#because you did. You spent a lot of time and effort on securing such destructive capabilities

[sketching-shark]

Sketchy sketchy of Sun Wukong, starring a glimpse of his war form in the background.

[beatrice-otter]

Third Chance

Title: Third Chance Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space 9 Written for: fly_to_dawn in Fic In A Box 2023 Characters: Ro Laren, Kira Nerys, Jadzia Dax Length: 13,236 words Rating: General Audiences

AN: Canon has two possible outcomes for Ro Laren. In Picard, she survived the destruction of the Maquis, spent time in prison, and then was recruited by Starfleet Intelligence. In the books and Star Trek Online, she survived the Maquis and joined the Bajoran Militia, and was stationed to DS9 as security chief.

Ro already got a second chance to start her life over, on the Enterprise; I figure this is her third chance at the life she wanted.

On Dreamwidth. On Pillowfort. On Ad Astra. On Squidgeworld. On Cohost.

"Colonel, you can't seriously be considering allowing this." Lieutenant Belasco's voice was filled with a sort of arrogant disbelief that Kira found grating.

If I were going to argue with either Starfleet or the Militia about personnel, it would be to get rid of Belasco, not Ro, Kira thought to herself. The lieutenant was Deep Space Nine's Starfleet replacement for Chief O'Brien. He was less skilled than O'Brien was (although that was an unfair comparison—there was a reason O'Brien had been tapped to teach at Starfleet Academy, a rare honor for an NCO). He was less experienced, both in engineering matters and in personnel management. And he had in full that Human arrogance about the Federation's superiority, with an unhealthy helping of post-Dominion War suspicion and anger.

"Why not?" Kira asked, instead of saying any of that.

"Because she's a terrorist!" Belasco said.

"So am I," Kira pointed out.

"It's not the same thing!" Belasco said.

"Name one thing Ro Laren—or the Maquis in general—have done that I didn't do in the Resistance."

"They used biogenic weapons on Quatal Prime."

"And we used trilithium resin on Solossos III," Kira pointed out. Much as she respected and admired Captain Sisko, and understood his feelings about Eddington's betrayal, that was one decision she disagreed with.

"They regularly killed civilians."

"I killed a lot of Cardassian so-called civilians in my day," Kira said. "That's why the Federation called the Resistance terrorists." She shook her head. "Cardassians don't make as strong a distinction between military and civilian as the Federation does, and when the Cardassians are conquering a place, the civilians are acting as part of the occupation, suppression, and resource-extraction. They're not innocents completely separate from what their government is doing—they're agents of the state no matter what their role or title. That was just as true in the Demilitarized Zone as it was in the Occupation."

Belasco gaped at her, but was at least smart enough not to further that argument. He wouldn't win. "She betrayed Starfleet!" he said.

Now, that Kira had no answer for. But fortunately, she didn't need one. The door to her office chimed. "Come in," she said.

Worf stepped through the door, clad in civilian garb that was half-way between Klingon and Federation styles. She gestured him to a seat on the couch, and sat down in the armchair across from it, leaving Belasco standing off to the side.

"Ambassador, thank you for taking the time away from your leave," Kira said. Given that Dax was still stationed on Deep Space Nine as science officer, and that the station was the hub of diplomatic efforts both between quadrants and within Alpha Quadrant nations finding new equilibrium after the war, they saw quite a bit of him. But he and Dax had a tendency to disappear into their quarters when he was here.

"Of course, Colonel Kira," Worf said, settling himself comfortably. "How can I help?"

"You served on the Enterprise with Ro Laren, didn't you?" Kira asked. "What's she like?"

"Capable, tactically brilliant, and determined," Worf said without hesitation. "She was an asset to the ship on numerous occasions, well beyond what one would expect of her rank. Cool-headed under pressure. However, she did have problems with authority, which made her … challenging to manage."

Kira raised her eyebrows. For Worf, that was effusive praise. "And her last mission with Enterprise?" Had she been like Eddington, biding her time and waiting for an opportunity to betray her crewmates? Or had it been a more spur-of-the-moment thing?

Worf pondered that before speaking. "I was not consulted on that assignment, and I would have objected to it if I had been. Whatever the tactical objectives, it was dishonorable, and part of a flawed strategy that was unlikely to lead to the long-term results the Federation wished. Lieutenant Ro was an honorable officer, and her sympathies would very naturally be with the people she was being asked to infiltrate and betray."

"So instead, she betrayed Starfleet?" Belasco said.

Worf shot him an irritated glance. "Why are you asking about her?" he asked Kira.

"She survived the fall of the Maquis and joined the Bajoran Militia," Kira said. "They're assigning her here, as chief of security."

Worf cocked his head. "I am pleased to hear that she is alive and well, and in a position that will suit her abilities," he said. "I will pass the information on to Captain Picard—she was a protégé of his."

"Her last mission is classified," Kira said. "Can you share anything about what to do to ensure it doesn't happen again?"

"Don't send her out to gain peoples' trust in order to betray them to the Cardassians," Worf said, with the dry understatement he did so well.

"I think I can guarantee that's not going to happen as long as she's in the Militia," Kira said. "Even if the Cardassians turn expansionist again, Bajor will never try to appease them by helping them conquer others."

Worf nodded. "I believe the Federation, also, has learned the futility of attempting to appease expansionist powers. It is foolish, and only emboldens them." This changed the subject to the status of various negotiations and maneuverings among the various Alpha Quadrant powers, which were all licking their wounds from the Dominion War and trying to re-establish their spheres of influence and alliances in the new, post-War reality.

To his credit, Belasco controlled his fuming and made insightful comments at appropriate times. He might be a mediocre engineer, but he had a good knowledge of the larger diplomatic and strategic picture that Kira had found useful.

***

The first thing Kira noticed about her new security chief was the earring.

"Captain Ro Laren, reporting as ordered," Ro said, striding into Kira' office.

Kira looked her up and down. "You a follower of the Pah Wraith?"

"What?" Ro frowned.

"The earring, captain," Kira said.

"The Pah Wraith are a myth to scare children with," Ro said. "There aren't any Wraith devotees, haven't been for centuries."

"You haven't been back on Bajor very long, have you," Kira said.

"Only two weeks on Bajor itself," Ro said. "The refugee processing was on Derna, and the Militia orientation and retraining was on Jeraddo."

Kira nodded. "On multiple occasions, Pah-wraiths have possessed people on this station, either to try and destroy the Celestial Temple or fight the Prophets. One of their followers tried to assassinate Captain Sisko on Stardate 52152. It was a Pah-wraith that collapsed the wormhole on Stardate 51950, and if Captain Sisko hadn't given his life to seal the Fire Caves, the Pah-wraiths would have destroyed the Celestial Temple and spread themselves to countless worlds across the quadrant, and given their malice and love of death and destruction, that would have been disastrous for everyone." She raised her eyebrows. "Nobody told you any of that?"

"No," Ro said. "I did get a number of snide comments about the earring. But I left Bajor at the age of nine and hadn't been back since, so I didn't know it was anything unusual." She reached up and took off the earring, switching it to the other side.

"Why do you wear it on the wrong side, if not to signal allegiance to the Kosst Amojan?" Kira asked.

"Because I don't like people trying to feel my pah," Ro said. She grimaced as she did so, and fumbled a bit with the clasp, obviously unused to wearing it on the correct side.

There had to be more to it; Kira knew Bajorans who rejected Bajoran culture (or aspects of it) and all that the earring symbolized, but they didn't wear the traditional earring on the wrong ear. They didn't wear earrings at all, or wore Federation-style earrings. But Ro didn't seem to want to say more about it, and Kira had more important things to worry about.

"Have a seat, captain," she said, pointing to the chair across from her desk.

"Thank you, sir," Ro said.

Kira wasn't sure if she saw something ironic, or if that was just Ro's normal demeanor. "I have the non-classified portion of your Starfleet record, and Ambassador Worf gives you high praise."

"Ambassador Worf?" Ro said.

"It's a new appointment since the end of the war."

Ro raised her eyebrows. "He's not very … diplomatic."

Kira shrugged. "He's the Federation ambassador to the Klingon Empire. His straight-forwardness sets him in good stead, there. You'll probably see him around; his wife is our science officer, Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax."

"I look forward to it," Ro said.

"I also have a few records from your time with the Maquis," Kira continued. "If we were fighting the Cardassians or the Dominion—or anyone else—you would be a superb addition to this station. If we were a ship in need of a pilot or ops officer, you would also be an excellent asset. But as far as I can tell, you've never had any training or experience with security work."

"That's correct, Colonel," Ro said.

"Any idea why they assigned you here?" Kira asked. Given Ro's record, if Kira were in charge of Militia assignments, she'd have had Ro teaching either piloting or tactics. The Militia didn't have any people with the sort of formal training Ro had gotten at Starfleet's Advanced Tactical Training course.

Ro shrugged. "They didn't consult me, just gave me my orders."

"And if you had to guess?" Kira prodded.

Ro smirked. "I think they thought my experience with Starfleet would be an asset on the Bajoran base with the most Starfleet contact." That was definitely sarcasm.

"Ironic, considering our new Chief Engineer has already been in here complaining about you."

"My reputation gets around," Ro said. "Aside from a few people on Enterprise, not many Starfleet officers liked me before I joined the Maquis."

"Speaking of reputation, if you have an urge to defect again, or disobey orders, please let me know ahead of time," Kira said, voice heavy with both irony and sincerity. She locked eyes with Ro.

Ro matched her in intensity and mood. "Don't give me stupid orders, and I won't."

Kira nodded, secure in the understanding between them. "I'll do my best." In a way, the whole thing felt weirdly like being back in the caves in Shakaar's Resistance cell. Where command was given not based on rank or training or some outside authority requiring it, but on respect within the group. No wonder Ro had had a hard time in Starfleet; they wouldn't have known what to do with her. "So, if you've never done security work before, what's your first step, Captain?"

"I'm halfway through reading the station regulations and the portions of Bajoran legal code that apply to the station," Ro said. "I've already gone over a lot of the security logs from the station's time under Bajoran authority, looking for patterns in both security calls and crimes committed. It looks like there's two basic types of trouble Security gets called for: organized crime such as smuggling and illegal gambling, usually involving Quark in some fashion, and more serious but less predictable trouble coming from visitors to the station. That ranges from 'invasion' to 'cultural misunderstanding.' Not much of that during the Dominion War, of course, but it looks like it's starting to pick up again."

Kira raised her eyebrows. "I'm impressed, captain; that's a lot of work, given how recently you were given your orders."

Ro shrugged. "I wanted to hit the ground running, and if there's one thing Starfleet teaches all its people, it's how to take in and analyze lots of information, and then put it to use."

She really should be teaching, Kira thought; that was a skill the Militia didn't have much of, or if they did, they were only beginning to teach it now; Kira's generation, of course, had no formal training of any kind, and either you sank or swam based on innate skill and whether or not you had a good mentor.

"Any questions about what you've read?" Kira asked.

"I'm sure I'll have questions once I'm finished with the studying and am settled in with the department," Ro said, "but none come to mind immediately."

"Don't hesitate to ask," Kira said. "I worked very closely with Constable Odo—" she suppressed a pang of grief "—and if past experience is anything to go by, there'll be a lot of times when the safety and well-being of this station and her inhabitants depends on the command staff and Security working smoothly together."

"Thank you, sir," Ro said. "I will do that."

"You'll be starting tomorrow morning," Kira said. "I will be at the Security Office to introduce you to your team and see the command transferred to you."

"Alright," Ro said.

"Dismissed," Kira said.

***

Ro sat alone at a table in the Replimat, watching the crowd walk by and seeing what patterns she could spot. Her PADD was out in front of her, but she'd spent a lot of time studying in the past few days, and her brain needed to rest before she could absorb any more information. From here, she could see the Romulan Embassy (in what had been the Cardassian Embassy, before the war), the Security office and detention facilities which would shortly be her domain, and the gift shop. Just out of sight around the curve of the Promenade was the station's temple, the Infirmary, and Quark's Bar and Holosuites.

She'd checked the angles, and from the Security Office it was possible to see across the entrance to Quark's, and watch who was going in and out, but you couldn't see into it; the temple was the only place with a direct view into Quark's (and vice versa, which she couldn't imagine either the Ferengi or the Vedeks were happy with). If you wanted to know what was happening in Quark's, you had to go in. Given that Quark was the most consistent source of trouble on the station, she foresaw herself spending a lot of time there.

"Captain Ro," came a familiar bass rumble.

"Ambassador Worf," Ro said, looking up at him. She'd never seen him in civilian clothes before, and his hair was loose. It suited him. "Congratulations on your new job."

"Likewise," Worf said. "May I introduce my wife, Lieutenant Commander Jadzia Dax?" He gestured to the Trill woman next to him, wearing a Starfleet uniform.

"Commander," Ro said stiffly, wondering how this was going to go.

"May we join you?" Commander Dax said with a smile.

"Of course." Ro gestured to the seat across the table. Dax sat in it, while Worf grabbed a chair from a nearby table and settled himself in it.

"I understand we're going to be working together," Dax said. "Worf has told me a bit about you."

"All good things, I hope," Ro said.

"Mostly," Dax said, wiggling her head.

"Fair enough," Ro said.

"I have informed Captain Picard that you are alive and have joined the Bajoran Militia," Worf announced.

"Thank you," Ro said, not sure she was pleased. Her greatest regret about joining the Maquis was having to betray Picard's trust. He'd done so much more for her than anybody else alive had, he'd believed in her. She couldn't have done anything else, not and lived with herself, but if he'd decided to hate her she didn't want to know.

"He asked me to pass along his greetings and well-wishes," Worf said.

"Thank you," Ro said again, gut relaxing just a bit. At least it wasn't as bad as it could have been; he might even forgive her, if she could get up the courage to contact him. "How's Alexander?" That seemed safer than asking after any old Enterprise crewmates.

"He served in the Klingon Defense Force during the war," Worf said.

"Little Alexander is old enough to serve on a warship?" Ro shook her head. "He can't be, he was just a kid. My time on Enterprise wasn't that long ago."

"He would not have been old enough to serve on a Federation vessel, which is why he chose to serve the Empire, instead," Worf said.

"Klingons grow up faster than most species do," Dax said, "and Alexander grew at a Klingon rate, not a Human one. It's one of the things we're looking into: Klingons and Trill aren't very compatible biologically, and it turns out there's never been a Trill/Klingon hybrid. Doctor Bashir has solved the initial incompatibilities for gestation, which is the hard part, but there are still other things we need to decide before an embryo can be created. I'd like our children to have a bit longer childhoods than Klingons do."

"You're considering having kids?" Ro eyed Worf. He hadn't seemed that great a father to Alexander on Enterprise. Or that thrilled about him. Everyone knew he'd shipped the kid off to his parents to raise, at least at first.

"We are," Worf said.

"Congratulations," Ro said.

"But you knew Alexander as a small child," Dax said. "Tell me about him!"

"I didn't know him very well," Ro said. "Didn't hang out with the families much on Enterprise. I only really saw him during that one mission where I got turned into a kid temporarily. And then the Ferengi, of all people, captured the ship, and they weren't watching the kids so we were the ones with the best opportunity to retake the ship."

Dax turned to Worf, eyes alight with mischief. "Worf! You never told me you let Ferengi capture your ship! How did that happen?"

"They possessed two Klingon Birds-of-Prey and used them competently," Worf said.

"We never did figure out how they got those," Ro reminisced.

"I doubt the Empire would be happy to announce to the galaxy that they lost a pair of warships to the Ferengi," Dax said. "But you said you had been de-aged. How did that happen? Were you the only one? How did you save the ship?"

Ro explained the transporter accident, and told the story of how they'd used childish tactics to outwit the Ferengi, and Alexander's role in the whole thing. Worf hadn't been present for the most part, being locked up in the brig; the Ferengi had been smart enough to clock him as a major threat.

Dax chimed in with a few stories about some of the odder or funnier things that had happened on the station, Worf adding commentary here or there. It was nice. Collegial. The sort of thing that happened when Starfleet officers hung out together, the sort of thing Ro had so often been excluded from when she wore the same uniform Dax did.

"You know, I'm kind of surprised at the warm welcome," Ro said, studying her mug and contemplating getting another cup of tea. "Considering what your crew did to the Maquis on Solosos III."

Worf shifted uneasily, and he and Dax exchanged a look.

"It wasn't exactly our finest hour," Dax said.

"The tactics were effective, but did not live up to Starfleet's ideals," Worf said.

"I had friends there," Ro said. "Not all of them made it out." She shrugged. "That's war, I guess." She wondered how many of the Enterprise crew had died in the war. She hadn't looked it up, too preoccupied with surviving and grieving the loss of her Maquis friends and comrades.

"Most Maquis died when the Dominion started a scorched-earth policy in the Demilitarized Zone," Dax said. "How did you survive?"

Ro sighed. "My ship was on a supply run, and things were hot enough we hadn't been using the standard routes for … a while, at that point. So there were actually a fair number of Maquis ships that didn't get caught in the sweep—they weren't bothering with small targets, at that point. When we heard what was happening, we went dead and waited for the Dominion ships to leave. Then we headed towards the closest colony, gathered up as many survivors as we could fit aboard, and ran for the border. We happened to be on this side of the DMZ, so we ended up in Bajoran hands. Unlike the Federation, Bajor didn't consider us criminals, so we got asylum."

"And then you joined the Militia," Dax said.

"And then I joined the Militia," Ro said. "And the Federation threw a fit. With the Cardassians gone, they don't much care what happens to former Maquis who live quietly and take up, I don't know, farming or something." And honestly, she'd thought about it, but none of her other options had sounded appealing.

"But given that Bajor is joining the Federation, and even those Militia members who don't join Starfleet or serve on DS9 will have access to classified Starfleet information, I can see why they might not like you in a Bajoran uniform," Dax said. "When they posted you to DS9, were they trying to upset the Federation on purpose?"

"If you figure it out, let me know," Ro said. "From what I can tell, there are a lot of conflicting feelings about the Federation and Starfleet within the Militia. So there was probably at least a little of that."

"It's actually a lot better than it was seven years ago," Dax said.

"Glad I missed it, then," Ro said. People looked at her and saw everything they disliked about the other side. Either they were mad at her for leaving Starfleet, or for ever having been Starfleet in the first place.

***

Ro arranged for the formal transfer of authority and briefing to take place the day before her first official shift, so that she could start fresh. She'd met some of her crew in the last week, but not all of them; and much as she'd implied otherwise to Colonel Kira, her head was still swimming with the amount of procedures, regulations, and station history she'd tried to cram into her head.

She eyed the first-shift deputies, all lined up in the security office.

"At ease," she said, and they relaxed a bit. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Captain Ro Laren. Captain in the Bajoran Militia is equal to a Federation Lieutenant Senior Grade. Which was the rank I held in Starfleet before I left to join the Maquis. My commission is new but don't let that fool you, I'm not new to military service.

"From what I can tell, this department has been a pillar of this station, performing competently under a wide variety of difficult and unforeseeable circumstances. I'm not a fan of changing things for the sake of change, so things will probably stay mostly the same around here, at least to start. That said, if there are traditions or ways of doing things that you think could be improved, let me know. I don't promise to take your suggestions, but I will listen." She'd always gotten along best with officers who listened to her ideas, even if they chose not to accept her suggestions.

"If any of you are planning to transfer to Starfleet once Bajor formally joins the Federation, and have questions about Starfleet service, I'd be happy to answer them," Ro went on. "If you want to stay in Security you probably won't need much retraining, but if you want to specialize in something else, there'll be a lot to learn, and I can help you get a head start."

She eyed her new department. "Any questions?" There were none, although some of them looked like they had reservations they didn't want to voice. "All right then," she said. "You know your jobs. Get to them."

The deputies dispersed, most of them to patrol or guard stations, one to his shift in the cells—empty, at the moment, so she didn't have to deal with that. Ro retreated back into her new office and dove back into the pile of reports waiting for her.

***

Ro woke up, heart racing. "Lights!" Even years in the Maquis, living in huts without computers and ships without voice commands, hadn't been enough to break that instinctive response. But she was on DS9, now, and the computer obediently raised the lights. That, more than anything, helped her catch her breath.

If she'd really been back on a rustbucket held together with spit and prayers, stuffed to the gills with half-dead friends, dodging Dominion and Cardassian ships with little hope of making it to safety, calling for lights would have done nothing except get her bunkmate to yell at her to shut up.

But she was here, in Bajoran soon-to-be-Federation space, on a Federation-run space station, and the vocal commands worked.

Mouth filled with bile, she went to the bathroom and rinsed her mouth out. Then she got an anti-nausea med from the replicator, and a painkiller for the headache she knew was coming. She thought about getting a sleep med, but on a Starfleet-run station, three medications dispensed at once triggered an automatic alert to sickbay. At least, they would if she were an officer; she had no idea about civilians, or whether it would apply to Militia officers as she now was.

Besides, keyed up as the nightmare had left her, she doubted that anything mild enough to be dispensed without a prescription would do any good. She took the anti-nausea med and painkiller, took another drink of water, and went back to bed.

Ro sighed. "Lights, twenty percent." Which was brighter than she usually preferred to sleep with, but it meant the shadows couldn't play tricks on her. She closed her eyes and tried to snuggle deeper into the mattress. It was too hard, too much like the thin pallets that were the best most Maquis ships had, too much like the bare dirt she'd slept on as a child in the camps. She'd have to see about switching it out for something softer.

But the mattress wasn't really the problem. She'd fallen asleep just fine. The adrenaline flooding her from her nightmare, and the dread of another, that was the problem. She could have had the perfect mattress, and her chances of falling back to sleep would still have been slim to none.

She sighed again. That flight—and the weeks and months that had preceded it—had been nightmarish enough to live through the first time.

Even if she couldn't fall back asleep, laying here resting would be better for her brain and body than getting up and trying to do something. Starfleet made sure all its people knew that.

So Ro lay in her bed, and tried to keep her breathing even and slow, as the night passed.

At last, she was too bored, and couldn't stand it any longer. "Computer, what time is it?"

"The time is 0348."

"I give up," Ro said. Her alarm was set for 0600, and she couldn't face the thought of lying there for another two hours. And if she took a sleep med now, she'd be too groggy in the morning.

So she got up, wrapped herself in a robe, and curled up on her couch. “Computer, what’s in my inbox?”

“You have two new shift reports marked low-priority, three informational dispatches from the Bajoran Militia, one security alert from Starfleet—”

“Starfleet? What’s it about?”

“The message from Starfleet is a general alert regarding increased piracy in Sector 23.”

“Great, just what we need, problems around the Romulan Neutral Zone,” Ro said. Still, it wasn’t like it was her problem, not like it would have been when she was in Starfleet. “Any other messages?”

“You have a personal message from Captain Jean-Luc Picard.”

Ro dropped her head and sighed. If he was disappointed in her, or hated her, he wouldn’t bother to send a message; but she had betrayed his trust, and she regretted deeply that she’d had to leave that way. While she’d been in the Maquis, she hadn’t had to think about it, off in a world far distant from Starfleet and everything she’d known before. But you couldn’t outrun your past forever. “Computer, play message.”

“Captain Ro. I was pleased to hear that you survived the war, and that you have found your way into the beginnings of a new life. I would be interested to hear about your experiences and your new posting. I hope your new service is a good fit for you, and a good use of your talents and abilities. Picard out.”

Short, and sort of abrupt. But then, he was a busy man, and they’d never been close; he was a captain, and she’d been an ensign. He’d taken an interest in her career. Maybe he was still interested? Ro sighed. She had no idea how to respond. She wasn’t actually sorry about joining the Maquis, despite all her regrets about how it went down Could she just … respond as he had, ignoring all the reasons they hadn’t spoken in years?

***

Ro frowned at the report she was reading. Something seemed off, but she couldn't say for sure. One of the deputies would know. She touched the intercom for the brig and got only static.

She was half-way through bringing up the technical specs to see if she could fix it before she realized she wasn't in the Maquis any longer. There was a maintenance crew on call.

But she couldn't find either the Militia or Starfleet maintenance request forms on her terminal. It was possible she wasn't correctly remembering the Militia procedure—she'd had to cram an awful lot of information into a fairly short period, and things were bound to have fallen through the cracks. She used her commbadge to call Deputy Yndar to her office. They didn't have anybody in their cells today, so there was no harm in having him step out.

"Yes, Captain?" Yndar said, poking his head in.

Ro wondered if that would ever stop being weird to hear. The Bajoran ranks were … odd, after years in Starfleet. "Two things. I've got some questions about a report, and I can't figure out how to submit a maintenance request."

"Ah," Yndar said. "We're still using the Cardassian maintenance request system."

"I know how Starfleet does things, I know how the Militia does things, and now I have to learn a third system?" Ro made a face. "I suppose the Cardassian system is better integrated to the station than our own system would be."

"Here, let me show you," Yndar said. "It should be in a top-level directory, the number of things that go wrong on this station. They broke everything they could and didn't leave any manuals behind when they left, and they deleted the parts catalogue from the station replicators."

"Typical," Ro said. "If they couldn't have it, spoil it so nobody else could, either."

"Yeah," Yndar said. He showed her where the maintenance request subroutine was hiding, and walked her through reporting a problem. Then he answered her questions about the reports. Then he went back to his post. He was efficient, professional, and courteous.

Ro was left feeling a bit off balance.

***

"On the house," Quark said, setting a drink down in front of her.

"Security officers are not allowed to accept gifts, so no, it's not," Ro said.

"Not allowed to accept gifts!" Quark said. "Even if it's only a drink? What harm can one drink do?"

"It's the things that come after the drink that are the problem," Ro said. Actually, the drink was below the value threshold of what she could accept, but she wanted to put Quark a little off balance, and she didn't want alcohol, anyhow. She was going to try a mild sedative tonight, to see if she could sleep through the night for a change, and they often reacted with alcohol or narcotics. "Vulcan spice tea and an Ubed casserole, please."

"Ooh, variety, I like it," Quark said. "Would you like replicated tea, or the real thing?"

"The real thing," Ro said. She hadn't had the real thing since she'd been on Earth for Advanced Tactical Training. It would be interesting to see how fresh it was here, this far out from Vulcan. Replicated might actually be better. But she'd try it and see.

To her surprise, it was actually good quality tea, and fresh enough to be worth paying a premium for—someone must be growing it nearby. The casserole was a different variant than the one she was used to, but not bad.

"Mind if I join you?"

Ro looked up to see Dax coming over from the entryway. "Go right ahead," she said. "Worf left already?"

Dax grimaced. "He never gets to stay as long as he'd like. We've thought about requesting a transfer for me, but … there isn't any place that needs a science officer that's better positioned for Worf's work, right now. He's doing a lot of travelling, and we're hosting a lot of diplomatic conferences here. Things will settle down eventually, and available postings for me will change, and until then we'll deal with it."

She sat down in a chair and nodded to a passing waiter. "My usual, please." She looked at Ro's food. "Vulcan tea and Betazoid food—eclectic tastes. You know, if you want homemade Bajoran food, there isn't a Bajoran restaurant here, but a couple of station residents have a sideline cooking meals for people."

"Thanks for the offer," Ro said, "but I actually don't have much of a taste for Bajoran food. The refugee camp I grew up in had a couple of Federation replicators that only worked half the time, and whatever local plants and animals we could gather."

"Ah," Dax said. She seemed less embarrassed than Federation people usually were by the mention of Ro's childhood; maybe it was the extra lives that gave her some perspective, or maybe just that she'd spent the last few years working with Bajorans who probably all had similar stories of deprivation. "Did the replicators have Betazoid cuisine, then?"

"I'm not sure," Ro said. "I was introduced to this dish by Counselor Troi, on the Enterprise. How's she doing these days, do you know?" It hadn’t come up in the conversation with Worf.

"Still on the Enterprise," Dax said. "That crew has been together a remarkably long time, Worf is the only one who left."

"You're kidding," Ro said. "Even during the war, they didn't give Riker his own ship?"

"Nope," Dax said, flashing a smile at the waiter who brought her food.

"Huh," Ro said, resuming her meal now that Dax had something to eat, too. Well, even if Troi had been reassigned, it wasn't like she'd have been sent here. And just because she was the first counselor Ro had known who wasn't completely useless or untrustworthy (or both) didn't mean that she'd still be willing to help after the way Ro had left.

And Ro was fine, anyway; it was just a bit of trouble sleeping. She'd been through rough patches before, worse than this.

"So I was thinking," Dax said. "Kira and I sometimes do things together in the holosuites—fun things. Spa days, frothy mindless historical fantasy stories, as far away from work as we can get. Would you like to join us?"

Social time with her commanding officer? Ro had certainly never been offered that before. And it was true that she was only two ranks below the Lieutenant Colonel, and one of the senior officers on the station. And the highest-ranking Bajoran besides the Colonel herself. But still.

"If the colonel is okay with it, it sounds like it could be fun," Ro said. Frothy mindless historical fantasies weren't exactly her thing, but she wasn't going to turn down an overture of friendship from a fellow officer.

That was one of the ways the Maquis had been different from Starfleet. She hadn't been the life of the party, but she hadn't been a loner, either. For the first time in her life, she'd felt like she fit in. Or, at least, that she didn't fit any less than other people did.

"I'll talk to her," Dax said. "We've got something planned for tomorrow evening, if you're free."

Definite plans would be more awkward for Colonel Kira to get out of, if she didn't want to have a relative stranger in her recreational time. "I'm swamped right now, trying to get settled in and learn the job. Maybe another time?" It had the virtue of being true.

***

A week into her new security chief's tenure, Kira called her in for a progress report.

"So, how are you settling in?" she said.

Captain Ro shrugged and sipped her tea. "Haven't screwed up yet, that's always a plus."

"I figured I'd have heard about it if you had," Kira said.

"I'm getting a handle on the rhythms of the work, and getting to know my deputies," Ro said. "There's a couple of things I'm planning on changing in the patrol schedule; nothing's really been adjusted since the end of the war, when Constable Odo left. And the security needs are different in peacetime."

"Will you be going back to one of Odo's schedules, or coming up with something new?" Kira asked.

"Peacetime isn't the same now as it was before the war," Ro said. "Trade patterns have shifted, given the number of planets devastated by the war, and Bajor's coming Federation membership. More Klingons, fewer Cardassians, and that means different security challenges. So, probably something new."

"All right," Kira said.

"I'm more concerned about organized crime, to be honest," Ro said. "Constable Odo's reports about his investigations are sometimes … unspecific. He had contacts who would pass him information about certain types of criminal activity, but he never wrote down their names. Whether those helpful people will continue to talk to us … who knows. And from things the deputies have said, I'm pretty sure he sometimes used his shapeshifting to perform illegal surveillance of Quark and other suspects."

"Odo had a very finely-tuned sense of justice," Kira said. "He would never have done anything he believed was wrong." She sighed. "But he learned how to do security work under the Cardassians. He was always fair, and there's a reason we were happy to keep him in the same job after the Cardassians left. But he did miss the level of surveillance the Cardassians used, and Captain Sisko never reprimanded him for spying on Quark or other suspects."

"In the Federation, surveillance by law enforcement is illegal without a court order," Ro said. "Regardless of why you're doing it. Not everyone has a finely-tuned sense of justice like Odo did."

"We're not in the Federation," Kira pointed out.

"We will be soon," Ro said. "The station has always been in a weird place, legally speaking, but that will be resolved when Bajor enters the Federation. Federation standards for evidence tend to be fairly strict. They vary by planetary jurisdiction, of course, and we won't know what the Bajoran laws will be until all the details are hammered out. But there's a minimum standard of civil rights required of all Federation members. Even if Odo were still here, he'd have to change tactics if he wanted any of his evidence to hold up in court."

"With Quark, things usually don't go that far," Kira said. "He's rarely into anything deeply illegal or dangerous, and his various misdemeanors were mostly useful to force him to toe the line." Kira thought about it for a second. "Sometimes also for blackmailing him into doing what we needed him to for the good of the station. Quark understands that, I'm pretty sure it's how Ferengi society works."

Ro paused. "So that's why some of the reports are incomplete," she said, sounding satisfied. "Odo definitely wouldn't have wanted to put that in writing."

"No, he wouldn't have."

"And his deputies are all still loyal to him, and wouldn't want him to look bad."

Kira was pleased to hear they still respected and cared for Odo. With the Dominion War, and Odo's complex relationship to his people, things had been … rocky, in that department.

"But we still have a problem," Ro said. "We can't use Odo's tactics, either practically or legally, which means we don't have the same leverage."

"Quark isn't that bad," Kira pointed out. "He's never done anything really awful, or we would have let the charges go through and gotten him convicted and deported."

Ro shook her head. "Bajor's entry into the Federation changes things. After the Occupation we weren't wealthy enough in our own right to be worth much to the crime syndicates. Oh, sure, there was the wormhole … but it's easy to control who goes through that, so it's too hard to run a criminal enterprise through it, especially back when it was first found. And then the war came. But now Bajor's joining the Federation. It's going to get a lot more prosperous very quickly. And things are going to change a lot in a short time—which means opportunities for the syndicates to take advantage of. And if they can get a solid foothold on Bajor, that means they have a solid foothold in the Federation. We're a lot more tempting a target than we used to be."

"I thought you didn't have any previous law enforcement experience," Kira said. "How do you know that?"

Ro shrugged. "Starfleet isn't all exploring, you know—or all fighting. It takes a while for regular Federation law enforcement to set up in the space around new member worlds, so smaller Starfleet cruisers end up filling in the gaps. My first assignment out of the academy spent some time rooting out a nest of pirates around Gadika III. It took us a couple of months, not because they were hard to fight—or even hard to find. But they'd gotten dug in to the Gadikan government, had a number of people in their pocket. And they got advance notice of our movements. Took a while to clean up."

"I see," Kira said. "I'll pass along the warning to other Militia posts. Do you have any contacts in Starfleet who might have advice?" Given Ro's history, it was a long shot.

Ro winced. "Probably not any who would be willing to talk to me, or at least, not any with current experience in anti-piracy work. Captain Picard would probably answer any questions I sent him, but … it's probably close to two decades since he was captain of a ship that might get sent on that sort of mission. And you know Worf, of course, but he spent his career on larger starships, not small cruisers."

"Right," Kira said. "Well, we'll just have to keep an eye on things." She paused, trying to gauge Ro's reaction. "How are you settling in on a personal level?"

"Fine," Ro said shortly.

Kira nodded, but let the silence linger for a bit before continuing. "How are you getting along with the deputies?"

"No problems, sir," Ro said.

Kira nodded again. Ro Laren was enough like her, she thought, to predict her reactions. Ro was prickly, independent, and would resent being coddled. But she'd also been thrown into a position she was unqualified for to sink or swim, and Kira had never in her life been as isolated as Ro probably was right now. And if she got space to talk, she might use it.

"Dax tells me she invited you to one of our holosuite outings," Kira said before the silence could get awkward.

"She did," Ro said.

"And you turned her down," Kira said. "Was that really because you were busy, or were you not interested?"

Ro shrugged. "Little of both. I really am that busy, but also, fantasy adventure really isn't my thing. I don't mind it, but it's not what I'd choose on my own. And then there was the fact that she volunteered your time without asking you. If you weren't interested, less awkward all around if I said no first."

"Fair enough," Kira said. "I've learned to enjoy the fantasy adventures, but they're more Dax's thing than mine. The spa days are really nice. What do you do to relax?"

"On the holodecks?" Ro said "Mysteries, puzzle games, and rock climbing."

"I don't know that I've ever climbed rocks as a hobby," Kira said. "How's it done?"

"There's two basic types, bouldering and walling," Ro said. "Bouldering is more like what you'd do on a mission: find a rock and climb over it, usually without going high enough to be dangerous, without any specialized equipment. Or not much; if you're doing it for sport usually you use special shoes and put chalk on your hands to help your grip, and put a mat below you to break your fall. Walling takes more equipment to do—you're climbing up a cliff face, or a wall that simulates a cliff face. Usually with a rope to catch you if you fall."

"You climb up cliffs?" Kira raised her eyebrows. "For fun?"

"I do," Ro said with a smile. "It's hard, but if you do it right it's not dangerous—especially in a holodeck—and you have the most incredible views and sense of accomplishment when you're done. I can show you some time, if you're interested."

"I am," Kira said. "If nothing else, it sounds like a more interesting workout than just lifting weights or running on a treadmill."

"It is," Ro said.

***

Ro eyed her inbox. She hadn’t responded to Captain Picard’s message, and the longer it took the more awkward it would get. But she still wasn’t sure what to say.

Fortunately, she had no shortage of other work to do instead. She went through her mental to-do list, decided that more studying of regulations and logs today would be counterproductive, and went on to the relatively easy tasks.

The interior security station comms still were not fixed. Ro pulled up the maintenance form, only to find it wasn't there. Not pending, not resolved, not denied, nothing.

She tapped her commbadge. "Ro to Yndar, I can't find the maintenance form for the security comms problem. Is there something I'm missing?"

"I'll check," he said. A few minutes later he called her back. "I can't find it, either. That's weird."

"It's not a known bug in the system?"

"No, sir, I've never seen it happen before. I wondered why it isn't fixed yet."

"Okay," Ro said. "Well, I'm submitting it again, we'll see if it gets eaten again."

***

Kira had to cancel her next holosuite outing with Dax; there was a minor diplomatic incident with the Romulans that turned out to be not so minor after all, and which needed in a truly infuriating amount of flattery and reassurances to smooth over. Kira actually wasn't directly involved with most of it; it had happened on the station, but (thank the Prophets) hadn't been caused by station personnel. Still, for someone who hadn't contributed to the problem, dealing with it took far too much of her time. Dax had been very helpful, both as executive officer and also with advice about the necessary diplomacy. Ro had handled the security aspects of it competently. Julian hadn't been involved at all. Belasco had kept as low a profile as possible, which was a relief given that he was even less suited to diplomacy than Kira was.

***

Ro double-checked the maintenance requests. The Security Station internal comms had been deleted from the queue again. She hadn't had time to worry about it (or much of anything else besides Romulan egos) while dealing with security for the Romulan ambassador. Now that things were back to normal, it was one of many things to check up on.

She tapped her commbadge. "Ro to Belasco."

"Belasco here."

"Your maintenance request system has problems. It's eaten two maintenance requests."

"Nonsense, it's working perfectly."

"How would you know that if it's eating requests?" Ro asked.

"Nobody else has complained."

"That just means it's an intermittent fault."

"If you submitted a maintenance request and it's no longer there, the request must have been submitted improperly. These Cardassian systems are a bit tricky, and you're new here."

"Deputy Yndar walked me through the process," Ro said. "He's been here since the Cardassians left, and knows the station backwards and forwards."

There was a pause. "What was the nature of the request?"

"Security's hardwired internal communications system isn't working."

Belasco scoffed. "That's a low-priority fix if ever there was one. You all have functional combadges, it's redundant."

Ro agreed; it was mostly there because the Cardassians were paranoid and wanted a system that would be harder to crack into even if you stole a Cardassian communicator. "Which is why I'm more concerned about the fact that your system is deleting maintenance requests."

"And again, nobody else has a problem."

"You mean, nobody else has reported a problem, which is not the same thing," Ro said. "Maybe they're just sitting around wondering why nobody's come to fix their issue yet."

"If it'll make you happy, I'll come fix your communications systems personally." There was a sarcastic edge to his voice.

"I don't care who fixes it." Ro reined in her temper. Belasco was an ass who hated her; she'd served with people like him before, and she probably would again. At least he didn't outrank her. "Fix your maintenance system. Ro out."

***

"Want a spa day?" Ro looked up to see Dax poking her head into the security office.

Ro glanced down at the file she was working on. Her shift was over, and it wasn't like the paperwork was going anywhere. "In the holosuites, I presume? How's the program's massage therapist?" She hadn't had a really good massage since leaving Enterprise, and it always helped her sleep. On DS9, a spa on the holosuite was probably the best option.

"Pretty good for a non-sentient hologram," Dax said. "Not at the level you'd need for serious therapeutic work, but perfect for ordinary massage."

"I would love to join you," Ro decided. "Give me ten minutes to wrap up what I'm doing?"

"Meet us in Suite 6," Dax said.

'Us' probably meant the Colonel as well. Ro wouldn't have necessarily chosen to hang out and get a massage with her CO, but on the other hand, Kira seemed to be competent and sensible and wasn't holding Ro's past against her, so it'd probably be fine.

Ro finished reading the report, signed off on it, and headed over to Quark's.

***

"You could have asked before inviting her," Kira protested as they changed into loose robes in the holosuite.

"I thought you liked her," Dax said innocently.

"I do!" Kira said. "But it's awkward socializing with subordinates, and a little warning would have been nice. Especially for a spa day."

"I’m your subordinate, too,” Dax said.

“That’s different,” Kira said. “We were friends for years before I took command of the station.”

Dax shrugged. “Being commanding officer doesn’t mean you have to be isolated. I like her, and it's a fun way of getting to know your senior staff better."

"Sisko never hung out at the spa with us," Kira pointed out.

"Ben gave dinners where he cooked for people instead," Dax said. "Besides, given what she's been through, I'd say she needs some simple, easy relaxation, and I like the spa, and I like people. And I want to be hospitable to our new staff."

"You haven't asked Belasco to do something," Kira said. "And I'd say he could use some simple, easy relaxation if anyone could."

"I did when he first got here," Dax said. "He turned me down. And then I saw the difference between how he treated his Bajoran subordinates and the Starfleet crew."

"Is there something I should be aware of?" Kira asked. You wouldn't think a single step on the promotion ladder would cut her off so much from the station grapevine, but she was constantly surprised how much less she heard about.

Dax made a face. "If it were enough to act on, I'd have told you already."

The holosuite door opened with a hiss and a little grinding noise; Quark was cheaping out on maintenance, as usual.

"Ro! Glad you could join us," Dax said. "Kira and I usually start with a dip in the hot tub and then a massage. What are your preferences?"

"Hot tub then massage sounds fine to me," Ro said, stripping off her clothes. She was fit, but with a variety of scars old and new that Federation medicine could have easily eliminated, if Ro had chosen it. She hadn't.

Kira had scars, too, that she hadn't allowed Julian to remove. She didn't want to do away with the physical reminder of some of the things she'd been through.

***

The hot tub was great. There were two pools, side by side, one set to a good temperature for Bajorans, the other set to Dax's comfort. It was a little odd to have someone in the same pool, but it wasn't bad.

"So," Kira said, "I hear they have spas on some Federation starships?"

"No," Ro said. She leaned her head back against the padded rest and consciously worked on relaxing each muscle group individually one at a time. "Enterprise had a salon, and there was a massage therapist attached to Sickbay that anyone could make an appointment with any time, but if you wanted something like this you had to use the holodeck."

"A massage therapist in sickbay?" Kira said.

"It's part of physical therapy," Dax explained. "We don't need one on the station, because if someone needs serious rehabilitation, we send them to Bajor. But a large exploring ship like Enterprise, which might not come back to a Federation port for months or years, needs to be able to do everything. Including long-term physical therapy and rehab."

"Huh," Kira said. She and Dax started debating where the line was between extravagance and caring for the well-being of people so far from home for so long.

Ro closed her eyes and let the conversation wash over her as she let all her tension seep out into the water.

***

Ro had been quiet in the hot tubs, but as they snacked on finger food before their massages, Dax asked her about what she was finding hardest to get used to on the station.

"You know, it's funny," Ro said. "This is the first time I've ever come into an assignment as a superior officer? When I was in Starfleet, I made it to lieutenant, got busted down to ensign for getting people killed, then I got assigned to the Enterprise and eventually promoted again. But I was still on the same ship, everybody already knew me both times I made Lieutenant. The people I was commanding knew me before I got the rank. And then in the Maquis, you don't—didn't—get outside assignments. You joined the crew of whoever wanted you, or wanted to follow you."

Kira noted that present tense. "The Resistance was like that."

"I know," Ro said. "We had our share of old Resistance fighters in the Maquis."

"Watch who you're calling old," Kira said dryly.

"Didn't mean it that way," Ro said with a grimace. "I've commanded people, and I've started my life over somewhere nobody knew me. I've done both multiple times. This is the first time I'm doing both at the same time."

Kira had never had to start her life over; not really. That was a major difference in their life experience. Still. "Coming here was a little like that, for me. I'd never served with strangers before, and I'd certainly never commanded them. And I had no idea what to expect from Starfleet officers, and most of what I did expect turned out to be wrong in one way or another. Captain—then Commander—Sisko was a great help, and I learned a lot from him."

"It's not that it's difficult," Ro said. "Just odd."

Dax chimed in with a story about Torias and his first squadron command, during advanced pilot training, and the trouble he had gotten himself into, and the conversation turned to stories about pranks and hijinks and stupid accidents they had done or seen in their careers.

***

Ro wasn't sure whether it was the sleep med or the massage, but she slept better that night than she had in a while. That only lasted until the handover briefing at the beginning of her shift the next day, when Deputy Gerjo noted that Belasco had fixed the internal comms system during beta shift the night before.

"Very thoughtful of him, to come in and handle it personally on his off shift," Ro said neutrally.

Gerjo rolled his eyes but didn't comment, and the briefing went on.

Ro got herself a cup of tea from the replicator and sat in her office, thinking. Belasco didn't like her, and this was a low-priority repair. She would have expected the comms repair to go to the very bottom of the priority list, and yet he'd come in to do it personally the very day it was reported to him?

She checked the surveillance logs—Ro wasn't thrilled about spending most of her working hours in a place with continuous recordings, but at least her office didn't have cameras, just a sensor on the door to report who went in and out, and when.

Belasco hadn't brought an assistant with him. This sort of work—tracing a fault that might be in one of several rooms, or in one of several interconnected computer systems—was usually done in pairs to speed things up.

He didn't like her, but he'd found a reason to be alone in her office while she was off-duty.

Ro had had fellow officers express their dislike of her through pranks on several occasions, both at the academy and on her first posting. She would have hoped that someone who rose to command a department on a joint station wouldn't pull nasty pranks, but she couldn't rule it out.

A quick search of her office didn't find anything.

A security scan, however, did.

Ro tapped her commbadge. "Ro to Colonel Kira."

"Kira here. Go ahead."

"Could you join me in my office, sir?" Ro said. "There's something you're going to want to see."

There was a pause.

"I'll be right there, Captain."

***

"He bugged your office?" Kira was shocked.

Ro shrugged. "Can't prove it was him. He's the only person who's been in here alone besides me since I got here, but I didn't do a security sweep when I moved in. It could have been here longer than that."

"Not much longer," Kira said. "Given the war and all the mess with his people and all the people who hated him because he was a changeling, Odo did regular security sweeps of his office and quarters. If this had been here before he left, he would have found it."

"Still doesn't prove that Belasco planted it," Ro said.

"You keep saying that, but you're the one who said it might be him," Kira said. "You don't like him."

Ro shrugged. "That's why I want to make sure we don't rush to blame him. I've spent a lot of time disliked and distrusted by my fellow officers, and had too many people assume I'd done things I hadn't just because it was an easy answer and they wanted to believe the worst of me."

"Whereas you'd rather they thought badly of you because of the things you'd actually done," Kira said, voice heavy with irony.

Ro nodded. "Yeah." She looked at the bug again. "And if he did do it, there's not much we can do unless we can prove it. Which might be a problem. It's a professionally made bug; high quality but generic. I checked on the specs and it's the sort of thing someone uses when they don't want it to be traced back to them. But it wasn't hidden very well, and if whoever planted it had known how to use it effectively, they could have made it a lot harder to find."

"So, someone with access to good equipment, but not a professional spy." Kira put her hands on the desk and leaned over it, examining the small bug.

"Exactly," Ro said. "And you never know. It might have been there for a while. It might have been planted by someone who wants to keep tabs on station security. It might have been planted by someone who could erase their entry to the station from the security logs."

"Somebody good enough to hack into the Security Office's computer would be good enough to set the bug properly," Kira said.

"Most likely," Ro said.

"Do we know if this is the only active bug, or are there others?"

Ro shrugged. "It's the only bug active in the security offices, ops, or the deuterium refinery. Those are the only places with enough security to do an automatic scan that would find it—it's small and designed to go undetected if possible. Anywhere else, we're going to have to send deputies to comb the station with hand scanners. Oh, and your office would also need to be scanned manually."

Kira grimaced. Of course the deuterium refinery—formerly the ore processing facility where the majority of Bajoran laborers had been forced to work during the Occupation—would have that kind of surveillance. "Let's do a full scan of the station."

"It won't pick up any bugs that aren't currently in use," Ro pointed out. "So if someone has a stash of them somewhere, we won't find them."

"I'll call Dax, see if she has any ideas."

***

"Well?" Ro asked.

Dax looked up from her tricorder. "Maybe."

"What's the problem?" Kira asked.

"There are a lot of electronic devices on this station, both station equipment and personal items." Dax shrugged. "The components in this device are a bit on the rare side, and some of the alloy combinations they had to use to get this much scanning and memory into a device this small are distinctive. But not distinctive enough to be easily identified, and there could be any number of legitimate devices made with similar materials. I can modify the tricorders to look for it, but it's going to be a short-range scan and there are going to be false positives. And there are also going to be places where the equipment in the walls will mask what's on the other side of them."

"How short a range?" Ro asked.

"Max range, with no walls or furniture or other things in the way, will probably be about five meters. If you're scanning through bulkheads, probably more like two or three meters, depending on what exactly is in the bulkheads."

Kira and Ro exchanged a glance. Ro shrugged.

"Not ideal, but it's better than nothing," Kira said.

"Problem is, if it is Belasco, he'll hear about the scan as soon as we start it, and dispose of any evidence," Dax said. "It's going to be hard to hide deputies combing the station with scanners. And even if we had every one of our officers and crew out looking, he'd still probably have time to move or destroy anything."

Ro nodded. "And if it's not Belasco, they might still be tipped off. And the bug was found in the security office; it might have been a deputy. They're the only people who spend a lot of time in here without an escort. So even just limiting the search to the deputies might not be enough."

Kira smiled. "I think I have an idea."

***

Ro looked at the crowd in the security staging area. It was the first time since she'd taken command of the department that they'd all been gathered into one place. The deputies were chatting desultorily. All were present, except for the few in the middle of their sleep cycle who would get briefed later. She called them to attention and began her briefing.

"We're going to be doing a training exercise and manually searching the station for surveillance devices, security weaknesses, contraband goods, and explosives. Some things have been planted for you to find. There will also be false positives. It is not your job to remove or diffuse anything you find at this time; we may be doing other exercises for how to handle that aspect of things later, but this current exercise is simply about searching the station. All you have to do is report your findings."

She explained the procedure, the rewards for the three people who found the most items of interest, and reminded them of the boundaries of Federation privacy regulations and how they applied to security scans without a warrant.

"And," she said, "we're also going to be practicing information security. If this were a real scan, if somebody had planted listening devices or a bomb or something, we would want to avoid tipping them off until we'd found our target. So! Consider this exercise classified until it is completed. And that includes your crewmates in other departments: nobody says anything to anyone outside the department until we're done. And if you can scan an area without looking like you're scanning it—or at least without anyone seeing you do it—so much the better.

Deputy Pinar raised a hand. "Sir, the scanning program is automated, right? We don't have to be watching it as it runs?"

"For the most part," Ro said. "But the scan will only work at a fairly short range, and there are a lot of things on the station that could block or distort it, so you'll have to check every so often to make sure you don't need to re-scan an area from a different spot or something. But no, you don't have to walk around staring at your tricorder while pretending you're not."

Ro waited a few seconds. "Any other questions?"

There was a general shuffling and shaking of heads.

"Dismissed."

***

By the end of the shift, as people were turning in their tricorders and signing out, many things had been found. None of them were what they were looking for, and only one was something Dax had planted as part of the exercise. It would take several days, at this rate, to scan the whole station.

"I expected more grumbling," Ro said to Deputy Yndar as they wrapped up the last few details and got ready to hand the station over to beta shift.

Yndar shrugged. "We've had enough problems with spies and saboteurs over the years that everyone can see the reason for it. And besides, patrol is either boring or exciting in the bad way. The competition livens things up a bit."

***

Given the limitations of the scan, Ro was almost surprised when they found what they were looking for.

And even more surprised that the stash of bugs was in Belasco's quarters. She hadn't thought he'd be stupid enough to keep them where they would obviously be his. If Ro had illegal surveillance devices, she'd put them somewhere she'd have plausible deniability if they were found.

She waited until after shift to call the Colonel. As far as the deputies were concerned, this was just another thing planted for them to find, and Ro wanted to keep it that way for now. She had an awful hunch about where he'd gotten those bugs.

***

"No lecture about Federation privacy rules?" Kira asked as Ro used her security override to open Belasco's quarters.

The door slid open, and Ro gestured her inside. "He's not a civilian, he's a Starfleet officer and you're his CO. You have the authority to search his quarters and personal effects at any time. And even if he was a civilian, the scan was perfectly legal, so it would be easy to get a warrant based on it."

"Good to know," Kira said.

It only took a few seconds for Ro's tricorder to find the bugs. They were in a box in a bureau by the door.

Ro scanned them. "No fingerprints or DNA on these ones, either," she said. "Whoever gave them to him was careful."

"We'll see if Dax can figure anything out," Kira said. "Meanwhile, it's time to have a chat with Mr. Belasco."

***

Belasco's confident walk into Kira's office faltered a bit when he saw Ro standing by her desk. Guilty conscience, Kira wondered? Dax was standing on Kira's other side, but it was Ro that Belasco kept glancing towards.

"Lieutenant Belasco," she said, gesturing to the box of bugs. "Would you care to explain why you used an illegal surveillance device to spy on your colleague?"

"You had no right to search my things," Belasco said, drawing himself up to his full height.

"So you admit they're yours?" Dax asked.

Belasco glanced at her but didn't respond.

"And as it happens, Lieutenant, I do have the right to search your things, as your commanding officer," Kira said. "And I'd like an answer to Commander Dax's question."

"Sir." Belasco said stiffly.

"Do you admit that these are yours?" Kira asked. "Do you admit that you planted a bug in the security office while you were in there to do maintenance?"

Belasco bit his lip, then decided to brazen it out. "What if I did? She's a traitor! She can't be trusted! And she has you in her corner, which I expected, you Bajorans are all thick as thieves together. But she got Commander Dax behind her, as well. There was no point in any official action, but I wanted to make sure that when she betrays us, we'll know."

"She has me behind her, Lieutenant, because unlike you, I listened to the people who actually knew her, instead of to my prejudices," Dax said pointedly.

"You're all taken in by her," Belasco said. "I don't know why, it's not like she's that charismatic—"

"I'm a pretty good judge of character, Belasco," Dax said. "I've had seven lifetimes to practice."

"Lieutenant," Kira said. "Refresh my memory. What do Starfleet regulations say you should do when you believe your superior officer is committing a dangerous mistake and nobody in your chain of command will listen?"

"Contact the Judge Advocate General's office, or the Operations Office, for advice, depending on what sort of mistake it is," Belasco answered promptly. He bit his lip and wouldn't meet her eyes. Not out of shame, but out of … something else.

"And you did, didn't you?" Ro said. "And whoever it was you got ahold of confirmed that I was a dangerous terrorist and a threat to the station and to all of Starfleet, but said their hands were tied and there was nothing they could do because the Bajorans were being irrational, and gave you the surveillance devices so you could prove it. Probably promised you a promotion and a better posting if you got intelligence they could use."

Belasco's jaw dropped. His mouth moved wordlessly for a few seconds. "I—I don't—That's absurd! Why would you think that?" He wasn't as convincing as he was trying to sound.

"When I was out of Starfleet the first time," Ro said, "Admiral Niles Kennelly gave me a secret mission. Officially, I was to make contact with a group of Bajorans who had attacked a Federation colony, to help the Enterprise settle things peacefully. Unofficially, I was to provide the group with weapons. Kennelly said that he knew the Cardassians were vicious, violent people, and a threat to the peace and stability of the whole quadrant."

This was a story Kira hadn't heard; she glanced at Dax, who gave a slight nod that she knew it; Worf must have told her.

"Kennelly said he wanted to ensure the group could defend themselves," Ro went on, "both because it was the right thing to do, and because anything that stopped or slowed the Cardassians in their goals could only be good for the Federation in the long run. But his hands were tied, officially, by the spineless cowards in the diplomatic corps who wanted to appease the Cardassians at any cost. But he could reinstate me and send me with secret orders. If I succeeded in arming the group without anyone realizing how they'd gotten the weapons, he would let me keep my commission and give me my pick of postings."

It sounded too good to be true, Kira thought. And if there was an admiral who favored Bajor that strongly, Captain Sisko would have called him in to help when they'd had conflicts with Starfleet or the Federation.

"Obviously he kept his word," Belasco said, "because otherwise you wouldn't have been in a position to betray Starfleet later."

"He didn't, actually," Ro said. "He couldn't. He was being court-martialed. You see, every single word he'd told me was a lie. He was actually working with the Cardassians. They were the ones who had destroyed the colony and framed Bajoran terrorists, to try and get the Federation involved on Cardassia's side. Kennelly was their patsy, but he also genuinely believed that a war would be good for Starfleet and that an alliance with the Cardassians would be good for the Federation. I figured out what was going on, and told Captain Picard, who was able to expose the whole thing. It was my courage and integrity in coming forward—even though I knew it might get my commission revoked, again, and sent back to prison—that got me my post on the Enterprise. Not Kennelly's machinations."

"I don't see what any of that has to do with me," Belasco said steadily. He was tense, and his eyes kept flicking between the two of them, Kira noticed.

"Your contact at Starfleet Ops wouldn't have been Admiral Kaluža, would it?" Dax asked. "She heads the right subdepartment for your complaint to hit her desk."

"How—" Belasco swallowed. "I don't know what you mean."

"I've had the misfortune of working with her before," Kira said. "Kaluža believes that Bajorans are violent thugs, and inherently untrustworthy. She's been working to keep Bajor out of the Federation since the idea was first floated shortly after the Occupation ended. I know of at least two separate occasions when negotiations were stalled because of things she had convinced Starfleet to demand, or various Federation ambassadors to ask for. And a separate one where she intentionally and maliciously edited a cultural briefing to make a new ambassador to Bajor look bad."

"If she's the one who gave you the bugs," Dax said, "I don't doubt she truly believed anything she told you about how untrustworthy Bajorans are. But she'd be delighted to have inside intelligence she could use to try and drive further wedges between Bajor and the Federation."

If Kaluža were the only stumbling block, Bajor would have joined long before the Dominion War, Kira mused. Bajor had never made too much of a fuss about her, because there were a few people like that on the Bajoran side of the negotiations, so they didn't exactly have the moral high ground. But there was no point muddying the waters to point that out.

"She can't prevent Bajor joining at this late date," Ro said. "But she could, for example, make it much harder for members of the Bajoran Militia who want to transfer to Starfleet to do so."

"If she's your contact, Lieutenant, I'm sure she thought her birthday had come early when you brought your concerns to her," Kira said.

"But whether you got the bugs from her or someone else, you should come clean," Ro said. "It will never be easier than it is right now. I know for a fact that there are a number of Starfleet officers like Captain Picard who have a great respect for people who realize their mistakes and own up to them. Whether you stick it out or confess, this is going in your record. Every future commanding officer you ever have will see that you tried to spy on a fellow officer, a Federation ally. The question is, what are they going to see next to that? Are they going to see you came clean and did the right thing? Or not?"

Belasco was wavering, Kira could see it in his eyes.

"Do the right thing," Dax said. "Starfleet should be better than paranoia and hate and spying on our allies."

Belasco opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked down. He shook his head, and looked up again. "I am serving Starfleet and the Federation as they need to be served," he said. "I wish you could see that, sir."

***

"Now what?" Ro asked after Belasco had left. He would be confined to quarters until he could be shipped off back to Starfleet.

"Now, we write our reports and leave it in Starfleet's hands," Dax said. "And hope we don't have an engineering crisis until we can get a replacement."

"We can't prove he did it," Ro said. "The evidence is circumstantial, and he never actually confessed."

"If he gets a good lawyer, he probably won't even be court-martialed," Dax said. "It'll be a black mark on his record, at worst."

"And there's a good chance he'll be targeted by Section 31 or any other unscrupulous senior officer looking for someone to do their dirty work with plausible deniability," Ro said.

Kira shrugged. "It's out of our hands now," she said. "Hopefully his replacement will be better. You did a good job, Captain; I was impressed with your professionalism. You didn't let your prejudices make you jump to conclusions, and you advocated for Belasco even though you didn't like him."

"Thank you, sir," Ro said.

***

Ro turned down Dax's invitation to dinner at the Replimat, and headed home as soon as her shift was over. As the doors to her quarters closed behind her, she sighed. It had been a long day without any good resolution for anyone. Belasco had no idea what he was in for, and he was going to be in a position to fall in with people who would amplify his worst traits. She wished they could have either gotten through to him, or gotten him out of Starfleet.

Still, at least they’d gotten him off the station so she wouldn’t have to deal with him any longer. And done it before he’d had a chance to spy on her. And her new CO liked her.

It wasn’t like the support she’d gotten from Picard; he’d believed in her, trusted her, given her space to prove herself. It had been what she needed at the time. But they’d had such different lives, and he’d been so much older and more experienced that there had been a large gulf between them even before she’d left Starfleet.

With Kira, she was closer to her age and experience, and there was a kind of camaraderie she could never have had with Picard.

But Ro was still grateful for everything she’d learned from him. And she’d put off calling him long enough.

Ro got herself a cup of tea from the replicator, and sat down in front of her communications screen. She started the recording. “Captain Picard, it was good to hear from you. I enjoyed meeting Ambassador Worf again, and his wife Lieutenant Dax and I are becoming friends. I was glad to hear that you and the new Enterprise came through the war well …”

[otakusheep15]

SFW Alphabet - Solomon

This is for my best friend/mother as she is the biggest Solomon simp I’ve ever seen lol. Also, this is gonna be angsty cause I love writing angsty Solomon

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He pretends to not like affection, but he’s a softie and we all know it. Really, all he needs is a hug and he’ll just melt on the spot. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

One word: chaos. You two as best friends cause untold destruction and cause Lucifer several migraines per day. Being besties with him also means being besties with Asmo, so be prepared for that as well.  

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He loves cuddles. Maybe it’s just the fact that he hasn’t had much physical contact in who knows how long, but he loves any form of contact. His favorite ways to cuddle is him on his back with you either laying on top of him, or on the side of him with your head on his chest. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I can’t see him as the type to settle down, be he’d consider it depending on the person. And while he’s a terrible cook, he’s not half bad at cleaning and other household chores. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d be super blunt about it. Honestly, he’s scared to get with anyone to begin with since, ya know, immortality and all, so it’s been a while since he’s actually had to break it off. His main goal when breaking up with someone is to get them away from him, so he wants to make sure the way he breaks up with them will make them want to stay away. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Afraid of commitment. I imagine the last time he tried to commit to someone was before he became immortal, so having to watch them die made him vow to never get that close to anyone again. Then he met you, and all of that has been thrown out the window. He might try and rush things a bit, but he just wants as much time with you as possible. So, while he is afraid to commit, he’ll do it for you. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s bad at human interaction, so he might not know if he accidentally hurts you, but he’ll be quick to apologize once he realizes. Honestly, he’s better at being physically gentle since he can control that better than emotions.  

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Loves hugs. They’re one of his favorite things ever. He just finds such comfort in them, and they’re great for stress relief. His hugs are a bit on the aggressive side, but they’re still very enjoyable. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He’d say it on accident. And then he’d try to play it off to hide how embarrassed he is. It is pretty early on, but he does mean it with all his heart. Please say it back, he hasn’t heard it in a while. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He gets extremely jealous. Like, you spend so much time with the brothers and he can’t stand that. Of course, he would never admit it, but he would try everything he can think of to get you away from them. Once, he almost resorted to food poisoning out of sheer desperation. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses differ depending on his mood, but they’re usually soft and full of passion. His favorite place to kiss you is your neck because it gets a nice reaction out of you. His favorite place to be kissed is the top of his head cause he’s secretly a big softy who wants to be babied.  

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s not the most fond of kids, but he’ll tolerate them. They’re are fun to tease though, especially Luke. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

he’s either waking you up at the crack of dawn to work on some new potion, or he’s sleeping in until past noon and refuses to get up. Regardless, you are not leaving his side. If he gets up, he’ll drag you up with him. If he wants to stay in, he’ll hold you there until he’s satisfied. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He’ll usually be up late working on something or other, but he’s never up for too long. He jins you in bed when he’s done, and he’ll cuddle the crap out of you an an apology for keeping you waiting. He’s also fond of talking to you about random stuff that happened throughout the day until one or both of you fall asleep. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

This man is one of the most secretive people to ever exist. He wants to open up to you, honestly he does, but he just can’t. he’s so worried that all of his emotional baggage will drive you away, and he couldn’t stand losing another person he cares about. So, he keeps everything hidden. With time, he’ll start opening up if you push enough buttons. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He’s really good at pretending he’s patient. On the outside he’s his same-old self, but on the inside he’s fuming. His patience tends to wear especially thin around the brothers (except Asmo). It’s a mixture of jealousy for how much time they spend with you, and anger that they refuse to make a pact with him. But he keeps it all under wraps. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He does remember a good bit of information, but he sucks at remembering small details. For example, he may know what month your birthday is in, but he cannot remember the actual date. Or, he would remember your favorite movie genre, but not your favorite movie in said genre. He tries his best though. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He loves this one time where you tried to help him cook something. You were tired of dealing with the mess that is his cooking skills, and you wanted him to make something that wouldn’t kill you. Everything started out fine until you accidentally get some flour on him. It wasn’t much, but still. He just turns to you without saying anything before launching some flour right back at you. And then the casual baking session turns into an all-out food war. The kitchen is a mess and you two end up getting scolded by Simeon later, but it was totally worth it.  

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Oh he’s very protective. I mean, you’re a defenseless human surrounded by powerful demons who want to eat you, of course he’d be protective. He would never mean to over-bearing, but he can come off that way sometimes. He used to protect those he cared about before he became immortal, so the habit comes back with you now. He doesn’t need protecting for obvious reasons, so it’s all the more reason to focus on protecting you. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Surprisingly, he prefers more lowkey dates. Maybe it’s because he rarely gets any alone time with you, but he loves just chilling out together practicing magic. if you did want to go out, he would take you somewhere in the Human World to get away from all the chaos of the Devildom. 

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Obviously, his cooking could kill a man, but we’re gonna move past that since it’s low hanging fruit. Besides that, he has a tendency to by pretty cunning and he’s always planning some kind of prank. He also has a tendency to get jealous of the brothers a lot, and that can make him salty when you guys can finally hang out. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He used to be pretty concerned with his looks, but he’s gotten over it. He still tries to look decent since he is in the presence of some powerful demons, but it isn’t at the forefront of his mind. Although, since becoming besties with Asmo, his vanity has started picking up again.  

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Maybe yes, maybe no. He’s had to deal with loss several times over, so he could probably learn to deal with it like he did before, but you could be different. It really just depends on what kind of impact you have on him during your time together. 

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

We all know that it’s basically canon that he and Asmo have hooked up before lol. But I also lowkey think he’s hooked up with both Barb and Satan. I have no real reason as to why I think this, but I do and I’m sticking to it. I don't even ship it that much, I just think he would do something like that. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He actually doesn’t like someone he knows he’d get attached to. He doesn't want to go through that pain again, so he wants to remain distant. Also, he doesn’t like someone who doesn’t understand or accept what he’s been through and what he’ll continue going through. He wants someone who understands and who he can talk to about it. 

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He gets very clingy in his sleep. If he’s sleeping with someone, they can expect to be trapped in his arms until he wakes up. And if you try to escape, he just hugs you even tighter. 

[kitkatopinions]

The sad thing is that Blake's most healthiest option romance wise is someone who gives her space and willing to let her go. Sun fits this description perfectly. But they went with a codependent toxic relationship partially held together by guilt in which one side is clearly submissive and the other too worried and insecure.

Yeah, tbh, the send off to Sun at the start of volume six made me think they would pick up the relationship where it left off eventually for a couple different reasons, but one of them was this reason.

I want to preface this post by saying that A. I don’t really like Bumblebee and I don’t need a reason to dislike it even though I have reason to dislike it, B. I’ve shipped BlackSun from Sun’s first introduction, and C. also I’m coming at this as someone who has been in a co-dependent relationship, so all three of those things means I’m naturally a little biased. I’m not pretending this is all a super objective, impersonal interpretation. This is just me talking honestly about my thoughts towards a ship I don’t like. Bees, I’m sorry if this shows up in your tags, Tumblr is being screwy and I’m not trying to rain on anyone else’s posts. I’m using filterables and putting this under a keep reading to try and make it easier for Bumblebee fans to not see this.

I had - when I saw season six’s opening ep - given the show mad props for writing a romance driven relationship where the partners didn’t have to stay together all the time to still care about each other and be secure. It felt like the perfect move to me to get some distance between their characters while firmly establishing that Sun had never done the things he’d done ‘to win the girl,’ and didn’t consider himself ‘letting Blake go.’ Sun not only being willing to spend this time away from Blake, but to not even need it really said, and to have his own stuff he needed to do as well... All of that felt like a healthy, independent relationship. I don’t mean to get personal on main, but I’ve been in a relationship where I felt partially responsible for my partner’s happiness and he tried to do things like keep me from my friends or guilt me into things. I ignored the red flags because our relationship was important to me, but it made me feel pretty unhappy because I was always worried that if I didn’t do the things he wanted, he would get upset and over-react, and put himself down until I built him back up, and if we didn’t spend the majority of our time together, he would start talking about feeling like I didn’t really care that much about him and how lonely he felt. This was really exhausting to me, especially since I’m an introvert.

Sun always seemed like such a good partner for Blake because he was always so self-possessed, so confident in who he was already, independent and happy and accepting of Blake’s independence. Sun was always there for Blake, but he also was the one usually pushing her towards interacting with others too, they were able to go do separate things and even go on completely different missions with confidence and without drama. For a character who had previously been in a destructive, possessive, controlling, abusive relationship, it had seemed like a scene that clearly established Blake and Sun’s relationship as one where Sun wasn’t expecting Blake to stay with him all the time, respected her goals and her independence, and had his own life and his own friends too. I had kind of just assumed that the choice to have Sun leave the group and go to Vacuo was to further their relationship. Upon rewatching the scene later now that I know that the writers were already starting to try to implement Bumbleby, I can see how the show writers might’ve been intending that scene to be an amiable goodbye where Sun confirms to Neptune that they aren’t actually an item with his ‘it was never about that.’ But I just have to shake my head, because I was giving the writers credit for something they didn’t do.

Instead, they were trying to tie off the relationship between Sun and Blake by having him leave, not cementing Blake’s independence and Sun’s encouragement of that (and they tied it off badly imo because Blake freakin’ kissed the boy lol.) And once they had Sun leave, they started setting Blake up with Yang. I want to clarify that there’s nothing wrong with the writers deciding to go with Blake x Yang, and the ship itself was not a totally baseless one. I’m personally disappointed that one of my favorite RWBY ships isn’t going to be endgame, and I personally don’t like the idea of Blake and Yang as a couple. But my problem isn’t really with the ship itself, it’s with how the show writers have chosen to write the ship in execution.

Getting past the queerbaitery nature of Bumblebee as a ship, the choices surrounding Blake and Yang seem faulty on both sides (which I also think is important to remember. I’ve seen loads of people recognizing that Bumblebee as written in the show is destructive to Blake, but I’ve seen much fewer people talk about how it’s not the best for Yang too.)

Let’s start from the fact that Blake is an abuse victim. She was previously in a relationship with Adam and talks about his destructive and violent behavior. Blake has a really hard time trusting people because of how Adam had acted. He was explosive, manipulative, and he got angry at and hurt Blake specifically for leaving him. The last thing Blake would need is a relationship where she feels personally responsible for the stability of another person. The last thing she needs is to be pressured into staying with someone. The last thing she needs is to be expected to be with that person without the option of ever working with others. The last thing she needs is to be in a relationship where she can’t be apart from someone even temporarily without that person getting anxious and insecure or without having to feel guilty and like she did something wrong.

And yet the show has her in a relationship with someone that has abandonment issues. The show has her promise to stay with Yang in a moment of huge trauma, Blake crying out a desperate denial to the accusations of the abusive ex who had made her life hell, after he tried to again separate her from anyone she loved and she was forced to kill someone she had once deeply cared about. It was also a really weird choice of the writers to have the characters respond to a question over if they’d ever thought about working with other partners with dismissive and cold behavior as if the very idea was somehow wrong (especially since Yang spent quite a bit of time pre-volume six working with Weiss and Blake spent so much of her time working with Sun.) And the writers chose to frame Blake and Yang leaving on temporary separate missions in volume eight to result in insecurity and anxiety from Yang and guilt for Blake. On top of that, Yang is a person with a strong temper and aggressive tendencies. Although she seemed to be trying to work through those problems in seasons four and five, Yang backslid and seems just as controlled by her anger and her insecurities as her volume 2 self now, who had lashed out at Blake and angrily pushed her for not listening in ‘burning the candle.’

As for Yang, she lost her mom when she was very young (Ruby was a toddler,) and her dad temporarily shut down after that. She soon found out her biological mom had left her when she was a baby and spent her whole life wondering why while her uncle spent that time flitting in and out of her life and taking on dangerous missions - the same types of missions that had killed the woman who had raised Yang for the first part of her life. Yang has deep seeded fears of being abandoned and losing her loved ones, and she also has a history of trying to take care of and support the people around her even at her own personal expense. While Yang’s more selfless moments in season five - like giving up her dream of getting answers from Raven to follow and protect Ruby even when she clearly wasn’t wholly healed from her trauma - are admirable, what Yang absolutely doesn’t need in a partner is someone who she feels like she has to protect and save and sacrifice for. What Yang absolutely doesn’t need in a partner is someone she feels like she can’t rely on to be there for her. What she doesn’t need in a partner is someone who can’t give her stability or struggles to trust her. What she doesn’t need in a partner is someone who won’t call her out when she goes a little too far. And yet the writers chose to put Yang with someone who runs on the regular, the only member of their team who thought Yang might be lying about Mercury, someone who needs time and distance when Yang clearly needs someone who is consistent and present. And then the writers made it so that Yang and Blake spend very little time with anyone else. The writers made it so that they can’t be apart without guilt and anxieties.

And you guys, Blake in seasons 6-8 feels so needy. She’s consistently in need of saving, consistently doesn’t stand for herself, seems like she needs a lot of reassurance in her relationship, she’s consistently waiting for other people to make moves, etc. Even when Blake convinces Yang to divulge top secret information to Robyn, when Ironwood confronts them about it, Blake backs up and leaves Yang to explain their actions. In the early seasons, it feels like Yang cares more about their friendship than Blake does and that she’s putting in more effort, which don’t get me wrong, makes total sense since Blake had just gotten out of an abusive relationship and Yang’s clear anger problems (and her using a laser pointer to try and force Blake to talk to her,) might’ve made Blake hesitant to get close to or open up to Yang. But while it no longer feels like Yang cares more, it still feels like Yang puts in more work. Yang is constantly reassuring, protecting, comforting, and stepping up for Blake, while Blake is so passive and acts so dependent that I personally can’t help but feel like Yang must be exhausted. Yang needs stability and reassurance too, Yang needs a partner she can talk to and rely on to be there. When the writers did write Blake as trying to comfort and take care of Yang, it was way too much and had undertones of ableism. And I know, I know they had this ‘we’re taking care of each other’ moment when they were fighting Adam, but that’s just what we were told for one scene, and not what we’ve actually seen in their relationship.

The worst thing is that it didn’t need to be that way. Bumbleby could’ve been a really good ship that built on their foundation. Blake used to be an independent, brave, strong, active character. Blake stood up for herself to Weiss, told Ozpin to his face that he needed to do more for the Faunus, used to have a great, creative fighting style, used to be this sassy girl who’d banter with Sun and with Yang and when she did start opening up to Yang, it was a great way to start evolving their characters to be a strong relationship. In V3 when Blake admitted that she had doubts about Yang due to her past experiences with Adam, but opened herself up and decided to trust Yang anyway when Yang looked her in the eyes and told her sincerely exactly what had happened... That was so great and it really showed off the dynamic the two of them were starting to adapt. CRWBY might’ve immediately separated the two, but A. Seasons four and most of season five had great set up for them to work through their problems and then continue to grow that great dynamic we started seeing in the first three seasons. And B. their respective arcs continued their growth as characters even apart from each other. While I wish that RWBY had let the two work some of this out together, the growth that we were getting did make them more suited for each other. I’ll always ship BlackSun. But Yang getting a hold on her emotions, maturing, starting to work through her abandonment issues, and displaying just what a caring, honest person she was, at the same time that Blake was working through her past and her fears, learning to let people in, strengthening her resolve, and coming into her own as a leader... Come on, those two characters could’ve easily developed a good, healthy, strong, independent relationship and I’m legitimately sad that’s not what we got, especially since we sacrificed so much of Blake’s personality to get a worse ship.

I don’t even know what to say about it, tbh. Idk what else the writers expected us to think with how they wrote things. I’ve heard before that there was probably a cut scene in volume eight that included Yang and Blake fighting (which would then justify Yang and Blake’s reactions when they reunited,) and I do believe that, but the writers chose not to include it, and that made them look worse as a couple. Just like they chose not to include a scene where Blake and Yang work through the problem of Blake having left Yang without a word of explanation at the end of Volume 3. And they didn’t include a scene where Blake explains herself and Yang realizes that maybe she was being a little shortsighted about the trauma Blake had also gone through. And they didn’t include a scene where Blake actually learned that she didn’t have to protect or take care of Yang in volume six. And they haven’t included a scene where Blake puts just as much effort into their relationship as Yang does. And they didn’t include a scene where the two make it clear that they’re fine being apart. If anything, CRWBY has established the opposite, and it isn’t enough to just say that they’re taking care of each other, when they don’t show that to be the case. 

Sun being not only willing to let Blake be with others, go her own way, and be her own person, but encouraging of that, made him a very compelling romantic prospect for her. Unfortunately I just don’t see that with Blake and Yang. Their relationship feels co-dependent, and maybe it’s just my personal experience talking and making me chafe, but I personally just don’t like it.

However, fans have been queerbaited long enough. So personal opinions aside, CRWBY give Bumblebee some confirmation you fucking cowards.

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Smile

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 3545

Content warnings - though nothing is actually depicted, there are quite a lot of references to, and implied, emotional/verbal abuse that happened while MC was a child. a decent amount of angst, but lots of comfort too, post Lesson 20

Prompt/Inspiration - none

Summary -  You and Mammon take a trip to the human realm to visit your family, where he soon learns why you prefer to keep your distance from them.

AO3

Mammon was excited. Nervous, but also excited. It had been awhile since you had arrived in the Devildom, and you had requested special permission from Lord Diavolo to go back to the human realm to visit your family for your mother’s birthday. And Mammon was getting to come with you.

This was his chance to make an amazing first impression with your parents. Humans that had no idea who he was, or his reputation. And he’d be with you and you alone - none of his obnoxious brothers hanging around to put ideas into your parents’ heads, or find ways to humiliate him.

You had been somewhat anxious about introducing Mammon to your family, but his enthusiasm was contagious and it was hard not to smile seeing him fidget nervously in the passenger seat of your car, as you were parking on the street in front of your parents house. You knew he was looking forward to this, and the thought warmed your heart. He could be doing anything else right now, but instead he was spending his time with you, wanting to become part of your family like you were a part of his.

Your father was who you had to truly worry about. He was...how could you describe it? Well, it wasn’t until relatively recently that your relationship with him had improved enough to begin to call it friendly. Growing up, he was strict, and critical, and it didn’t help that he was smarter than average and liked to think that made him somehow superior to the plebeians around him. As an adult, you were now able to put your foot down and enforce your own boundaries, and since you weren’t living at home anymore, he was forced to accept them. Which he did, albeit after much grumbling.

But now that you were coming back for a visit, and bringing Mammon with you, you were concerned about how exactly your father would behave. You saw this going one of two ways - either he loved Mammon and adored his quirkiness and sense of humor and infectious energy, or he absolutely detested him and would spend the entire visit reminding him of his “place”.

“Just reminding you again that if my father is an asshole, don’t take it personally. I’m pretty sure he’d self-destruct if he didn’t pick a fight with someone at least once a day,” you said, pausing on the front porch to your parents home.

“Ya got nothin’ to worry about. The Great Mammon’s got this. It’ll be cake,” Mammon replied, slipping his arm around your neck and pulling you to him so he could kiss your cheek.

“Well, The Great Mammon should probably not refer to himself in the third person while he’s here or my father will never let him live it down.”

“Alright, alright. Got it,” Mammon laughed. He was determined to show you just how easily he’d be able to impress your parents. By the time the day was over, you’d be so proud of him that you wouldn’t stop bragging about him to anyone that would listen. Yeah, today was going to be a good day. He just knew it.

DING DONG

Taking a deep breath, you slipped your hand into Mammon’s, waiting for someone to answer the door. When the door finally opened, your younger sister was who greeted you, immediately flinging her arms around your waist.

“Oh thank god you’re here! I thought it was going to be stuck with them, alone, all day.”

You returned your sister’s hug, relieved to see that she was already here and you’d have another person on your side.

“Oh Mammon, this is my sister,” you offered him a brief introduction after seeing the look of confusion on his face.

“Oh.my.god. I forgot you were bringing your boyfriend,” your sister said, releasing you and checking out Mammon, from head to toe, “He’s really hot isn’t he?” she whispered, though you were sure she intentionally said it just loud enough that Mammon was still able to hear. Mammon’s face flushed scarlet, sending your sister into a fit of giggles.

“Alright stop it. Leave him alone. Let’s get inside before someone comes looking for us.” You shoved your sister back inside the house, Mammon following behind you, your hand still securely in his own.

“She’s almost as bad as you,” he whispered, once he was sure she couldn’t hear.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

You heard Mammon snicker behind you, and turned to smile at him. Things were going to be ok, you just had to believe that. You all would sit down, eat some cake, talk, and then leave and everything would be fine. There wouldn’t be any drama. No fighting. Just a nice, quiet afternoon with your family. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

————

Your mother fell in love with Mammon almost instantly. He was just too charming to resist, as far as she was concerned. And you had to admit the two of them got on pretty well. Seeing him all smiles while he talked with your mom gave you some relief and helped you relax a little more. So far, things were going well.

Mostly.

As expected, your father was a tougher nut to crack. He’d occasionally asked Mammon an oddly personal question, probing him and trying to get a feel for what he was like. But your mother was always swift to interject her own thoughts, which would lead to her and Mammon rambling on for a good while. There was never really much time for things to get more serious, the conversation staying light and carefree.

When your mother got up to get herself and your father another slice of birthday cake, you didn’t think anything of it. Mammon turned his attention towards you, beaming. Things were going way better than he had hoped. Talking with your mother, he could easily see where you got all your bright, cheerful energy from. You gave him a grin in return before resting your head on his shoulder.

“So son, I don’t think we’ve talked about what it is you do for a living yet,” your father said, breaking the peaceful silence. You sat up immediately, eyes laser focused on your father, whom you were sure was about to do something you wouldn’t like.

“Oh, um, I’m a model actually.” Mammon could feel you tense up beside him, and he wasn’t sure why. The question was innocent enough wasn’t it? It’s not like you were embarrassed by his job or anything, right? So why were you acting so bothered?

“A model? Is that so…”

“Dad…”

“What? I’m just getting to know your boyfriend. That’s why you brought him here isn't it?”

You glared at him. There wasn’t anything you could say to that, not yet. He was still playing innocent, and even though you had a horrible feeling in your gut about how this was going to play out, there was nothing else for you to do.

“I guess being a model you don’t have to be very bright, do you? It’s just one of those jobs where looks and effort matter more, huh?”

“Err...yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“Heh, well you definitely have the looks, so I guess you don’t have to worry too much.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“Mammon, can you come help me with something in the kitchen?” you said, standing up suddenly, looking at him with pleading eyes. Please just come with me , you thought.

“Yeah sure, babe.”

Mammon didn’t understand why you would need his help with anything. Wasn’t your mother already in the kitchen anyways? He figured between the two of you, you could get whatever it was taken care of. So why did you interrupt him when he was finally getting a chance to talk to your father?

Instead of leading him to the kitchen, you pulled Mammon down the narrow hallway that led to the garage and the laundry room. You just needed a moment with him, that’s all. Just so you could explain yourself and warn him. Because as it stood, he was playing right into your fathers hands and you did not like the thought of that.

“Ok, here’s good,” you said, stopping and standing in front of Mammon before taking his hands, “Please listen to me. It might seem like it, but my father is not being nice right now.”

“What are you talkin’ about? He’s just askin’ about my work.”

“I’m telling you those are not friendly questions.”

“He’s just ribbing me a bit. It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about me,” Mammon replied, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“No, I’m serious. You’ve got to listen to me. This isn’t going to end well.”

“C’mon, I know the difference between bein’ teased and being mocked.”

“With your brothers maybe, but I know my father.”

“What, you think I’m too stupid to be able to figure it out? Is that it?”

“Woah! I did not say that at all!”

Mammon was getting irritated now. Did you really think he couldn’t handle himself? He wasn’t a child. He had centuries more experience than you, especially when it came to dealing with people trying to insult him. Didn’t you have any faith in him? Or did you just not want him getting close to your father? Was this your way of keeping him out of your family? That thought stung.

“Then stop doubtin’ me. I ain’t a child.”

“Mammon...that’s...I just...ughhhh,” what were you even supposed to say to that? Of course you knew he wasn’t a child. But you still wanted to protect him. You loved him more than anything and didn’t want him to get hurt.

And you knew your father. You spent your whole childhood learning his ways, the keywords he’d use just before he’d turn on you, the trick questions he’d ask so that he could twist your responses. You had to learn these things, it was a matter of self preservation. Why couldn’t Mammon just trust you on this? What did he think he had to prove by going through so much trouble to befriend your father?

“Whatever. I’m goin’ back out there. Don’t come back until you’re ready to let me handle this,” he snapped, leaving you behind in the dim hallway as you fought back tears of frustration.

Why wouldn’t he listen to you? Did he really think that you saw him that way? Like he was some overgrown child you were stuck looking after that couldn’t be trusted to tie his own shoes? Nothing could be further from the truth. You believed in him more than he believed in himself. Did he not realize that?

Just as you had decided to stop feeling sorry for yourself and head back out to the family room to at least witness the conversation, even if he didn’t want you intervening, you heard raised voices and then a full belly laugh from your father. You hurried down the hall only to have to stop dead in your tracks to prevent yourself from colliding into Mammon, as he stomped past you to get to the front door. When you looked back from where he came, you saw your father wiping tears of glee from his eyes, while your mother and sister looked at you absolutely horrified.

“What did you do?!” you yelled, entering the family room once more.

Your father was too busy laughing to answer, so you turned your sights on your mother, who now was refusing to look you in the eye. Your sister finally spoke up, trying to explain what happened.

“Dad…”

“Shut up.” Your father had stopped laughing now and was glaring at your sister, who immediately snapped her mouth shut.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing. I was just teasing your boyfriend and he couldn’t handle a joke. That’s all.”

“Whatever you did wasn’t teasing. I tease him. That was not what that looked like.”

“Well, I guess he’s just a bit of a pansy then isn’t he? If he can’t handle a good joke, that’s not my fault.”

“You know what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You were an asshole. That’s all I need to know. Sorry for leaving early, Mom,” you said, holding your hands up in mock surrender as you left. Your father wasn’t worth your time. You knew this song and dance. It was one you were intimately familiar with. You had more important things to worry about now, like finding Mammon.

————

You hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to find him, seeing as your car keys were still in your pocket. And you were right. As soon as you opened the front door, there he was sitting on the step leading to the porch, elbows resting on his knees.

“Hey,” you said softly, sitting down beside him.

“Hey.”

“Why are you here?”

“...I was going to get in the car but then I remembered I didn’t have the keys. So…”

“Oh.”

“Bet you really want to say it now huh? ‘I told ya so!’”

“Mammon...no…” you gripped his arm closest to you, giving it a reassuring squeeze. There was so much you wanted to talk to him about, but this wasn’t the place for it, “Come on, let’s go sit in the car.”

He didn’t object as you tugged him to his feet and led the way, though he was a bit confused when you opened the back door and motioned for him to slide in beside you. He didn’t feel up to arguing about it though, and took his seat before closing the door.

No sooner had he closed the car door than you had wrapped your arms around his neck and slipped into his lap, all in one smooth motion. The only thing he could do was hug you back. He was so stupid. He yelled at you. And for what? So he could impress your father? It wasn't worth it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, burying your face into his neck, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is. I should have been there. I should have made him stop the first time. I should…”

“You tried. This was me. I was stupid. I shouda listened. Shoulda known better than to think I could do this…”

“No, no, no, no, no,” you pulled away so you could hold Mammon’s face in your hands, “Please, please don’t say that. This had nothing to do with you. This is my father. He’s an awful, miserable person. Don’t you dare let him make you feel bad about yourself. Please.”

You were looking right into his eyes, begging him to believe you. How could you make him understand?

“You talked to my mom didn’t you? She really liked you, I could tell. That’s how it’s supposed to work when you talk to a normal person. My sister liked you too. YOU are not the problem here.”

Mammon offered you a weak smile. You were right in a way. Your mom and your sister did seem to like him. And he enjoyed talking to them too. But that didn’t change the fact that things had gone horribly with your father because he was too stupid to see what was right in front of him.

“Mammon, this is what he does. He makes you doubt yourself. And if you call him on it, he plays it off as a joke and implies it’s you that has the problem. But it’s not you at all. It’s never you. Please believe me.”

You pulled Mammon close to you again, kissing his cheek, before burying your head in your arms. Growing up, you had thought that being on the receiving end of your dad’s verbal abuse and manipulation was bad enough. But nothing could have prepared you for how excruciatingly painful it would be to watch someone you loved be subjected to the same treatment. All while you were powerless to stop it from happening.

“...is that what it was like for you…?” Mammon asked. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He sorta figured that a father would treat their own child better. You had told him stories, sure, about what your childhood had been like. But saying “My father is an asshole” is still pretty vague and open to interpretation. He couldn’t have imagined that how he was treated today would have been normal for you.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He tightened his arms around your waist now, wanting to hold you as close as he could manage. You had to deal with that? Every day? For years? And all while you were still a child? He was used to his brothers giving him shit, but he was at least an “adult” by human standards, so he was able to defend himself if he wanted or ignore them altogether. But as a child, you wouldn’t have been able to do that. You would have been helpless but to listen and to take it.

“...’m sorry for yellin’ at ya and not listen’...”

“It’s ok,” you said, snuggling closer to him. Some very old wounds of yours had opened up again this afternoon, and you really couldn’t bring yourself to care about a small fight with Mammon right now. You just wanted to hold him and to be held. You needed that reminder that you weren’t trapped anymore.

As Mammon started to rub your back, you finally began to cry. You usually did a good job of compartmentalizing things, but watching how your father was with Mammon brought back too many vivid memories that you would have rather forgotten altogether. And you were surprised at just how much they still hurt too.

“I love you,” you sniffled, “So much. I’ve never once thought of you as a child. Please, please believe me…”

“I know babe, I know,” he replied, rubbing your back, “You were just lookin’ out for me right?”, you nodded in response, it was all you could manage right now, “Then it’s ok. I got ya.”

What had you done to deserve such an amazing partner? When you first arrived in the Devildom you were certain that it was just your bad luck acting out again. But after getting to know everyone, especially Mammon, you quickly realized it was the best thing to have ever happened to you. You felt like you had a family again. A real family. The sort of family you would want to see on holidays and would go out of your way to spend time with. Not like the toxic mess that was your childhood home.

It wasn’t that his family didn’t have problems of its own, but in the short time you had known them, they had all worked hard to improve their relationships with one another. What did it say about your father, you wondered, that a bunch of literal demons had better relationships with their siblings than he did with you? That they could make you feel more loved and more valued than he ever did?

As you cried into Mammon’s neck, he continued rubbing your back soothingly, occasionally turning to kiss your cheek or neck (whichever was easiest to get to). He had never seen you this upset. Even after everything with Belphegor and the times Lucifer literally tried to kill you. You handled those situations with grace he didn’t think possible. Though he guessed it's different when a family member intentionally attacks you on a daily basis than when a pissed off demon tries to retaliate. Not that it made those things any easier for him to deal with.

After awhile, your tears had finally dried and you tried to move off Mammon’s lap to the seat next to him, but he wouldn’t let you go. You smiled at him as you wiped at your eyes and dried off your face. And he just watched you, the softest look in his eyes. The sort of look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Sorry, I think I got snot all over your jacket.”

“Eh, it’ll wash. If not, I can just buy another,” he said, eliciting a small laugh from you.

“Are you ok? I came out here to check on you and I ended up being the one crying.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I got someone more important ta worry about than a grumpy old man.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, so long as you’re ok, I’m ok.”

His response made you smile even more, and you pulled him into a quick hug before pressing a sweet, soft kiss to his lips, one he was all too happy to return. Just like you thought meeting him was the best thing to ever happen to you, he felt the same about meeting you. He couldn’t imagine his life without you, without your smile, in it now. And knowing what your family was like made that smile all the more precious to him. He might not be able to go back in time and prevent you from ever being hurt in the first place, but he could protect your smile now. And he would, for many, many years to come.

[dragynkeep]

do you have a backstory for the ace ops, since canon legitimately gave us nothing? and will they be in azre? i’m gonna reread it today since it makes me 🥺🥰

I actually do have backstories for the Ace Ops, and yes they do appear in AZRE! I did the backstories for Clover and Harriet, and my friends in my discord server did backstories for Elm, Marrow and Vine!

Clover

Since Clover is obnoxiously Irish coded in AZRE, I took a lot of inspiration from my older relatives’ childhoods for him. 

He was born in Mantle to a family along with a younger sister, Ciara, his mother Fionnuala, his father Patrick and his grandfather Niall. Before Clover, his family were all miners, and are very proud of it. In his youth, Clover was far more of a troublemaker and a delinquent, especially with his troubled relationship with his father when Clover decided not to go into the mines and instead wanted to be a Huntsman. 

Before Clover entered Atlas Academy, Patrick passed away from Dust Lung; a dangerous respiratory disease caused by inhaling Dust and is inspired by the real life disease that affected miners, Tuberculosis or “Black Lung”. Clover took the loss hard and his place in Atlas was threatened due to his behaviour, but he was brought back from the brink by Ironwood, who was the new general and headmaster of the Academy.

Obviously, when Clover graduated from Atlas, he joined the Ace Ops, becoming the leader after a few years in service which was considered highly unusual and just showed his great prowess and skills. He was in the Ace Ops with Elm and Vine from the beginning, and Harriet, Giang and later Marrow joined later on. After years in service, he and Ironwood entered a romantic relationship but had to keep things on the down low due to unprofessionalism and laws meaning that relationships between a general and his soldier was disallowed.

A few years before current time, he had a son through a surrogate; Riley.

Elm

The only Ace Operative to actually be from Atlas. Elm had a fairly normal life, her family was in the cuisine industry and enjoyed baking, something that Elm picked up on from an early age (That cake in the RWBY celebration party? It’s hers now, she made it, change my mind.)

When she decided to join Atlas and become a Huntress, it was never about the fame or money, but rather she’d spent her entire life watching her parents brings smiles to people’s faces and wanted to do that to, just in a way she was best suited in. In the Academy, she was put into Team SBLE, where the team quickly showed that they were exceptionally skilled together with winning the Vytal Tournament. After leaving the Academy, the four went into the Specialist career, a rare choice for all four to stick together for graduation. 

During their first year, it went great. But soon they were called on a mission to clear out a Grimm nest near one of the sensory towers, hidden in a mountain that was connected by dozens of mines. The team went in, and there they found the biggest nest ever recorded. By the time evac came, Elm was the last one, having collapsed the mountain on top of them in a desperate attempt to kill the Grimm. 

While she survived, the loss broke her. Elm handed in her resignation and spent time at her parents’ home in her room, just staring at the photo of her team at the Vytal Tournament.  When General Ironwood personally visited her, she nearly slammed the door in his face. But he understood, and he was kind, and he offered her another chance. An idea he was coming up with, a unit of the best. He only had one other candidate so far, and in the back of her head Elm thought 'maybe this one will be lucky enough not to die'.

She put on a grin when she met the man who was about to be her new teammate, and poor Clover O’Connor found himself first on the receiving end of one of her handshakes, and then got a box full of fresh baked brownies immediately after.  

Vine

Vine originally came from a very rural village in Northern Mistral, living there until he was nine years old before moving to Argus due to his adoptive parents finding work there. Vine wasn’t particuarly happy with the move since he enjoyed the solitude that rural life gave him, and being a quiet person, moving to a busy city made him close in more on himself to the point that he became a selective mute.

However, he was brought into a small dojo in Argus with the teacher there seeing a small Vine and teaching him what he knew. Vine showed an aptitude to fighting and went into Sanctum to further his education. When he graduated though, he was given a spot in Atlas Academy due to his skills, but Vine didn’t particularly want to go because of his anxiety. However, he was convinced to give it a go and graduated Atlas, being chosen for the Ace Ops due to his abilities and for his personality, able to handle the more outspoken Elm and carefree Clover.

On top of that, Ironwood saw this unsure young man and decided that having Elm and Clover on his team would bring him out more, and give him opportunities to break out of his shell so to speak. For Vine, the Ace Ops ended up being that security that he didn’t really have in life, and both Clover and Elm would welcome him into the fold. 

Harriet

A Mantle girl through and through, Harriet was always a competitive girl, never backing down from a challenge and wanting everything to happen quickly, showing no patience for anything. In her eyes, being from Mantle meant that you had to give twice the effort for half the respect, and she would be respected.

Throughout her childhood, she had a best friend who stuck with her through thick and thin; Giang Meo. They trained together, had fun together, stuck together, and when they managed to secure spots in Atlas Academy, they were even put on the same team. Both mimicked each other, with Harriet specialising in wrestling and hand to hand combat with her plated arm weapons, while Giang specialised in kickboxing with his plated leg weapons.

After they graduated, both were picked by Ironwood, on Clover’s suggestion, to join the Ace Ops, making the iconic five man group along with Clover, Elm and Vine. Harriet was proud, taking her job seriously and wanting to show what she was made of, but her insecurities were compounded with every job in Atlas. Even after she made a name for herself, even getting the title of the Fastest Huntress in Remnant and breaking the previous record, she was still a commoner, and commoners weren’t respected in Atlas. 

Worse still, after Giang defected due to Atlas’ inability to handle the Faunus racism and his own radicalisation being pushed by growing White Fang activity, Harriet was broken. No longer trusting people, she didn’t see her team as friends, believing that it would just get in the way of her work, and she kept that mentality ever since.  

Giang

The Turtle to Harriet’s Hare, Giang Meo was the son of a Southern Mistrali immigrant who came to Mantle for work. His mother found work in Atlas working under the Nguyen family, a southern Mistrali family that took came to Atlas, starting a flourishing fashion company and making a fortune for themselves. 

During his childhood, he found little friends in Mantle due to his Faunus heritage, being a snow leopard, and latched onto Harriet when she showed kindness to the boy. Quickly becoming the best of friends, they protected each other for years, even going into Atlas Academy and joining the same team. However, during his time at Atlas, the racism he faced was just compounded, pushing Giang further and further into the radicalisation that would later claim him.

Once graduated and given a spot in the Ace Ops, Giang started moving away from his team. During that time, he married the only child of the Nguyen family; Chau, which sparked many controversies in Atlas due to them being a human and him a Faunus. Because of the push back from their family, Chau and Giang had to marry in secret, which was not considered legal by law.

This further embittered Giang. He joined protests, at first hiding his identity, and then showing himself proudly, but one protest turned into a riot and Giang joined in the destruction. Given his identity as a Huntsman and an Ace Operative was well known, Ironwood was formed to reprimand him and arrest Giang for multiple crimes. 

As the Ace Ops moved to arrest their former friend, Giang tried to see if Harriet would at least defend him, but she did nothing. Betrayed, Giang fled, resulting in a chase that ended in Giang wounded on the face, Harriet’s hip broken and Giang falling off Atlas’ ledge, where Ironwood declares him dead and seals all documentation on him. However, Giang didn’t die, and after nursing his wounds, he was brought into Salem’s forces, wanting justice and revenge for him and the Faunus of Mantle. 

Marrow

The Amin pack was a small but close knit family unit that was only small in terms of their tiny house on the far end of the crater, where the children are packed into the bedrooms like very rambunctious sardines and the neighbours learnt that complaining about all the howling and play fighting was useless, because an entire family of dog faunus working the mines would rather let their kids be happy and have fun when they can.

Marrow's mother was a newcomer to Mantle, a wolf faunus from a town far out in the tundra, with piercing blue eyes. While Marrow and Ulna took the husky genes from their father, their older brother Ramus took the wolf. Ramus and Marrow, like so many children, had to take jobs in the mines to help keep food on the table, and as the oldest of the next Amins, they eventually took on the job of helping out with the younger cousins and eventually, younger siblings. 

Marrow doesn't like the mines. He didn't like being a trapper. Faunus can see in the dark, sure, but spending twelve hours in pitch black by a little trap door, the only job being to pull it open to let air flow through, would be miserable for anyone. Sometimes though, he was sent into Mantle to pick up supplies if they had spare lien to get maybe a bit of bread to go with the customary broth that made up every dinner. One day, he ran into trouble. 

A bunch of children who saw a hungry dog faunus in a secondhand miner's uniform and decided to play chase. It was over in one word, when he threw their taunts back at them and told them to stay, his anger at the unfairness his family suffered peaking in that moment. Suddenly he had a chance for a better life. A Huntsman life. 

He applied for every combat school in the kingdom, and one said yes. Marrow put everything into this new chance, enough  to make a scholarship into Atlas Academy at the end. Team MCHA, however, was not so happy to have a scruffy boy from Mantle with a tail and a secondhand miner's uniform as the A on their team. 

May Marigold had better things to do then coddle an affirmative action student. Marrow ignored it. He knew his worth. He just had to get through four years, and then he could sign up for the military, and finally help his family, he could work his way up the ranks, make a difference for his people. He had ambition, and he knew how to use it. Then a mine collapsed. A worker tripped handling some agitated dust. Chain reaction. 

Ironwood immediately sent everyone he could to help out. If nothing else, the enhanced strength of a huntsmen could help them clear the fallen rocks. Marrow and his team arrived just in time to see another huntsman pulling Ramus out from under a boulder, and they put a shroud over his brother's head. Ulna ran away, Marrow's grades plummeted, and his team told him to get over it, faunus died, it happened a lot in the mines. 

He pulled himself up again himself, and eventually got what he was working for, graduating second-best in his year after May. The moment he got his first specialist paycheck, he funnelled as much as he could to his family, so that none of the kids had to work in the mines.

Soon, Ironwood decided to give Marrow a chance, moving him into the Ace Ops to further hone his skills and fill in the hole left by Giang. While most of the Ace Ops welcomed Marrow and tried to put the past in the past, Harriet was cold towards him, unable to shake the feeling that he was only there to replace Giang. Despite her animosity towards him, Marrow kept trying to prove his place in the Ace Ops. 

And that’s it for the Ace Ops’ backstories! Hope you like them tbh, me and my friends worked hard to build these characters up after having crumbs for them for over a year now.

[mocnliights]

breaks my own gif icon format for intros bc his face deserves to be seen . luca came to me in a stroke of mild inspiration ( pinterest ) so i will be figuring him out as i go . i’ve got a barebones background in the works under the cut but rly all u need to know is he’s generally a lazy pos , definition of a f*ckboi , and is ur resident beach bum . now plot with me <3

trigger warnings : abandonment , death , i think that’s it but please let me know if i missed anything !!

* taylor zakhar perez, cis man + he/him | you know luca espinoza, right? they’re twenty-seven, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, nine years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to let it happen by tame impala like, a million times this year, which makes sense, ‘cause they’ve got that whole lingering smell of the salty ocean year round, doing the bare minimum, and a disregard for bad decisions’ consequences thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is july 1st, so they’re a cancer, which is unsurprising, all things considered. 

THE BASICS  .

full name : luca espinoza . probably has a middle name and a second surname on his birth certificate , but doesn’t know it or care to . birthday & birth place : july 1, 1993 & san diego , california sexual orientation : bisexual/romantic hometown : san diego , california current residence : delphinus heights occupation : picks up odd jobs here and there , mainly works at the surf shop on the beach education : high school diploma positive personality traits : daring , resourceful , self-reliant & self-sufficient , witty , blithe , fun-loving negative personality traits : hedonistic , insensitive , irritable , pessimistic , irresponsible , destructive , impulsive

THE SUMMARY .

luca spent the first 15 years of his life in a mix of foster homes after being left on the steps of a church by his birth mom ( or so he’s told , he doesn’t really know ) . it’s how he learned to not get attached to people or material things from a young age

his maternal grandmother showed up one day , had some longwinded tragic story about why his mom had given him up in the first place and what had taken so long for another blood relative to find him , but he barely listened because even though these were answers to questions he’d had his whole life , he just no longer cared

wellllllll bad luck to his grandmother for taking in a moody , good for nothing , rebellious teenager bc even though he finally had some sort of promised roof over his head , he never believed it and he continued acting out , skipping school to go to the beach , smoking behind bleachers w friends if he did go to school

despite her best attempts , there was no wrangling him in . little did she know that a lot of times when he cut school , he was taking odd jobs wherever he could where they’d pay him in cash to save up as much money as possible bc as soon as he turned 18 , he was leaving . and that’s exactly what he did at the crack of dawn that july 1st , packing up his beat up car and hitting the road . his only requirements were that it was as far away from san diego as possible ( so , east coast ) and that he could still surf ( and he picked irving )

he lived out of his car for a good 4-6 months when he first got to irving , having saved up enough to get across the country and maybe a couple nights at the motel but not enough to actually pay rent and secure a lease on the most affordable apartment 

buuuuuuut ... he sort of won his own version of the lottery when he got a call from a random number one day , picked up out of curiosity . it was his grandmother’s lawyer informing him that she had passed away and she’d left all of her assets to him . it hit him harder than he expected ?? just bc he acted like he didn’t give a shit about family didn’t mean there was some comfort knowing there was someone out there he was related to , who apparently cared about him

anyway , turns out she had a lot more $$$$ than the humble lifestyle she’d led thanks to smart savings and investments , but luca didn’t really care for it . he just needed enough to pay for a room , surf , and do his thing ......... which is generally still acting like a rebellious shitty teen into his late twenties without any attachment to things or people

may add more later but that’s all for now , folks !

wcs !

first friend in irving ? maybe met at the motel when he first arrived , maybe they bum on the beach together , and they’ve been nonjudgmental and pals ever since

someone he makes bad decisions with kdjsflja pure bad influences on each other , should not be friends for everyone else’s sake , but what can you do

someone he’s a bad influence on bc he’s always somehow dragging them into his bad habits

former/current hookups . he’s probably broken some hearts of people who’ve gotten attached while he was just in it for the sex

an actual ex ?? maybe ?? someone he actually fell for shocker and it ended so badly that it only affirmed his original belief in not getting attached to people and that love isn’t real so dramatic

someone who thinks he’s worthless bc they only ever see him at the beach DKSJLAKJDL

someone who believes in him and that he could be something more but he .. could not care less .. but A for effort

i’m sure there’s more but my brain said enough

[enigmawrappedinhypocrisy]

Wellness- Rex- 2

Wellness- Rex- 2 

*Fandom- Star wars

*Pairings- Captain Rex x Togruta ofc /reader 

*Warnings- Fluff, embarrassing pining, mentions of NSFW

*Summary* Rex returns to get to know the Togruta girl a little better. They go on a ‘date’ and it’s cute… 

Part 1  Part 2 [here] Part 3

❀✦ Master List✦❀

The second time Rex went to her it was with a plan. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything for weeks now. Sure he’d been able to sleep after his previous session with the Togruta girl, but now thoughts of her continuously invade his mind. 

He found himself distracted in training, conversation, and briefings, which didn’t go unnoticed by his superiors; or his brothers, Fives in particular was insufferable. The grin on his face the morning after Rex had first met Vela was unmistakably smug. 

*

“You look well rested captain” 

Rex makes a noise of acknowledgement but says nothing. This didn’t stop the ARC trooper from following him with a grin. 

“Who’d you see?” 

“What did she do?” 

“Was it the cute Twi’lik girl?” 

“The people there are really helpful aren’t they?” 

“Do you plan on going back?”

Despite Fives’ best efforts the Captain remained steadfast in his silence on the subject. In truth he wasn’t entirely sure what it was she did do that night. All she did was talk to him, listen to him talk, and those gentle touches… But he was sure it was private and personal, and he didn’t want to share her… it… 

The troopers didn’t often have opportunities to be felt heard, and they were definitely touch starved. But was that enough to turn him into a pining fool? He was a clone trooper for force sake, he was trained not to need those things. 

Rex made a decision then… he’d talk to her again… maybe he felt the way he did because they had some sort of connection… maybe it was the force that brought him to that place that night… 

But this time had to be different, they needed to be on a more level playing field. That night she had all the power, and that was nice, but Rex wondered what it would be like if they were talking as equals. If he was her date perhaps and not just another client. 

So he came up with a plan…

*

Rex made his way to the center after hours again, having waited until he was able to slip away without notice. It was only now that he realized he wasn’t sure the girl would even be there. He didn’t know her work hours or living situation. What happens if she had a boyfriend? What if she was only being nice to him because it was her job? Why would she even agree to ‘go out’ with him? He didn’t have much to offer her… 

Shaking the destructive thoughts from his mind Rex forced himself to walk through the whoosing doors of the comfort center. 

He saw her before she noticed him. Sitting at the front desk distracted and seemingly playing with something in front of her, Rex noticed the far off look in her eyes. It appeared she was daydreaming, a blush soon formed on her face and Rex remembers how cute she was when she blushed.

She jumps when she does finally notice him. 

“Oh, hello” a flash of recognition crossed her face and her blush deepened, it was him she had been daydreaming of and she was quite sheepish to have been caught; and by him no less. 

Vela had been thinking about the Handsome clone Captain for a while now. She found herself hopeful to see him each morning, and disappointed each night when he hadn’t shown that day. 

The girl had spent her time wondering about him. What he might be doing. What a future with him would look like. How cute their children would be. How nice it would be to wake up with him beside her. Eventually she would catch herself drifting to more riske thoughts. What he looked like under those blacks. Did he touch himself? What did he think about when he did? 

It was one of those thoughts that she had been musing on when she hadn’t heard the doors slide open. Her face flushed and her core warmed and suddenly he was standing there. 

She stands to greet him, desperately trying to play off her surprise. 

“I’m glad you’ve come… I mean… I’m not glad you’re having whatever problem you’ve come here to deal with, but i’m glad to see you!” She stumbles over her words. 

Rex raises an eyebrow, if he didn’t know better he’d think he was the reason for her blush and sudden nervousness. 

“C-come on with me” She slides out from behind the desk and starts to walk past him to the door he knew led to the room they were in last time. 

But this time he didn’t want to do that… He caught her by the wrist halting her, quickly letting go once she let out a little sound of surprise. 

“No… I’m sorry… I was hoping this time we could... talk…” 

“Of course, we’ll just go into the back… it’s more private” she smiles, putting on an air of professionalism… her silly crush aside this was a client, and a person who needed her help. Even if he was incredibly handsome and made her lower half tremble with just the mere thought of him.

“I mean… can we talk… somewhere else?” 

The girl blinks, “Like another room? Sure, we have other rooms, if you’ll just follow me...” 

“No… like… did you want to get drinks?” Rex avoids eye contact with the pink skinned girl, motioning towards the door. 

The girl breaks into the brightest grin, “Oh, sure” she rocks back on her heels, “um, when?” 

“Now? If that’s okay?” Rex realized this wasn’t how asking someone out was usually done… He should have asked her out for a later date… but it was too late to quit now… and he didn’t want to wait any longer. 

The girl bites her lip, “I’m not really dressed for a date with such a handsome suitor…” she sees the look of panic cross the man’s face and quickly adds, “But If you’ll walk with me back to my apartment i’ll slip into something prettier” One of her favorite fantasies of the previous week was playing out before her, and she found herself unable to resist pursuing it. 

The handsome clone would show up, escort her back to her place, and she’d invite him up. She knew he’d be a little shy, and gentlemanly but soon enough he’d come out of his shell, go with the flow and they’d spend a wonderful night together. In the morning she’d wake with his arm around her, his chest pressed against her back; nose in her hair. They’d enjoy the warmth of a quiet morning, maybe have a cup of caf together. Perhaps she’d cook breakfast… did she have the things to do that, at the moment? 

“You’re pretty like that… I mean you already look nice” Now it was the captain’s turn to blush. 

Vela hides the disappointment from her face and flashes him a grin. “Aren’t you sweet” She nudges him, “Okay you win, just let me lock up…” the girl scurries off to grab her things and double check everything was shut for the night leaving the clone captain alone with his thoughts for a moment. She wasn’t disappointed in him, but herself. This wasn’t a fantasy and she shouldn’t expect it to play out like one. She’d have to be flexible and let the man go at his own pace. Besides maybe he wasn’t even intending this to be something romantic and she made him uncomfortable. She definitely didn’t want that. She decides to be less thirsty as she hurriedly checks that all candles are out and the place is secure. 

Alone, a realization hit Rex like a shot from a blaster, was she trying to get him to go back to her apartment? Didn’t that usually mean... ? Maybe she did like him… she agreed to go on a date with him after all… But maybe she was looking for something more intimate and he hadn’t caught on, embarrassing her… Rex resolved to pay more attention, he didn’t want her to feel bad because he was inexperienced with this sort of thing… 

She bounces back into the room with a bright smile on her face, “All set,” She grabs him by the arm, “lead the way handsome.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle as her eagerness broke through his thoughts of doubt. It was endearing and Rex found himself happy to be the cause. He endeavored to continue to be a cause of the smile, the joy that brightened her face. 

As they walked through the nearly abandoned streets, a gentle tug on his arm pulled him out of his thoughts.

“There’s a quiet bar on the next street,” Vela informs the man, before pulling him slightly in that direction. Her hand slips down to his. Rex found himself entranced and happy to follow her; wherever she may lead. This could be a trap and wouldn’t care, as long as she’d keep touching him, continue to smile at him… 

-

Entering the small bar the pair take a secluded seat in the corner. Rex, ever vigilant, scopes out the bar and sits where he can keep an eye out for any threats.  

Vela’s attention, however, was spent entirely on watching the clone captain. It hadn’t escaped Rex’s notice, but what she was looking for he didn’t know. But she seemed happy and ordered a fruity drink he hadn’t heard of before. Not that he had much exposure to ‘girly drinks’ in his past drinking experiences with his brothers; who would have mocked him had he ordered such a bright and colorful drink.

“I’ve been thinking about you” She spoke suddenly, as if she might not have meant to say it out loud.

He raised a brow at her, “Have you?” 

The Toruga girl nods with a bright grin. “Kind of a lot,” she speaks softer this time. 

“W- what have you been thinking?” He prompts. 

“Oh you know… I’ve wondered how you were doing… If you’re safe… sleeping well... um other stuff...” she trails off.  

Rex can’t stop the grin from stretching across his face, “I’ve been thinking about you too” 

The girl matches him with a bright smile. “What have you been thinking about?” She decides to play back. 

“How pretty you are” He tells her, feeling bold, perhaps due to his beverage which was nearly finished at this point. 

Vela’s cheeks flush and she’s suddenly very interested in her colorful drink. That’s the second time he told her she was pretty tonight and it did something to her both times. She bit her lip just watching him through her eyelashes, stars, was he gorgeous. 

After a few moments he decides to ask her about her work, as he still wasn’t entirely sure what she did. 

She tells him that she helps people, “When people have problems from stress, or past traumas sometimes they come to the center for help” she further explains. “Sometimes they have massages, sometimes we just talk, other girls do other things to help... Baths sometimes, music others… it’s different for everyone”  

“You help a lot of clones?” he asks, unable to stop himself, somehow suddenly afraid of the answer. 

“Sure, we help Soldiers, fighters, bounty hunters… clones, Twi'leks, Yautja, the odd Saiyan, some trandosians a couple of Chagrians” She lists, “Pretty much anyone who needs help” 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Rex asks, concerned for the girl’s safety. He knew his brothers wouldn’t hurt any of these girls, but he can’t say the same for some of the others she listed off. Especially if they were looking for something the girl didn’t want to offer… 

The girl shrugs, “In general people come to us for help… they don’t want to hurt us” 

Rex found himself unsettled by this answer, there were some evil people in the universe and ignoring that was dangerous. 

Sensing the thoughts weighing heavy on the man, Vela decides to shift the conversation back to him. She asks him about his week, hoping the memories wouldn’t be painful to bring up. 

Thankfully the 501’st had spent the week off the battlefield, training, and going over strategies for an upcoming mission. Rex tells her about his being distracted, thinking about her, and his brother’s teasing.

Vela smiles with a flash of recognition at the mention of ‘Fives’. She tells Rex he was a favorite among the girls, good natured and kind, always able to make the girls giggle and swoon. 

Rex tells her to stop humoring him, she responds with a laugh. Soon sighing about the time, “It’s getting late…”

The man nods, sad the night was ending. “I’ll stop by to see you again when i’m back from my next mission,” he promises, leading her to the door. 

She pouts, but Rex sees the flash of mischief cross her eyes. (A look he’d come to recognize very well with some of his brothers being the troublemakers they were). 

“You’re not going to let me walk home alone though… it’s dangerous” She hints with a nudge. 

Rex scratches the back of his head, “Oh, of course I’ll walk you home,” he answers with a blush. 

The girl smiles, grabs his hand, and begins pulling him down the street. 

**Okay- sorry I know I said this one would be the smut buuut I felt the need to draw the story out a little bit more… next time I promise… that way it could also stand alone if people don’t wanna bother reading part 1 and 2** 

[anotherisodope]

Master List of Fallout Canon and Canon AU Muses

Fallout 3

Charon

A gigantic, forbidding-looking, brainwashed badass of a ghoul whose protection, and combat services, are tied to the holder of his very high-ticket contract. Nobody knows who the organization was that Ahzrukhal purchased his contract from, how long he was in their service, or what horrors he was subjected to in the process of making him what he is. He isn’t talking, if he remembers at all. But despite the mental cage he is in, Charon constantly seeks ways to assert himself, follow his personal code, and prevent his own exploitation--or avenge it. A highly trained commando with a preference for mid-range weapons such as his combat shotgun, he lives for a good fight, and becomes bored and restless if his guns go cold too long. He’s got great instincts and is very protective--but is mentally and socially stunted, is observant enough to recognize that on some level, and is frustrated by it and his captivity, making him grumpy and sarcastic. He uses very formal language, sometimes with painstaking effort, in part as an attempt to be better understood. Will cause unmitigated chaos to save your life in a fight, then yell at you because you attacked an innocent shopkeeper. Probably not good to give him too many explosives.

Fallout New Vegas (or wherever)

Robert Edwin House (postgame AU)

One of the most brilliant men ever to be born into the prewar world, Robert House is the owner and primary programmer and inventor of RobCo Industries, which is responsible for everything from Fallout’s programming language, to most of its robots, to the PipBoy. Calculating the coming thermonuclear war down to a one-day window, House leveraged his tremendous wealth, influence and genius to save his beloved Las Vegas. This included preserving his body on life support while wiring his brain straight into the city’s network and defensive grid. Though not entirely successful, he survived and was able to eventually recreate and defend a walled-city version of the Las Vegas strip: New Vegas. 

The AU

In a twisted version of a Good Karma Courier House playthrough, House won but was convinced by the Courier to make more merciful and thoughtful decisions. However, the Courier then betrayed them at the eleventh hour and murdered House’s physical body, leaving everyone convinced that House had died. Details can be found here. However, House had used another contingency program stored aboard the Platinum Chip to enable him to upload his mind to his own network. The Courier ended up fleeing New Vegas. (I am currently working on a description of the fates of various factions in this AU).

After the events of Fallout New Vegas and his takeover of the Hoover Dam, this version of House used code hidden in the chip to make the following changes from current canon:

Recreate a nationwide wireless Internet using freshly activated networking capability in every single Robco product

Make this Internet publicly available through the persona of the benevolent hacker Snow

Escape onto this newly created Internet, gaining access to and potential control of all RobCo products

Use this to access various new bodies, eventually including a pair of comatose synth bodies from failed Railroad memory wipes

Since then, he has been hatching plans all over the former US to steal Institute and Brotherhood of Steel technology--and reclaim as much of his own as he can. While doing this, he is acting through multiple personas. These include two Gen 3 Synth bodies he stole from the Railroad’s comatose “failures”. 

House’s aliases (besides Snow) include 

Edwin “Ed” Case (Gen 3 synth body, former infiltrator), a brilliant repairman and roboticist operating in the Commonwealth who recently did a lot of repair and upgrade work at the Memory Den. Closest to House in voice and diction, but significantly less of an asshole. Always has at least two combat-capable robots with him. 

Daniel Mason (Gen 3 synth body, former courser), recently arrived in New Vegas. Not well known, as this body is largely used for physical infiltration and social engineering, or when House wishes to oversee robotic combat units more directly. Sounds nothing like House but still talks like he ate a thesaurus, though in a much more cool and reserved way. House being House, he has no idea why this body gets so much attention. Armed and dangerous. He is currently acting as House’s lieutenant and enforcer in New Vegas, along with his force of upgraded Securitrons.

He is still working on his Robert House synth body, which needs to be perfect of course...

Because of his activity in the Commonwealth and his ability to reach anywhere his network reaches, House can be interacted with by literally anyone in the Fallout universe circa 2287. Unless your character is in a memory pod or other full-interaction environment, however, you will be interacting via text, via robot, or via one of his two synth personas.

Vulpes Inculta (postgame AU)

One of the most wicked and bloodthirsty of Caesar’s commanders, this former head of the Legion’s Frumentarii was one of the most infamous men in the entire Mojave. Thoroughly and hopelessly indoctrinated in Caesar’s depraved and brutal values, he carried them out with terrifying zeal, sometimes resulting in the destruction of entire communities. Always cool, calculating, wily and in control, he never let anything get in the way of his duties--including his own needs, desires, and safety. His loyalty to Caesar was almost worshipful, and rooted in the belief that he served the actual Son of Mars.

To this end, he even plotted with the Omertas to release poison gas in the opening volley of an attack on the New Vegas strip. Forcibly stripped of any independent moral thought on the matter and thoroughly indoctrinated, he never thought twice about such actions. He served the son of a god, how could his actions not be righteous?

And then Caesar died. And Vulpes lost everything except for his life. And that was only the beginning of his comeuppance.

The AU

After brutally murdering Caesar upon learning that he had lied about his divine heritage and was afflicted with a mortal disease, Lanius took over, and promptly ordered Vulpes’s execution. Vulpes, who had anticipated this, fled, getting as far as he could from the Mojave. He knew that under Lanius’s hand, the Legion would first become a monstrous shadow of itself, and then would fall.

Illusions shattered and shamed by having to run, Vulpes spent years traveling with caravans in disguise as he sought a place to settle. Landing in the Commonwealth, he started carving out a place for himself, but his sense of purpose beyond survival and security was gone.

Worse...with it had gone his certainty that his depraved actions had been necessary and for a good cause, Doubt had crept in, and it kept growing and growing as he reconciled the differences between Caesar’s words and the reality he had lived through. Left to his own thoughts for far too long, and realizing that any remnant of the Legion that still exists will be hunting him, he is starting to crack.

He is very good at hiding this, however, being forced to learn to keep his cool in all kinds of bad situations. And so he has set himself up as a high-end, “independent problem-solver” in Diamond City, handling the kind of bloody and unethical work that would horrify Nick Valentine. But even as a showdown with his horrific karma is brewing internally, so too are external problems and temptations as he gets more and more deeply entangled with the Commonwealth’s Underworld.

Vulpes is a cold-blooded, scheming, psychopathic asshole with a volcano of repressed emotion that really only comes out when he fights. As he does not drink, date, use chems or confide in anyone, violence is and has been his only outlet, which leads to him often charging into dangerous situations with ripper in hand. When he is better under control, he deals with targets through stealth kills of various types. Unlike the vast majority of the Legion he is comfortable with most technology (science as a tagged skill), and has taken even more of an interest since fleeing East. For some reason, neither animals nor wasteland beasts will attack him when he travels alone.

His primary motivation while he wrestles with his many inner demons (which he will never let on about to anyone) is survival. He believes he will soon be the only one left who remembers what the Legion once was, and the higher aims it once strove for (through horrible means, but he doesn’t see that). While he is now hunted by the Legion’s remnants, he believes that he has a duty to survive, and maintain his discipline and his traditions before finding others to spread them among. The problem is, instead of going straight for taking over a settlement or raider gang, he’s dealing with growing doubts about Caesar, who was revealed to be mortal, and what Caesar taught him. This has made him hesitate. However, he is still using the time to gather as much information as possible about the Commonwealth, its people, its factions, and of course, their weaknesses.

Vulpes’ alias: Victor Renard

Victor Renard is a new Upper Stands resident who moved into the Latimer residence after both father and son were presumed killed by Triggermen outside the city. He has a part stake in the Colonial Taphouse, which has recently had a change of management, and is often found there, brooding over a glass of watered wine. He has a developing reputation for being very private, likely very dangerous, and being some kind of high-end mercenary. He generally wears a black suit and carries concealed weapons--at least, inside the city walls. He and the mayor/security team have a strained but polite relationship...so far.

Fallout 4

Nick Valentine

A highly talented Chicago detective, on loan to Boston PD, whose original life came to a crashing end after crime kingpin Eddie Winter murdered his fiancee and disappeared. Traumatized by the loss, he was ordered to seek treatment at a facility that was run by what would become the Institute. They scanned and copied his mind and memories, and he then died in the nuclear bombardment that soon followed. When he woke up on a trash heap in a damaged robotic body around a century later, he was left with no context or explanation for his bizarre “reincarnation”. That mystery would haunt him, like the mystery of Eddie Winter’s escape from justice, for another century. After wandering the wastes for a time, and slowly acclimating himself to his new environment and interactions with modern humans, he settled in Diamond City as a handyman after returning the late mayor’s missing daughter. Eventually, he became a trusted member of the Diamond City community...and took back up the mantle of a detective. Nick stoically carries a lot of trauma, and a lot of outrage. He works to provide peaceful, rational alternatives to the constant violence around him, and tends to be smarter and more competent than most, especially when it comes to computers or investigation. He is a bit of a curmudgeon, with a dagger-sharp wit he’ll sometimes overuse when sufficiently angered. He smokes, though he gains no benefit from it, as a tie to his human past. He tends to feel divorced from his own body to some degree, and that plus his distrust of most roboticists has caused him to forgo repair thus far.

John Hancock

Mayor of Goodneighbor and a self-styled revolutionary hooligan who is usually high on something, Hancock has more layers than you might expect, and a tragic history. Born John McDonough, he grew up in a shack with his parents and brother on the Boston waterfront. His brother was something of a bully, but not particularly wicked. They started growing apart as they grew up, with John sneaking off to Goodneighbor regularly to party and do chems. Empathetic, and significantly smarter than most people, he was able to see the suffering and inequities all around him, even after his family moved up in the world and ended up in Diamond City. John realized that his brother had...changed...when he decided to run for mayor. Running on an anti-ghoul platform, he capped off his inaugural speech by announcing the banishment of all ghouls from the city. John watched in horror as the ghouls fled with their few belongings, being brutalized by citizens and police the whole time. After confronting his brother to no effect, he forced himself to act, successfully leading several families to temporary safety in Goodneighbor. Most did not survive, however, leaving him despondent and forever loathing his pogrom-promoting brother, who is still Diamond City’s mayor. That night changed something in him, and it wouldn’t go back to sleep no matter how many chems he took. Finally, on learning that Vic, the gangster running Goodneighbor, was letting his men gun down drifters, he had a bizarre, chem-fueled epiphany. He discovered John Hancock’s coat and hat in the depths of the State House, and suddenly realized what he needed to do. He took on the clothes and cause of John Hancock, and after brutally liberating the town from Vic’s people, gave an inaugural speech declaring Goodneighbor to be “of the people, for the people”, regardless of who those people were. He took on the persona of a daring, reckless, ferociously protective folk-hero Mayor and started the long process of turning Goodneighbor into a safe haven for all. But even that wasn’t enough for him. Less than a decade ago, he discovered an experimental serum intended to turn the user into a ghoul. Sick of the face in the mirror, and motivated by half a dozen different reasons, he completed his “remaking himself” by becoming the same sort of being that his evil brother so loathed. Now, having consolidated power, he has found himself in a rut, spending most of his time putting out fires and dealing with challengers to his position and to Goodneighbor’s safety. Constantly wrapping himself up in his role and work when not carousing, however, has left a lot of painful unfinished business in his life to fester.

[bcbdrums]

ExCUSE me ma'am... you're a damn fine author! *points with a stern finger* if you don't mind, could I get "When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More" pwease!! ^_^

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13576732/1/Actions

Link for FFn, but I’ll give it to you here anyway.  This is an AU.  Hope you enjoy!

------------------

Shego lay face down on the sofa as she cried, her arms folded above her head. She had barely moved in three days.

The first day, she stared at the TV in anxiety as the news of the alien invasion spread. The second day, she stared in numb shock as the explosion of the ship was broadcast globally. And now on the third day, she mourned.

Drakken had been on that ship.

She had considered going after him. But...she remembered what those aliens could do. They probably would have killed her at their last encounter if it hadn't been for her quick thinking and the extraterrestrial woman's gullibility.

But her fear in the present had cost her her boss. And as she cried every tear she had within her, she was realizing she had lost more.

He wasn't just her boss... And 'friend' didn't seem to describe it either. He was just...Drakken. Her Drakken. Her...everything.

He had been. But now he was dead.

She cried until her body's energy was fully spent, and then continued to lay face down, her chest occasionally heaving with silent sobs. The loss was greater and more painful than anything she had experienced. And what was worse...no one even knew. The TV talked of celebrity losses, and property damage, but no one talked about the little people. The average citizens who couldn't turn the eye of the drama-devouring public, but who were everything to those they knew. Ignored and forgotten.

Shego finally rolled onto her side and turned her bleary eyes toward the TV. Not in any interest, but simply because she needed to breathe. Although...she wasn't sure what she was living for, anymore.

"...And the United Nations will honor Kim Possible and Dr. Drakken for saving the world from the alien invasion..."

Shego sat up with a start. She stared at the TV and the image of the teen waving shyly next to...

It was him!

She stood up and jumped right in front of the TV as she stared at his yellow petal-framed face as he looked just as awkward next to the red-head, and the blond-haired buffoon as well. They boy wore a space suit of all things, and Kim a torn and tattered graduation robe.

Shego ran for the hover car.

---------

Hours later found her parking the hover car at the United Nations building in New York City, running past security officers who shouted at her. But she didn't care. She had to see that he was real.

She followed the very obvious signs that led to a banquet hall, and once she arrived outside the open grand ballroom doors she finally paused. She stood out like a sore thumb, disheveled and disgusting outside the hall where the wealthy were gathered in formal wear.

But then she saw him, a large gold medal gleaming on his chest. She didn't care what she looked like. She ran into the room, security rounding a corner behind her.

He looked up. He saw her coming with her arms outstretched. He stepped away from the suits he was chatting with and reached for her.

"Drak—"

She stopped and drew her arms back. He paused, his brow twisting in confusion as his arms stretched a little farther toward her.

She almost took back a step as she realized what she'd almost done. Her fingers began running through her tangled hair as she stared at him, too many emotions swarming her and preventing all coherent though. She knew they were being stared at.

"Shego?" he asked in that too-familiar voice. And she was so glad to hear it! But she wasn't ready for his concerned eyes, or all of the people staring at them.

"I...uh...saw you on TV," she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she felt. "S-saved the world, huh?"

Drakken's arms dropped and he fidgeted awkwardly. "Y-yes, apparently so."

"I, uh..."

Shego's struggle to form thought was interrupted as a gaggle of security officers rushed into the banquet hall.

"There she is!" she heard one cry.

She glanced at the men, and then back to Drakken.

"Don't think I'm welcome here," she said, the hint of a familiar and comfortable smirk coming to her lips.

"Wait!" Drakken cried, and the officers who were mere feet away slowed to a confused stop. "She's with me!"

Shego felt an unnatural flush to her cheeks, and she continued pulling at the knots of her hair.

"Very chivalrous of you Doc, but I'm not dressed for this party."

Drakken reached into his coat pocket and removed a small white key-card. He handed it to her.

"Here. My hotel room key. You can...freshen up."

Most of the concern had faded from Drakken's eyes, but he was still looking at her in perplexity. Shego took the key.

"Thanks," she said, turning on her heel and walking briskly out of the room with her head down.

---------

Shego paced the large and lavish hotel room, waiting for Drakken. She had opted not to return to the banquet for several reasons, lack of appropriate attire being one of them. But she also had no real idea what was going on.

She hadn't paid attention to anything after she saw the Lorwardian ship destroyed. She had only cried over his loss and wondered where to go next and came up with nothing. It was apparent of course, that somehow he had escaped and alongside Kim Possible, of all people, helped to save the world—of all things!

She simply didn't have enough information to rejoin the party that was apparently all for Drakken. Not to mention, her suit needed laundering.

With nothing to do for hours, she had availed herself of the shower in his penthouse suite and wore an incredibly fluffy and comfortable robe as she paced the thick carpet of the main room. As time ticked by, she found herself hoping that the party would in fact go on late into the night. Because she had no idea what she would say to him when he returned.

But as chance would have it, a knock sounded on the door that very moment. Shego looked through the peephole and found Drakken standing awkwardly but with a smile in the hallway, staring down at the medal that hung from his neck. She opened the door.

"Oh, there you are," Drakken said. He noted the bathrobe she wore with a slightly anxious expression as he stepped past her into the room. "Why didn't you come back to the banquet?"

"Nothing to wear," she said with a shrug. "Sorry, I should have thought about your room key."

Drakken stopped in the middle of the floor and turned back to her as she locked the door.

"Shego you're looking very pale and...very tired. Are you all right?"

She shrugged again as she hugged herself and walked past him and back toward the bedroom she'd used for her shower. He followed.

"Did you have to fight a lot of the Lorwardian invasion robots?" he asked in concern.

Shego heard his voice stop following her, and she turned around to see he'd paused in the doorway of the bedroom and not followed her in. She took a deep breath.

"What happened after they took you from the island?" she asked lowly.

He was looking even more confused and concerned. But as he began answering the question his brow darkened.

"I was restrained and put in a cell, and then they captured Kim Possible too. We were locked up together until my flower destroyed their security system."

Shego looked up. "Wait. Those marigold petals around your face have a use?"

Drakken shook his head. "Oh, no. It's this."

Shego recoiled as a green vine slithered up from somewhere behind Drakken's head, topped with a pink flower.

"It has superior strength and the ability to resist most destructive forces. It was key in the defeat of the Lorwardians," he said, puffing up slightly with pride.

"How were they defeated?" Shego asked, leaning back on her hands on the bed.

"I used my super hypollinator to surround all of the invading robots and entrap them. Kim Possible helped, and then the buff—...her...boyfriend, has these strange blue monkey powers and he destroyed Warmonga and...there was a larger fellow. Didn't catch his name."

Shego blinked. "That dork has powers now too?"

Drakken frowned slightly. "Apparently."

"He...killed them?" Shego asked in surprise.

"No, he launched them at super-sonic speed into their ship. When it exploded, the robots stopped functioning world wide."

Shego looked down. She'd had that explosion playing in repeat in her mind for nearly two days.

"How did you escape the ship?" she asked.

Drakken's frown deepened as he stepped into the room and moved to sit in the lounge chair near the balcony. The vine that had emerged from somewhere near his neck made a slow retreat until it vanished.

"James Possible, of all people, and the buff—...I...still don't know his name."

"Stoppable."

"Ah, yes. Stoppable. They flew up on one of...James's spaceships and we escaped that way. But Warmonga pursued us, which was how we ended up fighting them...back on Earth."

Shego sat forward again and set her hands in her lap. It didn't explain everything, but it filled in the most important details.

"What about you? What happened when you fought them?" Drakken asked.

Shego hung her head. She began running her fingers through her still-damp hair as she bit down on the bile that was threatening to rise in her throat.

"Shego? Did you hear me?"

She swallowed painfully. She knew she could lie, but...she was in too much pain to make the effort. Because it wouldn't solve the deeper problem of the way her heart had soared when she saw him alive, the rush she felt when she saw him through the crowd in the hall, or the way she had reached forward to...to kiss him.

Yes, she had a much deeper problem that a lie wasn't going to solve.

"Did you get hurt? Is that why you look so...so worn out?"

He was approaching her. Tears were coming hot to her eyes, and she hung her head lower to let her hair fall around her face so he couldn't see them.

"No, I...I didn't fight them, Doc. I stayed at the lair and...just hid from everything."

The confession didn't help, and her chest only tightened in pain at the sound of the horrible words. Drakken had stopped his approach when she spoke and now stood a few feet away from her. She didn't dare look up at his face.

"Oh. That's...what I would have done, had I not been captured," he said lightly.

Shego's eyes narrowed, and she wiped the tears away on the back of her hand before turning her harsh gaze up to him.

"I watched the ship explode on TV! I thought—" she took a steadying breath. "I thought you were dead."

Drakken's expression clouded slightly, but he continued looking at her in concern and confusion.

Shego scowled and stood up to face him, coming so close that he took a step back in surprise.

"Don't you get it? I didn't come after you! I saw them take you and just...let them go. And after the ship exploded I thought..."

Drakken blinked at her as he slowly absorbed her words. She turned away quickly as the tears came again. She didn't want him to see her any worse than she already was.

Behind her, she heard Drakken slowly step back to the chair and sit. She let herself fall heavily to sit on the bed as she wiped her eyes again.

After a long minute, she heard Drakken clear his throat. "If that was...an apology, I accept it. At least it's a little progress..." he muttered.

Shego turned and looked at him in confusion. "What?"

He was looking down at his lap, where he was folding and unfolding his hands.

"Last time, you gloated."

Shego blinked and tried to put together his meaning. And then it hit her.

When Warmonga had nearly destroyed them before, Shego had allied herself with Kim Possible to stop the alien—for her own selfish reasons—and then simply left when the job was done. She hadn't come back for over a week, and after she finally had and found Drakken slowly rebuilding the lair, alone, she had jumped straight into mocking and insulting him. Her reason being that he had gotten her put into prison for months, and he deserved a tongue-lashing over the failed plan.

He had seemed to ignore her at the time, though she knew he had been irritated by his grunts of acknowledgement. But he'd never said a word.

Obviously, the memory had stuck with him.

"I almost died then, too."

Shego started and sat upright. "What?"

"When she threw me through the roof. I almost drowned. If the tide hadn't carried me back..."

Shego thought back to the incident and barely remembered it happening. All she remembered clearly were Drakken's words declaring the alien better than her, and later the alien about to kill Kim Possible.

"So you've had my near-death on your conscience twice now," Drakken said in conclusion. Shego's brow furrowed at the slight smirk on his face.

"You think...this is funny?"

"No," he shook his head. "But you are. You're not as evil as you think you are."

His smirk had grown, and Shego found it infuriating.

"I'm plenty evil Doc, but that's not the point. You could have died and I didn't do anything about it!"

Drakken's smirk faded and she shook his head. "You did exactly what everyone would expect you to do. I don't see the problem."

Shego opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. She had done exactly what everyone would expect of her. Which meant...

He had no idea that her feelings for him ran deeper than evil side-kick. And she was only just realizing it herself.

And it probably also meant...that his feelings for her ran no deeper than those of a boss.

She faced away from him and hung her head again. What had she even been thinking, flying halfway across the country to run across a crowded room, looking like something the cat dragged in, to... To...

Her intent had been to kiss him. Not when her feet had started moving through the banquet hall, but when when she was within a few feet of him and had begun reaching out.

Her feelings were far, far deeper than side-kick.

"Shego?"

She heard him call her name in concern and realized she was sniffling audibly.

"I'm tired Doc, let me get some sleep," she said in excuse.

"This is my room," he said. "Did...you take a shower in here?"

Shego looked up at the open bathroom door, where her suit, boots, and gloves lay on the floor.

"Oh...sorry." She quickly moved and grabbed her things, and when she turned back toward the bedroom's door she found him standing beside it. "Do you want me to...? Sorry, I should leave."

"Shego. What's wrong with you?"

She couldn't meet his eyes. She had flown all that way for nothing.

"I'm just tired, I haven't slept in three days," she said.

"Neither have I," Drakken said. "But I have an excuse."

Shego looked up at him. He seemed a bit frustrated now, but he was still concerned. Maybe...there was slightly something more to their relationship on his end, than just being her boss? Probably friendship. Whatever he felt, she had a feeling her nights would continue in sleeplessness until she knew one way or the other.

Shego took a breath...and then frowned. She wasn't a talker, like him. She had always been a person of action.

She dropped her collected clothing and then stepped up in front of him, and before he could react she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. His hands flew to her shoulders and gripped them tightly and began pushing her away. She held on tight to his neck and made the kiss last more than the split second he was after before letting him push her away.

"Shego!" he cried. His expression was unreadable as he looked at her. She set her hands on his biceps, which was as far as she could reach after he'd pushed her.

"I thought you were dead. I thought...I'd lost you."

Drakken's eyes had darkened in a mix of annoyance and fear in the seconds before she spoke. But they lightened and slowly morphed into awe and confusion as he absorbed her words.

"You're not just feeling guilty," he said slowly. "You...care about me?"

She slowly nodded. "...Yes."

He lightly pursed his lips. "Interesting way of showing it all these years."

Shego rolled her eyes. "I didn't know I... I just... Ugh!"

She released him and stepped away, throwing her hands up as she grunted in annoyance—not with him, but with herself. It wasn't at all fair, her kissing him like that. But at least...now she knew.

He hadn't been at all interested when she'd been the subject of behavior modification two years prior and had thrown herself at him for a full day, and he wasn't interested now while she was fully herself. Even if she hadn't slept in three days and was admittedly more impulsive.

She started picking up her clothes from the floor again. "I'll just...go. You go on and...be that hero they've turned you into," she said, gesturing at the medal that still hung heavily over his chest.

Her clothes in her arms, she turned toward the door again. When she felt brave enough to look up at his face, he was staring down at the medal and holding it in one palm.

"'Scuse me, Dr. D."

She tried to move past him. He let go of the medal and grabbed her shoulders. The awed look in his eyes had grown and had mixed with hope.

"Wait! When you say 'care about me' you mean...you... What...what do you mean?"

Shego felt very trapped with his hands boxing her in while her arms were full of dirty clothes. She shrugged in response.

"Let me go," she said quietly, glancing away.

He let go. She looked up at him again as she stepped past him toward the open door...and then stopped. She turned back as she realized his gaze had become wholly familiar—uncertain, waiting for her instruction, but still ready to make a choice if she failed to give him one.

"What about you?" she asked with a sigh. "Why don't you... Why don't you care about me?"

His brow shot upward. "I do!"

"So you show it by ignoring me unless you need something," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He pursed his lips. He started toward her with purpose and she dropped her clothes, her arms opening to him. But he stopped when he was inches from her, searching her eyes. His confidence had faded instantly and left only the wide-eyed uncertainty she was accustomed to on him whenever their talk went further than his flavor-of-the-week schemes.

With far less nerve than before, Shego put her arms around his neck and drew close to him. He swallowed nervously, but didn't stop her. His hands fell comfortably on her waist as he took a breath.

"When you say...you care about me, do you only mean that...you're glad I'm not dead so I can write your next paycheck? Or that you're glad because you...you actually...think I have value as a human being? Or..."

Shego rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her forehead to his.

"Quiet," she said, and then she kissed him.

He kissed her back. All of the stress and pain she'd been carrying began melting off of her as he met her touch with seeming hunger. His arms went around her back and pulled her flush against him as his lips caressed hers, and she relaxed so deeply into the embrace that she sagged against him.

Breathless, she pulled away and dropped her face onto his shoulder. His fingers alternated squeezing and rubbing her back as she caught her breath, and then she was startled when she felt him take a step back without releasing her. She was forced to move with him or fall, and as he took a second and third step back she opened her eyes and saw he was drawing her back into the bedroom.

She met his lips almost carelessly as she reveled simply in the new joy of being in his arms. But for all of his usual talk, he obviously had been holding back from saying a lot as his kiss grew more passionate, and for the second time in mere minutes she felt weak at the knees.

He continued pulling her toward the bedroom, and she tugged on the fabric at his shoulders for additional support as she followed and nibbled at his lower lip. He suddenly pulled away and looked at her worriedly.

"I'm sorry," his voice sounded in a breathless whisper. "Are you sure you—"

She didn't let him finish as her lips attacked his fiercely, and she pushed him the last two steps into the room and slammed the door shut behind them.

[moon-ruled-rising]

as the rain hides the stars

read the full story on ao3...

VIII: wearing a warning sign

Bite my tongue, bide my time,

wearing a warning sign.

Wait ‘til the world is mine

-Billie Eilish, “you should see me in a crown”

The palace’s watergarden was built at the request of Maron Martell, husband to the first Princess Daenerys and the one from which Dany got her name, for his visiting family. The greenhouse was humid with plants native to Dorne and several different water fixtures mimicking the ones in the real Watergardens. It was the most peaceful place in the whole complex and where Dany escaped to when everyone else was occupied.

Floating in the gardens was a tradition for her, born from the days when she and Elia would sneak snacks from the kitchens and have a picnic. And sometimes, Rhaegar would join them but those were the days before Aerys’ health took a turn for the worse. Rheagar never picnicked with them again.

Her little tradition was the same every time. After she completed the necessary duties of the night, she would meet Jorah in the concert hall attached to the ballroom, change, and then slip into the gardens unnoticed. It was her sacred alone time and now it was sullied by a trespasser. 

The figure was obscured by the shadows of the palms and backlit by the dim gallery. They made no effort to move from the side of the room.  

“I’ll ask one more time, who are you?”

“I’m sorry. I was just looking for an empty room.”

He ventured another step into the garden, the moonlight settling over his angular features, highlighting the unmistakable arrogant youth in his face. It was him. 

Fuck, she cursed and turned her eyes up to the Gods, you won’t let me catch one break. 

“What are you doing in here?”

Despite the warm air, a shiver passed through her. Her hair clung to her arms and the slip to her thighs. She crossed her arms over her chest.

He shrugged off his suit jacket, “Just looking for a quiet place.”

He held it out to her. She looked from the jacket in this hand to his face. 

“Nothing no one hasn’t seen before.”

Even in her intimate state, she needed to keep her sense of authority. She knew her appearance made him uneasy and she planned to exploit that. She wrung her hair as she stepped out of the pool, water dripping from the hem of her slip onto the Dornish marble tile. 

“Please?” He offered her the jacket again.

His expression was soft. He wasn’t commanding her or trying to even the odds. It was a simple offer. A chill gently shook her and she snatched the suit jacket from him. It was warm and smelled of orange blossoms and hearty herbs, a cologne she didn’t recognize.

“These are the queen’s private gardens, no one should be here.”

“No offense, Your Highness, but you’re in here.”

She looked him up and down, then straightened her posture, “I’m a member of the Royal House Targaryen, I’m allowed to go wherever I please.”

“Princess, what would like me to do?” Jorah questioned from behind her.

Dany jumped at the sound of his voice. She’d been so focused on Jon she forgot Jorah was still in the room. She could have him take the prince away and go back to her floating but she was too wound up from the intrusion to find peace again. And she wasn’t ready to retire.

“You can go, Sir Jorah, I’ve got this under control.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He was only going to wait outside the proper entrance so he could escort her back to her rooms. 

“Alright, Your Highness.”

As soon as he was gone, Dany took up the bottle of whiskey and settled at the edge of the pool.

“So, you’re the poor fool they’re trying to chain me to.” 

“Aye, I’m Prince Jon of the-.”

“I know.”

She took a pull from the bottle before offering it to him. He took it.

“You spent the whole night avoiding me,” he pointed out.

“And I was doing very well until you got adventurous.” She surveyed him out of the corner of her eye. “Elia and Missy gave you glowing reviews, if you care to know.”

“Why send them to talk to me when you could’ve done it yourself?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

She remembered her promise to Elia, about giving Jon a chance. A thought struck her. Was this prince going to give her the same chance?

“What have you heard about me?”

“That you’re calculated. You’re fast and loose and you burn through men like wildfire.”

There it was. He already made up his mind based on fictitious information spread by petty old hags and jealous debutantes. If that was what he expected of Daenerys, she was more than happy to give it to him.

“And despite all of that you’re somehow convinced I would be a good match? That you would want me to stand at your side for the rest of your life?”

She swished her legs through the water, watching the way it slid off her legs. 

“Of course not but if it means my people live through winter…”

“What’s it like?”

“The North?”

“No, Dorne,” she simpered then rolled her eyes, “Yes, you’re home. What’s it like?”

“It’s cold and it snows a lot.”

“Doesn’t sound like the proper place for a Targaryen.”

“It’s not.”

She should’ve been offended, angry even, but his comment rolled off of her like the water on her legs. The alcohol of the night inhibited her ability to feel much else but deep contempt.

“Well you’ll have to find someone else to grant your aid.”

“You’re not going through with the arrangement?”

“Why would I want to?”

“You would be helping a whole country.”

“Ask yourself this, what does my country have to gain from this?”

He went silent and not in contemplation. She took the whiskey back.

“You see, this marriage is a way for Rhaegar to sell me off. He sees it as a way to settle me down and ship me away so I’ll stop ruining his day with revealing headlines. He doesn’t care about the North, he cares about his reputation.”

It was not Rhaegar’s fault that he was so protective of the Targaryen name. The dynasty stayed in power for 800 years by adapting and changing, making people like them and setting an example of the highest kind. As he’d told her earlier, the people were growing tired of the burden the monarchy represented and any step out of line, any crack in their perfectly moulded facade would be an invitation for the destruction of the Targaryen line.

The worst part was, Dany couldn’t imagine a life of not being a royal. She’d gone to university and experienced something like it there. But even then it was easy for her and money was never an issue. If the crown fell, everyday would be uncertain and her life would be in danger.

“I don’t care what your family gets out of it, as long as my people get what they need to survive.”

She stood, bottle still clutched in hand, “What do you know of marriage treaties?”

“Not much.”

Perfect. 

“They’re just like regular ones. They require that representatives of the two parties sit down and discuss terms and agreements. While I assume you’re already sold on the fact that your country needs me to secure supplies, there’s still the very tricky matter of my opinion.”

She approached a statue of two lovers, bare and frozen, their mouths inches away. She heard his dress shoes on the tile as he followed.

“That’s why my family came south. To convince you to say yes, to help us.”

“No.” she turned on him. “You were dragged here to be appraised like cattle.” 

Her features were placid despite her need to scream. To rage. To raise her voice and burn him with her words.

“You know what you have to do and you’ve made up your mind. But me? I get to decide whether or not this whole operation happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would you need to convince me to help you if my word didn’t matter on this subject?” 

He was silent again. His eyes betrayed nothing but Dany got the feeling he knew what was coming next. In their stillness, Dany took in how the moonlight laid on his strong face. Something about the scene awoke an urge within her.

Dany was well aware of her affinity for pretty men. Hells, the whole world knew she couldn’t say no to an attractive face. Under normal circumstances, nothing would stop her from adding the Northern Prince to her collection but this conquest came with a significant amount of baggage. And there was an edge to him that reminded her of Daario.

Daario. She hadn’t told him where she was going before she left. He probably thought she was still mad at him and that was why she wasn’t home. When in truth, she’d hardly looked at her phone since her flight took off. And the few times she did, there were no missed calls or text messages.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a harsh laugh from the prince.

“What?” she demanded.

“All day I’ve been told to play nice and make a good impression on you and your family.”

“As you should,” she affirmed, the corner of her mouth tugged into a pleased grin.

“But you… you-”

“I what?”

“You’ve been a rude bitch the whole night.”

Dany supposed she deserved that but it didn’t lessen the sting. She fought hard to keep her composure, the same self-satisfied smirk standing vigilant. She knew the people of the court compared her to fire but Dany liked to think of herself as the personification of the element. Beautiful and warm from a distance, scalding and dangerous up close. 

If she was fire, he was cold, unyielding ice. 

“Did you expect anything less?”

“I don’t want this any more than you-”

“Then why make such an effort?”

“Have you seriously not heard a word out of my mouth? My people are in danger! Our economy isn’t strong enough to secure trade with anyone else. You’re their only help so get off your damn high horse and realize that there are people more important than you.

“I know what it’s like to have people whispering behind my back and calling me names that I don’t deserve. Our lives and positions come with baggage that not even we understand but unlike you, I haven’t decided to take it out on everyone around me and burn more bridges than I build.”

His brief rant brought him closer to her and she caught another whiff of his cologne. She tilted her chin up to meet his gaze but her smirk was gone. There was a fierceness in his eyes that reminded Dany of herself. He was ice but there was a fire burning in there, deep below his cool exterior. Dany would usually fight until she’d worn down her opponent but she’d been put in her place three times in one day. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. 

“Here,” she whispered, taking a step back and holding up the bottle of liquor.

“What’s this for?” “If you want to marry me, you’re going to need that and a lot more,” she told him.

She looked upon his face one last time before she turned to leave.

“Does this mean you’ll go through with it?”

Dany paused and looked over her shoulder. Her hair and slip were nearly dry, but she kept Jon’s suit jacket wrapped around her. Her intention was to melt him, to reduce him to nothing more than water under another burning bridge. But he tempered her and shrank the uncontrollable blaze of her nature.

“The North sounds like a lovely country. I would like to see it some time.”

She slipped out the greenhouse door, making her way back to her apartments, Jorah trailing dutifully behind her. He didn’t ask questions, he heard it all. 

The back hall was quiet considering there was a party still blazing nearby. The distant sounds of music and numerous conversations muffled by the thick walls. The rooms flanking it shut up, waiting for their occupants to return. It reminded her of walking through their summer home on Dragonstone.

The ancient keep stood empty for most of the year, used only for exclusive diplomatic trips and the Targaryen’s summer vacations. The first few hours there were spent breezing through the lifeless corridors and reveling in the solitude.

Dragonstone was meant to be bestowed to Viserys, since he was second eldest, but after his death the lands and titles fell to Dany. She planned to make it her permanent residence when she eventually settled down but if things went according to Rhaegar’s plan, she wouldn’t need to worry about that. 

They arrived at her door and she thanked Jorah and went inside. Still wrapped in the prince’s suit jacket, she shook out her hair and lay across the settee. The exhaustion she forced to the side settled in, weighing her limbs down, but her mind still rattled with the words Jon said.

No one looking to gain her favor had ever spoken to her like that, no one ever dared. They were overly nice, bought her expensive things, and complimented her to no end. All in an effort to appease her scaley nature and get somewhere, and it always worked. When their relations inevitably bored her, they said nothing and found someone else to bide their time. There was never a time they called her out on her behavior.

Rhaegar tried but their confrontations focused on public habits, not so much her behavioral ones. And the words hurled around in those verbal scuffles never stuck. They didn’t dig their claws into her already abused brain and drag her down a long and winding path of second guessing. 

Luckily, a knock at her door pulled her away from a downward spiral of overthinking. Elia swept into the room with Missandei on her arm. They were blushing and bubbly, glowing from the social atmosphere. 

“It’s so dark in here,” Missy commented as Dany reached up to turn on the lamp. 

“Did you get to talk to Prince Jon?” Elia asked, her voice a mixture of business and giddy girlishness.

As if they were teenage girls at a sleepover about to discuss their crushes.

“Yes, we had quite the discussion,” Dany answered, allowing herself a stupid smirk.

The women looked her up and down. Missy pursed her lips as she sank into the seat at the vanity. 

“Oh, Dany, please tell me you didn’t-”

“Don’t worry Elia, nothing happened. Nothing fun anyway. This-” she tugged at the fabric around her- “was just a gentlemanly gesture.”

“Is that where you disappeared to?” Missy questioned.

“We just happened to run into each other.”

“And?”

“We talked.”

“What did you talk about?” pressured Elia, still standing.

She’d shifted her weight and placed her hands on her hips, employing her motherly nature. “I’d prefer not to say.”

“Daenerys…”

A warning.

“Elia, I’ve made up my mind. About the marriage.”

Missy sat up straighter.

“And what did you decide?”

“I decided that I need more time. A month at least before anything is official. I need to tie up some … loose ends.”

Elia swooped down to hug Dany, pulling her up from the bed. Dany wished she could share in the queen’s happiness but she felt devoid of anything but deep seeded dread. And she’d left out the very crucial detail of Rhaegar’s black mail.

“I’ll tell Rhaegar in the morning, he’ll be overjoyed. I’m so glad you’re considering this. You’re going to be an amazing queen.”

Missy cleared her throat, “I’m really sorry to rain on the parade, but Dany won’t be a queen. She’ll still be a princess. In order for Dany to become Queen of the North, she needs to be granted the crown matrimonial.”

“How do you know this?”

“Missandei studied world governments as part of her degree in Public Relations.” Dany informed Elia. 

“And a quick glance back at my notes on the North told me that traditionally the Crown Matrimonial is only granted once the consort in question proves themselves worthy through an act of honor and great courage.”

The princess frowned and looked toward Elia.

“When you attend the contract meeting tomorrow, bring it up. I’m sure Rhaegar will have it amended to the documents.”

Dany didn’t try to fight back the yawn that crawled its way out, hoping it would remind Elia that she was tired and wanted to sleep. The queen gave her another tight squeeze and hugged Missandei before saying her goodbyes and slipping from the room. Missy was staying with Dany because the guest apartments were for diplomatic guests only. 

Not long after, there was another knock on the door. Dany let out a groan of frustration and got up to answer it. She expected Rhaegar, but it was only the night maid stopping by to collect the dresses. She finally removed the suit jacket and gave it to the woman, requesting that it be express cleaned and returned to Prince Jon first thing in the morning.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married… in a month,” Missandei sighed as they lay on Dany’s bed.

Dany stared at the ceiling, trying to calm her racing mind, “Me neither.”

If she had her way, by the end of the month, there would be no wedding and the past twenty-four hours would only be a bad memory.

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 15 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1900

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, who are the best goddamn ego boosters a girl could ask for

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity,  @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings

((So because I don’t know how to use tumblr I JUST realized that copying and pasting tags doesn’t automatically make them active... to my requested tag list, I am SO SORRY! Please forgive me! Also, surprise! Now you have a lot to binge read!))

On the fourth day you fail to visit, Loki lets himself begin to worry.

He wasn’t expecting you back right away, not after admitting just how much of a monster he actually is. But he’s come to have faith in you, to the point where even if you are going to reject him for his crimes- he wouldn’t blame you if you did- he thinks you’d at least do him the courtesy of telling him. So the first day of your absence, he waits, trying to ignore the anxiety in his chest. The second day is spent in self-loathing; the third, hating the universe at large with more viciousness than usual. But the fourth… that’s when he lets a few tendrils of doubt creep into his brain. But not about your potential sudden change of heart- no. That doesn’t sit right with him.

It’s nothing. Most likely, you’ve left, just like everyone else, once realizing the depths of the horror of the man standing in front of you. Most likely, you’re moving on with your life without involving yourself with the villain. Most likely…

Then why does he still feel uneasy?

He glances where he knows a camera is positioned, tucked into the ceiling’s seams. How closely he’s being monitored, he’s never figured out, but he has an inkling that he could hang himself by his hair and no one would bother trying to stop him. So how to get their attention? He has little magic at his disposal, not enough to conjure anything disturbing, and his cell is lacking anything remotely useful.

With a sigh, he hefts his cuffs, twisting his wrists nervously in their prisons, unsure of so many things. Using as much strength as he can gather, the manacles are hurled at the glass barrier with enough force to make his bones ache and his teeth clench.

This may take a while.

X

Thor has never liked scavenger hunts- he lacks the brains for riddles his brother so gleefully loves- but a chase without clues is proving even more frustrating. Every inquiry about your whereabouts is met with indifference or confusion, and his visit to your offices was fruitless, as your colleagues don’t seem capable of anything but stuttering and terror in his presence. It is quite annoying. Why Loki prefers to rule through fear he will never know.

Loki. He sees you every day, from what little he can gather- no doubt he knows of your wellbeing. But he is not allowed passage into his brother’s cell…

“Thor.” A woman’s sharp voice cuts through his thoughts. “What the hell is your brother playing at?”

Ah. Very occasionally, fortune does favor him.

Maria Hill stands tapping a brisk toe. “He’s been intent on breaking out for the better part of three hours now. Can you please go talk sense into him? If there’s any sense there to reason with,” she mutters under her breath.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

In the depths of SHEILD, locked behind glass, stripped of his grandeur and posturing, Loki looks more himself than he has in a long time. Thor watches the muscles in his shoulders grind to a halt as he abandons his latest attempt at what looks to be smashing his handcuffs against the barrier. Neither the glass or the manacles are any worse for wear, from what Thor can see, but his brother is noticeably exhausted.

“Thor.” The relief in Loki’s voice is palpable. “You came.”

A small spark of happiness flares in Thor’s chest. When was the last time his brother welcomed his presence? “You wished me to?”

“Obviously.” Loki sets himself down on his cot. His hands rest in his lap, and raw rings of skin peek out from underneath his bindings. “Where is Y/N?”

For a moment, Thor only blinks. “The lady Y/N? Have you not seen her? I wished to ask you the same.”

A dark shadow passes over his face. “No. I have not.”

Maria is looking between the two gods impatiently, clearly not following the conversation. “Y/N? Who are we talking about?”

Something low grumbles in the back of Loki’s throat. “Y/N Y/L/N. An archivist under your employ. She has been- assigned to me, for however long I have been in SHIELD’s grip now.”

Her eyes widen just a hint. “You’re pitching a fit about your babysitter? Is she even still still here?  I would’ve thought you’d have run her into the ground a month in.” The incredulousness in her voice makes both Thor and Loki bristle.

“You do not keep count of those under your care?” Thor asks.

“We keep track of the important ones.” When the atmosphere of the room dampens to the point of stifling at the clench of Loki’s fists and the stretching of Thor’s shoulders, Maria backtracks. “I mean- okay. Get to the point. Why are you worried about her?”

“She has been absent for the better part of four days now,” Loki grinds out from clenched teeth. “And such behavior is… unusual.”

“Aye.” Thor nods. “It is unlike her to remove herself from Loki’s side for so long.”

“Okay- okay.” The agent rubs her temples briefly. Her migraine isn’t getting any better. “I have two semi-immortal beings worried about someone we hired a year ago on a lark. Wonderful. You realize she’s just on vacation or something?”

Loki looks to Thor with a glance that clearly communicates everything he isn’t voicing. “Perhaps I could verify her whereabouts,” Thor says casually, unwilling to alert Hill to his brother’s turmoil. “To ease his mind, if nothing else.”

She sighs. “If it’ll get him to calm down, fine. Go find Stark, he’s been fiddling with the security system anyways.” She leaves mumbling something under her breath, shaking her head and looking like she needs a very strong drink.

Once she’s gone, Loki visibly deflates. “Thor-”

He holds out a hand. “I will investigate the matter,” he says calmly. “I am sure she is fine, brother.”

Loki nods. “Just- be certain.”

It strikes Thor, in that moment, that as meaningful as you are to himself, he has not begun to scratch the surface on your worth to his brother.

X

Stark is, as predicted, sequestered into a room full of glowing screens, his attention on all of them at once. “Sparky the Hammer-Bro. What can I do for you?”

Thor lets his eyes rove over rows of code, none of which he understands. “I need to view security recordings. The Agent Hill said you may help.”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuumsure.” The genius waves a hand, dismissing several rows of numbers. “Anything in particular?”

“Five days ago, roughly. As for what I seek- I believe I will know when I see it.”

Stark raises an eyebrow. “Cryptic. Fun times! Uno momento, por favor.” One by one, computer screens are filled with a past SHIELD, going about its business. It could be any given day- agents roam, papers filed, choice global secrets exposed and others hidden. But Thor zeroes in on the one displaying you and his brother, in some sort of tense conversation. Loki lashes out, and you reply with remarkable composure- enough to apparently reassure him you aren’t going anywhere. In his head, Thor adjusts every opinion of you he’s ever had.

You talk for a while more, underscored by Stark’s idle whistling from the corner. You leave, bag tucked under your arm, and say goodbye to a scant few colleagues. Outside, a car pulls up in front of you, and you go to open the door- only, it’s opened for you, by gloved hands belonging to an unseen being. While they grab you by the arms, another man in a suit is busy administering a blunt object to the back of your skull. You crumple into the waiting vehicle. The door is shut. It pulls smoothly away from the curb, as though you were never there at all.

To Thor’s right, static electricity shorts out a bank of monitors.

And now Tony is talking, leaning in to examine the footage- “Who- wait, isn’t that your brother’s pet? What the hell-?” But Thor is already gone, hurrying in a way that magically clears everyone from his path before he even arrives. Every thud of his heel echoes a crisp and succinct no, no, no, no, no, no

Loki has been pacing, but he pauses to turn his sharp gaze on his brother. “Well?” Thor can’t even open his mouth before green eyes turn deadly. “No.”

Thor’s mouth is suddenly dry. “Brother-”

There’s an inferno behind Loki’s voice, one that Thor has only ever seen herald destruction. “Bring me the director. Now.”

X “Let me get this straight,” Fury drawls slowly, in an obvious effort to try his prisoner’s patience. Even Thor is having to keep his fingers from curling into fists. “Your babysitter- who has apparently stuck around for the last ten months, even though by all accounts she should have run screaming from the room- has been kidnapped by a mysterious force, and you want me to release you in order to go on a harebrained rescue. Unchaperoned.”

“Yes.”

Fury snorts. “No.”

“I would be with him,” Thor argues, “and I would not let him-”

“-escape off-world with his magic in tow? Pardon me if I’m not inclined to believe you.”

“You don’t understand!” Loki looks incredibly close to breaking something, and for the sake of their argument, Thor very much hopes he doesn’t. “She is in peril and you would sit back and do nothing-”

The director holds up a hand as the door opens and Hill slips in, holding printed camera stills. “HYDRA, most likely,” she says, pointing out various details in each photo to her boss. “Why they’d target her I have no idea.”

Fury sighs. “Fantastic. Let me ask you something, Mister mortals-are-ants-beneath-my-boot. Why the hell do you care?”

Too many thoughts to count flit across Loki’s face, and Thor has had a thousand years to catalogue every one of his brother’s expressions. “Is it not enough that I simply do?” Loki asks, apparently at a loss for words, and Thor can’t help but notice everything he isn’t saying in that one question.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he continues, almost vibrating with desperation. “Everything you want to know, that is in my power to tell. I swear it.”

Fury’s eyes narrow. “The Chitauri? The Tesseract?”

“Yes.”

A pause. “Deal.”

Maria startles. “Nick-”

“No, Hill, don’t start with me, not now.” He nods at Loki’s cell. “If you would.”

Maria unlocks Loki’s cell and releases his manacles with the grace and poise of someone who has a revolver trained at her temple. Once his hands are free, she tenses, as though expecting a quick death- but he simply rubs his wrists, in the places they bleed slightly.

“You’re insane,” she says as Fury leads her out of the room, not bothering to lower her voice.

“Insane saved the world, once,” he shoots back. “How much worse can this be?”

“I can think of a few-”

The door closes behind them.

The two gods look at each other. “Four days is a long time,” Thor says softly, unnecessarily stating the obvious. “I would not even know where to look. Perhaps the captain would know-”

He stops as a rage of green flares up to Loki’s elbows, mirroring the fire that has suddenly blazed to life in his eyes. His voice is haunted by things unknown- “I have her.”

[judedeluca]

Last Friday I Tried To Kill Myself: My Rant On Why Heroes In Crisis Is Destructive Garbage And Why Stories Like This Need To Stop Being Made

TW: Suicide, rape, abuse

I’ve made it no secret I’ve been in therapy since 2012, and I’ve especially been vocal about my dislike for DC Comics’ latest event book, “Heroes in Crisis,” which just released its last issue on May 29th 2019.

I tried to write something the other night but I didn’t like how it sounded so I deleted it. After my session with my therapist earlier in the day, she convinced me to simply write down what I feel regardless. And so I did. I typed and typed. This is pretty long under the cut. I don’t know if I got carried away. I think I did.

I need to be clear I did NOT just try to commit suicide because of how much I hated a comic book. I’d like to believe even I’m not that pathetic. I tried to kill myself because of a number of reasons which sort of snowballed together this previous Friday.

Look this is angry and long and it sounds ridiculous but I just wanted to write and get my feelings out and I’m sorry okay? I’m, just, I’m sorry. For being pathetic and a disappointment to my friends and letting this bother me so much.

But I’m talking about “Heroes in Crisis” because this book has been negatively affecting me since it began publication, and the state that it left me in this past week only served to exacerbate the negative thoughts I had to endure, and I briefly reached a point where I had a knife to my wrist.

I’ve been attending therapy for the past seven years in order to address trauma and abuse I suffered through in my adolescence. In grade school I was bullied, and from 6th to 12th grade I was sexually abused on two separate occasions in two separate schools from four different people. In middle school I was assaulted by three boys who weren’t much older than me on the bus ride home, where they grabbed my head and shoved my face into their crotches as all the other kids laughed. In high school a classmate molested me twice during art class, and spent the rest of that time trying to make me apologize after I smacked him in self defense.

In 2009 my family dissolved when my parents unhappily split apart, which placed me as the unwilling recipient of my father’s, mother’s, and sibling’s emotional baggage while my own problems were ignored. During the loss of my support system I juggled two jobs along with graduating from college, I came out of the closet and have been struggling to figure out both my sexual and gender identities, I made my first suicide attempt in 2013, and my best friend died in 2016 along with four other people I cared about or who saw me as a friend.

Seeking therapy was something I had to do on my own. I tried counseling sessions with the people at my college but despite their best efforts it didn’t do much to help. I never received counseling in middle school for my sexual assault and my parents weren’t of much help either despite it was clear I developed some significant behavior problems. In 10th Grade I did spend some time with a guidance counselor because they feared I was suicidal due to my depression around my bad grades in Chemistry, but again this didn’t really help.

God I realize how analytical and detached this is sounding and I don’t know why. I feel like I’m just listing everything. Ugh.

Aside from my suicidal thoughts I suffer from depression and PTSD. I think I’m a genuinely bad person and I’ve often thought I brought the abuse I suffered as a kid onto myself because I was a weird boy. I’ve wondered if I have a right to feel ashamed of what happened to me because it wasn’t as bad as what other people have gone through. I frequently think of myself as a shameless, greedy, manipulative person who doesn’t deserve to be happy because I use people. I’ve truly said some awful things to people and I know I’ve been blocked by a couple of people online and not without good cause. You need to understand that. My own sibling once said I was a wicked, blackhearted person.

I have trouble not assuming the worst of my parents and sibling because of how often I would find myself stuck in the middle of their arguing, which got me labeled a martyr whenever I tried to play peacemaker which I only wanted because I hate seeing them unhappy. I assume the worst about situations and I’ve spent countless nights lying awake thinking over and over again about past mistakes and how much I wish I was dead, or that I had died instead of one of my friends because they made the world a better place and I don’t. It’s easy for me to believe the world would be a better place if I died.

Often my problems had been ignored by the people I turned to for help. Ignored, looked down upon, or just belittled. It became hard for me to talk to people because it felt like no one really cared about what I was going through or that I wanted help. Or they misunderstood and their attempts to help failed because they didn’t really know what was wrong.

Despite all this I want to believe therapy has helped me deal with problems better than I had before, and helped me to take pride in what I have accomplished. I graduated cum laude with no student debt, I’ve held onto at least one job for over a decade, and I’m currently writing for three websites that have let me change my perspective on things and given me space to grow as a writer. I believe I’m better able to recognize boundaries and to let my feelings be known, and to know when not to engage in stressful situations. I’ve been trying, TRYING, not to let me depression and negative thoughts affect me too badly.

It’s not easy, but it’s better than not doing anything at all.

So, where does “Heroes in Crisis” fit into this.

Well.

Through middle and high school, comics were pretty much the only thing that managed to keep me going without having a complete breakdown. Well I did have other interests and I still do. I could never survive on comic books alone.

I didn’t really have any friends I could rely on or talk to about my problems, not in real life or online. I got lucky in high school since there was a comic store one block away, which meant I was now able to regularly buy comics instead of the odd issue here or there. It was after I graduated high school I finally began to make some friends through online message boards and by meeting people at comic conventions. So comics didn’t just keep me going, they helped me find the people who HAVE been able to help me and see me as an individual worth knowing. My very first best friend in the whole world (NOT the one who died) is a professional comic artist I met through DeviantArt. “Stuck Rubber Baby” helped me realize and be honest about the fact I’m queer, and it was through commissioning comic artists I’ve felt more comfortable about exploring my sexuality.

As cheesy as it sounds the presence of comics in my life has indeed helped me a great deal, and I want to professionally write comics someday as a way to repay some of that back and try to make the world a better place.

I’ve always bought a little bit of everything but I’m mainly focused on DC Comics. My favorite teams are the Titans, the Legion of Super-Heroes, the Doom Patrol, and the Justice Society. Ask me my favorite Flash, I’ll pick Jay Garrick or Wally West. My favorite Green Lantern, I’d pick Alan Scott and Kyle Rayner.

Suffice it to say I really haven’t been happy with most of what DC’s published in the past ten years. I’ve been especially vocal about my dislike for books such as “Rise of Arsenal,” “Titans” by Eric Wallace, and pretty much everything Scott Lobdell’s worked on. Like a lot of people, I thought “DC Rebirth” back in 2016 was a step in the right direction, that they were finally cleaning the mess they made with the New 52 initiative.

“Heroes in Crisis” proved me and a lot of other people wrong.

But as a person struggling with depression and PTSD, this book offended me on a whole different level compared to anything those other books have done.

So you’ve got a place, Sanctuary, where heroes and villains can receive counseling for their respective problems and possibly get help. That sounds like a great idea. And then the first issue opens with the reveal every patient has been gruesomely murdered save for two who believe the other is guilty. And it gets worse from there.

FIRST: It turns out Sanctuary has no actual doctors or therapists. It relies instead on a computer programmed with the supposed best traits of Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman.

SECOND: The patients are put in virtual reality chambers where they relive their respective traumas over and over again as a way to confront them.

THIRD: There doesn’t seem to be any real security except for a couple of robots, and anyone can just walk in. Which means Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman haven’t been monitoring the place until AFTER the massacre.

What followed was than eight issues of a supposed mystery that wasn’t a mystery at all. Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman do almost nothing to figure who was responsible for this, while Lois Lane is given files of all the Sanctuary interviews which she PUBLISHES, leaking hundreds of secrets that were meant to be private even if she obscures the real names. The investigation falls to Booster Gold and Harley Quinn, who both believe the other is the killer.

It eventually turns out the killer was Wally West, who accidentally unleashed a burst of energy that killed those around him and in a fit of extreme suicidal despair violated the corpses to look like a mystery so he would have enough time to release the Sanctuary files and then kill himself believing it was the only way to make things right. He doesn’t die but turns himself in at the end.

I-I don’t have the energy to give a complete rundown, I really don’t. Suffice to say the book has problems. Racist problems, homophobic problems, and ableist problems. The series IS a problem.

Since the first issue was released I hated, I HATED, this comic with every fiber of my being. I hated the stilted writing and I hated the gross, overly sexualized artwork. I hated it was another event series built around cheap shock value deaths meant to drive up sales and garner controversy to make more sales. And I especially hated the premise, that this Sanctuary was supposed to be a place of healing but was anything BUT. The DC Trinity make no attempt to get real doctors to help them provide help for their comrades and friends, delegating everything to a computer that’s supposed to have their best qualities and assuming THAT is a decent substitute for qualified psychiatrists and therapists.

The very IDEA that Superman and Wonder Woman could be so arrogant and conceited to believe they could substitute for licensed medical professionals is appaling. Even Batman on his worst days would never be so inconsiderate.

And then there are the VR chambers, where the heroes relive their traumas over and over and over again until they can get over them. THIS IS NOT HEALTHY. To experience such pain over and over again. The comic even demonstrated through characters Lagoon Boy and Wally West that going through their trauma again and again clearly wasn’t helping. Lagoon Boy relieved the Titans East massacre HUNDREDS of times. And this seems to be the only real option Sanctuary allows besides the confessionals.

This, this NEGLECT. Sanctuary isn’t a place for healing, it’s a dumping ground! These people are secluded and essentially kept in solitary confinement where they have almost no one but a computer to talk to. A computer that does absolutely nothing to help them.

I spoke to my own doctor about this and she agreed with me none of this was healthy and that the book itself was extremely damaging and poorly thought out.

And I have spoken to her about this a LOT over the last nine months, because with each issue that came out I felt myself getting more and more worn down. I would dread the last Wednesday of the month knowing the next issue would arrive. And let me tell you this wasn’t the only thing I was talking about in my sessions, but it figured a lot into my past discussions and my therapist respected that. I’m glad I have her in my life, she’s a consummate professional. 

I’m not talking about simple fan boy hate. This comic DRAINED me and struck more than a number of nerves. The apathy and insensitivity that went into crafting this book reminded me far too much of what I’ve gone through in life and not for the better.

For starters, the way Tom King portrays the problems the characters go through is nothing but a joke. We’re treated to multiple confessional sequences where different characters talk about their issues in a nine-panel grid layout featuring some of the most stilted dialog I’ve ever read. King shows absolutely no research or care in the characters he talks about, ignoring their backstories to make up nonsense and present it as deep when in reality he’s gutted them from the inside out.

The one that bothered me most was Roy Harper from the first issue, in a confessional sequence one page AFTER his corpse is found.

Tom King took nine issues to completely destroy and misunderstand Wally West’s character, even though he only needed one page for Roy Harper.

Of course Scott Lobdell spent eight years destroying the character, so King didn’t need to do much.

Roy and his daughter Lian have been two of my favorite DC characters for years. I’ve been able to relate to Roy’s issues a lot over the years. Not his past drug addiction, but his struggles with depression and abandonment issues and his fight to try and be a better person despite everything he’s gone through. He was raised in a Native American community and probably has a better understand of racism than most white people could dream of. He’s a devoted father who tries to be the best dad he can be for his daughter. But most importantly, he knows he can screw up and he knows he’s not perfect. He just wants to be good. He’s a complex and multifaceted person who is more than his trauma, and I’ve long admired that. I’ve wished I could stop beating myself up over my past mistakes and just focus on doing good instead of hating myself for not being perfect. As someone who never really had much support from my parents growing up and that feeling of being totally alone despite being surrounded by people, I empathized with the neglect he suffered form Green Arrow and the way he was essentially abandoned in “Rise of Arsenal” when he needed help the most.

But is any of that discussed in “Heroes in Crisis?”

No.

Roy’s abandonment and depression are ignored so Tom King can churn out some nonsense about abusing prescription meds given to him by doctors for his superhero injuries before he switched to heroin because it was cheaper and safer. Not because of his depression. He only started taking the meds because of his injuries and he got addicted, which I’ve seen a number of fans who suffer from chronic pain complain that this is ableist for presenting them as drug addicts.

God I hope I’m remembering that right, I’m sorry guys.

“So you go to a needle. To save your kidneys. And some money. But really, isn’t that what superheroes do? Save things?”

Objectively one of the worst things I have ever read in ANYTHING.

But it doesn’t stop there. Pretty much every character given a confessional more or less has the problems they truly did survive ignored for nonsense that never occurred or is completely out of character to the point it feels like these are SUPPOSED to be jokes. Firestorm talks about his head being on fire. Green Lantern Hal Jordan doesn’t know what “Will” is. Raven says her father, an inter dimensional monster who has tried to turn her evil over and over again and whom she hates, loves her. Minor character the Protector is revealed to be addicted to multiple drugs and was only an anti-drug crusader because he thought it was funny. That was just CRUEL.

I... I have spent so long being ashamed of a lot of the abuse I went through and it is still hard for me to talk about. Do you have any idea how disgusted I am with myself whenever I try to tell someone about what happened to me in high school? When I have to figure out a way to say that “He tried to stick his finger in my ass” and not think about how the people reading or hearing this must be laughing at me it’s so pathetic? Or when I think about the crying fit after my first day of high school begging my mom to take me out of this school and she tells me to suck it up?

And so this bothers me, because I frequently fear that my problems are just a joke. And I see the characters whom I resonate with have their problems degraded and treated as poorly thought out jokes.

Why were some of these characters even here in the first place? To deal with their problems? Even though some of them WERE ALREADY TRYING TO GET HELP. Roy in particular had his Titans teammate Lilith Clay as his substance abuse counselor, but none of that is mentioned in the lead-up to “Heroes in Crisis.” The help that Roy was already getting was ignored. His efforts at self improvement were ignored by those around him.

But it’s not as bad as the reason Wally West was in Sanctuary. In “Flash War” Wally regains memories of his twin children Jai and Iris and is told they’re not in the Speed Force but SOMEWHERE. And Wally tries to find them and can’t. So instead of Barry Allen getting the Justice League to help with the search, knowing the disappearance of these children are one example of how the universe has been damaged, Barry and Iris West allow Wally to be taken to Sanctuary to essentially get him to shut up about his missing kids. He is abandoned by the people he viewed as parents. And this is what leads to Wally’s breakdown. Despite knowing his children are out there somewhere, “Heroes in Crisis” tries to demonize Wally for wanting his family back and it’s used to make him into a suicidal mass murderer. Wally’s problems make him into a villain. He’s driven mad with grief when he hacks the Sanctuary computer thinking no one has gone through what he has, and is broken when he experiences all that trauma at once. All this because he wanted something that was perfectly rational for him to want.

Wally’s trauma is used to dehumanize him.

The dehumanization doesn’t stop there, especially in the case of Poison Ivy who is turned into a plot device for Harley Quinn’s sake.

Never forget this was a thing that Clay Mann drew and DC would’ve used before it got leaked.

This was supposed to be the cover for the seventh issue, Ivy’s bloody corpse done like a pin-up.

After being treated as Harley’s motivation for most of the series, Ivy’s revived but in such a way she’s lost most of her humanity. She gets turned into a rip off of Swamp Thing and her body is more plant than human, no longer having nipples or a vagina. She’s been murdered and brought back in a way that will let DC sexualize her as much as they want now that she’s not human anymore. But this is supposed to be treated as GOOD because she’s supposedly more powerful now and she’s alive. Like that doesn’t change the shameful way she was killed, and how she came to Sanctuary hoping to get help for the awful things that haunt her and it got her killed.

Ivy’s long been a very complex character herself and many people have looked at her as a strong, interesting, intelligent queer woman who ultimately only wants to save the Earth and be with the woman she loves. But she’s frequently the villain in her stories and often told she doesn’t understand what real love is. Instead of being recognized for the complex character and inspiration she is, Ivy also has her trauma used against her as an excuse for to be sent to die and LITERALLY be dehumanized. So what does that say to the women who resonate with her? The queer readers? What does that say?

The leaking of the Sanctuary files is also supposed to be seen as good. Wally claims he did it because he thought if people saw someone like him could make a mistake, they’d get help before he did something bad like him. That if they saw their heroes had problems, they��d get help too.

IT’S TRYING TO VALIDATE THIS VIOLATION OF PRIVACY AND HOW ALL THESE PROBLEMS ARE TURNED INTO A MEDIA SIDESHOW THANKS TO LOIS LANE AND SUPERMAN.

And Wally turns himself in he’s left to rot in jail, more alone than ever. Where’s the supposed help now?

But Booster Gold gets to hang with Blue Beetle and Harley’s with Ivy and it’s supposed to be about hope by showing no matter what mistakes you make it’s not too late and blah blah whatever that last issue was. It tries to pretend all this suffering and misery was worth it because now Wally really can represent hope by being an example!

Bros before heroes!

These people went to get help or were sent to get help, and instead they were ignored. They were killed. Their problems turned into jokes. They had their problems used against them after they died when all they wanted was to be better.

WANTING TO GET BETTER IS NOT A REASON WHY ANYONE SHOULD HAVE TO DIE. NO ONE DESERVES TO BE TREATED LIKE AN AFTERTHOUGHT LIKE THIS.

One of the worst thing out of all this is knowing NONE OF THE CHARACTERS USUALLY ACT LIKE THIS. The reason why Wally accidentally killed everyone is because King makes up a retcon involving the Speed Force that was never, EVER mentioned in any Flash comic before. He makes up things on the fly to justify why any of the characters are there at all. Someone once said how, and I’m paraphrasing, “A story should be made to fit the characters, the characters shouldn’t be made to fit the story.” It’s been clear to a lot of people this book was blatant character assassination and Dan Didio’s latest attempt to finally get rid of Wally West because he hates him and all the other legacy characters so much. A story about PTSD that could’ve been meaningful and helped people got hijacked to destroy a character. To use their trauma as a tool to make them do something horrible. To exploit trauma for shock value and dehumanize not just the characters but the people who read these books and identified with the struggles and I

HATE IT!!!!!!! 

It hurts because so many people care about these characters, and Didio would use a story that could’ve been uplifting to carry out his petty hatred.

This has been it, month after month for me. I’d get mad, and I would try to take my mind off it. I’d write fan fiction and commission artwork making fun of “Heroes in Crisis,” I’d try to vent on the internet and explain why I hate this comic. I’d connect with friends and other fans who’re equally unhappy, and I’d just feel myself getting worse and worse. I’ve had trouble sleeping thinking about this comic, stress dreams and laying awake at night before I’d start to think about how I’m a bad person too and wishing over and over again to die and end everything. To stop being a blight on the world and give it to someone who deserves to live. More importantly, that crushing sense of not being able to do anything to make this better. This powerlessness to try and change things for the better. Wishing I could do something to make it better and thinking about all the other ways I’ve failed in life. The loved ones and friends who died and I couldn’t help them. The unhappiness in my family. The state of the world. And then I’d think about how much I hate myself even more because there are more important things to worry about in the world, like what that rapist monster in the White House is doing to this country and to anyone who’s not a straight white man.

The week the final issue came out I knew right off it was going to be a train wreck and I was right. A disappointing ending to a disappointing story. More feelings of anxiety and self loathing and a feeling that my problems are nothing but a joke to mocked and exploited.

While all this was going on I had other things to worry about. In March my grandfather was hospitalized with a number of health problems due to a urinary tract infection. He spent a week gradually becoming confused and losing energy before he was taken to the emergency room when he said he was having trouble breathing. It turned out he also had a cyst, a clot, and bleeding in his brain. As me, my mom and sibling worried about his health we also had to worry about our house because my grandfather pays most of the rent and if his pension had to go towards a nursing home, we would have to move. So while worrying about my 92 year old grandfather’s health I also had to worry about possibly losing my house. And while he was recovering at the rehab hospital he had to go back to the ER again on Easter when we were told he fell during the night. He’s in another nursing home and he’s doing better thankfully, but he’s also the last grandparent I have and I’m not ready to lose him when he’s held onto his mind for so long.

So what exactly happened when the ninth issue came out that pushed me?

This past Thursday while I was at work, I get a call from my mother saying she thinks someone might be in our house because she went downstairs into my grandpa’s apartment and all the doors were open. I don’t know why she didn’t call the police or what she thought I could do since I wasn’t even in the Bronx. *Sigh* I tried to get my dad to come pick me up sooner so I could check out what was wrong and I was trying not to panic even when my mom texts me saying she’s okay but she locked her bedroom door and she’s got a blunt object. Then she says maybe it was nothing after all...

And then I get home and I see the garage door is wide open and it’s a disaster, as if someone trashed the place. I can’t get my dad out of the car and he just says “Call the police” as if he doesn’t care. I run into the house and begin checking the rooms in my grandpa’s apartment before grabbing a kitchen knife and going back to the garage. I then tell my mom what’s happened to the garage and it’s like I’m invisible. I can’t even get her outside to look and she’s more concerned about getting her dinner from around the corner. She tells me “It’s not like no one’s gotten in the garage before.”

AFTER SHE GETS ME WORKED UP THINKING SOMEONE WAS IN OUR HOUSE. AND I COME HOME AND THEY MIGHT’VE TRASHED THE GARAGE.

I literally can’t understand what was going through her head when she gave me this runaround. And I call her on it the next day, telling her how scared she got me and how it felt when she acted like I was making a big deal of nothing. I was frightened she could’ve been alone in the house with an intruder, because obviously she felt the same way if she wanted to lock herself in her bedroom. She STILL acted like it was no big deal and it’s like 2010 all over again and I’m being expected to drop everything to help her and she won’t give me any courtesy or empathy.

And then not even an hour later that Friday I get an email from my boss about a secret shopper thing and I rush to get my phone seeing he’s tried to call me. And he’s saying he’s mad at me because of something I did on Tuesday that might get our distribution license suspended or taken away completely. I’m thinking this is because of me. Because I screwed up. And I’ve had this job since I graduated high school and I might’ve ruined it completely.

And that mixed with how it’s like my mother has played fucking mindgames with me and all the other feelings and the general anger and hopelessness and thinking over and over it’s not going to get better I picked up that knife again and held it to my wrist while my boss was still on the phone.

I had it pressed against my skin and wanted to dig it in deeper.

I kept thinking “I CAN’T DO THIS I CAN’T DO THIS” seeing everything all at once, over and over again and...

I-I don’t know. Maybe just a part of me that said not to do it or something. Maybe because despite all my talk of wanted to die I don’t.

I don’t want to die.

So I put the knife down before I cut myself.

I went to work at my second job and I scheduled an emergency session with my therapist, and I tried to write.

So it’s Monday morning and I’m typing this and wondering now, if anyone actually reads this what kind of shit will I expect if people actually bother to read it.

I’m a loser who needs to get a life

I read the story wrong

I didn’t understand the story

I need to get laid

I’m just mad my favorite character died

I hate it because Tom King’s a good writer

I’m a contrarian who hates it because it’s popular

I don’t know what I’m talking about

I’m a whiny f****t

I’m conceited enough to think Tom King may ever actually read this and have him say “I’m sorry you reacted this way”

This isn’t the story King wanted to tell and he had good intentions

OH SCREW YOUR FUCKING “GOOD INTENTIONS”

My teachers had “Good intentions”

My parents had “Good intentions”

AND I AM STILL FUCKING PAYING FOR IT

I am so sick of hearing about “Good intentions.” Just because a person had good intentions doesn’t absolve them of messing up! King apparently handed in a basic outline and let editorial pick the characters. If King had good intentions, he would’ve bothered to do research on the characters instead of turning them into jokes. If he had good intentions he would’ve done a better job of showing how therapy actually CAN help people. He wouldn’t have given us a story all about death and suffering and say it’s about hope. If he had good intentions he wouldn’t have let Didio use this to get rid of Wally West.

You want to talk about people with ACTUAL good intentions? How about we talk about the people out there who’ve written about abuse and trauma and suicidal thoughts and how to address those things in ways that MATTER. In ways that don’t alienate people and can grant a better understanding of ways to act.

In ways that say “I see you. I understand you and know what you’ve gone through. You’re stronger than you think.”

Let’s talk about Jeremy Whitley writing “The Unstoppable Wasp” where Nadia Pym has a manic episode and attacks her friends, and has to be talked down from killing herself by her friend Priya because her own brother committed suicide.

Let’s talk about how Priya describes the world Nadia would create if she killed herself and convinces her she deserves to live because she makes everyone happy and she is a good person no matter what she is thinking right now.

Let’s talk about Magdalene Visaggio’s “Eternity Girl” where Caroline Sharp is a suicidal immortal superhero who wants to destroy reality because she thinks it’s the only way she can die, and her girlfriend Dani convinces her that she can build a new world for herself instead of destroying this one because Caroline’s stronger than her misery and has the power to choose what she wants.

Let’s talk about Chris Claremont’s disgust at how Carol Danvers had been brainwashed and raped and sent off to live with her rapist while her friends did nothing to help her and thought this was a HAPPY ENDING

Let’s talk about how he had Carol dress down the Avengers for the shameless way they treated her and abandoned her when she needed them

Let’s talk about Jim Salicrup and Louise Simonson working on the “Spider-Man and Power Pack” special which showed the right ways to address child abuse.

How Salicrup was able to make Spider-Man into a sexual abuse survivor without it being a joke and how his story helped a little boy tell his parents what happened to him. And how this helped Spider-Man accept what happened to him was not his fault.

How Simonson wrote about the Power Pack supporting a friend being sexually abused by her father and how they convince her she did nothing to deserve this.

Let’s talk about Rachel Pollack’s Doom Patrol run which showed that trauma is not the end of someone’s existence and that people can be happy despite what’s happened to them

Let’s talk about George and Marion who despite the trauma of having lost their bodies and being used as slaves they still choose to smile and enjoy life and love each other

Let’s talk about Kate Godwin, a transgender woman who changed her body to match the person she was inside despite what people said about her and treated her, and found a community that supported her and loved her and is a strong, good woman with the power and the empathy to help others

A woman who was outraged when a person tried to make her believe she’d been gang raped and needed trauma to make her life more meaningful.

SO TALK ABOUT ALL OF THEM AND TELL ME ABOUT KING’S “GOOD INTENTIONS”

NO ONE NEEDS TRAUMA IN THEIR LIFE TO MAKE IT MEANINGFUL. FINDING HAPPINESS AFTER YOU’VE SURVIVED SOMETHING HORRIBLE DOESN’T MAKE THAT SOMETHING HORRIBLE JUSTIFIED.

You can’t look at stories like “Heroes in Crisis” and say “Oh it’s okay because in the end it was worth it because it taught us something” and NO. IT IS NOT OKAY. HAVING YOUR PROBLEMS LAUGHED AT AND MOCKED AND DEGRADED AND TRIVIALIZED IS NEVER OKAY. NOT FROM THE PEOPLE YOU CARE ABOUT. NOT TOTAL STRANGERS. NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO DO THAT.

So yeah, maybe I am fucking pathetic for ranting about this and I should get a life and talk about more important things but I don’t fucking care! I’m angry about this and I’m gonna be angry for a long time! I’m angry about this story and I’m angry about how it affected me and the people I care about and people I don’t know and I will always be angry with myself that I tried to kill myself because of how this book made me feel and affected what I was going through.

Because stories are important to our lives. They can help us get through every day and they can make our problems not seem so bad. They can give us the strength to look at the bad parts of our life and think maybe they can change. That WE can change. We read about these people and we connect with them. We see things in them we wish to be like or things that are already in us and it can make us feel like we aren’t alone.

And even when stories aren’t enough they can help us find the people who can tell us these things. To help us find people who would care about us, and to care about them so maybe WE can help them. They’re a gateway.

So no, it’s not just a fucking comic book. And no, I don’t care what the intentions were. And I don’t care how pathetic this all sounds.

This, this was a bad story. This was a harmful story. And people deserve better. We don’t deserve to keep living in an age where stories like this, that can make us feel like we’re nothing, keep happening. We deserve stories that show us our lives are not defined by our trauma, we are NOT jokes, we are strong, and we deserve to live. That is not what “Heroes in Crisis” was and you will never convince me otherwise.

I had problems long before this story came out. I do not blame it for things that happened to me before. I do not blame it for my assault and abuse. I blame it for making me feel more like I don’t deserve to live and that what I’ve gone through doesn’t matter. I blame it for making me feel like my hard work and attempts to make my life better are meaningless.

This is not okay.

You wanna fucking blast me for this, go right ahead.

[thestraggletag]

Human Nature, Part One

AN: Happy Birthday to me! Here’s a fic I wrote to commemorate the day. Part two needs editing but will be along shortly. Enjoy!

Also can someone please write a better summary? This is an honest request. It can be my birthday present.

Rating: R

Summary: Warm Bodies AU. After the zombie apocalypse is averted it’s up to Belle French to rehabilitate a mostly-dead Mr Gold, against advice of the experts and the wishes of the entire town. As she struggles to fan the spark of humanity back into Mr Gold she fails to notice something else kindling between them.

It took months to get back to Storybrooke after the beginning of what was known as "the treatment" by which most of who'd been affected by the zombie-like virus slowly regained their humanity. It was slow-going, the process done with an overabundance of caution that nobody begrudged, taking into account what the years before had been like. The outbreak had lasted a little under five years, but it had seemed like months, and so much had changed in that time that life before seemed like a distant memory. The idea of just picking up where everyone left off was an impossible fantasy.

When Brisbane had been hit Belle, who'd been visiting relatives at the time, had been lucky enough to get evacuated to Hamilton Island, where the only undead she'd been close to where relatives of locals, who could not bear to put them down and so kept them locked away in the basement of the local pet shelter. Once word of the treatment reached them most of them had been successfully rehabilitated, and soon after that she'd made her way back to the mainland, to be of help where she could and find out news about her family and friends.

She'd first heard news of Storybrooke from Ruby, when internet access was restored. The town had taken a hit, like most, but efforts were underway to rehabilitate as many people as possible. She cried with her friend when she called her to tell her Granny had called her by her name. Speech was a big step in the treatment, and it was then that they both knew that Mrs Lucas was going to make it.

She had to wait a long time for flights to be restored, and by then things were mostly under control. She'd heard from Ruby and others that Storybrooke was a sort of success story unlike any other, with all services restored, schools open and a rehabilitation rate that defied expectations, and a lot of it was attributed to the iron will of Madam Mayor and the security efforts of the Town Sheriff. Quite the formidable power couple, according to Ruby. She thought their love story surrounding their shared son was very cute, as far as apocalyptic tales went.

And though she had thought at first that Ruby's boundless optimism in the face of Granny's recovery was prompting her to paint a rather misleading picture of how things were back home when she finally made it back to town she had to admit it looked as good as she'd described. There were some signs of destruction, some roadblocks that were still only half-cleared and half the buildings seemed to be in the process of repair but there was an air of orderly normality that she hadn't seen in other places. Ruby had been there to pick her up from the bus stop, squealing and hugging her for the longest time before commenting on her silver-streaked hair, telling her she loved it.

"You can totally get hair dye, the pharmacy is up and running again- no idea how Mayor Mills did it but it's almost completely restocked, she must have made some interesting calls to well-connected people- but I kinda dig the look. Goes with your more angular features."

It was a nice spin on things, as if her thinner body and grey hair were audacious fashion choices and not the product of hunger and stress. The upbeat attitude was decidedly contagious, specially once she saw that her beloved library was mostly undamaged. Boarded up still, and a little worse for wear on the outside, but the inside was just as she had left it. She commented on it to Granny as the woman forced a second helping of pie on her. For someone who had undergone the treatment she didn't really look it, with the exception of a slight stiffness to her movements.

"I'm glad the town council moved so quickly to board it up."

"They had nothing to do with it. It was Gold and his crew, mainly that huge mammoth of a man that worked for him, Dove. Did it by themselves, with the help of Marco."

Though Granny's tone was as gruff and as acid as it always was when she talked of the pawnbroker Belle felt a pleasant warmth bloom in her. She'd always had a soft spot for the Scotsman, something she knew was a bit of an unpopular opinion in Storybrooke. He had always had a smile and a polite comment or two for her whenever she saw her, was a staunch ally of the library in town council meetings and was keen on chatting about a book when he returned it, which he always did in person. Once or twice they’d sat together when Granny’s was too full and his was the only table with spare seats. People had warned her after the first time they’d shared a cup of tea in public that she was better off staying as far away from possible from him, but she had refused to comply, specially when she caught the bias in a lot of the stories, like the one Ashley Boyd spun, about Mr Gold cruelly charging interest for the rent of a meager little flat after having been “a little bit late” on the rent. She was never specific about how late till Belle asked, and she reluctantly admitted it was over two months, even past the grace period contemplated on the rental agreement.

“Still, who threatens to evict a young couple with a newborn baby and nowhere to go?”

Ashley was also always careful not to mention her father-in-law, well-off and with more than enough room in his house to host his only son and his wife for a lengthy period of time. Belle could see how her tale of woe lost a little of the dramatic edge with the addition of those pesky details. So she had carried on being friendly with the pawnbroker, even if it made people look at her funny and sometimes whisper behind her back. Just one of the many things that made her strange in the little town, along with her accent and habit of reading in the strangest of moments and places. She hadn’t cared.

“That was so kind of him. I must go over to his house and thank him.”

She hadn’t seen the Scotsman around since her return, but she’d assumed he was busy either with repairs to his home or perhaps the shop, or even trying to restore order to his many properties. He was a fastidious landlord and considering his nature she imagined he’d be one of those people eager to set the world to rights, to restore order.

“You haven’t told her?”

Granny looked at Ruby reproachfully, though she tried to shrug it off. The old woman sighed, not-quite managing to roll her eyes.

“He was amongst the people infected during a breach a couple of years ago. We’ve been told he’s in treatment, but not responding well. It doesn’t quite work on everyone, as you know.”

It felt impossible, at first. Mr Gold was such a vital part of Storybrooke that it made no sense for the town to be still standing without him. He was also so strong, despite his short stature and his reliance on a cane to walk, that it made no sense to think that even the outbreak could’ve gotten to him. He was the sort of man she would expect to survive the apocalypse, if not thrive in it.

It wasn’t until a couple of days later, when she overheard Katherine Knight talk about “visiting Freddie” that she gave more thought about Mr Gold’s situation. Frederick Knight, Katherine’s husband, was amongst the people still being treated and it had not occurred to her that visits to those infected were not only possible, but desirable. It was human contact, after all, the key to guide those afflicted back to their humanity. Contact and communication with loved ones, with people near and dear, was even better, capable of speeding up the process. And she was sure that, though not close, Mr Gold had considered her a friend. She certainly knew him enough to be of help, and she couldn’t imagine people would much object to her taking him off their hands for a couple of hours a day.

It was with a sinking heart that she learned that, though the treatment of the infected was officially managed by the local hospital, the actual efforts were overseen by Mother Superior and her gaggle of nuns, all of which had survived the apocalyptic events. They had done so mostly because the good Mother had ordered the convent’s doors to be bolted at the first sign of trouble. The sisters had spent the entire apocalypse safe behind the tall walls of the convent, living off the produce from the gardens and closing their ears to the pleas for help from outside.

It was no wonder Mother Superior had decided to offer the services of her little lambs when hands were needed to treat the infected once it was discovered this could be done. It was a way to change the narrative, to erase whatever ill-feelings there remained in town regarding the nuns. It was also a way to position herself in a place of power and relevance, one she relished with little subtlety, it seemed to her. She was practically goading when she turned Belle away, telling her Mr Gold was unfit to receive visits of any kind, and that she could give her no further information.

The rumours she heard were not encouraging. People whispered about Mr Gold lashing out against anybody that dared approach him, about him savagely attacking orderlies and snapping out of restraints with a brute force surprising even in an infected. Too violent to be cured, people said, a beast on the outside as he’d always been on the inside. So thin and haggard, in such a state of rot, that he was practically a boney. The town seemed quite content to do nothing about it, so she decided in the end to take the matter to the mayor. Regina Mills was the closest thing Mr Gold had to family. They’d known each other since she was a baby- there were some unsavoury stories about the pawnbroker and Regina’s mother, but nothing anyone could corroborate- and though they usually bickered they seemed to have a certain respect and fondness for each other, at least from what she’d been able to see.

To her credit Regina did seem to share her concerns regarding Mr Gold- Hell, even Sheriff Swan, not his biggest fan, seemed sympathetic- but didn’t think much could be done about it.

“I wish I could tell you Mother Superior or the orderlies at the hospital were exaggerating, Miss French, but I’ve been to see Mr Gold. Even restrained he was quite violent, and my presence seemed to agitate him more than help him. I believe everything that could be done for him is being done. He’s simply… not responding as he should. I am told it happens.”

She seemed to be honestly contrite, which gave her the opening she needed to convince her to demand the hospital let her visit. It took a while, and some back and forth, but she was finally given permission, though begrudgingly, by Dr Whale and Mother Superior. She was full of cautious optimism that morning, joining Mary Margaret Nolan in the hospital entrance lobby to wait for visiting hours to start, listening intently as the schoolteacher told her that she was hopeful her husband would be released soon, given his progress.

Her enthusiasm waned somewhat when Mary Margaret was ushered along a brightly-lit corridor and she in turn was escorted to a key-coded door that led to the basement, and taken down a flight of stairs into a dark hall, where a clearly-recovering orderly was mopping the floors. She was told to go to the “cell at the end”, a phrase that did away with the rest of her cheerfulness. The air down there was damp and stale, and mold grew on certain areas along the walls and in corners. The floor was solid concrete, with an abundance of thin, spidery cracks, and there were heavy metal doors to her left, with small covered windows slots further down that remained shut, but likely was meant for trays.

She found him when she peered into the third door, though it was difficult to see him at first because the cell was unlit but for the light that shone from a small barred window high above and he was in a shadowy corner, standing still. It was only when her eyes adjusted to the darkness that she began to make out his silhouette, and later more and more details. In many ways it was easy to recognise him: custom suit, slightly-uneven gait, favouring one leg clearly over the other, and shaggy hair a tad too long to be respectable. At the same time, however, the man in the cell looked like a complete stranger: rail-thin, with his trousers torn and his suit jacket in tatters. He wasn’t even wearing a tie, something she’d never seen Mr Gold without. The eyes, however, were the most striking difference: clouded over, almost milky-white, dull and unfocused.

“Oh, Mr Gold…”

The living corpse seemed to shudder, head tilting back to sniff the air. She braced herself for anything, any sudden movement or anything that could remotely be construed as violent, but nothing happened. There was definitely something different, though, an awareness that hadn’t been there before. He could certainly smell her, she knew that, and had likely heard her loud and clear- infected tended to have their sense of smell and hearing heightened, even while their organs and muscles deteriorated. So he knew she was there, but did not attack her, did not seem interesting in doing her harm. The way it seemed there wasn’t anything inherently aggressive or incurable about him, he simply had been left alone to rot.

If no one was gonna do anything about it she would.

She decided the best way to establish any sort of relationship was through something she knew Mr Gold enjoyed. She set aside several afternoons a week to sit down on the hard concrete floor next to Mr Gold’s door and read him, choosing books from his favourite authors and genres. She started with Borges, which he had often checked out, and Irvine Welsh, along with some Cortázar and Verne. She would sneak in, unsure whether Mother Superior wouldn’t try to stop her if she knew what she was trying to do, and spend hours reading and drinking tea. Sometimes Ruby would sneak her something to eat- she had decided early on that she needed at least one person who knew where she was going and what she was doing just in case, specially when it became clear no one went to the basement except her. No nuns, no doctors, no one. People were literally waiting for Mr Gold to turn to dust, too squeamish to outright put a bullet in his brain and be done with it but in no real rush to see him recover either.

Spite became a motivator during those afternoons were things didn’t seem to be progressing and it looked like she was wasting her time. Mr Gold would like that, she thought privately. She felt an odd sort of camaraderie when she thought about sticking it to the nuns, about the expression on Mother Superior’s face if she succeeded. She told him about that, and about the progress being made around town. At some point she started calling him by his first name- Ramsay, a confession he made when she’d playfully teased him about having “R. Gold” as the name on his library card- thinking it might spark something.

She would feed him too, whatever large chunks of raw meat she could get from Granny, who she suspected was well aware of what she was doing but said nothing. She was fully cured, herself, with minimal sequels, but her experience seemed to have made her empathetic to Mr Gold’s plight. She had retained some of the incredible sense of hearing she’d enjoyed while undead. It wasn’t unheard of for people to keep a trait or two from their sickness, though it was rare. In some cases the infection had cause certain irreparable changes to their physiognomy, specially in those further gone.

Fortunately for Belle Mr Gold enjoyed the raw meat, though she never saw him eat it. She’d leave it before heading back to the library and it’d be gone in the morning, tray licked clean but Mr Gold back in his corner. It was a relief, somewhat, to see him lose some of his boney appearance, though he was still rail-thin, little more than skin and bones.

Her first big break happened during an ordinary afternoon, while she sat and read to him something by Horacio Quiroga. Mr Gold rather liked the dark short stories, and though some people might have thought them inappropriate reading material for a recovering zombie Belle disagreed, thinking that anything that might elicit a response from Mr Gold, any response at all, was worth trying.

It was while she was nearing the end of The Feather Pillow that she heard a shuffling and later a thump right on the other side of the door. Tentatively she knocked on the metal door, barely containing a happy laugh when something on the other side knocked back, slow but surely. It was the first time that Mr Gold acknowledged her at all and thought it was a small thing it felt like something monumental. It put a smile on her face so bright Ruby teased her about it for weeks, and prompted her to take a leap of faith one afternoon and open the latch that kept the small window on the door covered. There was no glass to further separate them so she was able to tentatively slip her hand through the opening.

“Come here, Ramsay. Come on, you know me. It’s okay.”

Mr Gold did perk up somewhat, and later dragged himself across the room. She forced herself not to flinch as he leaned forward, his nose almost brushing her skin as he breathed in deeply, hesitantly at first but pressing closer when something about the scent seemed to catch his attention or spark something in him. He never made a move to bite so for the longest time Belle just stood there, on her tippy-toes to be able to pass most of her arm through the opening, fighting the urge to pull back. Her fear gave way to cautionary optimism and later awe at the way Mr Gold practically rubbed his entire face against her hand, as if the notion of skin to skin contact was some sort of miracle. He breathed her deeply now, big lungfuls of her scent, nose pressed tightly against her palm or the underside of her wrist, his expression almost desperate. He made a sort of whining noise when she was forced to pull her arm back, and followed her hand until he physically couldn’t anymore.

She cried later that night, back in the safety of her library, away from prying eyes, part out of sheer relief and part out of anger and sadness at the thought that Mr Gold had been left to rot not because he was beyond help, but rather because it was so convenient. So many people had been given second chances once the rebuilding had started, people who had committed questionable or even downright despicable acts during the apocalypse. Ruby had warned her at the beginning about some, like Keith Nott and Greg Aston, who had taken to the chaos of the past years like ducks to water, had grown unruly and dangerous. She had heard only half-stories, mostly from Ruby, mostly things no one could prove or cared to now that the human race had another chance and the population was in dire need of able-bodied men to rebuild and reproduce. If Storybrooke was ready to embrace lowlifes like those they would have to get used to having Mr Gold back, and she’d call out anyone who dared fight her on that on their hypocrisy.

From then on it became routine to let him smell her. Mr Gold seemed to look forward to it, being sure to stay close to the door and letting out a growly sort of purr when she reached out to him. He was also eager to let himself be stroked and his hair petted, which took a bit of getting used to but to her made sense. Mr Gold had always avoided contact as a rule. Though he sometimes tended to invade people’s personal space as a tactic to put them ill at ease, he usually skirted human touch. She’d had occasion to make a study of it,  back before the apocalypse, down to how Mr Gold almost always wore gloves on rent day and avoided passing anything hand to hand. She had noticed that once he got familiar with her he let his guard down a bit and sometimes allowed casual touches, fingers brushing over a book exchanging hands, things of that nature. But he’d always shied away from further contact.

Belle had long ago come to the conclusion that he must have been very touch-starved, given how little actual skin to skin contact he seemed to experience day to day. She had seen him flex his fingers often, his hands and entire body full of nervous energy, of a sort of yearning for what he denied himself. Now, stripped of all human pretenses, without the need to protect himself from others, he was seeking out that which he needed like he hadn’t allowed himself before. She told him over and over that it was alright, that he was allowed to want and seek affection, that she would never use it against him or otherwise harm him with the knowledge. She hoped it would stick on the back of his mind, so he wouldn’t be embarrassed when he was himself again, or wary of her.

She hadn’t expected it to feel so… powerful. So heady, to have someone like Mr Gold, who always seemed larger-than-life, lean on her so trustingly, so eagerly. To have a creature capable of immense feats of strength, of untold violence, purr under her touch like a kitten. She’d always wanted to do it, to reach out and give some sort of comfort to Mr Gold, a little bit of the affection he was sorely missing. It was precisely why she told herself to be cautious and not rush into things, given her impulsive nature. If she botched things now, if she lost her progress or got into a situation she couldn’t handle, Mr Gold might never recover. She was sure any excuse would be enough for people to demand he be “put out of his misery”. She couldn’t afford mistakes or miscalculations.

So she took things slow, and kept things close to the chest. Best no one knew of her progress until she could get Mr Gold talking a little, enough to prove without a shadow of a doubt that he was on the mend, and that killing him would be killing a human being and not some well-dressed boney. So she went about her day as normal as possible, helping set the town to rights, cleaning the library, helping Dove with the community garden that grew on some land belonging to Mr Gold and that was still a vital source of a lot of produce the town consumed, though the normal flow of goods and services was slowly being re established across the estate. Dove was an attentive gardener and the work was strangely soothing. She set her afternoons aside for Mr Gold, though, reluctant to miss a day and cause a potential regression. And it helped her too, helped her deal with what she’d lived through, the peace and companionship she found in the basement of the hospital, with Mr Gold. In the hope that sparked in her every time she caught a glimpse of his eyes and they looked less cloudy and more focused, more alive.

She was so focused on those things, so eager to escape to her afternoon trysts, that she forgot to pay proper attention to her surroundings. It was night when she left the hospital, later than she’d realised, but nothing seemed amiss at first. Even after she heard something she didn’t immediately panic. The Rabbit Hole was close to the hospital, and people were still getting celebratory drunk in honour of the ending of the apocalypse. Sheriff Swan was good about keeping things controlled, all things considered. 

It wasn’t until they were almost upon her that she noticed them, staggering around shouting at her, some slurred lewd proposition that made her walk faster, but nothing else. When she chanced a glance back she felt the first true jolt of fear, recognising easily the tall, lanky man as Gregory Aston, which made the other man following her his buddy Keith. Greg had made some advances before the apocalypse, which she hadn’t returned, much to his displeasure. But back then they had both lived in a society with strict rules that limited whatever he might have wanted to do when he was rejected. Now he strutted around Storybrooke getting into fights and using his brute strength to get whatever he wanted, having grown used to the more violent times of the apocalypse, when his fighting ability had given him a position of prominence. Keith, on the other hand, had thrived in the smuggling business, specially of drugs, and was still active. Emma was a competent sheriff but the problems of a town like Storybrooke in the post-apocalypse were many, and the resources of the sheriff’s office were limited.

Being the stupid sort of drug dealer one would’ve expected from Keith he often tested his merchandise and shared it with close pals, which included Greg. Belle could see it the closer they got to her, the tell-tale signs of a person under the influence of more than just alcohol.

“Hey, Belle, wait up, we wanna talk to you!”

She began to seriously consider her options. The library was too far away, and it was too late for Granny’s to be open. The station was close by, but the sheriff was doing rounds so no one would be there. It seemed safer to go back to the hospital, where there was bound to be at least a couple of nurses on their night shift.

“Hey, you frigid bitch, I know you can hear us!”

Running probably was ill-advised, but at some point Belle couldn’t fight her instincts anymore. The relief she felt when she burst through the doors of the hospital was short-lived. The reception area was deserted, and access to the rest of the hospital seemed to be blocked, a precaution typical of the days of the apocalypse that people seemed to still be keeping. Frantically she went to the one door she knew the combination to, but when she tried to close it behind her it was wrenched from her grasp, either by Greg or Keith, she didn’t bother to look. Someone grabbed her arm when she raced down the stairs, but years of surviving in a high-stress environment had given her sharp reflexes that helped her pull herself free.

“There’s nowhere to run, sweetheart. We promise we’ll be nice, we just want to be nice to you, Belle.”

She didn’t know when she made the decision. It was in a split second, more instinctual than anything else. Mr Gold’s cell was bolted from the outside but not locked, she’d noticed that from the beginning. She’d been tempted to open the door so many times, but she’d restrained herself. But now adrenaline was rushing through her and the survival instinct that had kept her alive through hell on Earth moved her to make a quick decision, to seek out safety. Without pausing to second-guess herself she unbolted the door, pushing her way inside and closing it behind her.

“Got ourselves a room, how nice.”

“Hope there’s a bed inside!”

It was dark inside the cell. The only light came from the corridor and was too faint to reach inside. Belle knew she was not alone in the room but she could not hear or see Mr Gold. The infected got very good at being quiet and staying out of sight, like the best of predators, which wasn’t an altogether-reassuring thought. Greg and Keith stumbled inside the room, uncoordinated and sluggish from drink and whatever else they’d consumed, and Belle stepped back, seeking who she knew was there.

“Now, Belle, this doesn’t need to be bad. Ugly. We can… can treat you right. Make it good. We’re nice guys.”

Greg had always said that. Belle was sure that, against all odds, he believed it. Even as he clamped a hand around her arm, with enough force to make her wrist hurt, to make her cry out in pain and fight to wrench herself free. Even as Keith laughed next to him, clumsily pawing at his belt. There was a second of all-consuming fear, the kind that paralysed the muscles and made it difficult to breathe. Then there was a growl and she felt rather than saw an arm wrap around her waist and pull her backwards. Another arm went across her chest, securing her against something solid behind her.

“Holy fuck, what the-?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The sheer terror in both men’s eyes was almost amusing, if it weren’t for the fact that Belle felt the same. Mr Gold’s face was next to hers, snarling, teeth bared in a clear warning. She wanted to say something, so that he’d recognise her as a friend, let himself be soothed, perhaps, but nothing came out. Greg and Keith scrambled backwards, fighting to be the first ones out the door, bolting it behind them for good measure before running away, the sound of their footsteps eventually fading into nothing. They weren’t going to look for help, she knew it. Too messy for them, too dangerous. They’d left her alone, perhaps even hoping Mr Gold would take care of her so she wouldn’t go telling tales and for a moment her anger overcame her fear, so thoroughly that she didn’t notice Gold’s head move, his nose coming to press against her neck. He took a deep, audible breath and Belle froze again, part of her bracing herself for a bite. But none came, Mr Gold seemingly content to scent her. Slowly Belle felt fear drain out of her, allowing her to somewhat compose herself.

“It’s just me, Ramsay, Belle. You know  me, don’t you?”

He made a purring sound, the one  she’d grown so used to, and loosened his hold on her, not a drop of aggression on him. Belle tentatively petted his hair, excited now to be able to look at him so closely, to notice the very slight tint of pink on his cheeks and the slight warmth of his skin, signs of his recovering humanity. He, likewise, seemed curious about her, hands hovering near her, as if asking for permission to touch, to explore. And though he didn’t dare grab her again he had no problems pressing his nose close to whatever part of her he could reach. He spent long minutes scenting her hair, fingers ghosting over it, as if delighted by the feel of it. Fascinated and intrigued she let him proceed, allowing him to sniff at her forehead, down her neck and over her torso. It was strangely endearing, or at least until he pressed firmly against the juncture of her thighs, taking a deep breath in an attempt to scent her through her underwear and cotton shorts. 

“No!”

She pushed against his shoulders and he scrambled away, clearly feeling chastised by her tone and actions. He looked confused, as if unaware of whatever he’d done wrong, and whatever offence she might have felt a moment ago went up in smoke. Slowly, so as to not spook him, she sat down in the cot next to him and turned his face so they’d make eye-contact.

“Hey, Ramsey, I’m sorry. You didn’t know. It’s okay, Ramsey, I’m not mad.”

Something sparked in his eyes, and he tilted his head to the side, brow furrowing.

“R-r-r-r…” With a jolt, Belle realised he was trying to speak. It was more of a growl than anything else, but there seemed to be a purpose to it, a desire to shape it into something. “R-r-rum.”

He splayed a hand against his chest and repeated the word. Belle understood at once what he was trying to say.

“Yes, yes, that’s right. You’re Ramsay, that’s your name. Ramsay.”

She said it slowly, over and over again, delighting in the way he focused on her lips as they shaped out the word. He couldn’t quite repeat it, not entirely at least, but he recognised it without a doubt as his name, the first concrete proof that he could not only understand speech but that he had also recovered a sense of self, and at least partial access to his memories. He also seemed to realise it was a momentous occasion, his lips curling up into a shadow of a smile, looking more like Mr Gold than ever.

Knowing that certainly Ruby or Dove would report her missing tomorrow and that this would be an obvious place to check out, seeing as to how Emma and Regina suspected of her near-constant visits, she settled down to wait, lying down on the cot so her face was close to Mr Gold- Rum, now, in her mind- who was still on the floor, looking at her. She talked to him as one of her hands combed through his tangled hair, told him about Dove and how he was taking care of everything for him, about how the Library was ready for re-opening and how things were slowly returning to normal. There was an understanding in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, as if one more of many veiled had been lifted and he could see the world more clear now than before.

She didn’t recall falling asleep, but she must have at some point. When she awoke there was no panic, even when she registered the grey walls of the cell and the thin, hospital-issue mattress beneath her. Rum was next to her, sitting on the floor leaning against the cot and watching her from beneath a curtain of shaggy hair. It was, she was sure, longer than it had been weeks ago, another sign of his blossoming humanity to add to her list.

“Good morning, Rum.”

She pulled herself to a sitting position, looking around her. Now that there was slight coming into the room from the small window in a corner she could see the room properly, and winced at the signs of decay and disrepair. Surely it couldn’t be conductive to his recovery for him to be locked up in a place like that. She would need to try and convince Regina to do something about it, if she could somehow get the woman to the cell so she could see with her own eyes that Rum was on the mend, and certainly not a danger to anyone.

It was while she contemplated how to go about it all that she heard faint sounds, and later the murmur of voices. Someone shouted her name, desperately- Ruby, it sounded like- followed by others. Rum tensed up beside her, scrambling to stand between her and the door. She was about to try and calm him down when she was startled by the cell door being violently yanked open, Sheriff Swan stepping into the room with her revolver up and aimed squarely at the Scotsman’s head. Behind her Belle could see Ruby, David Nolan- who acted sometimes as Deputy Sheriff, and the major herself.

“No, wait!”

Thankfully for her Rum was a short man, so getting in front of him guaranteed Emma would be unable to shoot him in the head. It didn’t make her drop her stance, though, specially when she saw Rum grab her from behind and snarl. 

“Belle, what the fuck? Get out of the way!”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s okay. I’m okay. He’s not gonna hurt me. He’s not aggressive.”

She knew how ridiculous she sounded like, with Rum behind her, teeth bared and hands digging into her skin to the point where she had to admit hurt a little, but it was important that they understood.

“He… he’s on the mend. He just thinks you’re threatening me. Just… just stand down. He’ll relax.”

She wasn’t sure he would, but it was worth a try. Emma, to her credit, didn’t dismiss her words, and obviously noticed Rum was making no move to bite or otherwise attack her. She lowered her firearm and relaxed her posture, and little by little Belle felt Rum do the same behind her, though he kept one of his hands curled protectively on her shoulder, as if ready to yank her back at the first sign of trouble. She took advantage of the tentative peace to recount the events of last night, trying to be as detailed as possible. Though she got some sceptic looks she could see that at least Emma and Regina were considering part of what she was saying, particularly regarding Keith and Greg. When it came to Rum, however, the general consensus seemed to be that Belle was likely being a bit too optimistic, and there weren’t enough grounds to challenge the authority of Mother Superior regarding Mr Gold’s situation.

“No, you’re not listening to me. He’s on the mend. He knows who he is, he has memories. Look at him. At the colour of his skin, at his eyes. He’s better. He knows who I am, I’m sure.”

She stared at Emma, hard, as if daring the blonde to contradict her, to pat her on the head and tell her she was mistaken, confused, seeing things that weren’t there. To her surprise she felt Rum’s hand on her shoulder tighten.

“B-B-B-Be-Belle.”

It was more of a croak than anything, but there was no mistaking what he’d just said. Everyone froze in place and things were deadly quiet for a second or two. Belle could have sworn that when she chanced a glance at Rum there was something of the familiar Mr Gold smirk about him, the satisfied, smug look he often got after striking a deal or getting the better of people. Finally, after what felt like forever, Regina spoke.

“I can’t wait to see the look on Mother Superior’s face when I tell her this.”

Rum’s progress seemed to accelerate after that, though his vocabulary remained reduced. But his understanding of speech and his communication skills evolved immensely, and there was a constant awareness now of what was going on around him and a spark of intelligence that hadn’t been there before.. The major, likewise, was determined to make her own progress and before the week was out she managed to arrange a review of Mr Gold’s case with Dr Whale and Dr Hopper, against the express wishes of Mother Superior. Both reports were as positive as Belle could’ve hoped for, with Dr Hopper encouraging Mr Gold be moved to his own house for the remainder of his recovery, which was usually the next step once patients had developed enough understanding of the world around them.

Belle and Dove worked tirelessly to put Mr Gold’s house to rights, or as close to it as possible. Dove had boarded it up after Mr Gold had been infected, so it was quite the job to open it up again and clean it, but the inside was mostly well-preserved. All around Storybrooke news of the imminent release of the pawnbroker spread around fast, and the reception was more than a little chilly. No one dare take it up personally with Belle- apparently the first idiot to even insinuate something like that had had a pickaxe nearly flung at them by Leroy- but people definitely gave her hostile looks and were otherwise very vocal about how much better things would’ve been if Mr Gold had simply… faded away. It was disgusting and she was grateful that those closest to her seemed to be on the same page.

It was nighttime when Rum was officially discharged. He’d been already moved to a regular hospital room a day before in preparation and to administer any final tests and such. Afterwards they left him sitting in the hallway, which was where she found him. He visibly perked when he saw her, lips curling into that adorable half-smile that she remembered from years ago. He lurched forward towards her, which made her notice his limp was more pronounced than before. Infected people gained strength and agility due to the changes in their bodies, which could also strengthen injured bones and muscle. The more Rum’s body returned to its natural state the more his old injury reasserted itself. It was a strange sort of positive sign.

Thankfully the streets were deserted, like she’d hoped when she’d suggested Rum be released at night. They walked slowly, him leaning slightly against her for balance, looking around with unabashed hunger. He breathed in deeply, scenting the air, silently reveling in his freedom. Certain buildings and sights seemed to catch his attention, his eyes lingering on the diner, the library and specially on his pawnshop. When they finally got to the edge of town and he spotted his house he visibly moved faster, tugging her along and paying little attention to his dragging right leg as he all but sprinted towards it. His movements were still very wooden and stiff but the progress was astounding. 

The house was dimly lit, electricity still being strictly rationed, but Rum seemed to want to explore everything at once, at least until something seemed to occur to him and he darted awkwardly up the stairs. When she followed him she found him in his ensuite bathroom, shower already on. He was struggling to take his tattered clothes off, which was no easy feat given his current lack of dexterity. Belle helped him take his jacket off, trying not to smile at his slightly abashed look. What was left of his shirt was partly stuck to his undershirt and skin by grime and blood. It took ten minutes and a pair of scissors to peel the fabric off him safely. His torso was littered in half-healing bite marks and scratches and when she gently touched a couple of them he sighed, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I’m-m-m okay.” She didn’t realise until he tried to console her that she was crying. “Ev-v-v-very-thing is o-k-k-ay.”

His brogue was so thick it was difficult to understand him, and his voice was still raspy and harsh form disuse but the gentleness with which he sought to reassure her made his words soft as butter. She helped him out of the rest of his clothing, leaving his boxers on when it became clear he was not keen on the idea of having her remove them. She rummaged his walk-in closet for a pair of pants, fresh underwear and a t-shirt and left him to shower in peace. Afterwards- thankfully, dressing up had been easier for him than stripping down- she sat him down in front of a mirror and trimmed his hair at his request, pleased at the results. Showered and properly groomed Rum was looking more like himself than ever.

When she brought up the idea that she might stay the night- Dove had prepared a room for her just in case- he looked painfully relieved and agreed vigorously, not letting her out of his sight until she slipped into her own room, leaving the door ajar behind her. He shuffled into the room that she’d pointed out was his and laid on the bed, feeling a strange burning in his eyes, and a heaviness that he didn’t recognise at first. Minutes later he was asleep.

[turkleader]

[ooc]

Going through the Before Crisis scripts, I came across a fact that I hadn’t recalled from when I last dabbled in the game, and it struck me as such an incredible thing that I needed to bring it up.

...because apparently Reeve and Veld... “go way back.”

Now. Let me take a moment to elaborate the interest I have in this casually dropped fact during Episode 20 of BC.

At the beginning of Before Crisis, six years prior to the start of Final Fantasy VII, Reeve is not yet the Executive of the Department of Urban Development. According to information garnered from the sadly lost site, Gunshot Romance, Reeve--at the beginning of Before Crisis (around 0001/2/30 in the timeline)--is considered a “Representative of the Dept. of Urban Development”. By the time we move forward to the events in Episode 20, almost six full years have passed (Episode 20 is dated around 0007/2/10) and Reeve is now considered an executive of the company, having moved up to the highest position in his department as seen in the below excerpt from Episode 20:

Tseng Rosalind. The man we were discussing has left for the contact point.

Player The Head of Urban Development's Reeve, right? I wonder if he'll really cooperate with us.

Tseng That's what Veld said. We'll have to trust him.

We have further proof of Reeve’s promotion and climb through the ranks with this fascinating conversation between Tseng, the Player Turk (in this case, Gun), and Reeve as they discuss the Turks’ next move. Of particular interest are the translation notes provided by Gunshot Romance’s creator, Dark_Angel, excerpted here along with the part of the script:

Tseng We'll have to get there without being spotted by the army. How are we…

Reeve If you go by submarine from Junon, you shouldn't have too many problems.

Tseng But the submarines are overseen by the army.

Player We want to go without them noticing us.

Reeve You don't have to worry about that. If you sneak on board, by the time you're out of the harbour it'll be too late for them to do a thing. Say you're acting on my orders. I'll take responsibility for everything. (*)

Episode 20 Translation Note (*) This takes a bit of thinking. Currently the Turks' position stands thus: As long as Rufus remains in the possession of the Turks, President Shinra can't do anything to them, although he, through Scarlet, is doing everything in his power to find the Turks' base and wrest the young Vice President from their grasp. The Turks' position is ambiguous. They aren't the outright enemies of the company, but they are no longer part of the company ranks. Of course, not everybody in the company knows about Tseng and company's "betrayal". Shin-Ra is a huge company. While some of the army will know about the hunt for the Turks, others won't. Reeve is implying that the army stationed in Junon won't know anything about the Turks' defection and if someone catches them in the act of appropriating a sub, they can just say that they're working on Reeve's orders. In addition, making a company-wide general announcement about the Turks defection is something President Shinra probably wants to avoid as far as possible, as the news would hardly reflect well on him and creates a possible security breach as well. As for the question of Reeve getting found out, he's hedging his bets on his position. He's a Shin-Ra executive. If the Turks, supposedly acting in his name, tell the soldiers not to say a word, they won't. If you were a lowly grunt whose livelihood depended on keeping the upper brass happy, would you go and flout an order given to you, even by proxy, by a top company executive? No, I didn't think so.

Dark_Angel’s thoughts on the matter are not only an interesting look into the perspective of what’s going on in the events of the game itself, but into Reeve’s dynamic personality. The Characters section of the late Gunshot Romance site hosted a similarly themed description for Reeve with much the same complex insight into his personality and what drives him:

Reeve Tuesti (リーブ・トゥエスティ) The future head of Shin-Ra's Urban Development Department, Reeve is a serious young man with a reputation for being perhaps the most level-headed and down to earth member of the company's executives. Passionate and dedicated to his job, he has invested a lot in the building and design of Midgar; from what we can see in the original game, he continues to be actively involved in the maintenance of the city. Reeve also has an interest in robotics, and has spent some time on the design and programming of Cait Sith. In Episode 20, we see the initial fruits of his efforts when he uses Cait to guide your player Turk on a mission in the Gongaga woods. The question of his allegiance to the company – more specifically, to President Shinra, has come into question. He assists the Turks with their mission, despite the fact that they are being hunted by the Shin-Ra Company. Not only does he give them valuable information, he also provides them with a cover so they can get to Junon to look for the special summon materia. What becomes evident through these actions is that Reeve's is not a question of weak allegiance, but a strong commitment to what he believes is right; where that justice can be found is irrelevant in the larger picture. This trait is no less diminished when he founds and heads the World Regenesis Organization in DC.

While this has been an intriguing look into Reeve’s personality, it brings to light--at least in my eyes-- the possible origins of why Reeve and Veld are in allegiance in any regard. This is a man whom the Turks could trust, perhaps specifically who Veld and Tseng could trust as the leaders of the Turks, because the paths they had chosen were in alignment with Reeve’s own moral compass. The Turks were fighting to save the lives of Veld and his daughter, Elfe, the leader of Avalanche, as well as fighting to save the planet from destruction, all while never once threatening to betray the Shinra Company’s secrets, even as the company they protected sought their extermination.

My question originally began as “How did Veld and Reeve meet?”, especially since Reeve was nothing more than a man climbing the ranks at the beginning of Before Crisis. If he and Veld had implied history before that point (which seems to be the implication), then where did their paths first cross? How did these two men figure out their paths in some way aligned? To the point where now we have Reeve making decisions from his position of power to help a group of people a hair’s breadth away from execution, running between two opposing forces with massive resources, all hell bent on their destruction?

It’s a question I hadn’t seen answered in any part of the Compilation yet, but it’s an aspect of Reeve’s character that I had forgotten over the long years, and that I wanted to bring to the surface once more. Especially with our Turks looking so stunning in the Remake’s trailers, and with Reeve being one of the men that will be betrayed so soon into the events of Final Fantasy VII’s Remake, if everything goes according to the original game. Because President Shinra cares about end goals and not the lives and materials lost in obtaining them... and it is incredibly obvious that Reeve is cut from a different bolt of cloth than that. I only wonder how they’ll have the Turks’ side play out alongside all of the grand schemes of the executives. ...it’ll be a thing I’ll be awaiting with much anticipation, and a fool’s hope, always.

I’ll leave you with the scene in question from Before Crisis Episode 20, so you can think over this connection the way that I have, and hopefully beyond it. Enjoy, my friends.

Player Thanks for showing me the way. You don't have to go this far for us, you know.

Cait Sith Ah, don't you worry none about it. Veld and I go back a ways.

Player ?! You knew we were working under Veld's orders?!

Cait Sith It said so in the fortune, it did.

Player (Thought) This is bad. That means everybody knows about our betrayal. What am I going to…?

Cait Sith Don't you worry none. I won't be telling any of this to the President.

Player Huh?!

Cait Sith I told you, we go back a ways. How is Veld? I thought you could only leave the Turks when you're dead.

Player I'm sorry. That's… classified information…

Cait Sith Is that so… I guess you're right.

Player I'm really sorry…

Cait Sith Ah, nothing to be sorry for! Just tell him I'm rootin' for him! Now, let's get a move on, shall we?

[shazyloren]

Sticky Notes

Summary:  Someone is leaving Daenerys Targaryen sticky notes with quotes of love on them all around the office. She doesn't know who it is, but when it click, her world will never be the same.

Notes:  So this year, I am taking part in a challenge on tumblr by user @jonerysfics​ and @mhysaofdragons​ in which for seven days from Valentines day I am uploading a new one shot. So Day 1, 14th February, which is when I'm uploading this, the prompt I chose was 'Secret Admirer'. This is the story I came up with.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17780852

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Another one.

Daenerys grabbed the pink sticky note from her computer screen and eyed the writing. Calligraphy, handwriting that wasn’t familiar to her in the moment. The fountain pen used for this had danced across the paper surface with freedom and expression, the same as before.

Someone was leaving her love notes across the office, someone in the company she worked for. How did they know she was single and wanting a date anyway? They were clearly just assuming as it was Valentine’s Day at the end of the week. She quickly places the notes in her folder without anyone else seeing, sliding it amongst the pile of other she’d found that week.

You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams - Dr. Seuss.

And the quote, of similar calibre to ones her frantic eyes had read on the others. She didn’t mind, in fact, it made her flush like a woman who had never been complimented before. But this was crazy, she had no possible clue who could be leaving her these notes.

She’d made a list of the potential men who could’ve left the note and had reasonable grounds to believe it was none of them, almost all of the men in the office were married or gay, so who on this plain of existence was leaving her the notes? Sliding into her lumbar support chair, she opens her notepad to the list of potential men and went through the list with suspicion.

Jaime Lannister was a man in a position of wealth near the top of the ranks in the company, but that was unlikely, he was spending Valentine’s with his sister who had just endured a bad divorce, to take her mind off of things. He was a man of good looks, but the calligraphy was certainly not his, she’d read his reports and the typos present was enough to know this wasn’t his work.

Gendry Waters was head over heels for Arya Stark, head of communications, so unless she’s beaten him up and finally forced him to move on then she completely doubted that it was him. The boy man spent most of his day talking about her or making excuses to visit her department and leaving Daenerys love notes was not on that same line of thinking.

Frustrated, Dany shuts the notepad and decides she can’t even focus on her paperwork without some coffee in her system. So, asking the others at their desks if they wanted a drink and not getting a single reply from anyone (everyone seemed to be grump today) she toddled off to the staff room for a caffeine boost.

Head of Administration, can pick out a mistake in a report from a mile away but cannot deduce who is leaving her love notes around the office. And that no one else had noticed was even more of an intriguing factor for her. The fact that the bright pink heart sticky notes had been dotted everywhere with this beautiful blue inked calligraphy had not been seen by another human was completely mind boggling to her.

She pushes the heavy staff room door open, her small, slender frame sliding through as others come out of the way to let her by. Once she passed through the door, she quickly walked over to her locker in which she keeps her special coffee that no one else is allowed to touch.

Searching for the keys in her small jacket pocket, she finds the right combination on her lock before twisting the key in the mechanism and opening it. Her breath catches in her throat as the locker door swings open, revealing her mug and her coffee, with a little pink love heart stuck on the mug.

How?

Her heart is hammering fast in her chest, pumping oxygen quickly around her body as she tries to keep her breathing going. She can’t, she’s speechless, shocked. How had they got into her locker? How did they know the combination? And how did they manage to resist her special coffee? Surely there’s a security risk with this… unless it was security?

I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once - John Green

Her eyes scanned the note, completely frozen into the spot her feet were placed. All of these notes, admissions of love that Dany had never known before. Destruction, that’s all her relationships had been, fiery chasms which were doomed from the start. Yet this person, so effortlessly loved her, or at least admired her enough to wonder what it was like to love her.

She grabbed her mug and coffee, and slammed the locker shut for short of not wanting to be missing from the office for too long, but her mind was racing. Images in her mind of a faceless man, mysterious yet handsome, his hands touching her, his arms embracing her. It had been a while, for it wasn’t like her to just go with random guys in bars or clubs. But loneliness was deeply rooted in her, and like all women, they find the right time will eventually come.

What was she even thinking? A man or woman even, that she did not know of, was leaving her love notes in the office, opening their heart in a way that was completely unexpected and she should find it odd, peculiar. Yet her she was, emotionally affected in the opposite way, it was endearing, sweet.

No Jaime Lannister could concoct this together, no Gendry Waters would even find the time to think of her in this moment, so who was it? Who was leaving these morsels of affection for her? She couldn’t think as she switched the kettle on and filled her coffee mug with a spoonful of her special blend.

She needed milk, she somehow remembered, as images fill her mind of every outcome of this thing that had been happening. Maybe it was someone from the basement, on of the dodgy technicians who can’t even say a word to her when she goes down to complain, who just sweat nervously and scamper away. It would be a disappointment if it was.

She opened the fridge, her heart in her mouth as she prayed it wasn’t one of them, but it all stopped again when she spied the same colour and writing attached to her small carton of orange lidded milk. 1% fat, perfect for the amount of caffeine she intakes for the day, now sporting a ig, pink heart on it.

Everyone knew the orange was hers, so this wouldn’t be something hard for people to find out, but the fact that someone had gone to this effort, when if they’d liked her they should’ve just asked. Maybe they were scared, had a fear of rejection. Or maybe they wanted to play with her emotions like some sick freak who got off on toying with her. Maybe it was none of those things.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever - Alfred Tennyson.

Daenerys Targaryen had never blushed like she had in this moment, she wondered what all this would come to, whether she would find out who it was and what they possibly wanted from her. The idea that someone is so consumed and in awe of a simple girl like herself was completely bonkers, that he thought on her daily and would be able to create an Eden for them both to glide through.

Feeling stressed, she put both notes in her pocket, placed her coffee back in her locker and made the coffee with haste. A few minutes later, she was returning to her desk with a headache from thinking too much and a conundrum she was sure to fail in figuring out.

Sliding in her seat, she pulled the two notes out of her pocket and added them to the other fourteen now present in her folder. She put the folder away, and booted her computer. She needed to focus on the work, she had a lot to do that week and she couldn’t be distracted by someone’s obsession with her. Even if she wanted nothing more than to know who it was, she had priorities.

“Miss. Targaryen” Daenerys hears Jaime Lannister say from across the room about one hour into her shift, her mind forcing her to think about work and numbers and emails and orderings so that she doesn’t linger on the pink hearts. She looks at the man impatiently as if she was annoyed he’d disturbed her momentary peace. She notices he’s holding the phone from his desk in her hand. “Boss wants a word”

“Oh, okay” She shakes her head and straightens herself up. She nods in Jaime’s direction as a thank you before gathering herself and beginning a walk up to Boss’ office. It was top floor and while most people took the elevators, Dany preferred the stairs, it got her exercise in.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever, We accept the love we think we deserve, I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul, One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving, You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

She couldn’t help but think about all the messages she’d received over the past few days, notions of love and affection that made her feel gooey. Now wasn’t the time, especially when she had been summoned by the boss. He’ll be wanting an update on Gendry’s progress she suspected, he was a new starter and was coming up to his review period. But all she could think off was this secret admirer.

She reached his office on the top floor of the building and knocked when his secretary outside said it was okay for her to enter. She opened the door and breathed in a little when the smell of lemons and mint hit her nose. It was always pleasant when she entered the office, that familiar smell was almost comforting to her. He could fire her and she’d still be calm.

“Good Morning, Mr. Snow” She uttered politely, smiling and wandering over to his desk. He was writing something on the computer, his glasses on the edge of his nose as he began clicking the screen with his mouse. He looked up from the table and his eyes met hers.

“Hello, Daenerys” His gruff, northern accent chimed as he finished his last bits of business on the computer, a small smirk present on the corner of his lips. She hardly saw him, maybe only once every few weeks as he was always working between the three different buildings they had in the city, but she always forgot how young he was for a CEO and how handsome he was. “Please, take a seat”

She nods before sitting opposite him, nerves kicking in as to what he wanted to say to her. “So, Mr. Lannister said you wanted to see me about something, sir?”

“Daenerys…” He started with a sigh, deep and clear across the room it sounded. “How many times do I have to ask you to call me Jon and not sir? You make me feel ancient when you address me as such”

“Only every time we talk, sir” Dany meekly grinned.

“From now on, it’s Jon, okay?” He warned. She just nodded, them both knowing she wouldn’t do as such and would still refer to him as sir or Mr. Snow. “So, I just wanted a quick chat, don’t worry you’ve done nothing wrong, quite the opposite actually” He mused. “I’ve been going over the figures and reports a lot the last few days and as the company is ever expanding, I’m needing to expand the Admin team”

“Oh” She blinked in surprise.

“I’ll be putting a post up for two new positions within the Administration department, one a regular Administrator and one, the Head of Administration” He spoke cryptically. Daenerys was confused, she was the Head of Administration. “Sansa is leaving her position, she’s my Reports Analyst on the board and her position has opened up, I’d like you to fill it”

This has been the strangest day of my life so far , she mused inwardly as his words was over her in complete and utter surprise. There was many things going on in her life, and she did not expect that this week would bring about a secret admirer and an offer of a position three steps above her current job.

“Sir, I can’t-”

“Jon, first off” He intercedes. “And secondly, you certainly can and you certainly will”

“Jon…” She winces as she speaks his name, making this meeting become too informal. “I have no training in that sort of field, I do Admin sure but that role is Admin, Payroll and HR all rolled into one. If I do it I won’t be able to complete it with satisfaction”

“Daenerys Targaryen, for too long you and your clever mind have been sat down in that Admin office not being tested enough, for too long you’ve been dealing with Gendry pining over my sister and Jamie Lannister picking his nose. It’s time you had a challenge, and I know you’re up to it” He reassured.

She was consumed by confusion and surprise and sweetness and fear. Everything rolled into one as the events of the day (that had only been an hour give or take) melded into her mind and warped her vision slightly. She wanted to accept, she wanted to be free of this doubt crawling under her pale skin. But she just couldn’t do it, and she didn’t know why. “I’m sorry but, this is a huge step, it’s a lot to think about and…”

“Have you ever read The Perks of Being a Wallflower?” He asks suddenly, causing Daenerys to be sidelined by her own thoughts. She shakes her head, but doesn’t say anything. “My sister Sansa recommended it to me when we were younger, and there’s always a quote that has stuck with me some eight years later. We accept the love we think we deserve, and it’s completely true”

“Huh?” Dany blinks. We accept the love we think we deserve, We accept the love we think we deserve, We accept the love we think we deserve, We accept the love we think we deserve .

“Obviously in this case it’s praise, you don’t think you’re worth-” She cuts him off.

“It’s you” She says suddenly, her brain exploding all at once. We accept the love we think we deserve . She glances to his desk and spies on the corner, a small bottle of ink and a fountain pen. Her breathing is shaky, as she looks around the desk for pink heart sticky notes but can’t find anything, all she can find is his hands, gripping the edge of his table.

“Dany, are you okay?” He asks, his own voice cracking.

“Why” She demanded to know.

“Why what?” He asked, a raised eyebrow.

“Jon Snow don’t you give me that eyebrow, why me?” She stands in her seat, eyes steely as she pierced his own gaze with her knife one.

It all made sense in her mind, he would have the master key to lockers besides the janitors so that would make sense into how he got into the locker. It was a known fact about the milk so leaving a note like that in the fridge wasn’t a bother. And him sticking a note on her PC would be easier than most, he was allowed anywhere in the building and wouldn’t be noticed if he stood near a desk. He knew her car, so when she’d left last night and there was on on there…

Her mind was racing, suddenly the mysterious and intense faceless man from her mind had his face, and somehow it was a match-up. His eyes were wide and yet somehow his face had softened when she looked at him. She knew she was red in the face, that the embarrassment of all these acts of devotion were easily readable on her features.

“I… felt something, when I looked at you that I had never felt before” He stumbles. “Corny as it sounds that feeling was the only thing stopping me being drowned in work and bullshit from the family and all the craziness my life seems to want to throw at me as of late. There’s things going on, things that mean soon I will have to let go of this company”

“What…”

“Things I don’t wish to speak off, or I may be lost in the dreariness and doubt that this thing brings with it. I was bold, and stupid yes, in what I started doing last week, but time was running out Dany, and I needed you to be that source of light once again, I needed you to know, to have something good to remember me by”

Daenerys tried to deconstruct the riddles in her mind, but she was coming up blank. Something is running out of time, his time here was, and he wanted to act fast, he was having to give up the company for something. His sister, Sansa was leaving her position. It was all confusing, all overwhelming. But what did feelings for her have to do with all of this?

“I’ve accomplished so much in such a short space of time, I’ve allowed myself to become the very best CEO that there ever was and the happiness of my staff is something I’m proud off. But I’ve been lying to myself for a long time now, and things have changed. And you are part of that change in me. If only for a small while”

Dany doesn’t know how or why it all clicked into place, but it did suddenly. Her mouth hung open, her eyes watery as she realised the ramifications of what he’s saying. “You’re sick” He doesn’t reply immediately, he doesn’t have to. He just bows his head into a low nod and let’s the moment breathe. “How long?”

“For a while, a headache that I couldn’t shake” He confirmed. “Went to the doctors and lit up like a Christmas tree, as such. I don’t know when, and I don’t want to know in all honesty, but I know that if I didn’t do something for you before I left this company and this world, I’d end up being furious with myself in the afterlife, if there is such a thing as one”

She couldn’t process this, but the feeling of admiration and love she’d held inside her this morning was replaced with a melancholy sadness that she’d never experience before. “Sansa… is she?”

“She will be CEO after me, yes” He nodded, rubbing his head as if he was already tired and wishing to go and lie down somewhere. “So please, take her position” Daenerys didn’t say anything for a while, she was just aghast as the information overload that had been handed to her. “I’ve never said this out loud, but you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen”

The air is hot suddenly, and she feels the warmth of his words hit her somewhere deep. Tears were hot and heavy in her eyes, and her heart ached for this man before her. A man she didn’t know very well, who doted upon her, a man she wished she’d got to know better. She was so sidelined by the revelation that she didn’t even notice him coming around to her side of the table and sitting in the other chair next to her.

“It’s not my place to ask this of you, and if you have plans then I shall be respectful and accept your wishes. But this Thursday will be my last Valentine’s Day on this earth, and I would like to take you to dinner, if it pleases you as such” He was leaning on the chair arm for support, his hand shaking a little.

Daenerys was so overwhelmed. She had been offered a brand new position, found out the boss was dying and had a crush on her all within the space of five minutes. Her mind was doing a million calculations and as she stared into his eyes, on the seat directly adjacent to hers, she couldn’t find it within herself to deny him of this.

“Kiss me” She demands, grasping what little amount of power she had in the room, trying not to be overwhelmed by the heartbreak that was sure to follow in the coming weeks. “Kiss me and show me that your feelings are true, that you really do like me and I will do everything in my power to be there for you”

There’s a moment just when the world around them completely stops, that time stands still and everything else fades away. There’s no ticking clock teasing them of time they have left, there’s no one to tell them to not do this reckless thing that was about to happen, there was only her and him. His eyes held a small amount of lust but mostly regret. She wonders if perhaps he’s wishing he’d said something to her years ago when he hired her, instead of waiting for this catalyst that had spurred him on.

But when he places a hand on her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears she had spilt for him, she felt warmth and love and devotion. The same feeling she got when reading those notes the past few days.

And so, their lips join.

Bittersweet, that was her overwhelming feeling as his soft lips move in sync with her own. It’s glorious, wonderful, tantalising and crackling all at the same time, but there’s such a sadness to the kiss. She’s never been kissed like it in her entire life, but the she couldn’t fight against the thoughts that were going through her, the realisation of his confession. She wanted to pull away before she lost herself in this beautiful moment, but she couldn’t, she could only try and help ease his pain in this way.

Daenerys thinks about the feel of his lips on hers that sends her mind into a sensual state of intoxication. She wished more than anything to reach towards his face and touch them lightly but that wish battled the urge to just keep kissing him. The lips were the gateway to the body, in her mind, they were softness, passion and the promise of the sweetness to come.

But there was no sweetness around the corner that she could stomach. Only a looming sense of doom she had been familiar with that came to follow her. But he was a miracle in this moment, a gentleman in the way he’d wooed her, honest in his intentions and heartbreaking in his confession.

When their lips parted, there was an overwhelming silence. In that silence all of their feelings and secrets were laid bare, all of their passions and the spark of love that existed between them. In that moment, in his devoted and secret love, she was strong. One kiss and she had the courage to do what had to be done.

“Jon” She breathed raspily, her hands on his arms as their foreheads touch. There was a moment where neither of them breathed, the air clinging to them as if a verdict would be laid out bare for all. “Thursday night at 7, yeah?”

He sighed deeply, kissing her once more in thanks for giving him that small piece of happiness. “Thursday night at 7” He agreed, leaving small kisses on her neck, causing the skin on her face to feel redder than the lipstick she’d been wearing before the kiss. “Beautiful”

Pink heart sticky notes, oh how I am thankful for you.

It was strange from then on out, she was living in a time bomb where anything could strike at any time. Oblivion was inevitable, but the way he and her faced it together, after that day, was strength to accept what was coming. All she knew was that by the time Thursday came around, and she had finished her dinner date with him, she’d fallen in love the way you fall asleep, slowly and then all at once.