment absolutism and tried to chart a middle course between strong protections for free expression and problems with the First Amendment's brook-no-exceptions language.

So maybe Canada's Supreme Court would find a must-carry order to Meta to be a violation of the Charter, but it's hard to say for sure. The Charter is both young and ambiguous, so it's harder to be definitive about what it would say about this hypothetical. But when it comes to the US and the First Amendment, that's categorically untrue. The US Constitution is centuries older than the Canadian Charter, and the First Amendment is extremely definitive, and there are reams of precedent interpreting it. The JPCA and CJPA are totally incompatible with the US Constitution. Passing them isn't as silly as passing a law declaring that Pi equals three or that water isn't wet, but it's in the neighborhood.

But all that isn't to say that the news industry shouldn't be attacking Big Tech. Far from it. Big Tech compulsively steals from the news!

But what Big Tech steals from the news isn't content.

It's money.

Big Tech steals money from the news. Take social media: when a news outlet invests in building a subscriber base on a social media platform, they're giving that platform a stick to beat them with. The more subscribers you have on social media, the more you'll be willing to pay to reach those subscribers, and the more incentive there is for the platform to suppress the reach of your articles unless you pay to "boost" your content.

This is plainly fraudulent. When I sign up to follow a news outlet on a social media site, I'm telling the platform to show me the things the news outlet publishes. When the platform uses that subscription as the basis for a blackmail plot, holding my desire to read the news to ransom, they are breaking their implied promise to me to show me the things I asked to see:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-need-end-end-web

This is stealing money from the news. It's the definition of an "unfair method of competition." Article 5 of the Federal Trade Commission Act gives the FTC the power to step in and ban this practice, and they should:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

Big Tech also steals money from the news via the App Tax: the 30% rake that the mobile OS duopoly (Apple/Google) requires for every in-app purchase (Apple/Google also have policies that punish app vendors who take you to the web to make payments without paying the App Tax). 30% out of every subscriber dollar sent via an app is highway robbery! By contrast, the hyperconcentrated, price-gouging payment processing cartel charges 2-5% – about a tenth of the Big Tech tax. This is Big Tech stealing money from the news:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/06/save-news-we-must-open-app-stores

Finally, Big Tech steals money by monopolizing the ad market. The Google-Meta ad duopoly takes 51% out of every ad-dollar spent. The historic share going to advertising "intermediaries" is 10-15%. In other words, Google/Meta cornered the market on ads and then tripled the bite they were taking out of publishers' advertising revenue. They even have an illegal, collusive arrangement to rig this market, codenamed "Jedi Blue":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

There's two ways to unrig the ad market, and we should do both of them.

First, we should trustbust both Google and Meta and force them to sell off parts of their advertising businesses. Currently, both Google and Meta operate a "full stack" of ad services. They have an arm that represents advertisers buying space for ads. Another arm represents publishers selling space to advertisers. A third arm operates the marketplace where these sales take place. All three arms collect fees. On top of that: Google/Meta are both publishers and advertisers, competing with their own customers!

This is as if you were in court for a divorce and you discovered that the same lawyer representing your soon-to-be ex was also representing you…while serving as the judge…and trying to match with you both on Tinder. It shouldn't surprise you if at the end of that divorce, the court ruled that the family home should go to the lawyer.

So yeah, we should break up ad-tech:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-shatter-ad-tech

Also: we should ban surveillance advertising. Surveillance advertising gives ad-tech companies a permanent advantage over publishers. Ad-tech will always know more about readers' behavior than publishers do, because Big Tech engages in continuous, highly invasive surveillance of every internet user in the world. Surveillance ads perform a little better than "content-based ads" (ads sold based on the content of a web-page, not the behavior of the person looking at the page), but publishers will always know more about their content than ad-tech does. That means that even if content-based ads command a slightly lower price than surveillance ads, a much larger share of that payment will go to publishers:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

Banning surveillance advertising isn't just good business, it's good politics. The potential coalition for banning surveillance ads is everyone who is harmed by commercial surveillance. That's a coalition that's orders of magnitude larger than the pool of people who merely care about fairness in the ad/news industries. It's everyone who's worried about their grandparents being brainwashed on Facebook, or their teens becoming anorexic because of Instagram. It includes people angry about deepfake porn, and people angry about Black Lives Matter protesters' identities being handed to the cops by Google (see also: Jan 6 insurrectionists).

It also includes everyone who discovers that they're paying higher prices because a vendor is using surveillance data to determine how much they'll pay – like when McDonald's raises the price of your "meal deal" on your payday, based on the assumption that you will spend more when your bank account is at its highest monthly level:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Attacking Big Tech for stealing money is much smarter than pretending that the problem is Big Tech stealing content. We want Big Tech to make the news easy to find and discuss. We just want them to stop pocketing 30 cents out of every subscriber dollar and 51 cents out of ever ad dollar, and ransoming subscribers' social media subscriptions to extort publishers.

And there's amazing news on this front: a consortium of UK web-publishers called Ad Tech Collective Action has just triumphed in a high-stakes proceeding, and can now go ahead with a suit against Google, seeking damages of GBP13.6b ($17.4b) for the rigged ad-tech market:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/17-bln-uk-adtech-lawsuit-against-google-can-go-ahead-tribunal-rules-2024-06-05/

The ruling, from the Competition Appeal Tribunal, paves the way for a frontal assault on the thing Big Tech actually steals from publishers: money, not content.

This is exactly what publishing should be doing. Targeting the method by which tech steals from the news is a benefit to all kinds of news organizations, including the independent, journalist-owned publishers that are doing the best news work today. These independents do not have the same interests as corporate news, which is dominated by hedge funds and private equity raiders, who have spent decades buying up and hollowing out news outlets, and blaming the resulting decline in readership and profits on Craiglist.

You can read more about Big Finance's raid on the news in Margot Susca's Hedged: How Private Investment Funds Helped Destroy American Newspapers and Undermine Democracy:

https://www.press.uillinois.edu/books/?id=p087561

You can also watch/listen to Adam Conover's excellent interview with Susca:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N21YfWy0-bA

Frankly, the looters and billionaires who bought and gutted our great papers are no more interested in the health of the news industry or democracy than Big Tech is. We should care about the news and the workers who produce the news, not the profits of the hedge-funds that own the news. An assault on Big Tech's monetary theft levels the playing field, making it easier for news workers and indies to compete directly with financialized news outlets and billionaire playthings, by letting indies keep more of every ad-dollar and more of every subscriber-dollar – and to reach their subscribers without paying ransom to social media.

Ending monetary theft – rather than licensing news search and discussion – is something that workers are far more interested in than their bosses. Any time you see workers and their bosses on the same side as a fight against Big Tech, you should look more closely. Bosses are not on their workers' side. If bosses get more money out of Big Tech, they will not share those gains with workers unless someone forces them to.

That's where antitrust comes in. Antitrust is designed to strike at power, and enforcers have broad authority to blunt the power of corporate juggernauts. Remember Article 5 of the FTC Act, the one that lets the FTC block "unfair methods of competition?" FTC Chair Lina Khan has proposed using it to regulate training AI, specifically to craft rules that address the labor and privacy issues with AI:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mh8Z5pcJpg

This is an approach that can put creative workers where they belong, in a coalition with other workers, rather than with their bosses. The copyright approach to curbing AI training is beloved of the same media companies that are eagerly screwing their workers. If we manage to make copyright – a transferrable right that a worker can be forced to turn over their employer – into the system that regulates AI training, it won't stop training. It'll just trigger every entertainment company changing their boilerplate contract so that creative workers have to sign over their AI rights or be shown the door:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

Then those same entertainment and news companies will train AI models and try to fire most of their workers and slash the pay of the remainder using those models' output. Using copyright to regulate AI training makes changes to who gets to benefit from workers' misery, shifting some of our stolen wages from AI companies to entertainment companies. But it won't stop them from ruining our lives.

By contrast, focusing on actual labor rights – say, through an FTCA 5 rulemaking – has the potential to protect those rights from all parties, and puts us on the same side as call-center workers, train drivers, radiologists and anyone else whose wages are being targeted by AI companies and their customers.

Policy fights are a recurring monkey's paw nightmare in which we try to do something to fight corruption and bullying, only to be outmaneuvered by corrupt bullies. Making good policy is no guarantee of a good outcome, but it sure helps – and good policy starts with targeting the thing you want to fix. If we're worried that news is being financially starved by Big Tech, then we should go after the money, not the links.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/06/stealing-money-not-content/#content-free

[twst-aceofhearts]

Take A Break!

a/n: you can't stop me from loving ace :) also epel fic is next @waterthatsmoe just for u <3

tw: Yuu overworking themself

pairing: ace x gn!yuu

words: 1049

taglist: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe

Ace had noticed how Yuu had been helping multiple people with anything they need. He didn’t say anything at first, but he slowly noticed how you started to neglect your own needs.

Yes, he’s a bit of a troublemaker, but he still looks out for his friends. From his conclusion, Yuu is putting too much stress on themself. So, like a good friend, he brought this up to them. When they brushed him off, he got a tad bit annoyed. Like the stubborn person Yuu was, they tried to convince him that they were perfectly fine.

The dark circles under their eyes said otherwise. Ace saw how Yuu had been cramming test material lately because they didn’t have any time for themself.

Ace doesn’t like to be pushy, but Yuu’s behavior was honestly starting to get to him. Nonetheless, he didn’t want to leave them alone.

“Dude, this is how you make yourself pass out. Are you trying to get yourself a trip to the nurse’s office? Man, just put the book down!” He scolds them, trying to take Yuu’s pencil away from them. They’ve been doing Proffesor Trein’s assignment for the past hour. Ace tried to offer some help again, but it was met with a hard no by Yuu.

“I swear, I can’t tell who’s more stubborn: you or Riddle…That says a lot!” Ace grumbled under his breath before sending a glare towards Yuu. He was going to help them one way or another.

“Nngh…I’m not getting help from someone who has lower grades than mine..” Yuu huffed, groggily trying to take their pencil back.

“Seriously?! You’re going to use that stupid reasoning?!” Ace was not impressed, holding the pencil higher out of Yuu’s reach. 

He scowls and looks away. “You’re not always this stubborn, you know?! You always help others and then you end up exhausting yourself. How many times have you overslept for class because you were pulling another all-nighter to study the night before?” He sighs, grabbing Yuu’s wrist and pulling it back down, stopping them from reaching for their pencil. “You’re not a machine, and you need to relax sometimes. Even Riddle does that every once in a while. So please, listen to me—just this once.”

Yuu stayed silent, their tensed shoulders slightly relaxing. They ceased their attempt to grab their pencil back, their hand falling limp in his grasp.

Ace sighs, slowly calming down. After all, anger wouldn’t solve the issue. “Look, I just want to help, Yuu. You need to get better at letting others assist you. If you don’t, you’ll get worse every time. You might even start developing anxiety if you keep putting so much pressure on yourself. It’s not healthy. It’s dangerous,” Ace frowns, his expression disapproving. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself because you’re being reckless.”

I…damn you and your..stupidly effective way of words…mmph..” Yuu huffed, pulling away their hand from his grasp, placing their hands on their lap. “...fine…I’ll take a break…”

Ace’s frown turns into a small smile. He slowly extends his hand, holding out their pencil to them. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

He sits next to Yuu, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head to the side. “...if you don’t mind, can I ask you a question? It’s not about your horrible study habits, so don’t worry.”

“...shoot,” Yuu sighed, gently rubbing their tired eyes.

“Why do you try so hard to help others? I mean, you barely have time for yourself and you’re still trying to be there for others. You’re the kind of person who always puts other first; you barely think of your own well being. Why?” Ace’s eyes slowly trail over Yuu’s face. The dark circles under their eyes were a little concerning.

“...You want the short version or the long one?”

“The long version, please,” He nodded, genuinely wanting to know what was going on through Yuu’s mind.

“...Back in my world I didn’t really have anyone to look to for help. Or..anything at all. It’s just me. I was alone. No family, no friends—I don’t want other people to go through the same things I did…” Yuu trailed off near the end, their tone becoming more reserved and their voice lowering in volume.

Ace stares at you for a moment, before sighing inaudibly. “I didn’t know,” He gently places his hand on your shoulder, giving Yuu a warm smile. “But, you’re not alone now. You have friends, you have me,” he ruffles your hair fondly.

“...it’s unsettling when you’re not acting like a troublemaker—being all cheesy like this instead.” Yuu blinked, closing their eyes for a moment, then opening them before they fell asleep.

He lets out a light chuckle, poking your forehead. “Heh, but that’s why you like me, don’t you?” He smirked, his usual carefree smile returned.

“Ah there it is….wait, where’d you get that idea from?” Yuu narrowed eyes, feeling their cheeks heat up into an “unnoticeable” pink. 

He grins teasingly. “Well, you put up with me. And your face always turns pink when I’m being nice to you. Like now—it’s adorable~”

“I-...damn you…” 

“Hehe, I’m a little correct, huh?” He laughs again, pulling away slowly. “Just relax for now, okay? Don’t push yourself too hard.” 

Yuu sighed, too tired to care about his teasing remarks anymore at this point, standing up to sit on Ace’s bed.

Ace watched Yuu for a moment, before he followed behind them, sitting down next to Yuu. “Tired? If you are, you can take a little nap.”

Yuu nodded, thus leading to Ace gently laying Yuu down and tucking them into the covers. “After all this studying, you could use a small break. Besides, you look more tired than usual.”

Yuu let out a small hum, bringing their legs up and tucking their knees into their chest. “...Can you…” Yuu trailed off, feeling a sudden wave of shyness.

Ace smiled slightly, gently patting their head. “Yes, I’ll stay here until you’re asleep. Don’t worry about anything. Sweet dreams, idiot.”

Yuu let out a small huff. “The only idiot here is you…” They mumbled, burying their face into the pillow cover.

Ace laughed quietly, keeping a hand on Yuu’s head before he slowly started stroking their head. “Yeah, whatever….sleep well.”

credit to @cafekitsune for divider

[soulfulazrael]

Stolas and Stella. Shallow conflict that could be so much more. Conflict of two Hells and torment of the immortal.

So... another post that probably will be another long Yap fest of a weirdo who has only the brainpower to make threads on a cartoon. Eh. Could be worse. My drive to make this post was sparked by this one image (or well... two).

Great... Very subtle... Deserves a medal don't you think? Ah well. Today's subject as you can tell from the image presented here is RELATIONSHIPS! Or rather one set of relationships that has been bothering me and inspired me to do better in my own work based on this show. This disaster that is the Stella/Stolas/Octavia dynamic is one huge problem in my eyes and I will explain that below with some thoughts of mine and why this particular image sparked such vitriol in my peanut brain.

I think the biggest and most noticeable problem that can be seen straight away in this one picture and entire show that... it is just so damn simple. Way too simple and 1 dimensional which this show tries to parade as something meaningful and deep. I mean one look at it and you can see all of the problems. Stella is made into a laughing all evil bastard. Octavia FOR SOME REASON is just angry at Stolas and makes a mean face which makes no sense given how they interact. And Stolas is presented as some tragic, deeply hurt figure when he is in fact the architect of most of his own miseries, but the show seems to believe in that horseshait.

And at first one who only has this picture as any sort of context may say that "It's okay. The wife is obviously an evil capital B, but the daughter in this whole equation adds to the complexity and the feeling of that the dad also screwed up heavily".

Except to anyone who actually watched the show this makes no sense because Octavia has literally NO reason to ever side or ignore her mother's stupid and malicious behavior. It's one thing where you want to include a complex dynamic where the sides are more blurred and another where you make one side so obviously WORSE. Not to mention stupid and seemingly unable to hide any of their douchebaggery.

And it's another issue of the show as a whole where it just cannot for the life of it have complex antagonists and most of them are pretty much the same damn archetype. Both shows do that in fact. Because both HH and HB work in the same way. They all have the same kind of snickering abuser who loves to torment their victim and they are about as smart as average Twitter Blue buyer. I mean can you tell me ANY sort of difference between someone like Val, Stella, Crim or Mammon? Any of them? Besides their designs and people they abuse? You probably have to think it through and I think it goes to show how all of them are so damn similar to each other. To the point where they are all almost exactly the same boring character.

And funny thing is? It didn't have to be this way. And this second image feels like more of an insult for two reasons.

Still not perfect, but it's better somewhat And the reason for that is... it feels like actually a bit subtle. You have less cramming in of how terrible Stella is. Octavia being a more oblivious child and Stolas while caring for her being more absent minded. That creates an interesting dynamic and Stella has some air of mystery to her where she can be taken in many directions.

They just chose the absolute dumbest one. And that's why this image makes me mad. It shows they COULD do better, but choose not to and that this art serves no other purpose than just to say STELLA LE BAD. And they have no other agenda with it. No other way to interpret it because of that second stupid one. It narrows and destroys so much potential. Almost as much as that picture of baby Stella from Circus.

And I think another big issue I kind of mentioned before is this parade of complexity. It wants to put on facade of being complex and having something to say, but it really doesn't. It provides a very simple and dumbed down story with clear good and bad side where one side is cartoonishly evil to the point of being moronic while other one is paraded as a victim to end all victims and they put in a dress of sad crying scenes and the daughter being pissed for no reason at clearly good party because the idiotic plot demands it.

And other big issue... Is that this does not explore ANY interesting ideas. No interesting dynamics. No interesting implications or provides any sort of value to the world or explores anything in this world of HELL. Where you can make the world feel wild and interesting and the ways this world shaped those people. The ways those people are broken. The ways you can expand on this conflict beyond the surface level idiocy.

And I want here to present an example of a story rather similar... that did this right. So right it's almost comedic. I am talking about a story of Bloody Baron from Witcher 3 so for all people who did not play this almost 10 year old game (holy shit W3 came out almost 10 years ago... Can you slow down time?) then I must warn you. For the rest who did play or don't care. Enjoy.

Seems appropriate. Bloody Baron questline is probably one of the most impactful, complex and interesting conflicts I've seen in any game. A story of abuse, trauma and pain in a family of Bloody Baron, his wife Anna and daughter Tamara. amazing writing, great voice acting, great characters all that good stuff. But let me tell you why it's so good.

First off. The characters. They are all very well written and are very believable. Bloody Baron especially is a sad mess of a man. An ex veteran, drunkard and abuser who tries to find his wife and their daughter she took with her when she escaped from him after their recent fight. A fact Geralt is not aware of, one of many he and us by extension are not aware of.

This may already sound rather familiar and stay with me because it gets better. What works so well with character of Bloody Baron is that while he is at first a completely unlikeable person that gets worse over time as you discover more filth in his story, he is also extremely human. He is no caricature and you can tell why he became the way he is and you can tell he is full of great regrets and despite his actions still holds a lot of love for both his daughter and wife. He is someone who did terrible things to his family, someone very rash and very brutal, but he is not a total and complete monster. He watched his own other child die partially as a consequence of his own actions. Lost his family. He lost almost everything besides an army of men that couldn't give less of a shit about him and a home in a dreadful swamp full of monsters. His character greatly explores the mind of someone very broken, someone who lost himself to alcohol and ended up making a ton of terrible mistakes and now tries to atone for them. But we also see in flashbacks that he can be also a caring man as he helped Ciri and little girls she saved. He is no less of a terrible person because of it, but it adds humanity to him.

And other two characters in this do not fall far behind as well. Anna especially is also a very broken shell of a person. And despite what one may think she is also not innocent in all of this as she is someone who first cheated on the Baron after he went out to war. Leaving him for some other man as he was putting his life on the line for them (while also falling to alcoholism as well). And when she was confronted about it and when her lover got slaughtered by Baron she broke and started to try to kill him and herself which started the abuse from Baron who only found this to be a good way to calm her down and Anna herself was a clearly traumatized woman who was now in a cage with the Baron.

And in between all of that was a young, very scared child of both. Tamara who saw only the abuse her mother received and felt like it was all her father's fault for everything breaking apart around them and eventually devoting herself to group of Eternal Flame as a way of handling her situation. She still received lots of love from her father, but could never see him as anything less than a monster.

All of them in this scenario... probably feel oddly familiar. And it's funny because in many ways they ARE like Stolas and Stella and Octavia. But roles are somewhat moved and the conflicts feel far more real. Tamara is not for some reason seeing the abuser as lesser evil seemingly. She sees the abuse, but doesn't know a full story much like Geralt or anyone else. Baron in this case is in many ways like Stella. He is someone who abuses their partner and goes into violent rage when they leave them, but unlike Stella you can tell there is this lingering love for his family that further fuels this abuse and brings more pain to everyone while Anna is a broken mess of a woman who cheated on her husband and paid terrible price for it and kept paying as... she sold her upcoming child to terrible witches. Or rather she wished for it to die and for it sold her soul.

And this I think is what makes this story all the stronger. It's not just the tragedy or realism. It's how it ties into the world of Witcher as a whole where we are introduced to some of the most harrowing set pieces of the game and some of the most disturbing villains in the game who also simply act upon their nature as deal makers with Anna and simply know something about Geralt's own daughter Ciri (who they tried to eat). It expands the world and uses it in a meaningful way and pushes more interesting ideas like the side of Anna caring for children at the swamp that are meant to be devoured by witches. Another Hell that ends either with her complete breakdown or death, but also either suicide of the Baron or redemption as he tries to save her and no longer drink or abuse her. While Tamara no matter what has to also face her own consequences of having to forever be tied to Endless Flame, but also putting faith in her father in the good ending and possibly ending with their relationship beginning to heal.

And all of that feels natural. This kind of story definitely can be told anywhere, this kind of story doesn't need this setting, but it further enriches it. And I think another big part of this story I like is that it doesn't try to paint any side as being in the RIGHT. Because in this kind of situation NO PARTY is in the right... And as someone who did went through similar thing... I respect that. And that is why I cannot accept what HB does. In this situation there are no good guys or bad guys... Just people who keep making mistakes (and don't worry, family may be a bit broken, but I still love both my parents no matter how far one may be).

And it is funny because story of Bloody Baron in many ways is how the whole situation with Octavia and her family SHOULD look like. A very harrowing story where there is no place for good or bad sides. Where you have to choose FOR YOURSELF who is more at fault. And the game leaves that decision to you. It does not tell you what to think. It tells you to think. One of the writers who made that whole story said once "I do not like likeable characters. I like interesting characters". And I think that is also where the writing suffers. It tries to paint one side as "likeable", but because of that it removes so much complexity from the character by excusing all of their awful behavior or painting them as ultimate victim. And do not try to tell me also that because Stella is so easy to hate then they are well written. That's not true. Making hateable character is the easiest thing in the world. Just put everything bad in them and make them not like protagonist and oppose them. That's it. It's lazy.

And that also makes me so mad about HB because they were CLOSE to making something good. Not exactly the same as Bloody Baron, but something of it's own that could also be good.

I personally make a fic called "Song for the Quiet Bird". There I partially explore characters of Stolas and Stella and Octavia and I try to paint the entire situation in a more gray light where each side is not truly in the right. Where both of them are in their own ways broken people. And to do so I also try to use something I wish Viv used which is Immortality of Ars Goetia which could have been a thing, but Viv decided to make Stolas like 30 because then you have cute Stolas and Blitzo arts as kids.

In my version both have lived already for 800 years. They lived already for a long time and there is eternity waiting ahead and both cope in their own ways that were taught to them by the world of Hell to not lose themselves to eternity. Stolas is a selfish hedonist who cares the most about his own pleasures and even though he cares for Octavia it is very easy for him to lose himself in his own desires and pleasures as he mostly cares for himself the most and anything that is extension of him. Meanwhile Stella is a cold, distant and very duty focused character. Someone who while trains Octavia for the longest time does not involve herself too much with her own daughter, barely seeing her as one. Someone entirely focused on the prosperity of the family as a whole, someone who does not believe in value of individuality or personal joy and instead focuses on the good of everything else solely. This good being judged by her and her views that value subjugation and order compared to Stolas's love for chaos and selfish freedom.

In this case both sides are very broken. They both have to live through their own Hells made by their own choices that add to the fact they were born into the world of Hell. Neither one can really truly coexist with each other and both long ago abandoned any hope for true understanding. And in all of that the only real victim and good party you can find is Octavia. A person who suffers because of this clash of ideals and has to cope in her own way with suffering both she and her parents go through. All of them suffering.

That's at least how I write it. Something where you cannot pin to one side being terrible or evil. Just everyone being broken in a terrible world you have to fight with to make something better and both in a way... gave up. Until of course Moxxie comes along there for Stella and his presence helps her develop... but that's another thing.

I also have some quotes below from my fic to show my approach to both Stella and Stolas as characters. First one is Stolas and Octavia having a chat in the most recent chapter.

And here below is a scene between Stella and Moxxie where there is some discussion about theatre plays of Hell and difference between human and hellish ones delving into also her own view of the world (this IS a Stella/Moxxie crackship fic... just a big slowburn). From one of the earlier chapters.

Both I think probably show their own deep flaws and ways of coping with their own realities.

Now I don't say I want my ideas to be in the show, but more complex ones. Ones that are not just this... thing we've been fed for all of Season 2 and partially in Season 1 which could have been taken in a better direction, but it never was and just like one image here ruins another, here season 2 retroactively ruins the 1st one. Stella/Stolas/Octavia dynamic just has potential to be so much more than... whatever HB is now.

Well that was stupidly long and I can't imagine many people getting here, but hey. I wrote it and it's already too long to not post it. To whoever came this far I thank you and hope you will leave your opinion on this manifesto. Hope it was entertaining at least.

[maukree]

Masterpost with all parts Yay, here we are. Part 2 of my *not quite Civil War (616)—The Messiest Divorce in Superhero History specifically (or Civil War, which is mostly actual Civil War just for this part, with very little winteriron)—where everything gets dark, painful, and incredibly shippable for so many ships. Not gonna lie, the whole point of these posts is for me to catch up before I start working on my MTH fill for the 616-canon-heavy winteriron fic, and also to have a convenient resource to link to if MCU-only fans actually choose to read it and want to know what happened in canon versus what is complete bullshit for my writing pleasure. That said—this event is a goldmine for all kinds of ships. So I’ve snagged the juiciest bits for your reading (and thirsting) pleasure because every ship is valid, and I don’t discriminate. (Though, I have my favorites, so they’re gonna stand out.) Now—Tumblr has a 30-image limit per post, and I am not about to split Civil War into multiple parts here, so there is a lot of ground to cover in this. There will be more parts after this, so you get one post for Civil War specially, with as much crammed into it as I can, laid out as simply as possible—for me, and hopefully for you too. P.S. While my cover image lists the overall timeline and which series I discuss in terms of winteriron, Civil War and this part here hits the fan right smack in the middle of Captain America and The Invincible Iron Man (they each get a few issues inside), but there’s a lot of other crap happening too elsewhere. I’m not about to unpack every superhero’s massive tie-in series here in equal detail, but I will mention others before the first BIG fight and how they pertain to Tony, Bucky, Steve and Peter—because, obviously, that’s who we’re here for, and Peter is in the middle... 'cause he is kind of important here. If you want the full, issue-by-issue breakdown of every tie-in, crossover, and emotional kick in the nuts that happened, and you didn’t like the five-hour video I sent you to in Part 1, Marvel’s got you covered with their Complete Guide to the Civil War Event (or which order to read it at, which I am following here, sort of.) *visuals are after each arc/issue covered. Fair warning: this has a lot of food for irondad or starker, but this is canon, so just deal with it. K, click that Read More button, and let’s goooo into “holy shit, why are they like this?”

If you read this part you will know where Tony, Bucky and Steve are just after 616 Civil War is won by one side.

What triggered Civil War for real / Was used as an excuse for registration? Basically, the U.S. government has been side-eyeing caped vigilantes for years—tolerating their sometimes helpful, sometimes catastrophic crime-fighting because, well, they weren’t technically employees. Things had been escalating for a while, but the final straw was when a group of young, reality-TV-era superheroes (The New Warriors) tried to do their thing, and—shocker—it went terribly. Some guy called Nitro (not part of the New Warriors, just a villain doing villain things) exploded next to an elementary school during a fight with that chirpy young group, killing over 600 people, including a lot of kids. There was a national outrage, and nothing gets the government’s attention quite like untrained superhumans causing massive collateral damage in broad daylight that people complain about. Suddenly, Congress, the media, and your grandma had an opinion on whether superheroes should be running around unchecked, which has resulted in the Superhuman Registration Act (SRA or, sometimes SHRA)—which most people are probably more familiar with from the X-Men movies and whatnot (where it was basically “Mutants, go register”), or as the comic book equivalent of the Sokovia Accords in the MCU. The SRA demanded that all superheroes:

Register with the government.

Reveal their identities.

Undergo training.

Operate under official oversight.

Which… totally sounded reasonable to some people. But only some people. Sure, about half of the superhero community saw it as necessary law and order, but the other half saw it as the death of personal freedom. And that is how this Marvel Civil War came about in the comics. (They did have a second one waaaay later, but I am not getting into that.) The easy comparison with MCU here is:

Team Pro-Registration (led by Tony).

Team Anti-Registration (led by Steve).

Where it gets VERY different:

It has very little (nothing, but he's around) to do with Bucky.

It's long.

A lot of people are involved.

Fighters on each side die.

It gets twisted and very much downhill from here as far as Tony's bromance with Steve goes (or on the up, depends on how much you like your angst). And, yes, there is a possibility some of the characters would've remained alive (but, like, a lot of Marvel characters die and come back even more often in the comic books) if Tony and Steve had just fucked it out, honestly. The Amazing Spider-Man (1999): Mr. Parker Goes to Washington (#529-531) (Not actually released in 1999—the series itself started in 1999. Marvel’s way of naming shit and constantly renaming it will break your head, I swear.) This specific three-parter covers Tony dragging Peter into the most emotional relationship drama to ever drama. For clarity (and because I think I’m too funny and can’t resist commenting along), while Civil War is gearing up, Tony starts making deeply emotional decisions under the guise of strategy, and his first move is to recruit Peter and make sure he is on his side. Because obviously, if you’re about to start a massively controversial government-backed superhero initiative, the first person you want in your corner is the kid with no money, another tragic backstory, the worst luck in the history of caped crusading, but a very good sense of right and wrong. At this point in the timeline, Peter is living with Tony in the Avenger's tower, Tony is already acting like his chaotic billionaire stepdad while Peter is hitting it off with the Avengers on the daily. For real, Peter even calls him “Dad” once or twice, although mostly, he calls him “boss” and, what, do you know, he is actually his intern. MJ is staying with Peter, but you can ignore that. So what actually happens here relevant to Civil War beginnings: Tony takes Peter to Washington, D.C., where he’s testifying before Congress about superhero accountability. While in D.C., Tony gives Peter a new version of the Iron Spider suit (like two days after another new version ’cause he can’t stop spoiling him or, like, gearing him up for war or something, idk...) and starts laying the groundwork for making him his right-hand. There are a lot of father/son vibes, mentor/protégé vibes, and if you’re reading this through a Starker lens, well—Tony spends a lot of time complimenting Peter, and putting a hell of a lot of emotional weight on his presence.

Fact: Tony genuinely cares about Peter in here (not looking at it through starker lens right now, trying to think winteriron long game here), but he’s also desperate for allies as the political pressure builds. Because Peter is not just a good boy for Tony but good in general, he is clearly conflicted from the beginning about the government stepping in to control superheroes, but Tony reassures him that it’s the right thing to do and that he is actually working on stalling it and making sure it stays under control (he is being hella shady). Peter also trusts Tony implicitly (big mistake, buddy), and because this is the road to Civil War and not just Fun Congressional Trips With Tony and Pete, we also get some early signs of how badly this is going to go for everyone involved. So, Peter backs Tony up (as Peter, hiding his identity and later as Spider-Man, refusing to reveal his identity at the meeting), showing loyalty to Tony despite his own lingering doubts. This whole arc is really about Tony starting to make moves to secure the Pro-Registration side, and Peter—bless him—doesn’t fully grasp what he’s getting into yet. This is an awesome arc to read for anyone who likes Tony and Peter in any capacity, but it’s so clear that Tony doesn’t just care about Peter here—he needs him. He is also the guy who will, very soon, break Peter’s heart, and it’s very gutting. Like, they kick the whole event off with this, and you can feel your heart bleed in advance. Why this Matters for Civil War: Tony starts Civil War with Peter at his side, which will make it all the more painful when it inevitably falls apart. Peter’s trust in Tony is absolute at this point, and that will change—violently. Tony also secretly hires a bad guy to attack them in D.C. to make a point, and this should really be one of the many signs on how seriously Tony's starting here from the very beginning.

In Fantastic Four #536-537, Thor’s hammer crash-lands on Earth. This is a big deal because, at this point, Thor is 'not around', but everyone is trying to get their hands on his nutcracker. Naturally, Doctor Doom shows up, because if something cool falls from the sky, he’s contractually obligated to try and steal it. The reason the hammer is important is because Reed Richards is around for this, so while he’s not fully immersed in Civil War beginnings yet, he’s about to be. Also, Thor and his hammer specifically play a massive part in Civil War (stick a pin in that mental note). Doom doesn’t get the hammer, obviously, it just chills there because nobody can lift it. Following the Fantastic Four issues (but also technically happening before them—just go with it), we have New Avengers: Illuminati (2006) #1, which is basically a bunch of rich, powerful men sitting in a room and making decisions that will screw over everyone else. This issue gives us the Illuminati’s response to the SRA, aka a lot of self-important posturing. The Illuminati (Tony, Reed Richards, Namor, Doctor Strange, Black Bolt, and Charles Xavier) gather to discuss how this whole registration thing is about to go down. And—shocker—they do not agree. Everyone except Reed and Tony, who tend to agree on more things than people give them credit for, thinks that the SRA is a massive disaster waiting to happen. T'Challa is there too, and while he loves being complemented on how pretty his country is, he still tells them to fuck off. Politely. Namor flips off Tony too and nearly drowns him. It's a cool action sequence. So, nothing too exciting, but good to know. That said, this is side content I don’t personally care about, but will splash in here and there for basic understanding as needed, and not spend image limit on it (unless it extra cool).

Civil War (2006) #1 This is where things aren’t just leading to the breakup of Tony and Steve—this is where everything fully hits the fan. I’ve already covered the tragedy and the public outrage/last trigger for SRA, but let’s talk about a lovely parallel happening in the aftermath. During the funeral for the folks who died, Tony gets spit on. A grieving mother blames him personally for the deaths of all those children, since he's kinda bankrolling Avengers and stuff, and while Tony was not even remotely involved in this paticular Nitro-exploding and killing kids mess—just the cleanup—he takes it HARD. (Yeah, remember how badly he took everything in the movies? It's worse in the comics, and the woman is aggressive about it.) And regardless of whether it’s comic books or movies, if there’s one thing Tony cannot handle, it’s being told that his inaction led to innocent people dying. This is where his shady, kind-of-sorta “leaning” into supporting registration cements itself into a full send. Unfortunately for both sides of this war, Fury is nowhere to be found to smack some sense into people, because he pissed off the U.S. government (again) and is currently persona non grata. So instead, Maria Hill is running S.H.I.E.L.D, calls in Steve for a little chat, while a bunch of other heroes are off in various places having their “Should we let the government own our asses?” powwows. Hill, naturally, expects Steve to be the poster boy for the Superhuman Registration Act, because, you know, Captain America = America, right? Big mistake. Huge. I don’t know if it’s the way she talks to him in her “I’m in charge now, shut up and do what I say” tone, or the fact that she basically says, “Hey, so here’s the deal—there’s a new law coming down. You’re going to help us enforce it, and we’re going to use S.H.I.E.L.D. to make sure every superhero signs up. Cool? Cool.” Either way, Steve's response is HELL NO. Hill, in her usual charming manner, reacts to being blown off by trying to arrest him. Which is hilarious. Steve then proceeds to beat the crap out of some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, escape the Helicarrier, and go underground. But not to hang out with Fury who pops up at a later stage. Just underground, officially becoming the face of the Anti-Registration movement. Now, I’m probably not being fair to Hill (I actually do like her), but I am also Switzerland when it comes to comic book Civil War (and MCU Civil War), because both Tony and Steve are being absolute fucking idiots about literally everything in either canon. Frankly, Bucky is the only smart one when this takes place, and mostly 'cause he’s nowhere to be seen yet after ghosting Steve in London. He’s out there somewhere, probably drinking whiskey in a safe house, brooding about his past crimes, cleaning his guns, and for now busy NOT giving a single fuck about what's going on. While the love of his life that he hasn’t met yet (reminder: this is a winteriron timeline) is going out of his way to become the most hated man in the superhero community. Sad.

She-Hulk (2005) #8 is mostly a pointless tie-in to Civil War in the context of what I am trying to do here, but we do get a peek at Tony’s methods and how he’s running his “Collect ’Em All” campaign for Pro-Registration allies. Jennifer Walters (She-Hulk), has a bunch of things going on somewhat related to the main event, but the only one you need to know here is that Tony makes an appearance to give her information she needs for a case she is working on—“for free, not asking for anything, no strings attached” of course (which, lol, sure, Tony). This is a good look at how Tony operates. He’s not exactly strong-arming people right away, but you’d have to be blind not to pick up on the “Pick a side or get picked for one” vibes. In general, his methods vary through the Civil War, but you have to give it to him, he is very creative and approaches each person in a wickedly unique way. Crafty. He's crafty. In Wolverine (2003) #42, Logan is seen catching some heat and getting the “You’re not welcome here anymore” treatment from randoms, demonstrating how the baseline folks are reacting to what’s going on (although, when does he not get this heat, honestly?). He gets into a few debates with fellow supers about how the SRA is giving Nazi vibes, all while side-eyeing the Sentinel parked outside the X-Mansion pretending to be a lawn ornament and suspecting it’s not actually there for their “safety”. Wolverine isn’t my favorite in general, but he slaps in this, because instead of sitting around and yapping about whose side he’s on, he’s one of the few people actually making sense and decides that Nitro—the asshole who kickstarted this and exploded all over the place, killing all the people—hasn’t been rolled over by an avenging tank yet and it should probably be done. Right? The man has a point. Avengers. Tony tells him to drop it because “we have bigger problems”, but Logan is like “Yeah, nah” and sets off on a mission to gut Nitro with a fork (or, well, six of them), since someone here has priorities and actually takes being an Avenger (which he has been for a few months only tbh) seriously. I am not gonna talk about Wolverine much after this, so feel free to hunt down his issues on your own.

Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #532 This is one of my favorite issues, honestly, because this is the moment Tony asks Peter for everything, and Peter realizes what his loyalty to Tony actually means. In short, they visit the White House together (Tony brings him along to all the cool places, as you can see), and Peter’s life as he knows it gets irreversibly fed. This issue is a massive turning point because Tony wants a lot. And I mean, a lot. Up until this point, every time Spider-Man’s identity has been revealed, it’s been because a villain unmasked him—never voluntarily. But now, with the SRA officially getting signed by the president, the rules are clear: If you don’t register, you and your entire family become fugitives. Your assets will be confiscated, your safety will be gone, your life will be over, etc. AND if you do sign up, you might also have to snitch on others and hunt them down. Like… tough. Very tough. Tony, being the dramatic bastard that he is, casually admits to the President that he is Iron Man right there in the Oval Office, while Peter is completely missing this historic moment because he’s looking for a bathroom, checking out Secret Service agents, and admiring priceless art. (I respect his priorities.) Then comes the Big Ask. Tony wants Peter to do the same—to stand beside him and publicly reveal that he is Spider-Man to the world. Peter, reasonably, is not down for this plan at all initially, but Tony, ever the master manipulator with a heart, leaves Peter with a choice. (Sort of. Which is really no choice at all, if you think about it, since, if Peter refuses, his entire life crumbles.) MJ and Aunt May (especially May) help him process the decision, and while they ultimately support him, Peter himself is still torn right up until the last second. Even when he’s about to go to Tony with a YES, he still considers running. He even makes the arrangements to run, but doesn’t. The issue ends with Tony and Peter standing side by side at a podium, about to make this announcement. This issue slaps for both irondad and starker, honestly.

Civil War: Front Line (2006) #1 While superheroes are busy picking sides, Front Line follows the journalists stuck in the middle, trying to cover this mess—specifically Ben Urich (Daily Bugle, professional shit-stirrer) and Sally Floyd (indie journalist, professional snarker). The two of them are trying to make sense of the SRA fallout, tracking how the government is spinning the Stamford disaster (all those dead kids). In the same issue, Speedball—one of the good guys who accidentally got a school full of kids blown up when he was fighting Nitro—gets arrested, which is awkward as hell and also the first time on the page where someone flashes their S.H.I.E.L.D. badge to start arrests, signaling that things are starting to get really serious. Speedball has a VERY bad time after his arrest and is often used to remind us all that the places where supers who didn't fall in line go are not a spa. At all. Since this is essentially a press room issue, it ends with the reveal of Tony’s identity—that same press conference where we last left him with Peter. And LOL, DUDE, you do not begin this shit with “Hello. I am Tony Stark, and I am an alcoholic.” This. Is. What. He. Says. YES. While Peter is next to him, shaking in his boots and waiting for his very private life get gutted into pieces to support Tony's agenda.

Civil War (2006) #2 Following the first arrest, things are properly rolling downhill now. More arrests, the first betrayals, and the first real punches are about to happen. Tony, still fully committed to the government’s golden boy arc, is working with S.H.I.E.L.D. to form his superhero task force to hunt down the noncompliant capes. Steve has been AWOL since flipping off Hill but there is a resistance going on. I mean… it sounds good, right? For now, Tony looks like a total dick, and Steve is the hero. As a note, however, Tony is not being a complete blind asshole here, and does struggle with hoping they are doing the right thing just before SRA officially becomes law. Because comics don’t release in a neat timeline, the end of this issue is also where we get some lovely art of Peter unmasking during that press conference (the art shifts between comics, enjoy it and deal with it).

At this point, Civil War is fully spiraling, and the “oh shit, this is getting worse” moments are stacking up. In Thunderbolts (2006) #103, Tony and his team sign up the Thunderbolts—a group of villains-turned-government-enforcers (not to be confused with the MCU version, and no, Bucky is not here yet). And what is their job is to hunt down villain holdouts and then recruiting them to hunt down more holdouts. Yes, the plan is literally “let’s get criminals to enforce the law.” Things are just getting plain weird and scary and in Civil War: Front Line (2006) #2, the press and civilians are starting to get real nervous about how Tony is taking down people who used to be on the side of good with very little prejudice for not complying. Essentially, the whole “this is about protecting people” argument is starting to look flimsy AF when actual normal people are watching buildings collapse and their heroes get thrown into Superhero Guantanamo. Nobody is having a good time at this stage, but, to lighten the mood, Peter gets fired from the Daily Bugle via headline: “YOU’RE FIRED!”

New Avengers (2004) #21 is where we properly get into Steve’s headspace, and IT IS HILARIOUS. This issue is basically Steve being alone and sad after flipping off Maria Hill and instantly regretting everything, including his own existence. He angsts for most of it, because of course he does, and at some point, Bucky makes a 0.5-second flashback appearance, because it wouldn’t be a Steve issue if he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself and reminiscing about people he’s lost. The vibe here is “I should draw my feelings or write a book” (multiple panels on him trying to do that), but instead of actually dealing with his trauma of being a fugitive, which he is very upset about, he just… keeps brooding. Then S.H.I.E.L.D. sends Dum Dum Dugan to bring Steve in, and that’s when the paranoia kicks in. Suddenly, Steve is feeling betrayal from all angles (fair), and even Falcon catches some suspicion, even though they are best buds in this, since Bucky is out there gallivanting somewhere, not getting involved yet. After Steve and Falcon reunite, they set off on a noble quest titled: “Let’s Make Civil War About Peter Parker, Because He’s the First Pick for Everyone.” They gently stalk Peter to see if he’d be down to join Team Cap, but they are very late. Steve is devastated, because Peter once called him cute, and now Peter is already firmly on Tony’s side, kinda-sorta-but-actually-yes. And if that wasn’t enough betrayal for one issue, Hank Pym tries to help S.H.I.E.L.D. to arrest Cap, which really just solidifies the whole “Steve is having the worst week of his life” situation. Maybe if Steve had actually talked to Peter instead of stalking him, Peter would have called him cute again, and Civil War would have ended right there, since our sunshine babydoll can make everyone see light. But alas.

As you probably picked up on already, Peter is right smack in the middle of this, as mentioned about 10,000 times. In Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #533, they fully cover how much his life went to absolute shit after that press conference. It wasn’t just getting fired. Everyone wants a piece of him now. Some people want to kill him, a lot of people want to fuck him, and the internet is absolutely losing its collective mind. (For real—his unmasking breaks the internet, including the porn sites. FACTS.) At the same time, Peter is deeply uneasy about everything, and Tony is “comforting” him while simultaneously sharpening his betrayal knife. The same knife where Tony does not ASK Peter if he wants to be part of his superhero-hunting strike force and instead, he just signs him up publicly without permission. Peter, already on his WTF is going on subplot, doesn’t even get time to process any of this properly before Tony cranks the drama to 11, piling on on top of his little 'favor' to reveal his identity and says: “Hold my beer, meet your new teammates, and get ready—because the dying is about to fucking start tomorrow.” Whelp.

Things don’t actually escalate to full-on hero-on-hero-we-give-a-crap-about murder aka THE BIG WTF MOMENT just yet (patience), but people are getting hurt just for trying to not pick a side, and crime is skyrocketing because, shockingly, when heroes are too busy planning on punching each other, villains thrive. In Fantastic Four (1998) #538 Johnny is in a coma because a mob beat him within an inch of his life just for existing as a super, the Fantastic Four are already crumbling and even Reed’s own family thinks he’s being a dick. (And they are correct.) He is so firmly on Tony’s side that it’s almost embarrassing, and I suspect some consensual touching is involved to be this stupidly on board with Tony, but I digress here too, since I don’t even know if this is a ship. There’s some setup happening for later events, but we’re not going Mariana Trench deep here, so let’s move on. Oh, someone does pick up Thor’s hammer. I wonder who that is. Over in Civil War: Front Line (2006) #3, the press is still deep in the trenches, and there is a lot of talking happening. Everyone is talking. Some folks are being interviewed. Nobody is doing shit. It's getting... boring. It's also getting very confusing.

BUT.

We are FINALLY, at least in this ‘brief’ (ah, who the fuck am I kidding here) recap, at the stage where I am mentally prepared to talk about The Great Civil War Standoff (aka, Please, Just Start Punching Already) and promptly skip to HOLY FUCK NOT THIS MUCH PUNCHING, boooooys, what are you doing??? (I rock myself in the corner.) As mentioned, the whole thing sorta stalls while each side is staring at each other with deep, unspoken yearning, waiting for the BIG fight, while smaller fights start breaking out all over the place. And because event comics are an actual nightmare, I am going to stop talking about the tie-ins here. I’ve set the scene, now just assume there’s a TON of random skirmishes happening, Cap and Spider-Man have already thrown hands (yo, this pretends to be a winteriron timeline, go look for your shippy business elsewhere, I am hungry), a bunch of unimportant extras are getting hurt or worse, and at this point, it’s just Tony vs. Steve and their twisted moral compasses playing an extremely violent game of chicken. I know, I know—I am taking a big skip after I just dropped an obscene amount of lore on you. But listen. Event tie-ins, and I cannot state it enough, are so messy and out of order while… being in order, sorta. You get to one good bit, and then Marvel chucks another 2,000 issues between you and the next good bit, and suddenly, you’re sitting there, waiting for the cliffhanger to be explained while trying to remember why the hell you should care what Quicksilver was doing five minutes before it happened and why you can’t just skip ahead to the yummy shit. Headache material, honestly. So, anyway. The scene has been set. Yay. Civil War is in progress. What we know now and what I am desperately trying to remember here:

Bucky is still in the wind.

Steve’s resistance is being annoying and resisting, but occasionally making sense, gaining traction, and also getting innocent people hurt left and right.

Tony is entering his “I am a very scary man” era and is also getting people hurt left and right, both physically and emotionally.

Peter is still with Tony but is having a minor existential crisis every five minutes on the account of emotional hurt, and barely any other Marvel issue in this timeline doesn't have an opinion on why he is still with Tony, is he sucking his dick or what, 'thought he was the good guy'/'ah yeah, this is why Tony needed him', etc.

The X-Men are staying out of it, mostly, because they’ve seen this movie before.

Deadpool and Cable, as well as about a gazillion other supers, have their own shit going on, but I refuse to get into that.

The Thunderbolts are being shady, surprise surprise, and they only get an honorable mention here ‘cause I’ve mentioned them earlier to demonstrate Tony’s spiral into being not just a bit of an asshole but very much an asshole.

Reed is so into Tony that he’s about to do something crazy. (I don’t even know if the touching is consensual at this point, since he is absolutely whipped by Tony, and it stinks of Stockholm syndrome.) So, now that we have decided on where we are and had a cup of tea/smoke, let’s have a look at the actual Civil War issues as they proceed, Captain America Civil War issues and Iron Man issues, skip a bunch of other important shit after, but ultimately, get to where we need to be before Part 3 of me posting (some other day) because I want to talk about Tony and Bucky and not about Civil War.

Civil War (2006) #3 Alright, we are finally here, because Civil War #3 is where shit gets real. Tony, being the tactical genius and emotionally constipated mess that he is, decides that it’s time to spring a trap on Team Cap. He and his Pro-Reg team set up a fake distress call because Steve is Steve, and if there’s even the slightest chance someone needs saving, he’s gonna show up. Boom. Steve does, of course, and Steve and his Underground Resistance walk straight into it. This finally gives us the most tense superhero standoff so far, with S.H.I.E.L.D. hovering overhead, a ton of supers on both sides locked, loaded, and ready to throw hands, and Peter right in the middle, not knowing how the fuck he got stuck with this lot. Tony, to his credit, tries to be the adult here. He actually reaches out, extends an olive branch, and tries to talk some sense into Steve before this escalates into full-out war (okay, okay, he tells him to chill the fuck out and comply, in slightly different words, but there is an actual amnesty Tony has worked out if Steve goes willingly, so he did try). Steve, being the absolute icon of stubbornness that he is, nods. Agrees to talk, at least. And immediately tries to take Tony down using some sneaky tech. Which gives us Tony vs. Steve, and it is GLORIOUS. These two beat the absolute crap out of each other, while everyone else on their respective teams also starts brawling (dozens/hundreds), with caped bodies flying, punches being thrown, and Peter still mostly blinking, but also fighting, while being upset that he failed to mediate between his two extremely stupid super dads and is not enjoying the whole “exhausted child of divorce” role they’ve been trying to pin on him. The fight between Tony and Steve is brutal, but Tony actually has an edge, since he’s Extremis-enhanced, a tech genius, years ahead in strategy, bla-bla-bla—so Steve is struggling. It goes on for a while, this fight, and then, the cliffhanger to end all cliffhangers. Because Thor (codename “Lightning”—this is important) shows up to backup Team Tony. Which shouldn’t be a big deal, right? We suspected it, since hammer and all, but... christ.

Civil War #4 is where we go from “Oh shit” to “OH FUCK NO.” The Thor that shows up at the end of Civil War #3 is not… actually Thor? Only in comic books, folks, since he’s a clone that Tony, Reed, and Hank Pym cooked up in a lab. While Team Cap is a bit shook, (they take Thor being a god of thunder seriously, he’s also been presumed dead for ages), Tony is trying to get Steve to give up, but Steve is having none of it. It seems largely (ha!) in favor of Team Tony right now, until Goliath (a massive giant person, can shrink down, used to be buddies with Thor, actually) shows up for Team Cap and Thor… kills the fuck out of his nice buddy, making everyone, Tony included, freeze in a “what the actual fuck just happened?” terror, since innocents getting hurt and extras getting hurt are sorta… whatever, but this is one of their own, technically, biting it. Team Cap calls for a retreat, very shook, and Reed’s Sue Storm is the first important superhero to straight-up bail on the Pro-Registration side right this moment because she is DONE with this bullshit and with Reed, who has been such an asshole to Fantastic Four, honestly—not giving a crap about Johnny being in a coma and possibly (at the very least emotionally) cheating on her with Tony. Sue is so done that she shields Team Cap long enough for them to get away, and after the fight writes Reed a dramatic “I’m leaving you, please feed yourself, there’s oily fish” note, and takes Johnny (who is no longer in a coma, yay!) with her to fight the good fight, or a fight, as long as it's not on Reed's side. And on both sides, folks on the sideline are starting to really question leadership and what kind of fight it really is. Peter is actually asking, “Wait… are we the baddies?” having massive doubts about Tony, and Steve doesn’t seem to give a shit how many of his friends get hurt, and it’s all very fucking gutting and not even a little funny. In general, this looks bad for both Steve and Tony, because Steve is throwing his side against Tony’s like cannon fodder and doesn’t seem to listen to anyone’s opinions on the fact that amnesty is at least worth discussing at this point, and Tony is after causing massive (ha!) death with a faulty clone, so a lot of superheroes are—if not outright bailing and changing sides now—at least considering it. Tony actually pays for Goliath’s funeral, since he was a cool guy and didn’t shrink down after dying. Had to buy him a massive amount of plots because, well… giant. Has a gutting interaction with his widow that tries to remind him what Tony is doing this for to begin with. For me this is a very important issue for Tony's character in this. He pays for Goliath’s funeral, because that’s who Tony is—he genuinely does care. But instead of acknowledging that this is the moment to stop, to rethink, to pull back, he keeps going, because, sadly, caring doesn’t stop him from marching forward and getting deeper and deeper into this.

Captain America (2004) #22 – The One Where Steve Gets Laid (and Sharon Gets Therapy for related reasons)

While Tony and Steve are busy emotionally wrecking each other on a public stage, we take a brief (very) detour into the mess that is Steve Rogers’ love life. Hill, who has been on a power trip ever since Fury went underground, decides that since Steve is still out there resisting like a stubborn bastard, someone needs to bring him in. And who better than his kinda-ex, kinda-current, definitely-in-love-with-him S.H.I.E.L.D. agent girlfriend?

Sharon is not thrilled because she’s really not here for the double standards. Like, Tony liaises (👀) with half of the superhero community, according to her, and the better half of S.H.I.E.L.D and nobody gives him shit, but the moment she has a little love crisis and starts questioning where her loyalty actually lies, suddenly, it’s a whole thing.

But fine. Mission accepted.

Sharon sets out to “bring Steve in”—by which I mean she tracks him down, immediately bangs him, and then quotes dead presidents at him in the post-coital glow. And because it's also Steve's love language, he also starts quoting dead presidents back. (If you’ve ever wondered what Steve’s pillow talk is like, now you know.)

Now, in case you were still wondering whether Sharon is truly down bad for Steve, let’s talk about how she sabotaged her own mission by giving the strike team (cape-killers) the wrong address. On purpose. So she could a) bang Steve and b) display her undying passion for those dead president quotes.

And this is why Sharon is in therapy. Because, as it turns out, this is how S.H.I.E.L.D. traditionally deals with traitors.

For those who remember what I talked about in Part 1 of this pre-civil war, here is something: Red Skull and Lukin are still out there, watching all of this unfold like it’s their personal Netflix binge, and they are THRIVING. They love that the heroes who should be stopping them are too busy punching each other instead. And because they are absolute dickheads, they are also actively manipulating Sharon’s emotions to make her feelings for Steve even stronger.

(Which explains the banging. Though, let’s be honest—she was into it.)

Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #535 (and half of the next Spider-Man-specific issue, sorta) – The One Where Tony Officially Breaks Peter’s Heart (And Ours) Alright, kids, this is it, and you should be thankful I made you crack a smile over dead presidents (hopefully), because this is crying-level shit.

This is where Peter starts realizing that maybe, just maybe, signing up with Tony was a colossal fucking mistake— and not just sorta feeling it.

Tony, still deeply entrenched in his “I Am the Government Now” phase, still has a soft spot for Peter (awww, tragic) and when Peter demands to see where the prisoners he is bringing in and not loving it are kept, Tony decides that it’s time to give Peter the full tour of the Negative Zone prison (a very dodgy place, tbh).

And our science nerd, all-around good guy, man with a conscience—takes one look at the absolute nightmare Tony has built and goes, “Wait. What the actual fuck is this? You can't be serious.” Tony: “Oh, yeah, this? This is where we’re locking up heroes who don’t register. Indefinitely. Without trial. In a literal alternate dimension, so no lawyer can ever get them out.” Peter, blinking hard, possibly resisting the urge to throw up: “…Excuse me?” Peter tries to confront Tony about it, he does, but very quickly catches on that Tony is not above implying he can do the same to him. Which is… whelp.

The whole conversation goes something like this, if you want a slightly longer version (see visuals for the full one): Peter: “Hey, Tony, quick question—what the fuck?” Tony: “Ah, Peter, my boy, don’t worry about it, this is for the greater good.” Peter: “The greater good? Again, what the fuck?” Tony: “You’re being dramatic.” Peter: “Am I? Am I though?” Tony: “Peter…” Peter: “Dad?” (happens) Tony promptly tries to ship Peter off on some other business to get him to cool off, but Peter is finally on board with the fact that this man has cracked, and he no longer feels safe around him. He doesn't even trusts MJ and Aunt May with Tony anymore (threats have been made) and tries to take them and go on the run. And then… He and Tony end up exchanging punches. God, it’s so bad and upsetting, you have no idea. I have no jokes for this, and ship it, don’t ship it, but this is the ultimate betrayal on Tony’s part. Peter is falling apart after, barely escaping, not knowing where to go, and Tony… is also feeling heartbroken, equally as gutted. I’m gonna leave this here for now, since we need to go into some other issues before we continue with this plotline. But you get me, yes? I need tissues when I think about this.

Captain America (2004) #23 - BUCKY!

Alright, everyone, take a deep breath. We are finally getting to the Bucky part of this winteriron timeline.

Bucky is officially entering the chat, and he is looking DAMN FINE while doing it, got a new hair-dew + arm and everything. He also has a lot of feelings while breaking into a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility to pull some spy shit for Fury, because of course he is, and I am devastated I am running out of image limit here soon.

He’s absolutely judging Steve for leading a resistance movement and somehow not inviting him... and sorta doing it the way he's doing it.

He’s also side-eyeing Tony for being a government stooge, even though that’s neither here nor there, since they don’t actually know each other at all (yet), but awareness is awareness, and it still doesn’t stop him from forming an opinion.

Bucky is, in fact, just generally pissed. And sexy. Always sexy. But the best part—and why Bucky really should be shaking hands with Peter here (another shoutout to winterspider)—is that Bucky is watching Steve and Tony’s breakup in real-time and judging both of them.

His basic thoughts on the matter boil down to “Wow, I left you two alone for five minutes, and this is what happens?” since while Steve and Tony are out here making Civil War everyone’s problem, Bucky is off-screen, forced into being hot and competent, actually doing something productive by hunting real villains.

He has zero actual desire to get involved in the war itself, though he does seem to be more pro-Steve, obviously, and is way more concerned about Red Skull and Lukin than he is about whatever the hell Steve and Tony are doing.

Speaking of villains, Red Skull, who we find out is using Doom’s tech but not actually working with him, is under the impression that the whole Civil War was his big, evil, successful plan. (It wasn’t, everyone contributed, but let’s humor him.)

On the slightly more angsty side—because Bucky never misses an opportunity for angst, picked it up from Steve—he does blame himself a little bit for Civil War, since some of the shit he did when he first got defrosted was cited as part of the long-ass list of “Why the SRA Needs to Exist.” Not that he’s spiraling over it, but he’s self-aware enough to recognize he helped fuel the fire. But mostly, he’s doing what Bucky kicks ass at—being hot in shadows, judging everyone, avoiding Steve’s nonsense, avoiding Tony’s nonsense, and handling actual problems. God, I want his babies.

Civil War (2006) #5

Where we swing back to Tony being a massive dick about almost everything—except for the fact that he loves Peter, one way or another.

At this point, they are sorta in the process of arguing/fighting (there is some timeline overlap), Peter is trying to run away from him, and when S.H.I.E.L.D. is about to take it too far, Tony absolutely panics because he cannot see Peter hurt.

But Peter is now technically a fugitive, and Tony’s side has recruited some deeply unhinged people, so it’s open season on Spidey, with very specific instructions that Peter is to be brought in alive and unharmed—no matter what.

That would have been great… except Peter is now running on pure panic and heartbreak, immediately realizes he is completely fucked, ends up in a stinky sewer, and gets his ass kicked into next week.

He almost dies but gets saved by Punisher of all people, who promptly brings him to Steve and the Resistance (where Sue and Johnny are pretending to be a married couple for a mission, which is weird—let’s not talk about it).

Meanwhile, Tony is spiraling. Again.

His entire strategy is falling apart, Sue Storm has already dumped Reed over this bullshit war, Steve is still out there leading his resistance, and now his own protégé—his son in all but name—has turned against him.

Tony is visibly wrecked over Peter’s defection, but since he has the emotional processing skills of a brick, he just channels all that heartbreak into “fine, let’s get Daredevil arrested next” energy, which he does—for which he is given a piece of silver and called Judas. (Brutal.)

That’s not to say Tony doesn’t care. He very clearly does, and this issue makes it obvious that he still sees Peter as a kid who needs protection, even when Peter himself doesn’t want it. But his way of showing it is, unfortunately, locking up Peter’s friends in a pocket dimension and putting a hit out on him (technically), so, uh… yeah.

Meanwhile, Steve is also getting more extreme, starting to questionably recruit people he normally wouldn’t, and letting Punisher into his little rebellion. (Which is definitely going to end well. Totally.) He is also over the moon Peter is on his side now and announces it to the others while... Peter is still unconscious. Now tell me both Steve and Tony are not simply fighting here over who gets to read him a bedtime story? Come on.

The Invincible Iron Man (2004) #13 & Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #536: (Tony’s Possible Career Change & Peter’s “Fuck You” Tour)

Alright, so The Invincible Iron Man (2004) #13 is technically Tony’s first solo Civil War issue, but fuck all actually happens.

It’s mostly a lot of “Tony, what the fuck are we doing?” meetings, brooding with some old friends, chatting to Happy while being deeply unhappy, and simultaneously spiraling, yet still, and committing war crimes in the name of national security. (Multitasking, sure.)

But one major thing does happen here, and while it’s just an offer at this point, it’s HUGE:

They start floating the idea of Tony taking over as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

At this point, S.H.I.E.L.D. is still running itself into the ground under Maria Hill’s special brand of leadership, but someone suggests that maybe, just maybe, the guy who is single-handedly running the actual show anyway should just be in charge of the whole thing.

And while that doesn’t happen just yet, it changes EVERYTHING for what happens post-Civil War. When it finally comes, is going to be a game-changer for his relationship with Bucky later on. (Yes, we are keeping our winteriron priorities straight, thank you.)

So, while this is happening and I am yawning 'cause Tony's first issue is so fucking underwhelming, in the Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #536, we pick up from Peter’s dramatic escape and near-death sewer experience, and things are finally coming to a head.

Peter, now officially 100% done with Tony’s bullshit, does something that could not be a bigger middle finger if he tried.

He digs out his old, classic Spider-Man suit (because fuck the Iron Spider, fuck you, Tony, I called you Dad unironically, you were my family, WTF), goes on national TV, and gives a full speech dragging the entire SRA, the Civil War, and Tony himself.

And as a helpful reminder here… Peter is not a “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” in these comic books—he is a fucking legend, a bright, shining beacon of good for so many people (while still a menace to others, of course), and what he says actually matters.

For all of my shippy jokes and the subtext, there is a real reason why both sides want him. And it’s not just because he’s hella adorable and can kick things really hard.

When he talks, people listen. And when he does start talking, he absolutely obliterates the SRA, calls it unconstitutional, publicly calls out the people supporting it, and tells the world that he refuses to be part of it anymore. Tony loses his shit.

Okay, okay, some food for thought here, for once not related to ships I see everywhere (I have a sick mind and you are somehow still reading this, so don't ask me what's wrong with me and I will not ask you what's wrong with you).

Now, before anyone grabs their pitchforks, this is not me defending Tony’s actions (man makes a LOT of mistakes, obviously), but it is also worth remembering that he’s not a total monster here. He genuinely believes that what he’s doing is necessary, and unlike in the MCU where it’s all “let’s get a leash because one building blew up and we might have destroyed a country” the 616 version of Tony actually has a more thought-out (if deeply flawed) reason for being on the Pro-Reg side.

So, what is Tony trying to sell people on here?

Superheroes need to be trained. The trigger event for the SRA was a bunch of untrained, reality-TV-era heroes going up against a villain way out of their league, and as a result, a school full of children exploded. From Tony’s perspective, this was preventable. If these heroes had been properly trained, those kids (and some other people, but I mostly say kids, this is me not being nitty-gritty accurate about everything) wouldn’t be dead. This is not entirely wrong, but his method of fixing it is basically turning superheroes into government employees and locking up anyone who doesn’t comply, which is… less great.

The public has lost trust in superheroes. And Tony, unlike Steve, actually cares about public perception, comes with his brand and all. He sees this as a way to restore faith in the superhero community by offering transparency and accountability. The problem is obviously the way it’s being enforced is, again, deeply flawed and increasingly authoritarian.

The alternative, in his mind, is worse. He is absolutely cracked as far as Peter is concerned (fair), but here’s where Tony’s futurist brain actually screws him over—because he is not wrong when he says that if the superheroes don’t regulate themselves, the government will do it for them, and it’ll be worse. He thinks he’s getting ahead of the inevitable, but instead of negotiating and making sure the law is fair, he enforces it like an actual jackbooted stormtrooper.

So yeah, Tony is still a mess, and he’s still doing a lot of fucked-up things, but his core reasoning isn’t as evil as some people paint it in here and maybe even not as bad as I paint it overall in this recap.

He truly thinks he’s saving lives and making the world safer. He’s just doing it in the most morally questionable, emotionally compromised way possible, and at some point, even he knows it’s spiraling. That doesn’t excuse the Negative Zone prison or bounty hunting his own allies, engaging in shady business and, Jesus Fuck, cloning Thor, but it does explain why he started down this path in the first place. Tony is also on the side of the law and, for the most part, public opinion here (mostly, since actual normal public is scared AF right now). The problem is, the law isn’t always right, and Tony, in all his genius, somehow keeps forgetting that.

Now let’s hop over to Steve (“Oh No, Babe, What Are You Doing?” should be the title of his entire movement) and talk about how his ideals are great but his execution is a trainwreck. Look, Steve is not wrong—but he’s also not right in the way he thinks he is. And the biggest issue with Steve in Civil War is that his entire approach boils down to “Fuck No.” That’s it. No. No compromise. No alternative plan. Just hardcore, unwavering, freedom-loving NO. Steve’s Core Beliefs in Civil War:

"This is about freedom." Steve believes heroes should have the right to make their own choices about when and how they act, and he fundamentally rejects the idea that they should be forced to register. (Fair point, buddy, but maybe think of a Plan B? No? Cool, cool.)

"If the government can force us to do this, what’s next?” Steve has read a history book before and is fully aware that government overreach never stops at just one bad idea. And considering how mutants have already been treated (X-men and mutants are a very persecuted group here), he is not about to wait around and find out what comes next.

“I will not be controlled.” Instead of seeing if there’s a way to meet halfway or at least slow things down, Steve immediately goes, “Fuck this,” ditches his government job, and starts an underground resistance movement.

Which brings us to Steve’s biggest flaw in Civil War. Where Steve Screws Up:

Steve doesn’t even TRY to negotiate. Tony, for all his shady billionaire manipulation tactics, at least pretended to be open to discussion. Steve refused outright. Instead of using his influence to propose a better system when he still absolutely can, he straight-up vanishes into the night like Batman with extra patriotism.

His resistance is a mess. Unlike Tony, who is (somewhat) organizing a structured system, Steve’s team is basically “whoever wants to punch the government in the face” with no real plan beyond “resist.” He takes Punisher in, for crying out loud. There are no rules, no real discussions about alternatives, and no clear path forward with Steve's movement at all. This means his resistance is a bunch of scared, desperate heroes who are putting civilians in danger while trying to evade capture and kinda... all want to go home.

He is willing to let people get hurt for his cause. People are getting hurt left and right, not just his own team but also civilians caught in the crossfire. Instead of adapting or trying to find a smarter way forward, Steve just keeps doubling down, because this man went all-in on a bad bet and refuses to walk away from the table.

He does not listen. To anyone. A lot of people would have been on his side if he had actually tried to talk about a solution instead of running headfirst into a guerrilla war. Even when his own people start to question him, he digs his heels in and refuses to budge. Fuck them and the horse they rode in on is basic response to any "Emm... dude?"

Steve vs. Tony: The Real Tragedy

Steve sees Tony as a sellout, Tony sees Steve as reckless and the reality here is that they’re both kind of right.

Steve is fighting for freedom, but his method is chaotic and ultimately very dangerous. Tony is trying to prevent chaos, but his method is authoritarian, ruthless, and deeply problematic. And this is why Civil War is what it is. And why it is a lot more fun than the MCU one, if you properly get into it. At the end of the day, comic book Civil War isn’t just about laws and the SRA—it’s about two men who genuinely believe they’re doing the right thing, both completely incapable of seeing the middle ground. And, well… it all ends in disaster, obviously.

Captain America (2004) #24: In which Steve takes a page out of Bucky's book and punches the right people (for, like, 5 whole seconds) for a change. Finally! A break from all the Civil War emotional trauma to remind us that, yeah, Steve is a hero first, war criminal second. I am gonna guess it’s because we’re getting close to the finish line here (you are nearly free, yay!), so they just had to show Steve fighting someone other than his own friends for once. Progress. For… reasons.

He’s still knee-deep in Civil War Resistance mode, but he remembers for one night that there are actual bad guys in the world and focuses on a real threat: Hydra. (Or Hydra-adjacent assholes. And explosions. Lots of explosions.)

So, in this quick issue, Steve teams up with Sharon, who is now secretly working with Fury (who is still underground being an off-brand James Bond with a cigar budget, doing his own resistance thing much better), and together, they take on some good ol’ Hydra goons. Well, Steve takes on Hydra goons by blowing them up (probably killing them, but let’s just say “off-screen unconsciousness” for the sake of the PG-13 rating), and Sharon rolls in with her flying car to rescue him from S.H.I.E.L.D.

And, oh yeah, Red Skull is still lurking in the background, thriving on the fact that the Civil War is keeping everyone too distracted to stop him. He’s over here cackling like a Scooby-Doo villain, making sure Steve and Tony stay too busy ruining each other’s lives to notice he’s playing puppet master behind the scenes. (Smart move, honestly. Props to him for being the one guy who actually planned his shit out properly.)

Look, the details might be fuzzy (it’s getting late for me here), but the core takeaway is this: Cap is actually being Captain America again for an entire issue—stopping real threats, foiling evil plans, and protecting people instead of just yeeting his side at Tony’s.

The Invincible Iron Man (2004) #14

A good Tony issue following a good Steve issue… I wonder why that is. Not a good issue in the sense that Tony’s thriving—oh no, this man is drowning in consequences—but good in the sense that we finally get a proper deep dive into the emotional wreckage that is Tony Stark, destroyer of friendships, king of bad decisions, and certified government tool (actual fucking tool, honestly, but I love him and he can have Bucky’s babies, though I am not into mpreg).

This issue is actually packed.

Happy is dying in a hospital bed, Steve is still actively resisting arrest, Peter is on a fugitive road trip, and Sue Storm is ready to rip Tony’s head off for ruining her marriage. The government is still offering him more power, because sure, let’s give the stressed-out man on the verge of a breakdown full control over the most powerful intelligence agency on Earth.

Anyhow… not to go into too much detail here, but Tony cannot resist one last chance to talk things out with Steve and arranges a stadium meeting with Cap. You might think, “Oh, good, they’re going to try reasoning with each other like adults!” HAHAHA, NOPE.

The meeting lasts about five seconds before it devolves into a fight, which Steve… starts again. The emotional tension is through the roof, Peter is there too (aww, hurts), and they’re not just fighting over the SRA, they’re fighting over their entire broken relationship. If someone played “It’s Time to Go” by Taylor Swift over this sequence, it would fit perfectly.

Though Tony actually mostly fights with Peter here and still manages to pay him a compliment in the process, giving us hope that not all is lost, which we desperately need. But overall, the whole thing is still a disaster. Life is fully kicking Tony's ass from all directions, the temptation to drown it in whiskey is creeping back in, he is considering hitting the bottle, and… Tony is at a crossroads. He’s losing everyone who ever mattered to him, his side is looking increasingly shady, and the weight of everything is crashing down on him. We actually get some raw, human, vulnerable Tony, instead of just “mustache-twirling villain” Tony. So yeah, finally, a good Tony issue.

In case you were wondering, Peter is in fact fully on team Cap now, not just for the stadium fight, and in the Amazing Spider-Man (1999) #537 still has his morals intact (bless him), and this issue is about reinforcing that.

So, Steve—who is now basically Peter’s new/old father figure, 'sits' him down and hits him with the big speech.

And, my GOD, does he deliver it.

He drops one of the most iconic Captain America monologues in all of comic book history:

“Doesn’t matter what the press says. Doesn’t matter what the politicians or the mob say. Doesn’t matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. This nation was founded on one principle above all else: the requirement that we stand up for what we believe, no matter the odds or the consequences.”

And you just know this wrecks Peter emotionally, because this is exactly the kind of moral backbone that made him idolize heroes in the first place. This is the moment where Peter fully solidifies his stance. He’s not just on Team Cap because he got burned by Tony—he believes in what Steve is saying. Tony is having an emotional crisis over Peter leaving, which I completely understand, and... Peter also throws some flirty one-liners at the Cap, since our babe can't help it.

Civil War (2006) #6 and we are at maximum endgame (ugh, still hurts) mode now.

At this point in the war, neither side is even pretending to be civil despite moments of personal growth, slash remembering who they are, and both Steve and Tony have fully committed to their respective roles as Head of the Underground Resistance (Steve) and CEO of Government Overreach Inc. (Tony).

We start off with Tony and Reed in full villain arc, sipping coffee and talking about how crime rates are dropping (I have no idea how, since all the superheroes are busy beating the shit out of each other instead of fighting crime, but never mind me), and immediately move on to the Punisher deciding today is the day for homicide.

He sneaks into the Baxter Building (as one does) to steal information on “Number 42” which is not Tony’s latest suit model but instead the name for his prison in the Negative Zone where they’re throwing unregistered heroes indefinitely and that caused Peter and Tony to block each other on Facebook.

Totally normal, non-dystopian behavior, nothing to see here.

Sue Storm is out here making power moves too, pulling up to Atlantis and trying to convince Namor to get off his fishy ass and help Team Cap. Namor, in true “I am too sexy to care” fashion, basically shrugs and says, “Surface problems? Sounds like a you problem,” before dramatically flipping his cape and walking away. (Sue, girl, I admire the effort and only mention it, cause you are one of the very few truly likable characters in this Event.)

Back at Team Cap’s HQ, Steve unveils his master plan: an all-out raid on the Negative Zone prison to free their captured allies. The team is hyped, ready for action—until Punisher casually murders two villains in cold blood right in front of everyone because they dared to ask if they could help. Steve, who may be a war criminal but still has standards, absolutely loses it and beats the hell out of Frank before throwing him out of the rebellion.

Tony on his end is having an emotional meeting with Miriam Sharpe (aka, “Tony’s #1 Fan Who Also Made Him Feel Like Shit at That Funeral”). He throws some cash at a pretty garden with angels for the dead kids, she thanks him for all his hard work but also makes it clear that, yeah, this war is costing him everything. (Gee, thanks for the reminder, Miriam, I’m sure Tony didn’t notice he’s lost literally all of his friends by now.)

The issue ends with Steve pulling a classic Uno Reverse Card on Tony. The Pro-Reg forces think they’re about to stomp the rebellion once and for all, but—surprise, bitches!—Team Cap knew there was a mole in their ranks (Ragnarök, I’m looking at you, you Dollar Store Thor knockoff), and they had Hulkling impersonate Hank Pym to sneak in and free all the captured heroes before the fight even starts. So, yeah. Big-ass battle incoming, and I can nearly go to sleep.

Civil War (2006) #7 You’ve made it! (I low-key question if anyone actually did make it this far, but I am very into this now, so…)

This is the big one. The final battle. The moment where all this superhero divorce drama comes to a head, and oh my God, it is so much.

So, after about a million issues of emotional devastation, betrayal, and Peter collecting father figures like infinity stones, we finally get the massive all-out brawl between Team Cap and Team Tony. And when I say massive, I mean half the Marvel Universe is throwing hands in the middle of New York City. Superpowered beings are crashing through buildings, explosions are going off everywhere, and don't ask me why they thought “protecting civilians” and “obliterating the city” were compatible ideas.

Steve and Tony really do go at it like two exes who just found out they were sleeping with the same person (Peter, doll, what are you doing? Kidding, kidding).

Steve is beating the absolute shit out of Tony, and Tony—who is running on the fumes of guilt and exhaustion—lets him.

Because Tony is ready to die. That’s right. Tony, who has been holding onto control like his life depends on it (because it literally does), just gives up, drops the metaphorical gloves, and basically tells Steve: “Go ahead, finish it.”

And Steve almost does.

(Not to draw parallels here, but Bucky tried to pull the same move with him and proceed with murder-kill when he was brainwashed. What's Steve's excuse here?)

Like, Steve almost wins. The Resistance might not have, but Steve does. He is seconds away from beating Tony to actual death in the middle of the nightmare they’ve caused—but then. Civilians. Regular-ass, non-superpowered, completely terrified people tackle Steve to the ground.

They’re not protecting Tony (maybe a little, it's up for debate, see the panels)—they’re stopping Steve. Because holy shit, Steve. Look at what you’ve done. Steve does. Look. And finally sees it.

The destruction, the sheer chaos, the city that’s half in ruins because of this war. He sees the fear in their eyes and realizes that this isn’t about freedom anymore. He’s lost the plot. They’ve all kind of lost the plot, and someone has to give up, and he will not let Tony beat him to it.

So, Steve. Fucking. Stops.

He takes off his mask, drops his shield, and says, “It’s over.” He turns himself in. He turns Steve Rogers in specifically, essentially following the law, and Team Cap officially loses the war.

At the end of this, Tony—bruised, in desperate need of a good fuck (hey, Bucky, where you at?), and still internally monologuing about how the fuck his life turned into this—is appointed Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. And this is how, after so many words, christ, the Civil War officially, techically ends, and the winteriron timeline can properly begin. Happy tears, I am crying happy tears right now.

So, Part 3 of this ‘brief’ (lol) timeline is coming ASAP, and it does deliver on some juicy Bucky and Tony interactions—actual on-page moments, not just me connecting the angst dots with wishful thinking, promise.

And if you’re thinking things might slow down now—oh, my sweet summer child. We are only just getting to the fun part, since Captain America essentially becomes Bucky’s comic book. The stakes are different, the players have shifted, but Tony and Bucky finally start existing in the same space.

If Civil War was crazy, what happens next is the part where we go off the rails entirely in the best possible way.

To confirm, where we are:

Bucky is in the wind but possibly smoking cigars with Fury.

Bad guys who were ignored for this Event do have some plotty evil planned.

Tony is in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D. and he still has to keep hunting down anti-registration supers.

Steve is alive and in jail. For now.

And Peter—oh God, I have to mention this, because I must, and this just further confirms that some of the editors were shipping Peter with someone other than MJ.

So, Peter is an absolute disaster, thanks for asking. And if you know comic books and reading this just to laugh at me getting shit wrong and are wondering, “Wow, does she about to mention One More Day?”—yes. Yes, I am. And I don’t want to talk about it. But I will, just for a second.

One More Day (2007) is Marvel committing a crime against humanity.

It’s a four-issue arc where Marvel editorial decided Peter was too happy and needed to suffer more, so they erased his marriage to MJ from existence. (Ah, yeah, he was married to her this whole time, in case I didn’t mention it, but I was too busy pushing Starker on people if the winteriron angle didn’t work out.)

Basically, after Civil War, Peter’s life goes to absolute hell. He unmasked, so every villain with a grudge is coming for him, Kingpin puts out a hit, and Aunt May gets shot.

Peter, being the absolute hero of a man that he is, tries everything to save her. He begs Tony for help (doesn’t work). He tries to make a deal with Doctor Strange (doesn’t work). And just when it looks like May is going to die, the literal devil (Mephisto) shows up and is like, “Hey, Pete, what if I saved your aunt, but in exchange, I erased your marriage to MJ from existence so you two never got married and will never be happy together?”

And Peter and MJ actually say yes. BOOM. Years of character development and one of Marvel’s most iconic relationships is GONE, conveniently removing all that pesky guilt when Peter flirts with older men.

So, Aunt May lives, but now Peter and MJ were never married, and no one remembers he unmasked during Civil War. The comic book fandom hates it. The writers regret it. Everyone pretends it didn’t happen. Marvel did make a movie about this though, kinda. Also kidding. But for real, it’s one of the most infamous and universally despised retcons in Marvel history.

And on that cheerful and very nerdy note, thank you for reading.

Masterpost with all parts

[bluemotifofsleep]

One Gentle Morning

Hanamaki x Reader

- sometimes it’s okay to make mac and cheese at one in the morning, you just can’t wake Hiro.

you had woken from a dream, mouth salivating. you knew you had class in the morning, and any time before your alarm was too damn early to get up, so you tried your best to fall back asleep. the edges of sleep were pulling away from you though, the harder you tried to reach out and grab at them, to keep yourself in that state of almost-sleep, the more awake you felt.

you were so hungry.

your stomach was grumbling, begging you to get up and scavenge the kitchen for any morsel of food. were you really going to do that? you could probably fall back asleep without too much trouble. your eyes were still heavy, your breathing still slowed, the rest of your body not quite catching up to the speed your stomach was thinking at.

you’re so tired though. Hanamaki had a night shift the evening prior, and no matter how many times he insisted you don’t have to stay up for him, the idea of him coming home after a long shift to an empty dark apartment with no one to greet makes your insides twist painfully. so you’d stayed up, kept yourself busy with your homework that you probably should have done anyways and kissed him on the cheek when he got home. worth it, you think, staring at his wide back while he sleeps soundly next to you.

you certainly are feeling the effects of your late night now though. your eyes are starting to feel heavier, your breathing is slowing down. if you just don’t think about it, let your mind wander and slow, maybe you could get back to sleep again. count sheep, right? you can do that. one, two, three, four-

your stomach growls painfully again, reminding you of the issue at hand. fuck.

~~~

you’re waiting for the water to boil for the noodles and thinking about all the assignments you have to complete tomorrow. you could probably just stay up at this point and cram some more homework in before you have to leave for school. this plan has the potential to wake Hiro though, and you really don’t want to risk that. you’d snuck out of bed extremely carefully, trying your best not to jostle his sleeping form. he’s just been so busy lately, juggling school and work and sleep and you. you just want to help him. take the weight off his shoulders, kiss it better, make all his worries go away.

you’ve never felt this way about anyone before. sure, you’ve had boyfriends, most of them weren’t really interested in you much beyond the way you looked, though. they never really cared too much about romance, and the relationship never lasted.

it had taken Hanamaki months to gather up the courage to ask you out, Matsukawa had told you. “he was like a little baby,” he’d said. “always avoiding you because he was worried if he spent too much time around you, he’d spill all of his feelings.” and you thought it was so endearing you almost cried. apparently it had taken Iwazumi physically smacking him to finally get him to properly ask you out. somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for him too. much more than you wanted to, a scary amount actually.

you love him. you love him so much. you sacrifice your sleep just so he’s the last thing you see at night, you watch him play his stupid video games that are way too gory for you just to hear him curse and watch him problem solve, you scratch his back for him so he can fall asleep better even when your arm gets tired. you’d marry him if he asked you tomorrow, you’ve never felt such devotion to and from someone before, and you can’t imagine being without him.

just as the thought crosses your head, you hear footsteps and look up just in time to see the gangly pink haired boy round the corner to your kitchen, scratching his head and yawning as he does.

you instantly feel guilty. somehow, even though you’d been as careful as possible, you’d woken him up. he’d worked a late shift, he was probably so tired, and you’d woken him up just for some mac and cheese.

“don’t make that face, i woke up because i was thirsty.” he says at noticing your deep frown, the way your eyebrows are tented.

“i’m sorry. i did my best not to wake you.” and you really did. you notice he makes no move to grab a glass of water. a true gentleman, lying to make you feel better about waking him up. sparing your feelings as much as he can. it makes you feel even worse.

he walks up behind you to wrap his arms around you. he’s still warm from sleep, and he feels like melted honey spilling over your back. he feels so right against you, like a jacket that fits you perfectly, like he was tailored to you.

“what are you doing, baby?” the words get whispered against your ear, the warm air making goosebumps spring up along the back of your neck.

the water is fully boiling now, so you open the cardboard box of noodles and dump them in, the sound of them spilling out of the box the loudest sound in your apartment at this dreary hour. it’s almost shocking when compared to the soft voice in your ear, still gravely from sleep.

“i had a dream,” you say it simply, like this warrants waking him up, warrants waking yourself up and sacrificing sleep that is so precious these days. “about food.” you finish, and instantly feel silly.

he doesn’t chastise you for your silly actions though, instead he hums in your ear, the sound reverberating down your back.

“and you were going to eat the last box of mac and cheese without me?” the words are accusing, but his voice sounds funny. when you look back at his face over your shoulder, all you find is fondness in his expression.

“i love you.” you say, and yes, it’s a bit off topic, but it’s not really because your love for Hanamaki is always on your mind. even when you’re in the middle of a lecture, when you’re working out, when you’re doing your assignments that are worth a million percent of your grade, even when you’re making mac and cheese, you’re thinking about him. your love for him manages to make its way into every topic, no matter how obscure.

his eyes widen a bit, like he was expecting you to tease him back, and then his face melts, turns into something gooey soft, and it makes your cheeks feel a bit warm.

“i love you too, honey, so much.” and then he leans in and kisses you, feather soft. just lips brushing against lips, no pressure to make it deeper, simply an extension of your love. “next time you make late night mac and cheese without me, though, i might have to fight you.”

“you’re such a dork” almost comes out of your mouth, but then you look up at him. the look on his face stops the words in your throat. you’re in an oversized spider-man shirt (stolen from him) and some raggedy loose sleep shorts, sleep-rustled hair, yellow and green fuzzy socks that don’t match, standing here making macaroni at one in the morning like some kind of drunk frat boy, and he’s looking at you with nothing but pure love in his eyes. a soft smile on his face, eyes slightly droopy from being woken up, little lines on his skin from where the folds in the pillow case made indents in his sleep. the urge to reach out and smooth them itches at your hand.

yes, he’s a dork. he likes to cut the crust off his sandwiches, he never plugs his phone in at night and complains when it dies half way through the day, he likes to warm his cold hands up by pressing them shockingly against your bare skin, but he’s your dork, and you will keep him for as long as he will keep you.

~~~

I just want one quiet morning with this man please please please.

[seriousfic]

I actually think it's exactly the opposite of what he said. It's not that they didn't try hard enough to appeal to women. It's that they tried too hard.

They Tom Holland'd Barry himself into an effeminate, sexless dweeb no man would want to watch.

I'm sure they thought they would have, like, K-pop girlies screaming at cute, cuddly lil Ezra Miller with his gender nonconformity and long gay hair. But they ended up turning their own main character into Jar-Jar Binks. Just a total weird spaz you don't want to spend time with. Peter Lorre looks like a chad next to this guy.

2. I guess Michael Keaton was supposed to be the male identification figure?

But A. men generally don't want to identify with aged, decrepit has-beens, no matter how many stunt doubles insist he can still kick ass.

B. Obviously Keaton was only being given keys to the Batmobile so he could then be retired in favor of fucking Batgirl.

3. They couldn't even get the pandering right, because they made the cute feminine Supergirl into an androgynous, monotone Supergirl with anger issues.

Surely, what DC fans really wanted was to take a character who's even more sunny and optimistic than Superman, strip her of all femininity, introduce her as a mass murderer, and then show her being killed repeatedly.

They weren't trying to appeal to men with this, obviously. What they were trying to do was appeal to a vocal minority of women who love taking attractive female characters and turning them into butch lesbians.

Thing is, most women like rom-coms more than war movies. They like it when 'their' characters are cute and relatable and even a little hot. There's a reason Julia Roberts movies are huge hits while Lisbeth Salander movies flop. Lesbians are literally a minority.

They also generally like it when the leading man is hot and noble. Maybe a little dorky, to show he's not some swaggering alpha male, but a guy who is able to handle himself and project authority, maybe even be somewhat cocky.

Which makes it amazing that this two hundred million dollar movie--the kind of money that studios only spend on concepts that are sure things--was instead seemingly designed to miss every possible audience segment except for Tom Cruise and Stephen King. How?

I honestly think that everyone involved was just completely out of touch with basic storytelling. That they thought people go to the movies only wanting to see a lot of special effects and cameos. And they actually accidentally replicated all the MCU's post-Endgame missteps in one toxic package.

Assume you have the straight male audience sewn up and go directly for 'the girls and the gays.'

Pack the whole thing full of constant masturbatory references to earlier projects.

Make the main character a co-star in his own movie so you can cram in characters you hope to give spin-offs to.

Be sure to make him ineffectual and pathetic too, just so no one thinks you're conservative for making a movie with a white male hero.

Have a constant stream of hacky, flailing jokes assailing the audience no matter how much the plot cries for sincerity or grit.

Swap out the old characters people like for politically correct legacy heroes.

Make the whole thing sexless and aromantic to avoid offending the hardcore feminists. But also sexualize the male lead to a weirdly exploitative extent (see point 1).

Overwork the CGI department to the point that the work is clearly not up to snuff.

[misrepresentedmorallygrey]

PROPAGANDA

Yukio Okumura (LONG PROPAGANDA)

(Does contain spoilers and suicide mentions) Ok so the main issue I see people having with him is because he has threatened his brother and has shot him before. (His brother, Rin, is also the fan favorite so you can probably imagine people's feelings towards those scenes.) A lot of times Yukio also comes off as mean because he's a pretty closed off person and people don't like that either.

Although what people love to ignore is the reasons as to *why* he acts this way. (Granted, harming your brother is not an ok thing to do and it doesn't excuse that but it explains why he did what he did.) For starters, Rin was the one who inherited Satan's demonic power, not Yukio, meaning that Rin could potentially become dangerous even though his powers were locked away until he was about 15. Because of this, the boys' adoptive father, Shiro, put the responsibility of protecting Rin onto Yukio from the age of 7. So while Yukio was training to become an exorcist at a very young age, Rin got to live without knowing anything about demons or exorcists. This did cause some envy from Yukio, who felt the crushing pressure of having to do everything for his brother while Rin had no idea. Later on, Rin's power awakens at 15 (the present time in the story) and after a series of events, Shiro ends up dying due to becoming possessed by Satan. With their legal guardian dead, Yukio is now the one who has to take care of Rin because if his demonic power gets discovered, Rin will be executed by the Vatican. So yeah. In the span of ONE DAY Yukio now has even more pressure put on him and he didn't even get to say goodbye to Shiro, let alone grieve for him because he had to be the calm and collected one in the situation. (Yukio is also 15 btw!!) Now, both boys are going to enroll in True Cross Academy, a school that also has a secret exorcist program. At this time, Rin has no knowledge that Yukio knows what's going on. It's only until he's at the exorcist cram school that Rin finds out that his teacher is Yukio. This leads to a confrontation between the brothers as Rin feels rightfully betrayed that everyone knew except him. This is also where Yukio reveals some of his concerns, leading to people not liking him. Essentially, Yukio says that Rin could be a danger to others because he can't control his powers yet and that Yukio will kill him if it's necessary (this is also where he threatens his brother with a gun). Eventually the conflict does get resolved and they go back to normal for the most part. So not only does Yukio have to keep his brother from getting into trouble (which he does. several times. Rin does eventually get discovered.) but he also has to be an exorcist AND a teacher. Yukio constantly has to act like an adult throughout the series, and HE'S ONLY 15!! He has so much pressure put on him by everyone and if he makes a mistake, either him or Rin could die. As the series continues, you can see Yukio's mental health rapidly worsening due to his self-hatred leading him to several suicide attempts (which he doesn't die because Satan is now residing in his body). Yukio also feels that Shiro never really cared about him and only kept him to be raised as a weapon. All this and the fact that he's being manipulated by another antagonist character leads him to join sides with the Illuminati (the evil organization). By doing this, he will be able to take down the Illuminati from the inside and hopes that he and Satan will die along with it. The entire time up to this point Rin does not realize just how bad Yukio's mental health has been (which to be fair, Yukio is pretty closed off and has lied to his brother several times). Yukio then tries to force Rin to kill him, and ultimately fails because Rin cares too much. Overall, Yukio had so many responsibilities and felt as though he had to take everything on alone. It's honestly very tiring seeing people villainize everything bad he's ever done while completely ignoring how much he actually cares for his brother + all his mental health issues. This is only a summary of the things he's gone through so there's definitely some other details that show the escalation of his depression that weren't included here. But yeah. Justice for Yukio. He does not deserved to be treated like Satan (pun intended).

Apple White

everyone shut up about her being evil and selfish she is a teenage girl who has been raised HER WHOLE LIFE with this ideology, she can’t unlearn her entire belief system overnight especially when it’s so deeply tied to her identity as a person. also she literally does let go of it eventually, because she’s not a static character, she has an arc. apple is my favorite because she’s complex, not in spite of it. on the flipside there’s the people who act like she didn’t do anything wrong. i’ve seen people call raven the selfish one? this show was made for 5 years olds. how do you have less media comprehension that a 5 year old. and also, you’re loving apple the wrong ways!! she makes mistakes. she fucks up so much, and it’s awesome. i get overcompensating because the haters are so loud or whatever, but saying she’s perfect is erasing what makes her interesting. this propaganda is not very good because I’m guessing a lot of propaganda looks identical (edelgard and vriska have similar issues in fandom spaces) so here is my final pitch. vote for apple because she’s a lesbian (her canon soulmate was a girl). vote for apple because she’s a protagonist in a kids cartoon who was a lesbian way back in jan 2016. vote for apple because mattel let the face of their new franchise be a girl who likes girls (still feels surreal) #gayrights #applesweep

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 49 The Diplomatic Convoy Deception

let's ignore my sins and move on to the next episode hyperventilating

GADDDD IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I GOT TO DO A NEW CHARACTER FINALLYYYYYY

Archaeologist Ecru is a SNEK (not that you can tell bc she has limbs lmao) Kind of Australian stereotype my apologies - girl is essentially the Indiana Jones of Murdle but her job is difficult since she doesn't have opposable thumbs?? (Maybe because she's a snake.)

HHHHH I LOVE HOW SHE LOOKS THO DON'T KILL ME

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Logico is on a mission - to deliver the Special Secret to the Convocation of Countries. He WANTS to go alone, but there’s a few issues. One, there’s a huggy goat who won’t let him go!

IRRATINO: No no no no no. You are not going by yourself, it is far too dangerous. I will be right here.

He ensnares Logico in an inescapable hug, with the biggest, dumbest grin on his face. 

Of course, with the Special Secret in his possession, Logico has instantly become a MAJOR target - especially for murder. He has to travel in a car with Irratino, multiple bodyguards, and an extra driver! And the worst part? He has to travel in a CAR! (In case you don’t remember - Logico hates cars.)

Oh yeah, and one of the bodyguards is Officer $%#@?& Copper. For added security, there’s a fake car alongside them with a fake Logico driving. Wait! Then how the hell is it moving?!

Unsurprisingly, murder strikes - INSIDE THE CAR! Irratino uses himself as an airbag to protecc Logico, and the killer ends up striking the driver instead. The car does a barrel roll! After the crash, they all take a minute to recollect themselves.

LOGICO: What… even happened… IRRATINO: One of your bodyguards tried to kill you! They hit the driver instead - but it was so close! This is why you need me here with you! LOGICO: This is why I hate cars… IRRATINO: No, you should hate murder.

There’s not even time to solve it first - they have to get right back on the road. Now, Irratino gets to sit up front with another human driving. But when she turns around (a horrible thing to do while driving), Logico sees that it’s not just one of those humans! It’s the Third Human… 

R. CRIMSON: RADICAL CRIMSON!! LOGICO: [scream] R. CRIMSON: I know you’ve been palling around with my INSIPID sister. But I will ensure that you will pay for all of your crimes… AND YES, THERE HAVE BEEN MANY!

Logico doesn’t get the leisure of sitting up front. He’s crammed between Officer Copper and a giant dismembered stone statue, for some reason.

LOGICO: Why does that need a seatbelt?

The statue stamps its foot in response, and Logico screams! 

R. CRIMSON: CAREFUL. He’s sensitive. LOGICO: THE WHA?? STATUE: [tapping the ground] - .- ..- .--. . COPPER: WELL? Are you gonna say hello?

Logico shakily reaches out his hand. Taupe has no arms, so it cannot return the gesture.

TAUPE: .... .. IRRATINO: Logico, remember? Someone tried to kill you! LOGICO: RIGHT.

The decoy car has gone off road and exploded. Unsurprising, considering it was driven by a stuffed animal. But the real car drones ahead, and Logico is REALLY having trouble getting clues when he’s stuck in the back middle seat. Especially crammed between one of the worst people on earth and whatever Taupe is, who is so big that if it did have a head it wouldn’t fit in the car.

IRRATINO: Here, I’ll help you out. I know a secret divination technique called [talking-in-reverse demonic language, eyes glow red] that we can use! 

At that moment, he realizes something vital! And so does Logico… Copper is wearing TWO pant legs that go all the way down. She never does this, unless she were to hide her prosthetic - or lack of one!!

It’s Constable Copper! No wonder the bitch was being too polite. 

LOGICO: WHY? C. COPPER: The officer didn’t have the GUTS to try and kill you herself… thanks to the GOAT MAN that follows you!

Logico is disappointed. Why couldn’t she have been afraid of HIM?

C. COPPER: I HAVE to get that Special Secret. SPILL IT! LOGICO: NO! NO NO NO NO NO

They crash at their arrival destination. Finally!

The end!

CONSTABLE RETURNS HOLY COW (which I had to make up because in canon it's just 'someone who is pretending to be officer copper for no distinct reason'.)

I CAN DESIGN AGAIN I'M SO HAPPY VNJFNKJDSVFK (although fletch is gonna take rad because i am NOT drawing a human being 🥰)

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[kolachess]

Star Struck - Explaining the conflict and cultural nuance

Those of you who have seen the Korean BL, Star Struck, probably thought it was a(nother) mediocre school BL. In a year with more and more BLs from South Korea (yay!), it might have been an easy pass.

BUT, if you’re like me, you will have really, really appreciated the refreshingly realistic taste of a friends-to-lovers dynamic, complete with a conflict that is not just over one-sided or mutual dislike of each other for once! (Which is not to say I didn’t love the BLs that had that... they’re all great. But I do think expanding scope is always admirable!)

I realized that part of the reason why what seemed to me a rather thoughtfully constructed set of characters and plot development comes across as plain boring to many others might partially be a cultural nuance issue.

So, here’s my attempt to bridge that gap and give it a little more credit than it got (at least, so far). Of course, that’s not to say I think this drama is perfect... I do think a lot of pacing / editing could have done with some improvement. And at the end of the day... it is a coming of age sort of school drama, so it’s not going to be crazy complex. And I’m also writing this after episode 4, so there will be spoilers through episode 4. 

Disclaimer: I am not Korean, nor did I grow up in South Korea, so I definitely do not have complete authority on this subject matter. However, I feel like a lot of what was happening in Star Struck might have been... unfairly overlooked or otherwise not understood by audiences who are less familiar with Eastern Asian cultural values, so as a Chinese American, I wanted to do my best to add a bit of perspective.

So. What is the root of SHJ (Seo Hanjoo) and JYJ (Jo Yoojae)’s conflict?

Certainly, SHJ’s (seemingly) one-sided crush on JYJ and JYJ’s reactive jealousy is a large part of it, but the other big part is a newfound wealth gap and how that translates into what esteem they hold each other in.

From the get-go, we can tell SHJ is very (self-)conscious about money. He knows how hard his mom has to work, and he feels guilty and early on already tries to justify to himself (and others) that some costs, like the cram school he saved up to attend, are not worth it. He’s too prideful to honestly mention his money troubles to anyone.

Although SHJ doesn’t know JYJ’s rich yet in this scene, JYJ’s financial circumstances still was better off than SHJ’s. But he’s clearly uncomfortable with the idea of his best friend paying for him like that. And here’s where I’ll do some cultural breakdown.

In East Asian culture, the collective identity comes first, and the individual comes second. Meaning, people take more pride in what school they graduated from, what company they work for, what their family background is, more so than people in many other cultures. I’m not talking school pride like, ‘I’m proud to be a <insert school mascot>!’ kind of spirit. I mean that everyone in your life, in society, will measure your worth first and foremost (and often only) by the primary institution or family background you came out of. And with SHJ’s sort of background - poor, single-mother - that’s a big stigma. He’s still a rational human being though, so at least he doesn’t blame his poor mother for their circumstance (which some kids do, given all the pressure of society). But that all said, this clearly weighs on him - how his lack of money reflects on him. And if money is viewed at all similarly to how it’s viewed in China... it’s basically a measure of your capabilities and standing in society. The inability to be generous with your money is ‘losing face’ i.e. embarrassing. And so... yeah. It’s a lot of ‘dings’ in SHJ’s social profile. The kid is understandably a bit self-conscious, though he clearly tries to not let it get to him.

Fast forward to when he finds out JYJ is now ‘rich’... Obviously, he’s upset at not being told because they’re supposed to be close friends. However, he’s clearly super self-conscious about being seen as someone who’s that sensitive about money. Notice how he hasn’t actually commented / asked about JYJ ‘moving out’. (Note: I wasn’t 100% sure if this carried the implication that JYJ might be moving away, but the text message made it sound like that? Correct me if I’m wrong.) He immediately assumes JYJ didn’t tell him because he’s pitying him or otherwise worried about how he’d react because of how it involves money. And he hates that. (Which... he’s not totally wrong about. JYJ might not pity him like how SHJ is thinking, but he definitely worries a bit about how SHJ will perceive things, and it becomes this death spiral of misread intentions.)

And of course JYJ starts to comment on SHJ’s family, which just confirms all of JYJ’s worst fears. He suddenly ‘realizes’ that his best friend who he has a crush on actually walks on eggshells around him because of his money situation, which is a blow to his self-esteem, because what does that mean? That there’s a meaningful gap now in their social status and JYJ looks down on him and just never said? That JYJ sees SHJ as too delicate to be able to handle this new reality? (His insecurities and perspectives, not necessarily what JYJ thinks, of course.) 

It’s like having a close friend say something that makes you suddenly wonder if they were actually judging you this whole time, and your mind goes into overdrive analyzing every past interaction you’ve had and reading in between the lines to see if you were actually blind all this time. To SHJ, who is already a bit self-conscious about all of this... it’s a major blow. And although he says he’s only ever felt inconvenienced by his poverty... I’d say he’s being a bit dishonest with himself. Again, he’s clearly not the shameful type to blame his poor mother, but he clearly has trouble admitting his circumstances to even his closest friend.

Meanwhile, for JYJ...

...the guy is clearly struggling too. He obviously cares for SHJ and extremely mindful of his money situation, hence previously wanting to just pay for SHJ at the cafe. However, he also doesn’t want to hurt SHJ’s pride even more, so he ultimately still tosses his pair of perfectly good shoes he no longer wants despite wanting to give it to SHJ.

Once SHJ cools down a bit, and JYJ extends the olive branch, they both apologize to each other and come to an understanding. However, as is with a lot of human emotions... getting over it in the moment does not necessarily mean getting over it for good if you haven’t addressed the inner demons that spawned these bad feelings in the first place. And it’s not long before we see another issue pop up.

At this point, SHJ has had to move into the side house (and hides it from JYJ). He finds the Gucci receipt in the pocket of the jacket JYJ lends him, and JYJ immediately tries to wave it off saying it was pretty much something his mom made him buy.

He’s clearly worried about SHJ feeling bad again. He definitely doesn’t seem to care for the materialistic things as much as his parents seem to, and he even seems a bit embarrassed by it. So when SHJ brings up his big new house, he immediately tries to make light of the situation by joking about how indeed, the one good perk is that he can no longer hear his parents fighting. So that’s clearly another thing that weighs on him. SHJ is seemingly rather sensitive to JYJ’s money situation, but JYJ doesn’t really want anything to do with it at all. And the thing he really wishes could be new and shiny - his family’s relationship - is not something their newfound money could buy. In fact, it’s possible he’s even a little envious of JYJ for having such a caring mom.

Later, when he finds out SHJ has moved into the little side house / shack, he’s understandably upset that his best friend had chosen to hide this from him, that he didn’t see JYJ as understanding enough to be honest with him. He obviously also aches for SHJ’s circumstances. 

Gift-giving is a big part of East Asian culture, but there’s casual gifts between friends, and there’s gifts between everyone else. When you’re gifting gifts to someone less close, you definitely don’t want to go for things too cheap, so people tend to skew for expensive and unnecessary things because it’s part of social gestures and having ‘face’. While well-intentioned, sometimes receiving (and continuing to receive) gifts, especially more expensive ones, can make the receiver feel like they have to reciprocate in kind and continue to stand on ceremony or otherwise have this formal distance between the other person. It’s a big game of chicken sometimes, but some people’s ‘face’ won’t allow them to take a more casual, intimate approach first. This is not the main reason why JYJ gets upset of course, but it is an element.

All that compounded - he’s hurting already on SHJ’s behalf, yet his best friend seemingly doesn’t trust him enough and still tries to save face. And what’s worse, SHJ seems to think JYJ is materialistic and chases expensive things, when that couldn’t be farther from the truth - he dgafs about this kind of stuff. So to have his best friend essentially woefully misunderstand his character, continue to hold him at arm’s length / treat him with non-intimate courtesy, make sacrifices that hurt himself to give JYJ something that makes him seem materialistic and puts even more distance between them due to their economic gap... he’s pretty hurt and furious.

Of course, in reality, while SHJ not telling JYJ might be partly due to his pride, the expensive gift was purely because he was crushing hard. And cue the confession tumbling out.

-

So actually, I feel like there was a wonderful build-up of their tension, oriented not entirely on SHJ’s romantic feelings towards JYJ, but a very real issue between two people compounded by the complexity of romantic feelings.

Although I grew up away from the frontline influence of these sort of social gestures and expectations, it was still a big part of my upbringing. And I feel the agonizing indecisiveness over what to say, how to react, etc. You read intention into every gesture and word, because that’s how Asian culture operations.

I was rather surprised to see people comment that this drama was boring, but upon analysis, I did consider that part of it might be because a lot of this tension goes over the audience’s head if you weren’t brought up in that context. What seems like beautifully nuanced dance of well-intentions-turned-sour might come across as a jumbled mess of ‘being upset over unnecessary secrets’. That, coupled with some abrupt scenes that might not be tied in too smoothly, might have led to a lower evaluation.

Or it’s just my bias for a non-romantic-feelings based tension haha.

-

Anyway... curious what others think!

[paragonrobits]

favorite take on Grimlock's robot mode that I don't actually see done much; he's honestly kind of fucked up looking somehow

like, his body is disproportionate in terms of general art style. He's HUGE, and he looks kind of... wrong. Like he's got too much bulk crammed into a body plan not designed for it. beastformers might look weird in general but he has a bad case of it; maybe he looks like a hunchback, with his beast mode head and torso all crammed together into a massive torso that looks almost bloated, or like something screaming and grinding against itself when he moves

arms too massive to make sense on his body, too long, the legs of a t-rex reworked into humanoid arms that seem too gangly to move right, and his legs are just as absurdly bulky. He's huge and its in a lot of really weird ways.

he's not exactly threatening looking. Oh no, he just looks kind of silly. Oafish, even. A big lumbering giant who probably can't use most standard issue weapons because he's too big for them, or his body proportionated too awkwardly for them. His optical visor looks like its stuck in a permanent goofball expression; if he doesn't wear a mouthplate, he looks like his jaw is a garbage compactor a few sizes too big.

He looks too silly to be taken seriously. Until suddenly, he's not playing around anymore.

And then you see he's fast; nothing that big should be that fast, is the last thought of a lot of Decepticons before they're violently torn limb from limb. And then it turns out that those big goofy jaws still have a ton of power behind them, and he can BITE things into pieces without even assuming his beast mode. Those big awkward digits still end in massive claws, and he can tear things apart with his bare hands.

And all that bulk isn't just his massive beast mode configured into robot mode and not compressed; he has a truly terrifying amount of robo-muscle, and he knows how to apply it effectively. And you realize that the big lumbering brute moving with so much unexpected agility and even grace is swinging a massive sword around with the kind of technique no one expects a monster like that to know.

And you realize that he looks silly, he looks goofy, he looks stupid. He might act goofy. He might not care if he looks like an oaf and acts as silly as he dares. But he is not stupid in the slightest, and you see his optics glaring at you, and you realize; this is a smart Autobot. This is a very, VERY smart Autobot who's been thinking two steps ahead of you the whole time, and counting on the fact that you'd look no further than his silly mannerisms, and his weird bulkiness, and his bizarre design, and you wouldn't take him seriously.

Most people don't. Optimus Prime does, though. So do the other Dinobots (a name, you suddenly realize, could translate as Terror Autobots), and many of the beastformers amid the Autobots that respect him as an icon, and oh, so many Decepticons. Megatron fears him taking the field, and suddenly, you understand why the most feared tyrant in the universe would rather retreat than fight Grimlock one on one.

He's scary, he's goofy, he's a bizarre-mish mash all at the same time, and suddenly you have cause to wonder: how much of this was him fucking with you the whole time on purpose? And he just abruptly stops, laughs at you, and leaves without further comment.

(Basically I'm saying my favorite Grimlock design is this one by Don Figueroa; i tried to find a proper source but unfortunately it was originally posted on his dA account, which was deactivated

[skylermadness]

Constitution (Jawbone O'Shaughnessey TF/TG/PMC/AP)

(Original Date of Upload: June 22, 2022)

Yeah, I'm dedicating some uploads this week to the hot dads out there. I shall preface this by saying I love Jawbone very much and no amount of words can express how intense that love is. He's a werewolf, he's a dad, he's a school counselor, he's a dad, he's got a sick Irish accent, I can go on and on but if I did I'd hit the word limit of this description (if there even is a word limit, anyway). The general summarization of things is hot werewolf dad. Three words that I absolutely wish could be said more nowadays... This is also my first FtM TF in a while! I tried something a little new to this one too, based on a few personal headcanons and the fact that I want to try some new stuff in these TFs of mine! Also I hope someone gets the joke I made in the story title. If not, then I guess I'll just give ya the answer if you choose to ask-

   Ashleigh had never been the most hard on herself when it came to grades, but something about getting a C- on her most recent Introduction to Psychology test struck a nerve. There were perhaps a lot of reasons as to why she got such a low score. The trouble she was having focusing on classes these past few weeks, the sheer amount of information overload she seems to get when she does focus, the fact that cramming the night before had resulted in frustrated confusion over the material. She was trying her best, but it felt like her best wasn’t good enough.

   And that was only one brick in the wall that was her many problems.

   The past few weeks have been the arrival of many issues and hardships in her life. Finances were becoming harder to manage, mainly due to the fact that even one month’s rent at the dormitory was enough to slash a hole in her budget with very little hope of getting it back on just minimum wage alone. The balance between working at a nearby retail store and trying to keep up with college also wasn’t helping in that matter, with her focus being challenged even there.

   Her own identity was becoming something that was harder to understand. Especially when it comes to her own gender, as she’s been trying to grasp onto whether or not she was trans. Trying to test the waters on that was also impossible in her current situation, which was reinforcing a budding feeling of gender dysphoria.

  Many of her friends were already busy with their own lives. She was in no place for a relationship. Her mind was effectively a vortex of confusion and information that she felt unable to piece together.

   To say college was getting a little overwhelming to Ashleigh at this point would be an understatement.

   What was funny was, she thought she was ready. At first college wasn’t in the cards for her when she had first graduated high school with her being in a low income home, and the fact that applying to scholarships felt impossible to her due to their high standards. It took a little more than ten years for her to get in a spot of perceived readiness.

    Belief that she finally had the income to do so, a feeling that now was the time to move out of her parent’s home and into someplace else, a full grasp on who and what she was.

   That view of herself and the world was shattered in weeks.

   She probably could have caught onto that when she first applied. First seeing the amount rent cost at her college. The amount of time it took for her to even decide on a major she had wanted. Choosing a Psychology major had made her feel worse as the weeks went on, since she would find herself thinking on how she thought she could help people if she couldn’t even solve her own problems.

   It got to a point that after seeing that her grades had been falling, one of her professors had recommended she speak with the college’s guidance counselor. Although he seemed to have trouble remembering the counselor’s name. It resulted in her having trouble finding their office, except it seemed that no staff in the college could recall who the counselor was. Only the fact that there was one.

   Except there wasn’t???

   Just an empty office with a scrubbed name placard. 

   That was effectively Ashleigh’s breaking point.

   The next logical stop for her was to head to a bar nearest to her college and pour her woes to the bartender. Which is where Ashleigh finds herself now, downing a small pint of alcohol at a bar that was also within a nightclub. It was her fourth one and she was already tipsy. She had also just finished retelling her life’s story to the bartender, a bear of a man named Maurice.

   Ashleigh let out a little hiccup, then tipsily giggled. “Usually I wouldn’t turn to alcohol to run from all my problems, but damn is this some good booze…” 

   Maurice just hummed. “Migh’ have to cut ya’ off at sum poin’. Can’t have ya’ dyin’ of alc’hol poisonin’.”

   “It’s fine! My family’s been known for having good livers…” She drunkenly laughed again. 

   “Uh-huh.” Maurice said, unphased. He was used to that kind of response from the more… sadder patrons to his bar. It took a few moments of thought, but he found himself picking up another pint glass from beneath the counter. “Ah can safely say none of yer problems’ll be solved ‘ike this.”

   Ashleigh shook her head. “It still makes my head all fuzzy though… makes me forget how shit my life is.”

   “Ah wouldn’ say that,” Maurice tried to reassure her as he headed to the back of the bar. The back was lined with multiple kegs, most of which Ashleigh had assumed was filled with liquor. “This could jus’ be a ruff patch.”

   “It doesn’t feel like it…” Ashleigh said, folding her hands onto the table and placing her head in them. Everything felt like one hell of a trainwreck. Problem after problem, piling up and causing a storm in her head. The fact she didn’t really have any to talk to about it made it all the more worse. At least Maurice was willing to listen, although he didn’t provide much help besides the provision of booze. He’s probably paid to just sit around and listen, she thought to herself.

   Her eyes drifted over to the man himself, and Ashleigh watched as the man walked around the bar pouring various liquids from the kegs into the pint glass. She could hear him mumble something, but the music of the night club coupled with the low register of his voice made it incomprehensible to her. She did take note that the drink looked particularly… sparkly. 

   “Ah’ve been in th’s line of w’rk fer a while, bud. It nev’r lasts like that fer long. No matt’r how much ya think it does.”

   Ashleigh looked away for a moment. She couldn’t tell if it was the booze, or just her recently budding cynicism, but she found herself having a hard time believing that.

   She was pulled out her thoughts by Maurice walking up to her, sliding the drink he just made beside her arm. “Here, on th’ house.”

   Ashleigh lifted her head and looked around the bar skeptically. Come to think of it, she’s the only person here at the moment… Eh, whatever.

   She then took a look down at the pint. It wasn’t beer, liquor, wine, or any mixture that she could recall, although memory recall was a little muddled due to her current buzz. The drink was actually a soft, but sparkly, beige. It smelled kind of fruity too…

   “Ah call it th’ Reliever! It may help ya’ find what yer lookin’ fer.”

   Ashleigh raised a brow and smiled. “Are you sure you ain’t trying to roofie me?” she joked. Judging by the grimace on Maurice’s face, it wasn’t very funny. 

   “I happ’n to want to keep mah job.”

   “Right, sorry.”

   Ashleigh stared back down at the drink and shrugged. Taking hold of the glass, she downed the uncreatively named drink in one fell swoop. 

   “Hm. Tastes peachy. What’s in this?”

   Maurice only smirked. “Nothin’ ya’ could und’rstand, boy.”

   Something about being called ‘boy’ made Ashleigh feel something… warm.

   “Now ah’m afraid I gotta have to cut ya’ off.”

   Ashleigh slumped in her seat. “Alright, fine. Thanks for the new drink, I guess…”

   “On’y the best fer my cust’mers. Hope it does help ya’ in what yer lookin’ fer.”

   “I have a little trouble believing one fruit flavored drink is going to give me the answer to my problems, but I… appreciate it.”

   Maurice nodded and watched as Ashleigh got up from her seat and walked out the bar. He took note of her slightly disoriented walking and wondered if he should have offered to drive her home.

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

   The door to Ashleigh’s dorm creaked open, with the woman clumsily walking in after. Walking home while drunk is apparently not the best thing to do. Perhaps she should’ve taken that bartender’s offer to take her back here, but she felt perfectly content walking home by herself. It even allowed her to take a good look at the Moon, which she had found herself feeling oddly pulled towards during those ten minutes of walking.

   Ashleigh took a seat on the small, singular sofa that was on the side of her little apartment. It was nestled in the corner, beside her work area and window. The seat had given her the perfect look at the moon again, the celestial object now currently in waxing crescent phase. How she knew that she wasn’t sure.

   Ashleigh let out another hiccup. “Houh, still a little drunk…”

   She pressed her back up against the chair and closed her eyes, her only thoughts now being of that weird fruity drink, that bar, and that bartender. It did feel nice to vent all of her feelings out to him, even if he wasn’t very professionally trained. And admittedly he might be right about all of this bad stuff just being a ‘for the time being’ thing. Plus, now that she was relaxed and had the time to think about it, Maurice did look kind of hot. Well, in a scruffy middle-aged man kind of way. 

   Okay, weird to think about… she thought to herself. She did kind of envy him, though. Big, hairy guy; deep voice; slightly confusing accent. She… wanted all of that. Especially that hairiness. God, that man is quite the bear…

   She let out a small sigh. What time was it? It was probably pretty late. She should probably head to sleep.

   …although for some reason she felt really itchy now…

   It was miniscule at first with it being a slight discomfort in her hands, arms, and chest. It was something she would try and scratch, the woman shifting her body around the couch uncomfortably as she tried to reach every spot she could to relieve herself of this ordeal. It wasn't until she started feeling something coarse that she started to notice something was off.

   Taking a hand out from beneath her shirt, she found that it was hairier. Brown hairs were growing out of it at a rapid pace and quickly overtaking it in a thick, fluffy pelt. Curious, Ashleigh turned her hand around to see if a similar change was occurring on her palms. While fur was growing around her palms, the skin was also swelling; roughening and darkening into a paw pad. Alongside this came changes to her nails, the keratin lengthening and sharpening into pointed claws. She could even swear that her hand was subtly growing larger.

   Ashleigh raised a brow, a mix of intrigue and confusion forming on her face. She lifted up her other hand to check if it was any different, finding the exact same changes have come across it too. A large, wolfish paw instead of a small, human hand.

   "...cccool…" she slurred out drunkenly. Perhaps it was the fact the alcohol was still working through her system, but she didn't feel particularly worried about this. She rubbed a paw on her cheek, feeling the fluffy fur and rough pads brush up against her skin. It was great. Her body was still kind of itchy though…

   Placing her paw down, she rolled up a sleeve of her hoodie, along with the sleeve of the shirt beneath it, to try and scratch her arm again. This time she was being a little lighter so as to not scratch herself with her new claws. Her skin looked to already be growing out more hair, but it appeared that irritating it was causing the changes to pick up the pace.

   The patches of fur grew denser with each passing second, her skin now fading beneath the brown pelage. A feeling of power coursed through her muscles causing her arms to gain a little more muscle tone than they had before. It wasn’t an impressive amount, plus it was shrouded beneath all of her fur, but it was there. This was then accompanied by a brief lengthening of her arms.

   There was a feeling of contentment filling her as she watched everything unfold; a feeling that, for once, wasn't influenced by the booze from earlier. It was like something deep inside her was coming out, something that she so deeply wanted. 

   The fur growth eventually ran up her arms and beneath her rolled up sleeves, but judging by the slight tightness she felt in her shoulders (a byproduct of her thickening delts), alongside the feeling of warmth layering upon them, she knew where the changes were heading.

   She leaned forward and placed a paw beneath her shirt, proceeding to scratch away at her chest while feeling the brown fluff growing out of it. With her shoulders becoming larger, her frame had widened to match. While the fur trickled down her chest like a rushing waterfall, her torso flattened and her breasts shrunk away, and all that remained were some pectorals with a small layer of fat covering them. For a moment a horizontal scar visibly formed beneath each pec, but both got shrouded beneath the sea of fur just moments later.

   The intense itching began to dissipate as the pelt washed over her belly. Beneath it grew more small muscles, but those muscles quickly got drowned out by a medium sized gut. She found her hand slipping down towards it, unconsciously giving it a little rub and causing her tongue to fall out of her mouth for a moment.

   “This is… oddly appealing…” she whispered to herself. It took her a moment for her brain to register that her voice shifted at the end of that sentence, her voice now a little deeper and huskier. 

   The fur eventually flowed down to the lower half of her body. Her hips widened before a feeling of pressure started to fill at the base of her spine. Scooting up in the chair a little, something about her reaction felt almost instinctual. So much so that she lowered the back of her pants a little.

   “Forgot to wear the tail safe ones, huh…” she offhandedly mumbled to herself. Her voice was just getting deeper and deeper. Plus she could swear there was an accent getting in there…

   Slinking out from her rear came a tail; one that was big and fluffy with rich brown fur that had a lighter shade of it on the bottom. As her tail grew, her spine grew with it making her taller than she was before.

   Somehow knowing exactly how to maneuver it, she moved the tail to her lap before scooting back up to the back of the chair. Smiling, she softly stroked the long, furry extension of herself. It was already becoming evident that she was transforming into some sort of wolf creature. Fur, paws, weird enjoyment of having her tummy rubbed. The tail was just another addition to this experience, and Ashleigh was all for it. 

   She had to take into consideration other changes though. Her now flat chest, her deepening and clearly masculine voice, even in her mind she didn’t feel like a ‘her’. It was clear that this was some kind of sign, some kind of fulfillment of an internal wish.

   It’s about time he starts referring to himself as something he was comfortable with. 

   As revelations came to his mind, his legs and feet underwent their changes. Mirroring his arms, his legs got thicker in both fur and muscle while concurrently growing longer. He didn’t really shave them much before, but that would be a null thought now that they were completely covered in a pelt of wolf fur. The same happened to his feet, the two now becoming large paws like his hands. Claws, paw pads, everything. Although unlike the rest of his clothing, his shoes were getting particularly uncomfortable…

   He leaned his head back up against the sofa and closed his eyes. “Yer really gettin’ everything ya wanted…” An ear twitched as he instantly noticed that an accent had crept into his already deep voice. It was a little hard to tell, with it being deep in the guttural huskiness that werewolves had, but it was definitely an Irish accent. “I’m even gettin’ an accent too!”

   He smiled, although now his face was now starting to feel different. This was caused by a lengthening muzzle, his face now pushing out into a more animalistic shape. Nose melding with his snout; the skin of it becoming rough, black, and wet. Shorter brown hairs pricked out of his skin and ran all the way across his face, his eyebrows getting bushier in the process. Within his mouth his teeth sharpened and two of his canines poked out from beneath his upper lip. His ears twitched again as they lengthened to a point, soft fur rolling across the outside while even softer fur poked out from the inside. 

   Then came the changes in his hair. Previously a rusty auburn color; long, wavy locks shortened on scalp while longer bits of fur protruded from the edges of his head and the bottom of his neck. Growing out of his head from all sides was a long, fluffy mane, the red coloration of the hair fading beneath it to become a dark, chocolatey brown as it did so.

   The wolfman closed his eyes and drew in a breath, his vocal cords rumbling with a content growl. He felt at peace for the first time in weeks. That bartender was right, that drink did help him find what he was looking for. At least in one aspect, anyway.

   He eventually drifted off to sleep, smiling and unafraid of what would happen on the morrow. And in his sleep the world would shift around him…

   The small dorm room expanded; twisting and warping into a small, comfy home. The overall location switched to someplace near the edge of the campus.

   His clothes had also shifted. The hem of his hoodie lengthened, sleeves unfurling and settling over his arms. The material shifted from cotton to wool, the color dulling to a comforting gray as it did so. Buttons lined one of the ends of the split while the hood retracted and flattened into a nice shawl collar. Gone was a hoodie, now warped into a comfortable wool cardigan.

   The undershirt he wore beneath the hoodie altered alongside it. The sleeves shortened to make it a t-shirt, the color darkened to black. Emblazoning on the shirt was a simple hexagon with triangular eyes, four rectangles beneath it that emulated teeth, and a line that floated around the top four sides of the hexagon; triangles poking out of it to replicate ears.

   His pants were next with the portions below the knees magically tearing apart before stopping a little above his knee. The edges remained frayed, and the material shifted into a blue denim. A hole formed beneath the belt loop on the back, and the jeans appeared to phase through his tail in order to comfortably fit it in there. Once his tail was in, the changes to his pants were complete.

   His shoes underwent more subtle shifts, having only grown in size to alleviate the discomfort while the leather deepened in color to a dark red lined with white around the sides, soles, and straps.

   Deep in his sleep, the wolfman dreamed. Dreamed of a new life for himself, all of his goals fulfilled and him now helping others do the same. Dreamed of the perfect identity for himself. And dreamed of the happiest thoughts he could. With these dreams came a new name for himself…

   He was now Jawbone O’Shaughnessey, and these dreams would soon be revealed to be more than just mental conjurings…

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

   Jawbone woke up with a start, in part thanks to the alarm clock he didn’t remember setting. He walked over to it to shut it off, quickly finding out that his vision was a lot blurrier than he recalled. He instinctively pawed the top of the dresser his alarm clock was on for a few moments, then grasped onto something. 

   His glasses.

    “Heh, that’s new…”

   Placing his glasses on his muzzle, he began to think. Come to think of it, a lot was new…

   As he got up from the sofa he took a nice glance of the room he was in. Instead of a small dormitory room, it was a medium sized bedroom. It retained a fairly similar layout to his old dorm room, but with the new space came bookshelves lining the shelves (containing the many books he’s read over the years) and a few picture frames hanging from the walls (all of which had assorted images of him with students he remembered counseling).

   A warmth filled his chest while he stared at the various images. All of these were of him, and they were all of the people he’s… helped… 

   Faces, names, voices, memories, so much flashing in his head at the sight of these pictures. It filled Jawbone with a euphoria that feels like it’s been felt a thousand times before.

   “I guess those weren’t just dreams, then...”

   The rest of the morning was spent preparing himself for the day and checking out what else seemed to change. Jawbone was a little surprised to find that he wasn’t in his dorms anymore, and was instead in a fully paid for house! Along with that, all of his credentials seemed to have changed to fit his new reality, and judging by his new memories he was now employed as the guidance counselor at his old college. Things had truly changed for the better!

   However, he was truly able to settle into his identity at college. The students smiled as he walked past them, greeting him and giving him high-fives. He was seen as one of the most chill, kindest, helpful people in the college by-far. People entered his office to ask for help in both academic, social, and personal matters, and Jawbone seemed to have the right answer for everything.

   There were times he was alone in his office waiting for a student to walk in, the man given a small moment's time to look around and think about the life he was now in. He’d pull up foreign memories, strange and crazy tales from his past, sifting through his mind to better grasp who he was now. This is his life after all, he’d like to know everything it had to offer. 

   The day would go on as all days would go. Helping students; chilling in his office; doing some miscellaneous paperwork. Every so often he’d stare at the nameplate on his desk and drift into happy thoughts, a feeling of reassurance of who he is settling further within him. He even started to feel like this had always been his life even if that wasn’t exactly the case. But semantics were pointless in the end because this is his life!

   Eventually everything for the day would be said and done, and Jawbone would get off work with a smile. Another day fulfilled for the carewolf! 

   At first he had thought about driving back home and finishing up what paperwork he had left, but a thought had entered his mind while he turned the ignition.

   After a minute of driving through the city streets, Jawbone’s ears perked up as he heard the music of his destination. The Oreum Sirius Nightclub: the exact place he had been the day before.

   He winced as he stepped into the doors of the place. The music was a little too loud for his werewolf ears, but he would get used to it like he did back at the Black Pit. Plus his real goal was far enough from the club portion that it wouldn’t be too much of a nuisance.

   His eyes drifted to the man tending to the bar. The burly guy cleaning a shot glass while looking out at the club’s crowd, awaiting a customer. The one and only Maurice.

   Jawbone walked up to the bar, a coy smile on his muzzle, and let out a low growl to grab the bartender’s attention. “Yer quite the bear of a man, aren’t’cha?”

   Maurice seemed a little startled about the appearance of a werewolf (something was telling Jawbone that lycanthropy wasn’t very common around these parts), but quickly regained composure in order to respond. “Flatt’ry ain’t gonna get ya’ anything free.”

   “I think I already got somethin’ free yesterday…”

   The sight of the bartender’s eyes was enough to prove to Jawbone that he got the guy. 

   “Wait- yer- woah…”

   Jawbone’s smile widened even more at that reaction. The wolfman stared into Maurice’s eyes, causing the bartender to blush a little.

   “I don’t know what you gave me, but it did exactly what you said it would!”

   Maurice just nodded, although Jawbone could hear the man mutter something along the lines of ‘usually they never stay in this world’ under his breath. Jawbone chose not to question it though.

   Jawbone placed an arm on the table and leaned over to Maurice. “How ‘bout I buy us both a drink, and we can get to know each other a little bit more…”

   Maurice’s enter face flushed, the man beginning to stammer. “R-right! Ah-Ah’ll get us a menu soo we can… ord’r somethin’.”

   This was going to be one hell of a night!

[cheswirls]

this is a good place to cut, i think!! random segment from part two of the magic au. (which i def have not forgotten abt! it's just taking time to fix the concept art to be how i like it (: we'll get there tho~)

there's one placeholder in this, just a warning. feel free to imagine whatever you like for now.

-

sabo sighs and leans back to pillow his head against ace’s side so he can stare straight up at the woven-straw ceiling as it creaks ominously. 

trafalgar is up there, and he’d insisted once before that the noise was him moving about. sabo’s not sure he believes that. to him, it seems more likely that the entire structure is swaying with the movement of the artificial wind.

he shivers while thinking about the cold, wrapping his arms around himself to resist the temptation to crawl up onto the couch and burrow himself next to ace’s warm body. it should be the middle of summer, but for about a quarter-mile radius surrounding the small cottage, the weather feels more like winter. inside the artificial bubble, it’s so cold and wet. and the walls of the house don’t seem to retain heat that well. no wonder trafalgar is always in so many layers.

sabo can’t seem to acclimate to the altitude, either. he knew hiking all the way up to a mountain village was going to be arduous, but he hadn’t accounted for the healer’s home to be ever further up the mountain, and for the air to be even thinner up this high. he’d been told the residence was still firmly below the clouds, but there have been times where sabo has begged to differ. especially since the weather was so controlled in this tiny space (and, to him, wildly unpredictable).

the sound of plush steps falling on the woven staircase makes sabo snap out of his daze. trafalgar descends carefully with an assortment of objects crammed into a box he carries down with him. his workspace is on the second story (or so he claims) which is the reason sabo has been barred access despite his curiosity.

(not that he could go if he wanted to; ace couldn’t make the trek up, and sabo is bound to forever stay at his side.)

trafalgar gives him a look and sabo immediately gets to his feet with a deep sigh. he moves to an armchair nearby and settles down onto it with his arms crossed, pointedly turned away from ace. it’s the best trafalgar’s been able to get him to do seeing as he’s being persistently stubborn about the issue, considering he couldn’t watch while ace was being worked on.

(they hadn’t told trafalgar about the curses. they didn’t want it to be a deal breaker, considering ace’s condition was already an unreasonable over-complication.)

sabo resists another shiver and maneuvers in his seat until he has the blanket lying under him wrapped around his shoulders instead. trafalgar gets touchy if he starts moving around once the procedure is already underway. just as he thinks on this, the wall he’s facing starts shining a dull blue, reflecting back some of the light cast from trafalgar’s magic.

outside, the wind picks up. it rattles the walls, making sabo tense against his will. he tries to get his shoulders to relax again while reaching an arm out to tease the heavy curtains drawn around the one window in this place to the side just enough to see what color the sky is.

it’s dark, is all he can tell, before trafalgar snaps at him to stop it. probably worried about him seeing something in the reflection off the glass. sabo snorts and hunkers down into the seat further, drawing his legs up and wrapping the blanket tighter around his thin frame.

trafalgar must take pity on him. it’s not too long after that the glow from the magic dissipates and trafalgar pads into view to light the fireplace nestled in the far corner of the room. sabo perks up, head rising, but he’s not given even an opportunity to look back at ace before trafalgar is glaring at him with fire in his eyes.

“do not! i’m not done yet. you know the rules.”

sabo huffs, lowering his chin back to his chest. “i’ve never met a more secretive and stubborn witch doctor. don’t you have to be born with the skills to use–”

“don’t call me a witch,” trafalgar murmurs low, a clear threat. he’s almost teleported to hover over sabo, one hand pressed to the side support of the armchair just shy of sabo’s head to add to the intimidation. sabo has to work hard not to flinch or look outwardly cowed by the obvious hostility. “that’s an outdated term. such a word has a bad connotation in this day and age – it only brings trouble. i’m a shaman. that would be the correct title.”

sabo can only breathe again once trafalgar has risen out of his personal bubble. in contrast, the healer looks largely unaffected, only pretending to dust some lint off of his shoulder before disappearing back behind sabo to resume treating his patient.

“and it’s clear from your attitude that i’m the only shaman you’ve ever met,” he continues, content to lecture sabo while the latter can’t reasonably counter, stuck in place as he is. “we’re all like this. sorry to burst your bubble. no one’s willing to give up their trade secrets.”

his snort of disdain makes sabo’s blood boil. unfortunately, it does nothing to warm him up. perhaps that’s what the fire is for. or maybe it’s just another source of light, considering trafalgar is allergic to candles despite fireproofing his straw house.

“mansherry didn’t mind if i watched her work,” he mutters.

“i don’t recognize that name, so she can’t be a shaman. in which case, i see little problem with her having you observe. there are different types of mages that specialize in healing magic. you should know this. didn’t you tell me you patched him up yourself, before you could get to a healer?”

sabo shudders as the memory forcefully surfaces. no, of course he knew some rudimentary healing spells, but what he did that night . . . it was a lot closer to [xx] than any sort of first aid.

trafalgar takes his silence as an answer, but doesn’t pursue that line of question further, thankfully. “my point is, anyone can train enough and call themselves a healer. but only a select few mages can be referred to as doctors. even if you do have to be born with the ability, the process is still a trade secret. no real shaman would subject themselves to an audience while they work. even an audience of one.”

the blue glow dies down, letting the warmth of the fire’s light take over the room. trafalgar moves quickly in and out of view, hidden from sight in the kitchen by the partition screen. the sound of running water is enough of an indication that he’s washing his hands. his voice still reaches sabo from over the noise. “he should wake up soon. it’s late, though, so after you eat, you both need to try and get some rest. he’ll enjoy being conscious more when the sun is out.”

sabo stands quickly and kneels at ace’s side. he cards a hand carefully over ace’s cheek, drawing his hair off of his face to reveal the small freckles he has spotting the skin there. the sight makes him frown. it’s summer, and ace’s freckles should be so numerous that counting them is rendered an impossible task. 

he can’t resist commenting as trafalgar moves back into the room to retrieve his tools. “hard to enjoy much sunlight when it’s so cold and overcast all the time. can’t you make it a dry winter for a day?”

“i’ve told you before: i can’t control the weather.” law hesitates when his box is packed, leaving it on the floor to look at sabo directly. “this sphere can only emulate the weather from another area of the world. it’s more of a realistic projection than outright manipulating forces of nature. still very high-level magic, but nothing like what you’re imagining. such a thing is almost beyond comprehension.”

sabo bites down on his lip and resists the urge to comment how such a thing wouldn't be incomprehensible for him, given enough time and effort.

[noxexistant]

Having more Delancey Thoughts so naturally I bring them to you:

(I'm in the "Morris is older" camp so feel free to substitute this with Oscar should you choose)

Jack doesn't like stealing, but he'll do it if any of his boys needs something and they can't get it any other way. Usually he doesn't get caught.

Until Morris catches him. Morris, whose pockets are also crammed with stolen food and a bottle of medicine from the apothecary.

Neither knows what to say. It's too awkward a situation.

"You gonna call a cop on me?" Jack asks.

Morris can't. He doesn't like the newsies, none of them, but he knows the struggle of trying to care for your younger sibling. Because Oscar hasn't had a decent meal in six days and he's been in pain all over for twice as many. And Morris doesn't care what he's got to do to make sure his brother gets what he needs.

"...We keep this 'tween us." Morris offers, "I don't like you, Kelly. But I know what bein' a big brother's like."

Jack doesn't know how to respond. The Delanceys don't show charity like this to anyone.

"You go home, you feed your brothers. You forget you saw me here, you don't mention it tomorrow at work."

Jack can't bring himself to ever thank a Delancey. Morris doesn't want to be thanked.

as always, i am eating your delancey thoughts eagerly. i am personally so deep in younger morris camp that i could not crawl out if i tried, BUT may i offer you:

jack and morris near collide with each other in the back aisle of a general store, far enough away from the lodging house that the clerk don’t watch them like the ones closer that know them do. jack’s got a couple combs stuffed into the waist of his trousers, a few pairs of socks stuffed down his shirt, toothbrushes, a specific kind of soap ‘cause buttons is allergic to the one they got, and one of them little sewing kits in a tin ‘cause there’s too many holes in all the boys’ clothes and they been out of anything to fix ‘em for way too long. winter’s setting in, jack’s stocking up.

morris don’t hardly look like he’s stocking up. he’s only got one thing, clutched tight in one hand - tight enough that jack can see the colour washing from his bruised knuckles. it must sting, but morris don’t seem to mind. his focus is single-minded, though he seems startled now. scared. reminds jack of when he knocks one of his boys out of a bad dream.

morris seems to get like that a lot. daydreaming. he’s been worse with it lately, while oscar’s been nowhere jack could ever see him. he has half a mind to ask where oscar’s been, but asking if morris is gonna snitch seems like a better question. and morris don’t say no - don’t say anything - but he at least sure don’t look like he’s gonna call the bulls. he looks awful, hair in tangled curls beneath his hat pulled low, eyes all sunk like he ain’t been sleeping, hands shaking. he’s glancing at the door, restless, squeezing one trembling hand around the little bottle in his palm.

medicine, jack realises suddenly.

something os won’t take, morris knows. he won’t take any medicine, swears it’s what took pa, and morris don’t often try to push the issue but oscar’s been bad, especially the last few days. can’t even get out of bed now. wiesel’s getting mad, and morris is tired, hungry, scared. he wants oscar better. wishes he knew what to do. almost wishes he could ask kelly - he’s got a lot of brothers, always seems like he knows what to do, surely must know what to do if any of his boys get sick - but morris can’t do that any more than he can ask the chemist he stole from.

jack’s talking more, morris thinks. he ain’t listening, can’t process a bit of it. it’s like he’s in another room.

“you gon’ call th’bulls on me?” morris finally manages to ask, stilted, cutting off jack mid-word without even realising. he doesn’t care anyway. he doesn’t like jack. he just wants to leave, wants to get back to oscar.

and jack ain’t stupid, despite what plenty people might think. he’s got brains enough to put together the puzzle of oscar delancey disappearing and morris delancey stealing medicine. and brains enough to understand and take advantage of morris clearly not caring about the stuff clearly shoved in jack’s pockets.

“you go get your brother better,” jack tells him, “i still got scores to settle with ‘im.”

morris needs no more encouragement. he disappears out the door, head bowed, back hunched.

it’s weeks later that jack sees oscar. it’s a different store - jack ain’t stupid enough to target the same place twice in a row. and maybe oscar got told by morris which store he used last time, because he’s here now too and this time it’s oscar with his pockets stuffed. his trouser pockets and the pockets of his woollen work coat are swollen with food, he looks like he’s got some socks or something stuffed up his sleeve. jack wonders if maybe he’s got some medicine too, because this time jack does - it’s all he’s got this time. sniper’s been hacking and wheezing.

“fancy seein’ you here,” jack says, just to be obnoxious. oscar bares his teeth, snarling like a dog, but he’s quiet and still.

“we’se even,” oscar tells him lowly. he only elaborates when jack gives him a confused look. “las’ time. mo told me ‘bout your little run-in. you kept it quiet then. so don’ squeal now either an’ we won’t have no issues.”

“what, we got a deal?” jack huffs, laughing, looking around the apparent no man’s land of the general store. an innocuous space where the delanceys won’t be themselves for once. “this a truce?”

oscar don’t laugh.

“i know what it’s like to be a big brother,” he forces out. jack stops laughing too, the bottle of medicine suddenly feeling heavier in his hand. “so you go home, an’ you get your brothers better. an’ i’ll get mine fed. an’ we both forget we saw each other here.”

oscar glances pointedly at jack’s pockets like his own ain’t filled to bursting, but jack supposes it makes sense when it’d been the reverse the last time. morris’d probably exaggerated it too, made it sound like jack was robbing the place blind.

“i don’ like you,” jack tells him. “an’ your brother neither.”

“i’on like you,” oscar says right back. “so we’se even. an’ hopefully we won’ never see each other again outside a’ work.”

jack knows there are only so many stores within their very specific radius to steal from.

“see you at work,” he says instead of saying that, bidding oscar off with a two-finger salute and a grin. oscar glares and goes, straightening himself up and walking with the intent to scare.

jack glances at the medicine in his pocket once he’s gone. the same kind - near enough - as morris’d been stealing that night. must be decent stuff, if it got oscar back to this.

jack takes it.

[joannaliangart]

Cat and Fish ceramics (2022) slipcast salt and pepper shakers, spoons, and bowl/mugs

---

General concept/theme with these is that the cat spoon goes fishing in whatever beverage/soup you put in the mug! And the salt/pepper shakers is the cat licking their lips satisfied with their caught fish hehe

Process details + photos under the cut:

made for my 2nd year ceramics class; Which was such. a pain. in the fucking. ass. Like good things came out of it but the amount of really draining work this class put me through was ROUGH

its also the time I got literally the sickest I've ever been, during a time where I had to be coming into the studio to work every single weekday just to meet deadlines. My cough did not go away for so long and when it did, a few months later it even came back for a while (only popping up near nighttime??) Until it seemed to finally completely resolve itself after like a YEAR. I'm 95% sure it was covid tbh... The test came back negative but I didn't trust those lil at home test guys very much considering how many variations were flying around orz ugh

This ceramics class was also a bummer because I went into it expecting to do at least some wheel throwing (as was on the course description...) But it was all slipcasting and plaster mould making and! I hated it!!! Don't get me wrong slipcasting is v cool, I just hated Doing it lol its hard fuckin work and working with plaster stressed me out orz

But! The nice thing about a ceramics class is you get some fun objects out of it which I always love...

Here's my sketches/ideation:

oh yeah also made some test tiles which was our v first assignment; used these throughout to test underglazes/glazes/colour combos:

Salt n pepper shaker maquettes! testing out two different designs:

Plaster mouldmaking my beloathed (salt/pepper shaker, Bowl, and Spoon+mug handle):

Slipcast the boys; drying before bisque. I'd have to redefine the details on the shakers and mug by hand because they weren't super visible right out of the moulds:

a Bunch o colour/glaze tests:

Also ran into a pretty major issue with the spoons... I 100% should have been putting a little hole in the top of the spoon handle so I could fire it via having it hang suspended in the kiln. Eventually I started poking holes by hand into the spoons, But having overlooked that from the beginning I had a good amount of spoons that were too dry to have a hole poked into and with the deadline so close... (and even with some new spoons I fucked up and broke a few spoons when I tried to poke holes augh) the techs in the studio said they could put em on lil stilts and fire them that way. And I thought ok that sounds good! But... I didn't realize I'd have to be sanding the lil bit of metal from the stilts off from where it gets stuck to the glaze... :((

(see that spoon on the far right with the hole on top? that's the ideal orz)

So I had to take like a diamond tip grinder sander thing and sand that off, but it was very difficult and unpleasant and loud and still left some grey blemishes. And I was still so worried that usability-wise, you'd put the dang spoon in your mouth and feel a sharp bit of metal cut the inside of your very delicate gums :((

Yeah so this whole class and all its projects were a big ordeal for me orz but at least I got some fun salt n pepper shakers out of it (I use the brown/white cat shaker to hold my cinnamon sugar now hehe)

Also storage was an issue, I had to get a locker space just for this class. I'd be cramming all my guys into my locker; kinda funny to open my locker and see a bunch of lil guys lmao:

I ended up giving 4 of my friends a mug and salt/pepper shaker combo each for Christmas that year! I hope they still use them lol but I'm not sure? The sad thing is that my own two mugs I had in my kitchen cupboard have. fucking vanished????? my parents say they don't know where they went n I literally have no idea either and it fucking sucks (if one goes missing it's like fine that sucks. But both of them?? What the fuck happened). I still have like two bowls (ie no handles) in my closet at least but those were the ones that I'm not sure were food safe lol