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[kind-of-a-shitty-wizard]

I've been thinking about him for some time already (YOU KNOW WHO...) and I think. he's just Like That ™. the gentleman killer. Haskillcore boring old man stuff enjoyer that spends weekends reading newspapers and philosophy books. looks down on people that lack manners. DOES want to serve for the best of his abilities and be appreciated. But ALSO I get the vibes... that he's the way he is because he's a shitty wizard.

HEAR ME OUT... It was just a joke at first but his fiasco with messing the most basic spell and being thrown out of the train..... I feel like he, in fact, can be incompetent wizard and that can fuck him up SO BADLY... like inferiority complex... I can imagine him being young & dreaming of becoming a great wizard & failing painfully. So now he compensates it with self-taught magic and dark arts (his necromancy interest). “dark magic is just misunderstood, not evil"...

I also get vibes from him of being bullied? I would take away his lunch yk. And now he allows people to walk over him and it's not just a job thing he's just like that. Until the moment he snaps. And murder may be the way for him to feel being in-control, which he usually lacks. Feel like he hass power. He doesn't feel nor act like purple guy jeff the killer (he's too old for that) but. Sometimes he thinks “It would be nice to kill someone right now. I also need cash. Hmm.” and that's now it happens. Maybe he feels alive when he does that, but it's only in-moment feeling that doesn't stay. I feel like he's pretty sensitive and can say when he feels bad(offended) or good(proud), but doesn't really have emotional intelligence? The feelings are there, what to do with them? who knows. not him. he goes out on the streets at night. depreesion)

I think he knows a lot about magic and artifacts (found out about the relic by private investigation or smth) but he can't use that intformation himself! what a shame! I get the vibes that he can be almost . cursed . to be a bad wizard. he's probably not but it just feels that way. so many potential in such cringefail loser (/affectionate). and he knows that and mourns that! what does he do with his life!

I rotate him in my mind he's so interesting what is wrong with him . . .

NODS VIGOROUSLY ALONG WITH YOUR POINTS im sitting here taking notes for my fic fr!! i actually hit on a lot of the same conclusions you did which makes me so happy, but one of the main differences was i thought he might actually be a good wizard, BUT i think your reading that he's ACTUALLY just a shitty wizard is more interesting character-wise....

like you said "he knows a lot about magic and artifacts but he can't use that intformation himself" <- YESSS. i think the exact way that he's shitty is that he definitely has the theoretical knowledge, but he can't apply it for shit. <3 like at the end of rockport limited he clearly knew the flame spell he was going to use, he just... fucking misses by a country mile LMFAO, even the meat monsters seem a little cobbled-together, like he knows the the theory but there's little finesse in the execution.

"he's the way he is because he's a shitty wizard." <- OK BC THIS BASIS IS SO GOOD. hes got so much ambition but no talent, and that informs everything about him!! - it's my headcanon that he grew up lower-middle class, and i think combining that with being bullied and being bad at magic contributed to an inferiority complex. and he likes refined things precisely because he likes the image of himself as this powerful refined (rich) person when he's really just grasping at it desperately :)))

aaand i think the dark arts provide shortcuts to power for the price of sacrificing another living thing, SO FOR JENKINS, who was a shitty wizard and an asshole who's totally willing to sacrifice people for power, it suited him perfectly :)))))))

not to mention all the points u brought up abt why he kills are so good. i think it's firstly a practicality thing (he needs the money, like u said), but then secondarily an outlet for his anger (he's a bit emotionally unintelligent like u also said lol). i think he learned how to deal with this simmering hatred in the exact wrong way, where he bottles it up during the day when ppl push him around and then lets it out during his murders. instead of yknow... learning to not let ppl push him around, and manage his anger and deal with it less destructively SDFLSDFKJ. and it became a cycle. so now he's a serial murderer cos he's into this repress-release pattern, someone get this man into therapy or get him a boyfriend who can fix him !!

AND... okok final point bc its getting a bit long. "so many potential in such cringefail loser (/affectionate). and he knows that and mourns that! what does he do with his life!" <- YES. perhaps even. he is not cut out to be a wizard..... he clearly has ambition, and good taste, and a flair for the dramatic, and mental problems, which means. of course. he is perfectly suited for the theater--//SHOT

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Purgatory // Jack Abbot

Part 1of2

Summary: A patient brought in with the Pittfest mass casualty event experiences a psychosis of some sort. Jack Abbot doesn’t know it but while he’s elbow deep in saving some guys bowel…you’re attacked while just trying to help.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x Nurse!reader. Violence against women. Angst/whump.mediocre medical knowledge. Hurt!reader. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Older male x younger reader.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author Note: This guy…this fucking guy.. Truly, I could write about him for hours, if not days on end. I love him your honour.

Next Chapter

In the practice of medicine, change is inevitable. New surgical techniques are created, and procedures are updated. Levels of expertise increase. Innovation is everything. Nothing remains the same for long, and we either decide to adapt to the change…

Or we get left behind. 

“Sir,” You sighed as you tried your best to have the man in the hospital bed cooperate. “I’m just trying to–” Before you had a chance to finish your sentence, to let the man who’d been brought in during the worst mass casualty event you’d ever worked, that you were just cleaning him up a little in a low period, he was on you like a bad rash. 

“Hel–!” You tried to scream, but two large, bloodied hands wrapped themselves around your throat as the unidentified male, mid-fifties possibly, tackled you to the ground. “H–!” 

*Crack* The sound was jarring. *Crack* The back of your head was repeatedly being slammed into the laminate floor. *Crack* You couldn’t breathe. Your lungs felt like they had been set alight, burning with a deep desire to take in oxygen. 

“Get away from me!” The man yelled as he released one of the hands he had tightly gripped around your neck, only to draw it behind his head and lay a full fist of force against your nose. 

“SECURITY!” You heard Dana shout as she caught sight of the assault happening across the way. She couldn’t tell who it was under the man who’d gone rogue. But it felt too late now…

Everything was a blur. You couldn’t breathe as blood trickled down your throat. The swelling had already begun to take effect. You coughed and rolled onto your side as the man was removed from you in a flurry of blurs. You couldn’t hear the commotion going on around on, but you could see the shadows behind swollen eyes and broken skin. 

“Y/n!?” Robby was the first voice that managed to break through the perpetual ringing. He was just a shadow, mixing with the fluorescent light beaming down on you. “You’re not okay, but you’re gonna be.” You could barely make out what he was saying. If you could, you would’ve panicked at the sheer heaviness in his tone of voice. The worry, the panic that his best friend’s wife had just been attacked. 

“Someone get me Dr. Abbott!” Robbys voice echoed across the entire expanse of the Emergency Room department. Everyone heard the urgent desperation in his voice. Everyone besides Jack…who was someone across the department, elbow deep in saving some guys bowel from needing to be removed. “Tell him it’s his wife!”

Whittaker was the one who dropped what he was doing, albeit not as important as finding Dr. Abbott, but nevertheless, he knew whatever it was that it was bad. Jack hadn’t anticipated one of the new kids to come charging in like it was life or death the way he did. 

“Dr. Abbot! Something happened, you need to come and–” 

“Someone better be dying for you to be taking any of my time away from this man, Whittaker, what is it!?” Jack didn’t shout, nor was it laced with anger. It was a response of pure and total control over the situation. Jack was as calm as they come under crisis. It was just who he was. He saw the solutions in chaos like a puzzle he could put back together. 

“Your wife–” Dennis choked on his own words like he was afraid to deliver bad news. Ironic that delivering bad news to loved ones of patients was a part of the job. “She uh–” 

“She what, Whitaker? My wife, what?” Jack never faltered. He never looked up from where he was working magic. Blood-stained gloves halted to a standstill, however, when the words that left Whittaker’s mouth next knocked the wind right out of Jack’s lungs. 

“She was just attacked, Robby has her in trauma two now, it’s bad, like real bad, sir.”

The air grew thin, the walls began to cave in. Jack Abbot was, on a regular day, as calm as they come under pressure. 

He saved his breakdowns for the roof in the early hours of the morning. He’d spend a few minutes watching as the sun kissed the horizon with a warmth that could only be rivalled by your own. 

He’d hedge his bets, cut his losses and accept what reality had dealt and delivered. All the while continuing all the reasons why he couldn’t take that leap. Always circling back to the most important of all. 

You. 

But when that guiding light is challenged, Jack's body language alters. His normally rigid, ex-military stance softened for a brief moment. 

Jack's heart was breaking. He could feel it being ripped apart inside his chest cavity. The thud of his heart was nearly loud enough to echo off the walls.

“What?” No one had seen Jack Abbot so flustered before. His eyes softened in a moment of what must have looked like weakness. But to Jack, it was love. Pure, that’s my best friend, love. The kind of love that’s deep in your bones, love. The kind of love that haunts you, love. “My, my wife?” 

It was a softness only reserved for you, a side to Jack Abbot that was hidden away behind the safety and security of his own perfectly designed Volt system. His expert ability to compartmentalise only ever falters around you. 

He can’t control it. Jack Abbot had a weakness, an affinity of affection. An addiction to the release of Oxytocin he received whenever you paid him any mind. It had always been like that, a little catch and release. Cat and mouse. Jack loved to watch you walk away because he knew you were always coming back. 

But now…you were hurt. You were hurt, and he was stuck in his own head thinking about the first time he saw you. How you lit up the entire night sky and hung every star just for him to feel comfort in the darkness. 

Your laugh, how it’s the only therapy he’d ever need. The deep cackle that’s not cute, but infectious. You’re like a shot of espresso, keeping Jack on his toes and never allowing him to fall completely off the deep end into permanent geriatric grumpiness. No matter how far he teetered over the edge.

Jack Abbot was just lucky enough to be living in general, but to be living in your world was just the luck of the Anglo-Irish. He wasn’t sure if he could live in a world without you in it. 

The thought consumed his entire being. A world without you. A life without you. What if he never got to hear your voice again? Or tell you how much he fucking loved you. The contrast between the heat of Jack's skin and the coolness of his wedding band resting upon his heart couldn’t have been more stark. 

“Is she—“ Before Jack could ask if you were okay, he was cut off. 

“Go,” Dr. Ellis damn near ordered. “I got this, go.” She reaffirmed as Jack felt her shove him over, there was no extra time that could be wasted. It was all Jack needed to find his centre of gravity again and get a hold of himself. 

His composure.

“Who attacked her?” But as the surge of panic softened, a wave of uncontrollable rage began to boil deep within Jack. His eyes scanned the utter chaos that was the emergency department, searching for whoever it was that had hurt you. “Where are they now?” 

No one gets to hurt Jack Abbots wife and gets to continue breathing. 

“Uhhh—“ Whitaker stammered, unsure of whether he should disclose that information or not. “He’s with security now, behavioural health two.”

It was a deep-rooted, all-consuming need to hook it left and make a B line directly for behavioural health two. Who did this guy think he was? Huh? Attacking people, no…attacking his wife like this? It wouldn’t be without consequence. 

“Dr. Abbot.” 

“This the guy?” Jack asked one of the security guards with a look of rage behind his exhausted eyes. “I need to speak with him?” 

“The cops and McKay are in there with him now.” 

“It wasn’t a request.” Jack snarled as he tried to make his way into the room that held the man who attacked you.

“JACK!” It was Robby who had yelled. “NOW!” You were in a rough way, Jack would tell by the tone in his friend’s voice. 

“Y/n,” Jack whispered to himself as he looked over at trauma two. “Oh, oh no no no no no.” It was a mumble only to himself, but everyone could feel the heaviness that followed Jack Abbot across and through the emergency department chaos. 

Change. We don’t like it, we fear it. But we can’t stop it from coming. We either adapt to change…

Or we get left behind. 

“She needs to be intubated, get her up for a head CT, we’re looking at some major blunt force trauma here, needs–needs burr holls to relieve the intracranial pressure.” 

“Y/n!” Jack barreled in like a hurricane-force wind. “What the actual fuck happened here, man?” 

“She was with a patient, Y/n? Can you hear me? It’s Robinovich here, don’t you make this difficult for me,” Robby spoke through panicked words as he worked on you as fast as he could. “Guy freaked, psychotic episode, probably a bleed on the brain–”

“Ja–” You barely mumbled as blood spilled from your mouth. Jack heard you, though. He heard you loud and clear as he made his way to your side. His hand was immediately in yours as he made sure to be aware of his spatial awareness as his colleagues worked on you. 

“I’m right here,” Jack cooed as he took in the sight of your face. Beaten, bloodied and bruised. “You’re okay, I’m right here, just hang on for me, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” 

“I, love–” You were in and out of consciousness, fighting against the pull of whatever it was threatening to pull you away from the surface. 

“Pulse is thready, she’s crashing,” someone announced as all the bells and whistles sounded off at once. You were indeed crashing, right in front of Jack. 

“Sweetheat? You stay with us, you hear me?” Jack was feeling the panic creep up his spine again. “Are you shitting me? What the hell do you think you’re doing being alone with a patient like that?” Jack knew if you were listening, you would have jabbed him back. Of all people to be giving you a lecture on hospital protocol, it shouldn’t have been him. 

You called him a Cowboy for a reason.

“If you die on me, i’m gonna be so fucking screwed here Y/n, get your shit together,” It was Jacks love language. “Robby, get her back!” 

He kept searching for some sort of eye contact, that deep-rooted ability of his that you at times often regarded as his superpower. That intense gaze, the one able to break through anything and reach your very soul. 

But Jack couldn’t see you through you, he couldn’t see anything but the blood that covered your beautiful face. The face he dreamed of at night, when all was said and done, and there was nothing left to do. 

“Working on it, someone get me neuro, NOW!” 

“O.R. is prepped and ready upstairs.” 

“Okay, let’s get her stable and on the move.” 

“I’m coming.” 

“Like fuck you are, brother,” Robby sighed, never missing a beat as he continued to stabilise his best friends wife. The love of his life.”You can watch from observation, but you can’t be in the O.R., hospital policy we—“

“Don’t work on family, I’m not, I’m telling you I’m—“

“If we can’t get her back, you’ll be in there, let me get her back, I’ve got her.” It was a promise Robby shouldn’t have made. But he knew you and he knew you well enough to know that this was not your exit music moment. 

Jack simply held his lips into a tight line of silent panic. He never let go of your hand, opting to walk you all the way to surgery. 

“Wait,” He begged right before the double doors automatically opened on your arrival. Everyone stopped moving as Jack leaned in to whisper something in your ear. “If you die on me so help me god, I’m walking right up to that roof for the last time and you damn well know it, don’t do this to us,” Jack begged. “I love you with all that I am and have.” He said one final time before letting go of your hand. Grazing across your wedding band as he let you go. 

“Let’s move people!” Someone beside your side yelled as all Jack could do was stand still, as you were wheeled away from him. 

“Oh god,” It was immediate, the sudden feeling of sickness. The wave of nausea hit him like a freight train. The nearest fake plant was the best course of action. With one hand on the wall in front of him, Jack emptied the contents of his stomach. It wasn’t much, mainly stomach bile, but the sentiment remained the same. “Fuckk-.” 

The thought of losing you made Jack Abbot's stomach churn. 

It hurts to adapt to change; anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. It’s utter bullshit. But change is inevitable, good or bad. It haunts us like ghosts of our former past. It can taunt us like a small child who thinks you’re having the time of your life. 

But when change is brought about, it’s better to adapt than deny that it's happening in the first place. 

—----------------------

There’s a reason surgeons learn to wield scalpels. They liked to pretend that their hard, cold scientists. They like to pretend that they’re fearless. But the truth is, people become surgeons because somewhere, deep down, they think they can cut away that of which haunts them. 

Weakness, frailty…death. 

Jack woke with a stark jolt. He was sweating, running a fever. The darkness was all-consuming as he tried to gain his bearings. He was in bed. The bed he shared with you.

“Christ,” Jack sighed to himself as he laid on his back in the middle of the night. A hand ran down his face as he collected his thoughts. That had been one of the most intense nightmares, one of the most realistic ones, he’d ever had. 

“Something tells me he had you on do not disturb.” Jack heard you mumble from beside him, wrapped up in a mess of covers and sheets. “Probably, don’t think that guys ever paid much mind to me, has he, sweetheart?”

When you didn’t respond, Jack frowned. You were just talking. Were you talking in your sleep? But you were talking directly to him.

“Y/n, you awake?” It was a question laced with hope. Jack hoped you were. He couldn’t stop thinking about your bloodied face in his nightmare. The way you lay there, lifeless, not breathing. “Hey, c’mere for a minute.” Jack nearly begged as he slowly but surely moved closer to where you were in the bed you shared together. 

With a gentle kiss to your exposed shoulder, Jack maneuvered you from where you were lying on your side to your back. It was then he realised he was still in a living hell. 

“Remember?” Was all you said as blood spilled out of your mouth and down your chin. A bloodied smile was permanently seared into Jack's memory as pure horror washed over him. “You couldn’t protect me, you couldn’t save me. What’s the point of being married to a doctor if you can’t save my life?” 

“No, no this isn’t real,” Jack tried to reason with his mind as he hovered over your now lifeless body in the bed you shared. “Stay with me, sweetheart, stay with me!!” 

But you didn’t move, you were lifeless and cold. So fucking cold. 

“Jack?” He heard through a whisper, a mumbled distance away, “Jack?” There it was again. This time, though, a hand on his shoulder accompanied the male voice, coaxing him back to reality. “Jack, wake up, bother.” 

With a jolt, Jack was waking from where he’d fallen asleep. Right beside you with his head on the spot beside your hand. His in yours. His back ached like no tomorrow, but his hips hurt the worst. 

“I must’ve fallen asleep.” Jack sighed as he tried to regain his composure. The thought of you dead beside him in bed had rocked him to his very core. But it was always the same dream ever since you were attacked. 

I could hear you screaming from the second I stepped out of the elevator,” Robby sighed as he checked your vitals. All the signs pointed to good news. “Have you spoken to your therapist about all this yet?” he asked with a frown of concern from above his glasses. 

“Nope,” Jack explained as he let out a sigh and stretched out in the chair he was sitting on. “Can’t bear to bring it up, might jinx her.” 

“Well, the swelling is mostly stable, she’s regaining strength, and her pulse ox is great, the only thing keeping her under right now is, well, her,” Robby shrugged as he crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s gonna wake up, man.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. He let the silence linger in the air. He watched your steady heartbeat on the monitor. He eyed off your vitals, the way your chest rose and fell with every breath you took unassisted. He was still on edge, but was able to talk himself through it. 

He’d watched you recover over the last week since the attack. Jack hadnt left the hospital once. He’d become what he hated most. A border. But he couldn't bring himself to leave even just for a few minutes. Not when you were here. 

It took a village. Dana had organised someone to collect all the essentials Jack and yourself might need during your stay. The house was probably a mess and the content of the fridge was well past used by, but that wasn't important right now. 

He’d stay here beside you watching you heal. Watching you get stronger. Watching you slowly come back to him like Robby had promised. But no one had any idea how you would react when you finally woke up. There was worry of mental deficits from the head trauma. But Jack knew you well enough to know you were a real fighter. 

He finally knew what it was like for you when he’d lost his leg. A part of him he’d never get back. Jack wondered if you'd feel the same way after, if a part of you died that day. He was anticipating it really. The onset of depression post traumatic events. The PTSD that would haunt you like a ghost. The sleepless nights. The recklessness. The suicidal tendencies. All of it, he knew about it and was prepared for it. 

Only difference is you weren’t. But boy were you a fast learner. And oh boy did Jack understand the other side of it now. How it felt to watch the person you love suffer so much. 

“Here,” Again Robby's voice broke Jack out of his trance-like thinking state. “Drink this, eat this, don’t argue,” A juice box lands in Jack's lap, so did a half eaten sandwich. He looks up at his friend, perplexed…but already knows the answer. “I ate the other half in the elevator.” Robby still explains. 

“Thanks.” Is all Jack has left in him to say. He’s exhausted, but won't say that out loud. Won't admit it to anyone but himself. Robby can see it written in the lines on Jack's face. He can see it in the growth of his facial hair, the bags under his eyes. 

“Have a shower before she starts to stir,” It's one of the last thing Robby says before he leaves. “You look and smell like shit, she’s probably not waking up just to be polite you know.” He doesn't wait for an answer, but as he leaves and heads down the corridor back to the elevator, he knows Jack is smiling behind him. Shaking his head. 

“You would do that, wouldn't you?” Jack sighed, popping the straw into the small juice box. The sugar is a much needed relief for the man running on empty. 

It isn't just surgeons, the truth is, Jack didn't know anyone who wasn't haunted by something…or someone. And whether we try to slice the pain away with a scalpel or shove it in the back of a closet…

Our efforts usually fail. 

—-------------------------------------

Jack Abbot went into medicine because he wanted to save lives. He went into medicine because he wanted to do good. He went into medicine for the rush…for the high…for the ride. 

But what he tends to remember at the end of most days are the losses. What he lies awake at night, replaying is the pain he caused or failed to cure. The lives he ruined or failed to save. So the experience of practising medicine, for Jack Abbot, that is, rarely resembles the goal. 

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down. 

“One slight gust and you’d be done for, you know?” Jack knew it was you the second he heard the approaching footsteps. 

“What are you doing up here?” Jack replied, all the while he still had his hands tucked away in his pockets. 

“Oh, I dunno,” You sighed as you ducked under the railing. Coming to stand close to but not close enough to where your husband stood. “Heard some lunatic was up on the roof, didn’t take much for me to realise that the lunatic in question was probably my repeat offender.” You rubbed your hands over your face like you’d had enough of today. Coaxing your husband off the ledge of the roof was not something you had on your bingo card for today. “What are you doing up here, Abbot?” 

It was a loaded question, but a question that deserved a genuine response nevertheless. Jack shrugged, unable to look his wife in the eye for once. Something he was really fucking good at doing. 

“Guy lost his leg in a car accident.” You didn’t need much more than that, but Jack continued. You didn’t interrupt. “My call to amputate, we weren’t gonna be able to save it.” You could feel the heaviness weighing on your husband’s heart as he explained what led him to the roof. “Pains been unbearable ever since.” 

You didn’t speak, you didn’t respond, but you sure knew what you had to do. There was a deeper meaning behind the reason Jack made you carry a pocket knife with you. One that wasn’t permitted by the hospital. You casually reached into your back pocket to reveal the small pocket knife. 

“You know, a wise man once told me that you find comfort in darkness,” You said as you knelt down carefully and knew back your arm with just enough force that the blade of your knife would pierce the titanium foot of your husband’s prosthetic leg. “There, should start to feel some slight relief soon.” 

Jack sighed. It never worked when he did it himself. Nor did it work if he knew it was coming. It had to be spontaneous, quick and off guard. You did just that.

“I needed that more than you know.” It was another way of saying ‘I love you’ But you already knew that. 

“Oh trust me, I knew, otherwise we wouldn't be up here standing on the edge of a building.” Jack knew you were right. You knew him better than he knew himself most days. 

That’s why you were his wife. His life partner. His better half. 

Jack let a moment of silence pass the two of you by as you moved to stand beside him once again, both watching the sun gently kiss the horizon. He raised an arm up and over your shoulders. Drawing you close to his side as he left a gentle, but meaningful, kiss to your temple. 

He adored you, far more than you would ever know. Jack was thankful for the way you left the knife in his foot. The more he looked down at it sticking out of his prosthetic, the more the pain alleviated. The more the tendencies subsided.

“You’re pretty good at this comfort thing, you know.” He prayed the roles were never reversed, was there a version of Jack that could offer the same kind of comfort, strength and grace that you could? 

“Comes with the territory,” Was all you said as you let your head against Jack's shoulder. “But seriously, we should totally get down before you spiral again.”  You bumped Jack's hip with your own. He smirked.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Jack teased as he kissed your temple once more. Choosing to leave with you via the stairs rather than over the edge. 

As the warmth of the water cascaded down Jack's exposed body, he stood leaning against the wall. Prosthetic leaning against the doorframe. He needed a moment. 

The scent of your body wash adorned him, using the toiletries you hadn’t had a chance to use yourself yet. Sure, Jack had kept you as clean as you could be during your stay, but wet wipes weren’t the same as your black plum and vanilla scented everything. 

Your wedding ring hung around his dog tags, right next to his. Robby had taken it off before surgery. It had become Jack's comfort blanket. To thumb at the circular silver ring. 

But as the steam threatened to allow Jack's muscles to relax, he heard it…the warning alerts. 

“No,” He gasped. Panic rose inside his chest as he fumbled to switch the water off and wrap the towel around his midsection. Fuck a shirt, this was a hospital and everyone knew basic anatomy. “No, this cannot be happening—not now.“ 

The sight that Jack saw when he stepped out of the bathroom was nothing short of horrific. There you were, surrounded by doctors and nurses alike. Some Jack knew, some he didn't. But they all shared a common goal… 

Avoiding the experience that is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Part Two: Coming Soon. Please leave me something to encourage that to come sooner :)

[sayruq]

AHEAD OF THE United Nations Security Council action to consider the Palestinian Authority’s application to become a full member of the international body, the United States is lobbying nations to reject such membership, hoping to avoid an overt “veto” by Washington. The lobbying effort, revealed in copies of unclassified State Department cables obtained by The Intercept, is at odds with the Biden administration’s pledge to fully support a two-state solution. In 2012, the U.N. General Assembly passed a resolution granting Palestine the status of a non-member observer state. The diplomatic cables detail pressure being applied to members of the Security Council, including Malta, the rotating president of the council this month. Ecuador in particular is being asked to lobby Malta and other nations, including France, to oppose U.N. recognition. The State Department’s justification is that normalizing relations between Israel and Arab states is the fastest and most effective way to achieve an enduring and productive statehood. While clarifying that President Joe Biden has worked vigorously to support “Palestinian aspirations for statehood” within the context “of a comprehensive peace that would resolve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict,” a diplomatic cable dated April 12 details U.S. talking points against a U.N. vote for Palestinian statehood. The cable says that Security Council members must be persuaded to reject any proposal for Palestinian statehood — and thereby its recognition as a sovereign nation — before the council’s open debate on the Middle East, scheduled for April 18. “It remains the U.S. view that the most expeditious path toward a political horizon for the Palestinian people is in the context of a normalization agreement between Israel and its neighbors,” the cable reads. “We believe this approach can tangibly advance Palestinian goals in a meaningful and enduring way.” “We therefore urge you not to support any potential Security Council resolution recommending the admission of ‘Palestine’ as a U.N. member state, should such a resolution be presented to the Security Council for a decision in the coming days and weeks.”

[the-bloody-ruby]

Yan!Baldwin IV X Reincarnation!Reader

✎Summary✐ you got reincarnated as Baldwin's wife.

⚠Warnings⚠ historically inaccurate mentions of death, guy of lusignan, racism?(I don't if it counts as racism btw it has nothing to do with skin color).

✎Note✐ reader is a female in this. Author hates this but decided to post it anyway. This is not the actual historical figure but the figure from KoH movie.

✎Tags✐ @jsprien213

✎Part 2✐

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You don't understand how it happened.

How did you end up in Jerusalem?. It's Not our modern day Jerusalem, it's 1181 AD.

From what you understood, you are during the anjou household reign of Jerusalem, most likely during king Baldwin IV time due to Saladin's name being mentioned so it must be around that time. But that's just a guess, if it is true then The king must be about 19 at this point.

When you first opened your eyes you found yourself laying on an a soft mattress, According to who they seemed to be maids, you had fainted while walking through the garden. You do have some blur memories of walking through a grand garden even though you know for sure that you did not walk through such garden ever in your life.

the last thing you remember, that you know that you actually did, that you went to sleep on your bed in your home, that's it. You didn't die while sleeping, did you?.

maybe you somehow took someone's else life, a someone from history none the less. It may sound bazaar but it's the only logical explanation in this unlogical situation.

While you were dozing off, trying to think of a solution to this disaster, The door was pushed wide open. a woman with fine clothing and jewelry enters with servants following her in. "I see you have finally decided to wake up." Her tone was sharp so was her glare.

You stared back at her, not with the same coldness but with confusion. "Who are you..?" You do know that she has to be a noble due to her clothing, but which noble? And why did she visit you? Why is her tone was as if you two know each other?.

She scoffed "It seems like the maids were right, It seems like you actually went mad this time." 'This bitch-' you thought to yourself, you can only say such things in your mind because you don't want to insult someone who might has the power to execute you on the spot. "Who are you?." You ask again, this time with determination.

"Sibylla of Jerusalem." You face went pale, you thought knowing her identify would make you understand the situation better but it only confused you more, why would she visit you?.

You look away, you feel like you're gonna faint again. "Tsk.. Pathetic.." She mumbles as you grip on the bedsheets, she grabs your chin and makes you look directly to blue eyes. "Hold yourself better, you are no common girl, remember that you are queen of Jerusalem, wife to my brother, you are y/n of Jerusalem.. Even if I don't deem you worth of such honour yet here we are.."

You are not sure if she wanted to scold you or mock you, either way her words hurt you even though you don't know why, it just stungs.

"We're having dinner this evening, you should be fine by then." She stated as she turned her to leave. you wanted to protest, you are in no condition to join a stupid dinner. "But-" "absence is unacceptable." she cuts you, she doesn't even bother to turn around to look at you yet her words held a warning in them. With that she finally left you alone.

Now you know whose life you are in, yes life not body because you are 100% sure that this is your own body, whatever. In history her name was forgotten so she's only known as Baldwin's IV wife or the Saracen queen.

Basically Baldwin and her got married to secure an alliance between Jerusalem and some Saracens, and to prevent Saladin from getting anymore power since your people are also in odds with Saladin.

You pity her.

No one cared about her, she was just a tool for her family to gain more power, Jerusalem's court despited her because she is still a filthy Saracen in their eyes and not to mention that king Baldwin IV, her own husband did not spare her a single glance during the entire of their marriage. It's not personal, it's just she's the least of his concerns.

In the end of the day she was executed because she attempted to poison to Sibylla but failed, it is unclear whatever she was truly guilty or framed.

No.. No. You won't die like this.. You won't live like this! You don't want to die with sorrow and tears!.

You won't allow history to repeat itself, you don't care if it's gonna change tomorrow's history or not, you value your happiness more than history that you might not live to see.

If you want a peaceful life, you have two potions.

you earn the King's favor and then you will live peaceful as the queen.

Which you are mostly to take, run away after securing a good amount of money.

Just in case, you're gonna try to secure both plans. You will try to earns his favor while earning enough money to escape.

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Evening came fast.

You didn't want to leave bed but you also didn't want to piss off sibylla so it sucks to suck. Even though you still don't understand, how can she threaten you?! I mean yes she is a princess but you are the queen here for God's sake!. Damn was the old owner this weak that no one respected her title as queen?, however this will change, You didn't die to live again to take bullshit again.

The maids may not be fond of you but they sure did well in dressing you up, you don't like you're about to throw up at any given moment at all But the hard part isn't not looking like you're about to throw up, the hard part is not actually throwing up in front of everyone.

"Come on y/n!." You cheer up on yourself in front of mirror, you were right about the body thing, it is your body. you look like you, not like the actual historical figure (even though there is no surviving portraits of her but okay). 'I'm happy that i didn't lose you, my sweet sexy asf face' you wink at yourself before someone's voice interpreted your flirting session with yourself. "What are you doing?." God.. Why can't they leave you the fuck alone?. First Sibylla, now this?.

"wHaT aRe YoU dOiNg?." You repeat mockingly before turning around only to see Baldwin IV in flesh and blood standing in front of you, you recognized him easily due to the mask. Your face went paler then it went with sibylla, why is God doing this to you? You are praying for the ground to open in half and sallow you.

His blue eyes just stared into yours, it felt like he is staring right through your soul. "..." He didn't mutter a word, You don't know what he is thinking but whatever it is, it doesn't seems like something you want to know about.

You wanted to cry, really. But not in front of him because it would only worsen the situation, after all you just mocked a king.

"..."

It's been quite the few minutes, he didn't say anything yet. 'You know what? I already ate shit so let's just walk away and pretend that nothing has happened.. Maybe he will just ignore it and then I'll get to keep my head..' You thought to yourself.

You proceeded your plan and it actually worked! He let you walk away although you felt his eyes still watching you like a hawk.

Dinner was as awkward as you'd expect. You tried your best to just focus on your platte and ignore everyone else on the table. "Are you alright?." It's Sibylla, even though her words seems out of concern, her voice holds no kindness to it.

You looked up from your plate, you stare back at her but this time with more confidence since the last time you two spoke. "Yes, I am fine." You replied to her question with a calm yet confident note.

That caused sybilla to stare at you. You have never acted like this before, you were always quiet and shy, never once you looked right into her eyes with such directness.

"I heard that you fainted in the gardens today. you should look out for your health more your Highness... It would be a shame if you become so sickly like someone we know.." Said the man who is seated next to Sibylla, who you assume is guy of lusignan.

At his words Baldwin looked up at him, that caused guy to shift uncomfortably in his seat, he hated everything about Baldwin, especially his blue eyes when they stared right through his soul.

'God.. It's so awkward...' You thought before deciding to gamble with fate again. "Your majesty.. Your food will get cold.. Please eat." You hold his gloved hands in yours as you tried to give the kindest smile you could manage. He moved his eyes from guy's to yours before he pulled his hands away and continued his meal.

That went as smooth as possible.. You could feel Sibylla's glare but you couldn't care less, what matters now is to earn Baldwin's favor.

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Im back from the dead 💪🏻.

Idk if you guys will like this but enjoy and if you got any notes for me then go ahead 💃🏻.

[quarterlifekitty]

I feel that after the first baby, it just further fuels these men's need to breed, so how quickly are they trying to get reader to have another baby/how long does it take to secure Baby 2: The Sequel? Do they use the same methods as the first time or do they switch it up? I imagine they're waiting just until reader is cleared by the doc to start trying again. Sorry if this is weird

Don’t ever apologize for being who you are. It is us freaks that are the cultural backbone of society.

It depends a lot on you! Like, baby one is obviously the hardest sell. Usually if mama liked baby one then baby two is not a hard sell at all if the means are available! But I think they do vary a lot on the in between period.

Uhmmm author’s note now that I finished this: I am so sorry I did you first, Gaz. Because I clearly just got progressively more insane and you suffered from first pancake here. No one look at me I’m ovulating rn

cw: pregnancy. So much baby.

Gaz wants like 1 year of baby one before moving onto baby 2. Enough to get used to things. Then, he will gently broach the baby 2 topic. Starts heavy with the compliments.

“He’s just so perfect. Having a baby with you has been like a dream come true, love. But you know what’s better than one baby?”

Soap is gonna wait til one of the development milestones, either speech or assisted walking. Truly, he wasn’t sure that he even wanted another one, but once your baby starts talking he’s like oh my god. It’s all happening too quickly. Tomorrow I’ll be sending him off to college. I need another one.

“Don’t ye think he’s a bit… lonely, hen? Think he needs a little sibling… Maybe two. And, well, ye dinnae want there to be a middle child, so, four total should do it, right, bonnie?”

Ghost is going for a 4-6 year gap. I think you all underestimate just how much he loves your first baby. Light of his life. Never thought there could be something in this world as beautiful as you. Perfection incarnate. How is it just? That he should be such a bastard for his whole life and get blessed with this? He mourns every moment he misses. Thinks about quitting the service altogether— just to spend more time at home. He never felt the itch to come home from deployment before he met you, and now that there’s the baby too, it’s agonizing. Every photo sent to him from you is equal parts soothing and torturous. Every time he has to leave, he says sternly to his baby, “you’d better not be any bigger when I get back, sweet’art, or you’re in big trouble.” It’s when she starts going off to school, getting dropped off for the whole day, that he’s ready for another. Be just can’t bear the thought of coming home on leave and not having a baby to spend every second with. He’ll cry if he has to drop her off at school every day without another little rugrat in his arms to keep him strong.

“Must be gettin’ bored— little darlin’ off at school all day…Think I’ve got a solution for that, dovie.”

Price is the man that’s waiting for the doctor’s go ahead to start trying for another. He wants one in your belly, one on your hip, and one clutching at your skirts at all times. He wants to be covered in munchkins when he walks through the front door. This man doesn’t just want a family, he wants a clan.

“Just the three of us in this big house…. Seems like a waste, doesn’t it? And I remember that wallpaper you fancied at the shops the other day… perfect for another nursery, don’t you think?”

König is waiting 2-4 years. He is another man who has complete and total reverence for the miracle that is his first child. I like to imagine he felt such giddiness at seeing your baby photos, now that he has his own? It’s nothing short of euphoria. He’s a papoose kind of dad— loves the constant contact. Similar to Soap, he has a complete crisis when his baby takes her first steps. “What if one day, she doesn’t need me anymore? Gott in himmel— it’s all happening too quickly, meine liebe.” So he’s quite eager to have another once you’re both feeling settled and a bit more confident with the first.

“You are a wonderful mother, you know. I knew you would be. I think… we can handle one more, ja?”

Nikolai has a sort of que sera mentality. Whatever will be, will be. Of course he would love a big family, but he won’t be tracking your cycles after the first baby. He’s confident in his virility. Will you go on birth control? No. Will he be pulling out? Also no (mostly. Sometimes a pretty girl needs a pearl necklace). So if you get pregnant again straight away— lovely. If it takes another year or so for things to line up that way, that’s fine too. More time for him to think of names. He’s not a greedy man, he knows that having you in one arm and your baby in another is a wealth most men will not know in their entire lifetimes, and he has a lot of life yet to live.

“A gift that begets more gifts. That’s what you are, malyshka. I’ll not forget that for as long as I live.”

[goldenstring6123]

Lnds: Fighting with them

Warning: ANGST NO COMFORT! Arguing, fighting & toxic responses to a fight. Self insert. Reader may or may not be the MC

Author's note: Here's my take on getting into fights with your LNDS boyfriend— realistic responses edition! some of you may not like this, be warned.

Fighting with Zayne:

He is a professional, and his method is simply de-escalation. Dealing with so many types of patients, he knows how to handle things from children fighting to burly men wanting to pack a punch. He talks out of conflict or stalls them long enough until security gets to where he is; this happens inside and outside the hospital. During this incident, though he appears cool-headed, he is also aggravated. A keen observer would notice the ghostly frown on his face and his mildly defensive stance.

With you, he's more lenient. More gentle and more understanding. Utilizing a more empathic approach to your conflict. He never raises his voice or shows an ounce of hostility. Zayne would most definitely be more comforting. He is quick to apologize by verbal words or sweet actions.

When push comes to shove and you somehow manage to get on his nerves, which happens once in a blue moon, he'll either:

Scenario 1: He'll stop talking or looking at you for hours. He'll try to calm himself down and stare off into the distance, recalling whatever got him on his nerves. He'll try to find a solution or workaround and meet you halfway. Of course, he'll demand an apology from you if he rightfully deserves it, and if not, he's more than willing to give you an apology instead.

Scenario 2: He'll ask you to leave his house to cool off both of your heads. He'll bury himself in his workload, turning off his phone. When you confront him, he won't speak first, asking if you need something from him. He won't apologize or meet you halfway with his words; in fact, he won't be gentle with them; he'll convey his feelings and messages to you more frankly to the point that it is harsh. His words are somewhat calculated, as if he had already planned what to say, but that would mean he won't let you slip a word in.

By then, the anger within you has already been extinguished. At the end of any scenario, Zayne is the last to apologize for being angry. Still, he states his anger has a reason and that he cares for you and his well-being.

Fighting with Xavier:

When you manage to annoy him, he pouts, still acting cutesy on purpose. He does this more often than anyone could imagine because, in this way, he can demand consolation in the form of baking pastries/desserts or kisses.

When things get hot between the two of you, he'll ignore you for a short amount of time, refraining from entering the same room as you because you know neither of you would give in to the argument, So it was better for you to both calm your minds down, even just for 5 minutes.

When all things go in the wrong direction, Xavier's the type to fuss, complain, and just generally become verbal. He never swears and raises his voice per se but heavily pushes the side of the argument onto you, whether you were wrong or right. Sometimes, he fails to understand your side of the conflict, and sometimes, he flat-out ignores it and acts all childish, turning a deaf ear.

He's capable of not talking to you for days, and he makes it more apparent that he's avoiding you by requesting to switch partners. And when this happens, most of the time, it's you who makes the move to apologize. But on bad topics, it doesn't end there. He still insists on his side of the fight. All while speaking and arguing, he tries to get close to you in an attempt to hold your hand, but you always push him away. You

One time, he got too close to you to make you understand, pressing you against the wall and holding your hand a bit too tightly, and out of sheer anger and fear, you resorted to brute force, slapping him across the face. This took him back to reality and, with it, took his anger as well, exchanging it for grief. Only then did he realize that he messed up in more ways than he could think.

Fighting with Rafayel:

Rafael is the hardest to deal with when angered. He's sensitive and quick to be influenced by emotions. Though people call him a "drama queen," Rafayel becomes a real pain in the neck when people get on his nerves. If he doesn't get what he wants, he'll make sure that the other party loses more than him, and he does that thanks to his network and his money. This seldom happens as He doesn't work with anyone in broad daylight. He locks himself in the studio; only Thomas usually talks to him.

At most, he gets into conflicts with cats.

It's a different thing when he makes shady transactions, though. When he's made into a fool, those people are dealt with by his hired men. Assassinations, theft, blackmail, whatever makes the other party beg on their knees.

With you, though, it's a whole other story.

Conflicts with Rafael are, unfortunately, toxic; He's easy to provoke and quick to retort. It's a gamble when you're with him. On some better days, you can get away with a conflict through an apology and dinner, or better yet, he concedes, and you can have your way.

It doesn't take a genius to know that this will escalate into a shouting match on bad days. Banters, insults, and harsh words are thrown at each other without pause, and it only stops when either of you walks out. It was a mindless conflict led by sheer anger, plus his pettiness and your annoyance. He makes himself look like the victim and points out your flaws more and how you failed to be understanding; conflicts with him end up with tears and devoid of an apology. Neither of you ever even remembered what you were fighting back.

When he has no strength to fight with you, he goes silent. He locks his home and only contacts you for a short period. He vents his anger on his paintings, to which Thomas immediately tells him to take a break and apologize to you. He doesn't, and it's not until a week later that he contacts you again.

Fighting with Sylus:

He's patient but, at the same time, impatient.

When something is amiss, or someone fails to do their task, rather than bother to be angry or inconvenienced, he'd eliminate the cause of that problem. It saves him from emotional exhaustion.

When in conflict with other people, you best place your bet on him being the aggrevator. He's more of the person to start conflicts than be on the receiving end. If there is one thing to know about him when he starts one, he finishes it, leading the other party on their knees, running away or six feet under.

Sylus is a big man who holds himself to his ego, so people tend to be weary when approaching him. Burly, prideful men are eager to fight him, and they somehow get a taste of their own medicine, praying they end up alive after this fight.

With you, however, it's a different story. Conflicts between you and Sylus are primarily caused by too much bickering and you taking his words to heart. Sometimes, he lets his tongue slip too much in amusement. A quick cold shoulder treatment and you blocking his chat is the way for him to show a gram of remorse. Despite being terrifying, he's pretty good at consoling and apologizing.

But when you start to get on his nerves, you're in a tight situation. He doesn't treat you like a partner; he treats you like some sort of business partner, spewing harsh facts with a tinge of insult. He doesn't let you slip a word in; if you manage to, he'll always have something to say again. He raises his voice slightly, asks rhetorical questions, and makes you look foolish. All the while, he looks like he still has his composure. He acts as if he's not your lover, creating a clear boundary between your relationship, and more often than you'd like to admit, this, too, got on your nerves. He never makes a move on you, neither does he curse or do anything terrible. He just sits there all arrogant, as if he always has the upper hand with your emotions.

But there was one particular fight where you're the one who's fuming red with pure, dry anger. You scream at Sylus, reprimanding and scornful, sometimes lunging a few soft items his way, which he catches, yet he never does anything. He stays in his place, but he is undeniably infuriated as well, only this time, he's silent. He lets you go off, not responding to your rhetorical questions and all the words you hurl his way, and when you are finally done speaking, he tells you to leave, grabbing you by your arm and throwing you out of his house.

He hasn't contacted you for a month, and you have been forbidden from going anywhere near the N109 zone. You thought it was the end of whatever you guys had. You sent your break-up message, and to your surprise, he's seen it yet— there was never a response.

That night, you wake up in his bed and in his grasp.

Author footnotes: I know this isn't the romantic type of lnds post but once in a while I want to make their relationships realistic, like, try to apply how people in real life would act.Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost | Dividers by cafekitsune MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

[shepherds-of-haven]

The End of an Era, and the Road Ahead

Hi everybody, the recent news about Dashingdon shutting down feels like it's a bittersweet turning point for many in the ChoiceScript community. Before Don stepped up and took things into his own hands, volunteering his own money, manpower, and time to create and maintain the site, there was no good way for people to host ChoiceScript demos and games in one place: I think the previous solution had been different Dropbox links (which was eventually nuked by security changes in how they hosted files) and possibly separate Neocities sites? Without the Dashingdon site, none of us would have had such an incredible space to gather, share and explore and experience games together, or--for some--even feel motivated to write a ChoiceScript game in the first place, not without an easy and intuitive way of sharing it with others in a playable format. The Dashingdon site significantly lowered the barrier of entry for anyone wanting to make or play or share games; more than that, it was a place of memories, creativity, and connection, and I fully believe that it served as a vital backbone of the ChoiceScript community for many years. A lot of that community relies on the efforts of volunteers--including the creator of CSIDE and the moderators on the forums--and, as with them, I can only thank Don wholeheartedly for his generosity and his 10 years of tireless, selfless, and often thankless work. The fact that a lot of people didn't even know he was a volunteer shows his altruism!

However, all of that work could have only fallen on the shoulders of one person for so long. It's a sad loss to see, though, and I'm very sorry to everyone mourning the loss of the community space, old or inactive WIPs, and save files that will be lost when Dashingdon goes dark at the end of the month. I do wish that there could be an official, stable, company-supported place for authors to host their games in one place, but at least there are alternatives for people to migrate to! (Thank you too to @hpowellsmith and everyone in the community who's taken it upon themselves to spread the news and try to make this transition as smooth as possible for everyone surprised by this announcement. And thank you to the volunteer who's taken up the banner at cogdemos.ink!) I don't know if cogdemos.ink has a page set up to help defray costs, but Dashingdon himself has a ko-fi if you want to leave a tip or thanks for his years of service to the community!

To that end, I want to reassure you all that Shepherds of Haven is safe and isn't going anywhere, and that this change won't affect the game's future. The news has, however, sped up my announcement of something I've been working on for a long time: transitioning away from ChoiceScript and moving Shepherds of Haven to Twine.

Granted, this wasn't how I originally planned on sharing this news. Patrons have known about this move since I decided on it, but I'm a dogged perfectionist, possibly to a fault. I wanted everything to be absolutely polished before unveiling the Twine build, but this unexpected news has been the nudge I needed to take the leap sooner. It's always been my habit to polish my work to an extreme degree: I will rewrite entire novels five, seven, however many times it takes before I send it to my agent or editor... or even before I show it to my own fiance! I still haven't let him read Shepherds, or the novel that I've been talking to him about since 2019, because it "isn't ready" yet, not in my own mind. A common refrain I've always heard from career associates is that my work is "unusually impeccable" by the time it hits their desk. When I do share something, it's usually done. But if I'm learning anything as I grow as a writer, it's that progress matters over perfection. The sudden closure of Dashingdon has made me realize that no one moment will ever feel perfect--and that’s okay. I have to accept that things will never be as perfect as I want to make them before I let them out into the world. Instead of holding myself to an impossible standard, I’m embracing this opportunity to push forward and bring you something I'm truly proud of. (However nerve-wracking that may be!) So, instead of reuploading the ChoiceScript demo somewhere else, only to take it down again later, my efforts are going to shift entirely to getting the Twine version ready for release. It’s a huge task, but it ensures I’ll have complete control over Shepherds of Haven and its future. If I drop everything and focus entirely on this for the next several weeks, my best estimate is that it will take 3-5 weeks of full-time work to make that final push and finally get everything caught up and ready.

Why Twine? There were a lot of reasons behind my decision to move. The biggest of all was that, as the game's wordcount grew, so too did my creative vision for it, and I found myself longing for a version of ShoH that could be just as visually rich and mechanically engaging as I was imagining. Codex entries, interactive maps, infinite saves that can be downloaded directly to your device! Moving to Twine removes the limitations of ChoiceScript's simpler engine, and allows me to honor the game's creative potential and deliver on it in a way that feels true to the journey we've shared so far. It's also a platform that offers greater flexibility and independence for both me and the game: I've put so much work into this project that I'd prefer for its success to rest more in my hands, even if that means taking on the monumental task of publishing it myself, rather than anyone else's.

So. Both the public demo and the alpha build will be released in Twine as soon as I can make that happen. The majority of the work's already done--I just need to get the alpha build caught up with some lingering day off interludes and Chapters 8.5 and 9, and I need to address a queue of lingering quality-of-life questions and tweaks. I want to also note that, while there are very exciting additions to unveil, everything foundational to ShoH remains exactly the same. The story, text, and original functions have been ported in their entirety to Twine, outside of basic edits and refinements that would have happened in the normal course of revision, anyway. I have even taken pains to implement a visual "classic" setting that will replicate the font, colors, and general simplified look of the original version, if players want to use that instead. :) But otherwise, this thing is stuffed to the gills with awesome new features. Custom music soundtrack! Clickable maps! Actual trading card collectibles! Stunning new art! Revamped codex and store and inventory systems! Helpful tutorials and autosave points! Important quality of life improvements, like being able to select pronouns separately from gender and change them any time! This doesn't even touch the surface of it, but needless to say, I think we're going to have a lot of fun. Thank you all for your patience, encouragement, and support so far, and please give me some time to get my ducks in a row. A new version of Shepherds of Haven will be ready for you to play soon!

[cyberclouddream]

The 6th House and Bad Fortunes

In Hellenistic astrology the 6th house is referred to the “place of bad fortune”, connected to disease and decline in vitality. Here it’s more associated with hardships and illness than daily routines and activities. This is due to it being twelve houses away from the 7th house, which would mean imprisonment to significant commitments, like our health and vitality.

It represents the challenges that arise when our creative and romantic aspirations meet reality. By addressing the issues related to health, routines, and service we can transform the challenges here into opportunities.

Aries Rising

- tedious jobs that demand grinding

- may clean up after others or work beneath your skill level

- burnout because of perfectionism

- overworking with little recognition

- hypochondria; frequent doctor’s visits or checkups

- nitpicky with coworkers

Remedies: balanced diet; prioritize and delegate tasks; activities that promote self-improvement; face issues head-on; eliminate distractions; learn to say no

Taurus Rising

- passive-aggressive co-workers

- people-pleasing overload

- headaches or skin problems

- jobs that lack beauty or creativity

- indecisive career path

- superficial relationship with colleagues

Remedies: make workplace aesthetically pleasing; distinguish supportive relationships from toxic ones; take proactive steps to manage burnout; stay physically active

Gemini Rising

- jobs full of manipulation, power struggles, or drama

- unhealthy or overwhelming intensity at work

- anxiety, digestive issues, or fatigue

- strong desire for control over work environment and tasks clash

- help others with hidden agendas

Remedies: stop avoiding hard tasks; let go of grudges; find a life outside of work; channel rage into work; get regular check ups

Cancer Rising

- dissatisfaction in routines

- overcommitting to responsibilities

- lack of exercise, weight issues, digestive problems

- conflict with traditions or authority

- too much optimism

Remedies: learn to focus on tasks; be wary of escapism; be honest about what you can handle; establish flexible routines

Leo Rising

- rigid rules or strict hierarchies in workplace

- relentless pursuit for success

- issues with bones, joints, or skin

- missing opportunities for joy

- feelings of isolation and loneliness

Remedies: drop guilt about labor and delegate tasks; don’t take work too seriously; reassess goals if feeling stagnant or underappreciated

Virgo Rising

- jobs that feel misaligned with values or ideals

- alienation at work

- inconsistent health practices; issues with circulation, nervous system, or sudden changes in well-being

- rebel against routine tasks or authority figures

- difficulties with structure or traditional methods

Remedies: make decisions instead of overthinking; engage more with colleagues; address and change when there’s discomfort; stop idealizing job or coworkers; embrace structure

Libra Rising

- neglect important tasks and responsibilities

- elusive health issues; frustration when seeking health solutions; often feel tired without clear reason

- sensitivity leads to overwhelming emotional labor

- lack of structure in workplace

- romanticizing hardships, sacrifices, or struggles

Remedies: stop dreaming and start doing; get real about health issues; don’t overindulge in pleasures; don’t let feelings dictate work ethic; confront conversations and conflicts head-on

Scorpio Rising

- rush into tasks without proper planning

- take on too much workload at once

- headaches, high blood pressure, or injuries over overexertion

- struggles with monotonous tasks

- inconsistent motivations

Remedies: think before you speak to not burn bridges; learn to collaborate; own your mistakes; get organized

Sagittarius Rising

- stuck in unfulfilling jobs that lack progress

- overindulge in comforts; overeating or neglecting physical activity

- resistance to new opportunities and changes at work

- jobs that offer little financial security

- neglecting mental health

Remedies: don’t cling to routines or methods; avoid complacency; don’t overindulge in comfort foods or luxuries; don’t expect people to read your mind

Capricorn Rising

- erratic work performance

- overwhelmed by too many projects

- headaches, digestive issues, or anxiety

- resist structured routines

- prioritize mental stimulation over exercise or proper nutrition

Remedies: don’t take on too many tasks at once; confront workplace drama; avoid procrastination; make time for resting well; think before you speak to avoid misunderstandings

Aquarius Rising

- difficulty separating feelings from workplace

- fluctuating health issues, like digestive problems or issues linked to their emotional state

- prioritizing helping others over their own needs

- home dynamics effect work

- lack of professional boundaries

Remedies: don’t play victim; set emotional boundaries at work; don’t beat around the bush; avoid overindulgence; be realistic about your limitations

Pisces Rising

- snuggle with recognition at work

- desires for leadership clash with authority

- neglect health for status and appearance

- difficulties maintaining routine

- dramatic responses to setbacks, like unnecessary stress

Remedies: quit trying to be the center of attention at work; limit drama and theatrics; don’t let your pride blind from constructive criticism; be a team player; avoid overcommitting because of your passion;

[superbassbuck]

Making Out for America

Chapter 1: We the People

masterlist || one || two || three || four || five

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x America's Sweetheart!fem!reader

Authors note: was never a fan of posting fics on tumblr, but I figured I'd share it here for those who aren't a fan of reading it on ao3. but if you prefer ao3, you can read it here!

Mentions: 18+, enemies to lovers, slow burn, set during thunderbults*, sexual tension, forced proximity, arranged marriage, panic attacks, mental health issues, angst (lots of it), no y/n

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Bucky Barnes, the reformed assassin turned congressman with a major PR problem that just won’t let up. Tabloids bad mouth him. Society fears him. How can he get the American people to believe that he has what it takes for a seat at the office? Desperate for a breakthrough, Bucky needs a way to win over the nation’s trust.

Then his press secretary suggests a bold solution. Marriage to you, the poised, beloved daughter of a decorated war hero. America’s sweetheart. The embodiment of everything he’s not. It’s all for show. For Bucky, it means a shot at redemption. For you, it’s a chance to elevate your late father’s legacy and secure support for your foundation. Strictly business, and no space for love.

Everything is going well. But behind closed doors and the flashing cameras, you two can't stand each other, and it's taking everything in you two to not rip each other's throats out.

gif by whitedarkmoonflower || dividers by cafekitsune

The lights and cameras were flashing way too damn bright. They always were. Bucky adjusted his tie a little too tight against his throat as he stared out at the sea of flashing cameras and hands waving in the air. 

Standing in front of these people always felt like standing in front of a shark tank. These relentless reporters were always ready to pounce, banging their heads against the glass until the tank finally cracked. Despite his nervousness, he still forced a smile. But these kind of smiles never quite reach his eyes. 

“Congressman Barnes,” the voice starts with a polite tone. They always do.  “Do you think the American people can trust someone with your… history , to legislate in their best interest?” 

And there it was. 

He can already feel the cracks of the tank starting to form, droplets of water leaking through. It was always that sly and passive aggressive comment about his history that riled up the crowd. He was already hearing snickers, and as he opened his mouth to speak, the flash of the cameras grew even brighter. 

“I believe in accountability,” he begins, standing straighter. “I’ve spent years proving I’m not the man I used to be.” 

More pictures. More flashes. More cracks. More water leaks.

Bucky continues. “I didn’t get here by pretending my past didn’t happen. I got here by owning up to it–” 

Another hand shot up before he even got to finish. Perfect. 

“But some would argue you weren’t just a man. You were a weapon, one that took innocent lives. Shouldn’t a seat in Congress be reserved for those who never had to atone for war crimes?” 

Jesus Christ. He needs a drink. 

If that same question was brought up to him months ago, maybe he would’ve grovelled and begged for forgiveness right in front of these reporters. But as the days went by—and as hard as it was—he had to accept that he wasn’t in control during that time. 

The Winter Soldier wasn’t him. 

Bucky swallows. “I was used. Programmed to become something I’m not. That’s not an excuse for what I’ve done, but it is the truth–” 

“And yet you’re voting on national security bills now. Do you think families who lost loved ones to Hydra feel safe knowing you’re writing law?” 

He freezes. And just like that, the shark tank shatters and water comes gushing through like a tsunami. Click, click, click. Cameras snapped at him as he stood there on the podium like helpless prey. His left hand resting on the podium curls into a tight fist as he tries to compose himself. He has gotten used to showing off his arm without a glove—trying to own up to it. But at times like this, he just wishes he could put that stupid glove back on if it means not to be looked at like a damn monster. 

But rather a respectable human being. 

“I…I can understand that my position here can be very… worrying—” he begins to stammer. 

Bucky’s press secretary, Margaret Voss, was seated in the front row. She narrows her brows at him, eyes sharp. His press secretary knows better than anyone that once he starts adding ‘worrying’ in his sentences, then everything goes downhill from there. 

There have even been headlines about it, mocking him. Headlines in big bold letters that say: CONGRESSMAN BARNES IN OFFICE? A VERY WORRYING SITUATION FOR THE NATION.

“...and it is up to me to resolve the worrying matters of this very, worrying issue.” Bucky continues, his eyes disassociating blankly into a random reporter in the crowd. Cameras continue to flash, and the crowd begins to snicker. 

He glances down at Voss. She sits there, trying to act calm with her legs crossed. She has her pointer finger circling in motion as she mouths “Wrap it up.”  

“Thank you. Excuse me,” he muttered quickly, giving the crowd a curt nod before stepping down and offstage with a quiet, “Shit,” under his breath.

“Congressman Barnes, wait!”

Reporters shouted after him, but he was already gone. He kept his left hand in a tight fist, beginning to feel very self conscious about his prosthetic. He eventually disappears behind the curtain as the press pit continues to erupt in an arrangement of inaudible questions.

Voss caught up to him in a hurry, heels clicking on the marble floor. “Well, that went wonderful,” she muttered dryly, falling into step beside him as they turned a corner, finally out of everyone’s view.

“What the hell am I supposed to say when people ask me questions like that?” Bucky snapped through clenched teeth. “I’ve had this seat for what— three months ? And they’re already raking me through the mud.”

He shoved open the door to a small, empty office and walked in without waiting as Voss trails after him. She was clutching folders against her arms, her wrinkled hand holding onto them tightly. 

“It doesn’t help that you have nothing to show for,” she said, not unkindly, but as blunt as ever.  “Any chance you’re getting a bill on the floor before the decade ends?”

Bucky leaned against the desk, shooting her a glare.

Voss didn’t flinch. She just let out a tired exhale. “You’ve gotta get on that, Barnes.” 

“I am trying ,” he grits through clenched teeth. “There’s just too much to read, and half of it feels like it’s written in another goddamn language.”

She tucked the folders under one arm and pulled her phone from her back pocket, squinting as she held it away from her face. With a sigh, she grabbed the reading glasses dangling from her neck and slipped them on.

“I’ve got a few ideas that could help,” she said, tapping at the screen. “But you’re probably not gonna like them.” 

Bucky crosses his arms. “At this point, I’ll do anything.” 

“Well… good.” She says, nails tapping away at the screen. “There’s nothing this country eats up faster than a good old-fashioned family narrative. A loving partner. Stability. Something that says, ‘Hey, I’m not a weapon, I’m caring, and I’m husband material.’ ”

He stays quiet. 

“It shows you’re capable of love, that you’ve got a soft spot. That you can relate to the average American voter.”

Bucky scratches at his salt-and-pepper beard, giving her a slow, skeptical nod, urging her to get to the point.

“That also says you’re working for their best interests. Because you’re just like them. A man with a home. A heart. But unfortunately for you…” she pauses, glancing up briefly, “you’ve got no family, barely any close friends, and no one to come home to—”

“What are you getting at, Voss?” Bucky cuts through impatiently. 

Voss sets the folders she had tucked under her arm down on the desk behind him. She’s still tapping on her phone.

“Marriage.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “That’s real funny.”

She finally looks up at him over the rim of her thin glasses. “I’m serious, Barnes. You need to get married.”

He glares at her with a look that’s stuck between disbelief and disgust. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” he repeats, firmer now, standing straighter.

Voss exhales, lifting her glasses to the top of her head. “Barnes, let’s not be dense. The press still sees you as this… weapon dressed in a suit,” she waves her phone vaguely at him. “They don’t see a man. They see The Winter Soldier . ”

“Wow, thanks,” he mutters.

“What better way to dissolve the rumors than getting married?” Voss went on, ever casual as she swiped through her phone. “And it can’t just be with anyone, no. It has to be someone with American values. Clean record. Squeaky clean image. The kind of person who makes the nation swoon when you walk hand-in-hand in public, like how they did with the Kennedys.”

Bucky flinched.

Voss blinked, looked up, then immediately grimaced. “Right. Shit. Sorry.”

“Anyway,” she cleared her throat, trying to recover, “have a look at this.” She held out her phone, tilting it sideways to show the screen. A livestream was playing, and in the center was a woman–you–standing on a podium with a bright smile on your face. Like you were born for this.

Bucky frowned, voice gruff. “What is this?”

“Just watch,” she says. 

You stand on the polished podium with a practiced smile. String of white lights twinkle above the outdoor venue. Banners with your father’s name and the foundation’s logo flap gently in the breeze. 

Even after all these years, speaking still makes your palms sweat. You’ve done this so many times before, yet the lump in your throat never fully goes away. Your hair is neatly styled, your modest dress tailored just a bit too tightly, forcing you to hold yourself taller, stiffer. Every flash of the camera reminds you that you’re live and being watched, judged, recorded.

The crowd finally settles into a quiet whisper. Now it’s just you and the microphone. 

“My father was one of America’s greatest war heroes, as you may know…” you begin, trying to keep your voice steady. “He dedicated his life to serving this country, protecting freedoms we sometimes take for granted. He was taken from us too soon, murdered in service. Though we still don’t know by whose hand…” 

You pause for a moment. You look up at the sky and blink away the tears. God. Don’t cry, don’t cry.  There’s probably a few videos online that date back from a few years ago, where you’re standing at this very same podium—crying like a baby the first time you started making these speeches.

As much as it pains you to bring up your father’s sob story countless times, you suck it up and do it anyway. It was for his legacy, and for a good cause. 

“Tonight, we gather not only to honor his memory, but to raise funds for the Jameson Foundation. An organization dedicated to supporting veterans and their families, providing the resources and care that too many still go on without.” 

You suck in a breath and continue. “This cause is personal. I know what it’s like to wait for someone who never comes home. I know what it’s like to feel forgotten. And I believe no family should have to endure that pain without support.”

The cameras flash, and the people in the crowd are smiling at you with solemn in their eyes. As they always do. 

You stand up straighter. “I am proud to carry my father’s name forward. Not just as his daughter, but as someone who believes that real patriotism doesn’t end on the battlefield. It lives on in how we care for those who served, and those they leave behind.”

The applause begins slowly, then builds. People rise to their feet, clapping and nodding. The camera flashes grow brighter, and you continue to force yourself to smile until the very end of it. 

Part performance, part devotion. This was your duty.

By the time the event finally winds down, you’re being ushered into the backseat of a black SUV, still waving and flashing that picture-perfect smile. You offer your final goodbyes with polite nods and short words.

When the car door shuts behind you, it’s like a flip in the switch.

You let out a deep, exhausted sigh, one you’ve been holding in for hours. Your fingers immediately reach behind your back, fumbling with the zipper of your too-tight dress. When it finally gives, you exhale like you've just been freed from a corset and slump into the leather seat.

“God, finally,” you mutter. “Can we stop for a burger?”

From the front seat, your driver glances up in the rearview mirror. His dark sunglasses cover his eyes, but you already know the look. “We were called into–” 

“Please,” you cut in, desperate now. Your stomach growls. “I’ve been starving myself all day to fit into this dress. I just want something quick and greasy. Burger. Fries. A milkshake if you’re feeling generous?”

He exhales slowly. Grumpy old man. 

Then he flicks the turn signal, switching lanes. “Fine. But right after that—”

“Yes! Thank you! You’re my savior, George. I mean it.” You flash him a quick, grateful smile before collapsing back into your seat, dress half-undone and hair already starting to fall from its pins.

On paper, you’re everything the public adores. Clean-cut legacy. Daughter of a fallen American war hero. Ivy League degree, a résumé packed with charity work, fundraiser galas, and “giving back.” Your hair is always done, your posture perfect, clothes modest, and your voice well polished to make it sound like you were born to be on that podium.

You’re America’s Sweetheart. And it’s exhausting.

Because behind closed doors, you’re just the average woman who wants to eat an embarrassing amount of junk food, and rot in bed with your phone or maybe a good book six inches from your face. You’ve got a whole curated public image handed to you on a silver platter, but your real personality is one bad week away from giving the nation a finger on live TV.

Only a handful of people know that side of you. Your driver, George, was one of them. Probably against his will.

After George handed you the greasy brown bag, you didn’t waste a second before diving in. You were finally eating your first meal of the day. You were eating so fast without a care in the world, until you noticed a few drops of mustard dripping down the front of your dress.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to dab it off with a napkin. “Good thing we’re heading straight home after this.”

George shot you a sharp look from behind his dark sunglasses. “No, we’re not.”

“Are we stopping for gas or something?” you ask him mid-chew. 

“No,” he says curtly. Jeez. This guy wasn’t getting paid more to talk, but still. A little more explanation wouldn’t kill him.

“Then where exactly are we going, George?” you pressed.

He kept his eyes on the road and said, “We’re heading to a briefing room in the Capitol. Congressman Barnes and Margaret Voss are there waiting. They want to talk to you.” 

“Talk to me?” you ask around a mouthful, swallowing quickly. “About what? I didn’t know we had a meeting with them.”

George shrugs. “Tried to tell you, but you kept interrupting.”

Fair enough. Still, what could a congressman want from you beyond speeches and polite handshakes?

“Okay...” you lower your burger, eyeing the mustard stain on your dress. “But can we swing by the house first? I need to change. I’m covered in sauce.”

“No time,” he says bluntly. “We’re five minutes away.”

Wait, what ? Absolutely not. There was no way you were meeting a congressman covered in condiments. Sure, you were the picture-perfect good girl, but sometimes being a spoiled brat was necessary—and being an only child didn’t help. George had learned that the hard way.

“George,” you hiss, gripping the back of his seat. “Turn the car around.”

“No time,” he repeats with no intention of budging.

“Geooorgeee!” you whine, voice rising, hand tightening on the seat.

“No. We’re pulling up now,” he says with firm hands on the wheel. “And you’re too old to be acting like a child. Knock it off.” 

You slump back into the seat and cross your arms. 

The car slows and pulls up in front of an imposing government building. Gray stone walls, tall, narrow windows. The entrance is guarded by two stern-faced officers in crisp uniforms, their hands resting casually but deliberately on their holstered weapons. The American flag swaying gently in the breeze. 

You can already hear the cries of a bald eagle. 

George kills the engine, glances back through the rearview mirror, and says, “Ready?”

“Not like I have much of a choice,” you mutter under your breath.

George doesn’t acknowledge it. He just steps out of the driver’s seat and shuts the door with a soft thud . You hear the familiar crunch of gravel under his perfectly shined shoes as he circles around to your side. The door opens with a gentle pull, and he extends a hand.

You grab his hand stand with a quiet sigh, stepping out of the vehicle.

At the top of the building steps, a woman emerges. She’s sharp-looking with salt and pepper hair pulled back into a sleek bun. She has reading glasses looped around her neck like a necklace, her tailored suit crisp even in the slight breeze. You don’t need an introduction to know this is Margaret Voss.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you! We were just watching your speech on the livestream,” she calls with enthusiasm, her crows’ feet wrinkling deeper as she beams.

“Psst,” George mutters.

You flick your eyes toward him. He’s standing rigid beside you, but you catch the flick of his gaze underneath his sunglasses pointed downward, toward your back.

“Your dress. Zip it,” he says under his breath.

Oh, crap. 

Voss gets closer and you take a step closer to George. “Help me,” you grit through your forced smile. 

“I can’t,” he murmurs quietly, keeping his face neutral. “Looks bad.”

“Oh come on, since when do you care about appearances?”

“I care about yours, ” he says, voice flat.

“Then zip me up, George.”

George mutters something under his breath in annoyance. Then, reluctantly, he reaches a hand for the back of your zipper but withdraws immediately as Voss gets closer. He goes back to standing straight and composed. 

Now Voss is here, standing face to face with you, extending her hand for a handshake. You look at her with the most composed expression you can manage, keeping one hand behind your back to hold the dress together. You reach out with your free one, returning her handshake with a steady grip.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Voss.”

“Oh please,” she waves you off with a smile. “Call me Margaret.”

You smile tightly. Yeah, that’s not happening.

“I’m Congressman Barnes’ press secretary. Come inside, I’ll introduce you to him.” She pulls away and looks between you and George. “Just follow me.” 

She turns and starts walking back inside the building. The two front guards give you a curt nod and steps aside, letting you in with George trailing behind. 

As you step through the doorway, the solid heavy door shuts behind you with a thunk . The cool air inside brushes your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth outside. Marble floors stretch out beneath your heels, the sound of your steps echoing around the foyer.

Margaret is already a few paces ahead, speaking over her shoulder. “We’re just down this hallway. He’s expecting you.”

You and George linger a step or two behind. The moment she rounds a corner and her heels fade in volume, you grab George by the wrist and yank him toward you. “Now,” you hiss.

He hesitates, glancing in the direction she disappeared, but then gives in with a grumble. “Turn around.”

You turn, holding your dress tight at the back as he reaches for the zipper, trying to tug it upwards. “It won’t budge,” he mumbles. “Did you gain weight?” 

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “I had one burger!”

George exhales through his nose, brows furrowed in concentration behind his sunglasses. “You’re gonna have to stand really straight.”

You groan under your breath but comply, stretching up like you’re back in ballet class. You feel the zipper inch its way up, tighter and tighter, until finally…. click . It’s zipped up. But now you’re standing so stiff, and if you even dare to bend down or breathe too much, it’ll tear.

“Thanks,” you breathe, tugging the skirt down over your thighs. George just grunts and takes a step back.

Voss returns, peeking her head around the corner. She still has her polite smile on, but you can tell she’s getting impatient. “Everything alright?” she calls, voice echoing faintly down the hall.

“All good!” you reply, lifting your chin and offering a poised smile. You move to catch up with her, taking small, careful steps so the dress doesn’t split at the seams. “Sorry for the delay.”

She gestures for you to follow with a pleasant sweep of her hand. You round the corner, heels clicking again, and stop at the open doorway. Inside was a private office, and at the far end of the room, standing near a tall window with its blinds half-drawn, is a man with broad shoulders and a sharp posture. 

He doesn’t turn when you enter, he just continues to stand there with his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. What a warm welcome. How polite of him to greet you with such boundless enthusiasm. Voss gives a quick knock against the open door anyway, as if it makes any difference. 

“Congressman Barnes,” she says in that bright and diplomatic tone. “She’s here.” 

Finally, Bucky turns around slowly. His gaze cuts across the room and his cold blue eyes land directly on you. Standing in front of any person involved in politics would make anyone feel nervous. But for some reason, the way he’s staring—glaring—at you makes you feel more self conscious than you should. 

You stand up straighter, both hands linked and politely intertwined in front of you as you wait for him to greet you. 

Instead, his eyes drop. They drag across you, up and down. If you didn’t already feel insecure before entering this building, then you definitely already do now. He doesn’t offer a smile. Doesn’t extend a hand. Doesn’t say a word.

He just stands there.

No. 

No way in hell was this the woman Voss expected him to marry. Bucky’s stare doesn’t waver. If anything, his gaze deepens as his eyes continue their slow, deliberate drag down your figure, making no effort to hide that he’s sizing you up. Definitely judging.

There was no way you were the same woman on the livestream he saw just half an hour ago. 

That woman had poise. That woman had her hair pinned up in a perfect twist, glowing under the lights with the kind of smile that made you look like you were carved straight out of a campaign poster. 

Your hair’s undone and an unruly mess. The dress, God. The dress —looks like it shrunk three sizes in the wash. Tight in all the wrong places that makes it seem downright vulgar. And then there’s the kicker, a yellowish mustard stain at the front of your dress. Staring right back at him.

Now you’re standing awkwardly, fingers fidgeting, chewing on your lip like you’re waiting for detention. 

This was America’s sweetheart? 

Bucky swallows, jaw clenched. His hands dig deeper into his pockets. He doesn’t care how many Ivy League degrees you had or how many foundations you fronted, because this? Whatever you had going on here, it wasn’t going to work. 

He knew he wasn’t perfect either, but damn it all. He had a reputation to fix. 

Voss glances between the two of you, sensing the tension in the air. She parts her mouth to speak–probably attempting to smooth things over, but before the words come out, Bucky doesn't give her the chance.

“No,” he cuts in, flat and cold. “The plan is off.”

“The plan?” you recoil, visibly confused. Great. Voss hadn’t bothered to fill you in either.

She shifts uncomfortably, forcing a tight, nervous smile at you and your rigid bodyguard. And seriously, why was he still wearing sunglasses indoors? Bucky made a mental note of that.

“Would you two mind waiting outside for a moment—”

“No,” you interrupt firmly with a frown. “If you’ve got something to say about me, say it here. Isn’t that why I was called in?”

That clearly caught him off guard. He’d expected you to nod politely like you always did in interviews, then exit with a polished wave like some stuck-up princess.

Your bodyguard—driver—or whoever the hell he was, just simply nodded and slipped out the door without a second glance. 

Voss exhaled slowly, trying her best to be careful with her words. “I understand that this is unexpected,” she began, her voice steady and composed. “But I assure you, this proposal wasn’t made lightly.” 

“What proposal?” you stood straight, the tightness of your dress is suddenly the least suffocating thing in this room. Your eyes flickered towards Bucky instinctively. He refused to meet your gaze, instead focusing somewhere near the window.

“That’s exactly what this is. A proposal. A strategic partnership. A public engagement between you and Congressman Barnes.” Voss continued.

You blinked. Then you bark out a laugh. “You don’t mean a proposal as in marriage, do you?” 

Bucky’s eyebrow twitches. Sure, he wasn’t thrilled about this arrangement either, but the distaste in your voice hit a nerve. Still, he said nothing.

Voss just nodded. “Yes. In name and in the public view. Nothing would benefit your guys’ public opinion faster than aligning the Congressman with someone like you, an American figure the public already trusts. Someone with strong values, charitable history, and an impeccable background!” 

Your stomach turned. She was showering you with compliments, but for their personal gain. You hated every moment of this. 

“This is a terrible idea,” you say sharply. “And frankly, quite immature.” 

“Glad we can agree,” Bucky says bitterly with arms crossed. It came off ruder than he intended, but he was past pleasantries after already having a shit day. First the stupid questions from the press, and now this equally-stupid arrangement? Anyone would want to rip their hair out over this. Including you. 

Before you could even think to spin on your heel to leave, Voss speaks up. 

“It’s mutually beneficial,” she says. “Congressman Barnes regains the public’s favor. And you, your foundation and your father’s legacy gains national attention. Think about it. Renewed funding and widespread support.” 

You looked between her and Bucky, whose jaw was tight and eyes unreadable. “And when exactly was I going to be brought into this conversation?”

“Now,” Voss said simply. “I didn’t want to come to you until I was sure the Congressman would agree to even entertain the idea. Clearly, that’s still in debate.”

She glanced toward Bucky, but his stare remained fixed on the floor, silent and brooding as ever.

Voss turned back to you. “This isn’t an order. You’re not being forced into anything. I’d rather you both think of this as an opportunity that would greatly benefit you both,” Then she glances at Bucky. “Especially for one of you.” 

Bucky hates this. He hates every single moment of this, because he knows that Voss is right. He glances over at you with cautious blue eyes. He knows that he needs this more than you do, especially after seeing you on the livestream. You already have support, but you could have more. 

If you were the good person that people made you out to be, then you would accept it, for the sake of your late father. 

But instead, you had your arms crossed, an unreadable expression on your face. You looked like you already had your answer to this. You weren’t going to entertain this stupid idea. You were going to spin on your heel and slam the door shut and never come back again.

Bucky lets out a low exhale, already accepting defeat as he turns back towards the window—

“I’ll do it,” you speak up. 

He froze. He stops in his tracks and turns slowly to you, eyes slightly wide in shock.

Voss was equally stunned. She straightened up, clearly not expecting that answer either.

“Well—that’s perfect!” She says with a breathless laugh. She cast a quick glance toward Bucky, as if to confirm he’d heard you correctly, then refocused on you. “This is… this is going to be wonderful, you guys. Just give me one moment. I have some calls to make.” 

She pulled out her phone, already dialing, and stepped toward the door. Before either of you could say a word, she paused at the door frame and looked back at you both.

“In the meantime, try to get to know each other. On a personal level.” And just like that, she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

And now Bucky is left standing here, face to face with you. Your hair’s a mess, you smell like a walking cheeseburger, and your dress could burst at the seams at any moment. 

This was his future wife, his Mrs. Barnes. 

next

[rexhya]

note — inbox got broken so couldnt answer normally 😖 cute stuff, do u guys know what nanbaka is? that was the inspo...UGH i h8 being in dead fandoms.

✦ ✦

yandere!prince who (despite it all) is know for treating his staff exceptionally well, and more specifically his knights. so it came as rather a surprise when suddenly the prince was snippy and bitter with the soldiers. he challenged a lower ranking knight to a duel, knowing the boy stood no chance, the knights were desperate for a solution to his attitude.

your dispatch was currently at an undisclosed location Anul longed to know, there were things you had to be king to know and he wasn't king for another 3 months, the location of a general was one of those things. but like many things in the palace, there were loopholes in the authority you could bye pass. he was glad the knights were desperate.

you'd been his favorite person since you'd secured the job as general but unfortunately you couldn't return his affections as he wished. that wouldn't stop his pursuit for you however, you could play hard to get for how long as you needed to, in the end he's have you.

"[Name]!" he flailed wildly, and you whipped around, you could hear the hooves of Dav, his black stallion who's mane was just as intimidating as the violet haired man riding it.

you were 3,000 miles away from the palace, and he shouldn't have been allowed to see where you were dispatched, you were in the middle of training, how he came all this way you didn't want to know.

the other general you'd been sparring with stopped as the flashy man approached, in fact, everyone in the vicinity had stopped in their places, waiting to see what would happen.

you didn't know what to say, there was a slight tremor in you voice as you spoke. "Prince Anul, your long way from home."

Anul smiled that condescending and slightly warm smile of his, stepping in your direction with precise steps. He didn't waste another second, wrapping his arms around your figure inhaling your sweaty scent. "I could say the same for you, General [Name]."

you cringe but don't remove his arms, knowing it would only make the clinging worse. he finally lets go and relocates his hands to cup your face, "I'm not mad, It's not your fault they put us so far away."

but it is, you wanted to say. and before he could embarrass you any further, you lightly lead him to Dav, using the horse as a shield from the prying eyes of the other soldiers.

"gods I missed you," he mumbled into your neck, holding your waist like he'd been starved for days on end. you patted his head softly, trying to pry his hands off to no avail.

"My Prince--" he glares at you.

"Anul, I'm, I don't--"

He shakes his head and you only stare at him blankly. "Are you ready to go home? I'm sure you've had fun here, but there are plenty of sparring partners in the kingdom."

And you couldn't find it in yourself to argue, there wasn't a single thing in this world that your obsessive prince couldn't contain, and unfortunately included you.

"I need...to gather my things."

His strange and slight smile returned, "Take all the time you need."

[jewish-sideblog]

Clearly, y'all don't care about Jews, and the fact that Hamas is violently antisemitic doesn't seem matter to any of you. So let me go with a new approach, of equal truth and value. Hamas is violently anti-Palestinian.

This past week, Hamas attacked evacuation routes and prevented Gazan citizens from fleeing an active warzone. [1]

They did that because they routinely use Gazan civilians as human shields. Hamas intentionally builds military targets close to schools, hospitals, and mosques, putting soft targets in the way of both incoming and outgoing fire. Hamas encourages Gazan civilians and children to stand on the roofs of buildings they know the IDF is targeting. [2]

Hamas has refused to allow elections in Gaza since 2006. Not just Palestinian National Authority elections, mind you. No open elections for any office have been held in seventeen years. Palestinian rights to free elections and self-determination have been denied by Hamas. [3] (And good luck to anyone who tries to blame that on Israel, because elections were held by the PNA in the West Bank in 2012, 2017, 2021 and 2022. It's Hamas's intention alone to purge democracy.)

Hamas's track record on human rights is appalling. Palestinian prisoners in Gaza face unfair trials and death sentences after being tortured by police. Palestinian women are prevented from accessing the legal systems to escape domestic abuse situations. Political dissidents in Hamas, even ones who merely support the other half of the Palestinian government, have been summarily executed. [4] [5]

Peaceful organizers in Palestine protested Hamas's massive tax hikes in 2019. Hamas security forces responded by assaulting demonstrators, tracking them down, raiding their homes, and detaining them. And, as previously mentioned, prisoners in Gaza are not treated well by Hamas. [6]

Edit Nov.5, 10:30 PM: I forgot to add arguably the most important thing-- Hamas manipulates the humanitarian aid they receive away from helping Gazans and toward killing Jews. 5% of Hamas's budget actually gets used for humanitarian aid, while 55% goes to military use. Construction equipment intended to rebuild Gaza's crumbling infrastructure is used to build a complex series of underground tunnels. Those tunnels in turn are used to smuggle Iranian military equipment into the country. They were also used for human trafficking in the October 7th attacks. [7]

If you actually want Palestinians to be free, you can't just replace Israel with Hamas. But it's not like they're the only option for supporting Palestinian liberation. While Fatah doesn't have an immaculate historical track record, it now operates as a leftist, democratic socialist, secular Palestinian government that fights for a two-state solution. Similarly, Arab-Israeli political parties like the Hadash-Ta'al coalition support leftist, anti-Zionist, and two-state solutions from within the Israeli parliament.

You can and should support Palestinian liberation movements that abuse neither Jewish nor Arab human rights and dignities. Plenty of them exist out there. But if y'all continue to throw your weight behind an antisemitic and anti-democratic terrorist regime, Palestinians and Jews will both take note of exactly where you stand.

[cherriecove]

A New Dawn

Alicent Hightower x M!Reader

Summary: With the Hightower plot to place Aegon on the thrown a failure, Queen Rhaenyra finds herself unsure with what she should do with her old-friend. After some consideration she decides to remarry Alicent to her Hand, a man she trusts wholeheartedly, this of course upsets Alicent who belived her marital duties died when her husband did. Cherrie's Notes: This was a request that i really loved the idea of! Would like to apologiese in advance becasue this is so long I changed some things slightly but not too much. This is the first time I am writing a male reader and although there is no real description i hope it is satsfactory! There are so many words im sorry i got carried away! Masterlist

The bells of King’s Landing tolled in the early dawn, marking the end of one era and the uncertain beginning of another. With the death of King Viserys I, Queen Rhaenyra had ascended to the Iron Throne, securing her rightful place as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, the victory was bittersweet, marred by treachery and near civil war. Alicent Hightower, Viserys’ widow and mother to Rhaenyra’s half-siblings, stood on the losing side. Her father’s ambitious plot to place Aegon on the throne had failed, and the Greens' hold on power was shattered.

Now, Rhaenyra ruled over a fractured court, her mercy the only thing keeping Alicent and her children alive. Otto Hightower, once the most powerful man in the realm, rotted in the dungeons. He was still scheming, still whispering plans of future influence, and Alicent found herself torn between loyalty to her father and a growing desire for peace.

Though Rhaenyra was urged to imprison or execute both Alicent and Otto, she hesitated. Old bonds of friendship still lingered in her heart, even if they had been buried beneath years of betrayal and political manoeuvring. In this delicate balance, you—Rhaenyra’s loyal Hand—offered a solution.

“If you wish Lady Alicent to live freely, Your Grace, then perhaps she should be placed under the care of someone you trust implicitly,” you had said, knowing full well the weight of such a suggestion.

“And who might that be?” Rhaenyra asked, her eyes searching yours with a knowing look.

You held her gaze. “Your Hand, Your Grace. I can see to it that she remains free but under close supervision.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened into a sly smile. “Then you shall marry her.”

The queen’s words struck you as sharply as they did Alicent when she was informed of the arrangement. It was the last thing she expected. After all these years, she had thought herself done with marriage, with the expectations and duties thrust upon her. The mere thought of submitting again, of being bound by obligation, made her heart ache. 

Yet on the day of the wedding Alicent stood before the sept, her hands clasped tightly, the weight of the world resting on her slender shoulders. The vows echoed around her like a distant murmur, a ceremony that held little meaning for her heart. She barely glanced at you, her brown eyes, once so bright and commanding, now distant and guarded.

This was not the life she had envisioned. After Viserys’ death, she had assumed her time as queen was over, that she would fade into the shadows, left to a quiet existence without further demands. The idea of marrying again, especially to someone with no ambition, no thirst for power, had seemed almost unreal to her.

Yet here she was.

The thought of being bound to another man filled her with dread. Despite your reputation for loyalty and honour, she couldn't help but fear what this union might become. Marriage, in her experience, had always been about duty, submission, and control. The idea of yielding herself once more, her body and will, to another man’s authority terrified her. This marriage felt like a new prison, different from the gilded cage Viserys had kept her in, but a cage nonetheless.

On the night after your wedding, Alicent retreated to her chambers, her heart a swirl of confusion and bitterness. She had braced herself for what she assumed would come next—a knock at her door, a quiet but insistent demand to fulfil the duties of a wife. Viserys had not been cruel, but he had expected certain things from her, things she had learned to accept despite her reluctance. She feared history would repeat itself, that you too would seek an heir, another way to secure this alliance.

But you surprised her.

There was no knock. No intrusion. The silence of her chambers stretched into the night, uninterrupted by any demand or expectation. The following night passed in the same manner, and the one after that. You did not come to her room, did not impose yourself upon her. Instead, you gave her space, a freedom she had not anticipated. It unsettled her at first, the lack of pressure, but slowly, she began to breathe easier.

You treated her with respect, never asking for more than she was willing to give. You allowed her to visit her father in the dungeons, though under strict guard. Each visit left her feeling more conflicted than ever, as Otto, ever the schemer, continued to urge her to find ways to manipulate you, to regain some of the power she had lost. Yet, despite his machinations, you remained distant from those games, patient and steady.

One evening, after another tense meeting with her father, Alicent returned to your chambers, her face drawn and her steps hesitant. She hovered at the threshold, her fingers curling around the door frame. You sat by the fire, a book in hand, your features calm and focused. The warmth of the flames cast soft shadows on the room, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside her.

“I need to speak with you,” she said quietly.

You looked up, closing the book and setting it aside. “Of course. Come in.”

She stepped inside but did not sit, her voice low and uncertain. “My father… he’s still trying to use me. He wants me to manipulate you, to influence Rhaenyra’s decisions. He believes I can sway you.”

You didn’t react with surprise, nor with anger. Instead, you simply nodded, as if you had already expected this. “Thank you for telling me.”

Alicent exhaled, her shoulders sagging slightly with relief. “I don’t want to be used anymore. Not by him. Not by anyone.”

You stood, your expression soft but serious, and approached her with a deliberate slowness, careful not to make her feel cornered. “Alicent, you are not under anyone’s control now—not your father’s, not mine, not anyone’s. I won’t let him use you, and I won’t treat you like a pawn in his or anyone’s schemes.”

She looked up at you, her guarded expression flickering with something close to disbelief. “You… you truly mean that?”

“I do,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “I never wanted this marriage for power or gain. I have no interest in forcing anything upon you—marital duty or otherwise.I don’t expect anything of you that you’re not willing to give.”

She blinked, her lips parting in surprise. The firelight danced across her face, casting shadows that highlighted the tension in her features. For a moment, there was silence—unspoken words hanging in the air between you, an understanding growing in the space that had long been empty.

Finally, Alicent spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "You... don't want anything from me? Not even—" She hesitated, her words stuck in her throat leading you to shake your head gently. "No," you said, your tone calm. "I don’t expect that from you, unless that is something you desire.” 

Alicent’s brow furrowed, a mix of confusion and hesitation clouding her eyes. “But we are wed,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Isn’t it… isn’t it your right to expect me to fulfil my duty? Is that not what this union is meant to be?”

Your gaze softened as you stepped closer, but still you remained careful not to approach too quickly. “You are not a vessel for duty, Alicent,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “You are a person, not a means to an end. We are married because it is the only way to allow you peace, and to give our realm stability. Anything within our marriage is based on because you desire it—because we decide it together. Not because you’re bound to some obligation.” 

Alicent stared at you for a long moment, as though searching for something deeper beneath your words. Perhaps a hidden motive, a secret ambition. But all she saw was sincerity. There was no calculated manipulation, no power-hungry intent in your eyes.

Her hand fluttered to her chest, her fingers absently tracing the fine embroidery of her gown. “I never thought… I never thought I’d be free from such burdens,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

You offered her a soft smile, a reassuring one. “Then let’s make this work in a way that brings you peace. I know that it might take time for you to believe that.”

She nodded slowly, as if the weight of your words was beginning to settle. And though she remained distant, there was a subtle shift—a crack in the walls she had built around herself. You didn’t want her to be caged, not even in the gilded prison of a marriage. You wanted her to feel free to breathe, to live her life on her own terms.

In the days that followed, your quiet respect for her space became apparent. She had come to your chambers less frequently, yet when she did, you never pressed her for anything more than conversation or companionship. The two of you would sit together, occasionally exchanging stories of the past, speaking of times before the chaos that had defined both your lives.

One afternoon, as the sun cast long shadows across the chamber, you and Alicent found yourselves engaged in a quiet conversation by the window. The room was filled with a soft, golden light, and for once, it felt peaceful—unnaturally so, in the midst of the court’s usual tumult.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked, looking out at the gardens below, where the birds fluttered amongst the flowers.

“Miss what?” you asked, your gaze following hers.

“The life before all of this,” she said, her hand resting on the windowsill. “The days before the schemes, the plotting, the weight of responsibility.”

You leaned back against the wall, your gaze drifting to the same view she saw. “I miss the simplicity of it,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t trade the peace I have now for it. The quiet moments like this. The stillness.”

Alicent was silent for a while, as though considering what you had said. Finally, she turned to face you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You find peace in the simplest of things, don’t you?”

“I try to,” you said softly. “It’s the only way to survive in a world like ours.”

She nodded, though her eyes were filled with an uncertainty that had yet to fully leave her. For years, she had been used to a life filled with turmoil, her mind constantly burdened with the weight of others’ expectations. To be here, in this moment, with a man who did not want to control her, who did not demand anything of her, was a strange feeling—one she had not yet fully understood.

In time, as the days passed, your actions proved your sincerity. You allowed her to breathe, to make her own choices, while still offering her the safety of your protection. You never pressured her, never tried to push her into a role she did not want. And with each passing day, the distance between you lessened, even if only by a fraction.

The Small Council meetings had become more tense ever since your marriage to Alicent. The lords who sat at the table were no fools—they knew the weight of such a union. Whispers circulated through the court that you could no longer be impartial, that your marriage to the widow of the late king would compromise your loyalty to Queen Rhaenyra.

One such meeting came to a head when Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, leaned forward across the table, his brow furrowed. "You have served the queen faithfully for many years, Hand," he began, his voice deep and steady, "but now you are bound to a Hightower. Can we be certain your loyalties remain with the crown, rather than the family that sought to usurp it?"

Eyes turned to you, waiting for your response. The room was heavy with unspoken accusations, but you met them head-on, calm and unflinching.

"My loyalty has always been, and will always remain, with Queen Rhaenyra and the realm," you replied, your voice steady but firm. "I did not marry Lady Alicent for ambition or power. I married her because it was the Queen’s will, to keep the peace and ensure stability. If anyone here doubts my impartiality, let me assure you—my actions have always been for the good of the realm, not for the ambitions of any one family, including my own."

Lord Corlys, while still sceptical, leaned back in his chair, considering your words. The others exchanged glances, but no further accusations were made. Still, you could feel the lingering doubt, the tension in the air. It was a challenge you would have to face repeatedly as long as your marriage remained a topic of interest.

After the meeting, Rhaenyra sought you out, her brow furrowed. "They are suspicious of you," she said quietly, her eyes searching yours for any sign of resentment.

"They have reason to be," you admitted, not denying the reality. "But I will not betray you, my Queen. My marriage to Alicent does not change that."

Rhaenyra smiled, though faintly, and nodded. "I believe you. And that is all that matters to me."

While the realm questioned your loyalty, another tension brewed between you and Alicent. Though you had grown closer, there were still moments when her insecurities resurfaced, especially regarding her role as your wife.

One night, as the two of you sat in your chambers, she turned to you, her voice quiet but strained. “Do you expect me to give you an heir?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I know I am still of childbearing age. You must expect children from me.”

You looked at her, surprised by the question. “Alicent, I do not expect that of you,” you said softly, setting aside the parchment you had been reviewing. “I married you because it was necessary for peace, not because I desired heirs.”

She frowned, her brow furrowed. “Then what do you want from me?”

You sighed, stepping closer but keeping your tone gentle. “What I want is for you to feel free. If you wish to have children, then that is your choice, not mine. But if you do not, I will not hold it against you. I am content to leave my titles to others—your children, or perhaps my nieces and nephews. My duty is to the realm, and to you, as my wife. Not to some legacy of blood."

Her eyes softened, surprise evident in her expression. “You are… different,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Not like the men I’ve known before.”

You offered a small smile. “Is that a good thing?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. It is.”

Over time, the relationship between you and Alicent deepened. Though it was not a marriage of passion, it became one of companionship. You spent evenings together, discussing matters of the realm or simply sharing stories from your past. Occasionally, she would speak of her children—her love for them, her fears for their futures—and you would listen, never judging, always offering comfort.

One evening, as you sat by the fire, Alicent glanced at you, her expression soft. “You’ve always been kind to me,” she said quietly. “Even when I didn’t expect it.”

You met her gaze, your voice gentle. “You deserve more than kindness, Alicent. You deserve peace. And if I can give you that, then I will.”

She smiled—a rare, genuine smile—and for the first time in many years, she felt a warmth she had long since thought lost. The heavy burden of her past was slowly lifting, thanks to the quiet strength and respect you had shown her.

As the months passed, Alicent grew more at ease in her new life. The tension between you eased, replaced by a mutual understanding and trust. She no longer feared manipulation or control, and you respected her autonomy in a way no man had before.

One afternoon, as you both walked through the gardens of the Red Keep, she turned to you with a soft smile. “I never thought I would find peace in marriage again,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “But with you… it feels different. It feels… free.”

You smiled in return, warmth filling your chest. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

For the first time in years, Alicent felt as though she was no longer a pawn in someone else’s game. She was finally allowed to live her own life, with a man who valued her not for her name or her power, but for who she was.

And in that, she had found something she never thought possible—contentment. A new dawn had come, for both of you.