#post office inter

[koushirouizumi]

If you have time, please go write a message of support on Junya Ikeda's tweet. {tri. Jou's V.A.} Please be kind and respectful if you do.

[wttcsms]

sweet everything, atsumu miya ; one shot collection

SWEET EVERYTHING┆this just in: maybe he can be fixed. atsumu miya used to make news as a longtime bachelor who considered marriage to be "settling down" and as someone who prides himself on "never settling", it's clear the only ring he cares about comes from a championship. barely seven years after this iconic interview, atsumu miya walks away from professional volleyball as a devoted husband and father to the most adorable little toddlers who test his stamina as he chases after them.

a collection of inter-connected (mostly fluffy) one shots and drabbles centered around husband/dad!atsumu, maintaining the honeymoon phase of marriage, and the family antics that occur when his children inherit his wild, brash nature <3

triple trouble┆before his early retirement from the game, new dad atsumu steals every reporters' attention as he shows the world his triplets during a post-game conference; only, it's really his babies that have everyone so entertained.

number one┆atsumu's always reassured you that he doesn't mind leaving behind his professional career to spend more time with the family, but the media gets to him. his creeping doubt and feelings of regret only amplify when he walks into his office to see that his sons have accidentally destroyed his trophy case, all his awards and plaques dented, ruined, or shattered into pieces on the floor. — coming soon!

my heart hits rewind┆noted as one of the longest standing (and healthy) relationships in celebrity circles, people online always speculate on how you and atsumu are still so in love with each other, especially after having kids that are constantly vying for your attention. alternatively: 5 times you and atsumu try get some alone time + the 1 time you two finally get a date night. — coming soon!

honeymoon fades┆you and atsumu celebrate your wedding anniversary (nsfw). — coming soon!

i want your dreary mondays┆before the marriage and your kids, it's just you and atsumu trying to figure things out. or: atsumu realizes he wants to spend his whole life with you and does everything in his power to convince you to stay by his side (even though you never really did need much convincing). (nsfw) — coming soon!

author's note a little throwback to my bleedinqhearts days lol!!! i hope you all miss dad!atsumu as much as i did <3

fan art inspired by the fics (from my old blog <3) triplets ami & atsumu

[tremendum]

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Me and the Devil; i

(not my gif) .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·: Paul Atreides x fem!reader prelude next

word count: 5.3k

summary:  Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

warnings: blood/violence, family deaath, v brief allusions to smut/dubcon, reader is traumatized. pls lmk if i missed anything. not edited.

notes: thanks for all the love so far!!! here's the first chapter of the story - if you want to stay updated, i post on AO3 first :) just a quick first chapter to lay the scene before we jump into the engaging parts of the story. feedback is very motivating and highly valued, thank u all <33

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Penitent Crimes of Retaliation

In accordance with the legal doctrine of the 'Reprisal Accord', as sanctioned by the High Court of the Landsraad, houses are granted the right to retaliate against proven offenses committed upon them. This action shall such be labelled as "Penitent Crimes of Retaliation". Under this mandate, should sufficient evidence be presented, the aggrieved house may initiate a retaliatory strike and engage in warfare against the offending party. While reparations for damages incurred during the conflict are mandated, perpetrators shall be exempt from criminal sentences, ensuring a balanced recourse within the framework of inter-house disputes."

- From the Reprisal Accord, Office of the Padishah Emperor. Imperium, 10041. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

There was once a time when green was your favorite color. 

You'd enjoyed a childhood of it; Peridot, Jades, the velvet green of winter dresses, the tall, mighty green the sacred Pine. The woven banner of your house, waving in the snow-whipped wind; A snarling green wolf upon the grey armor your parents wore to train you. 

When the men of one other Houses Major arrived to retrieve your older sister, she'd been shroud in that very same pine-colored satin, an elegant dress, as she waved good-bye to you for the last time. When the ice would melt off the lower glaciers for those three months every year, the lakes would thaw to a deep emerald green, and your brother, sisters and you would play in it; servants and soldiers alike yelling and pulling you out, shivering to your bones. 

Even at your sister's funeral. The green of the casket, laid to rest in the ground of a foreign planet by a man who'd never truly loved her. The women of your House, wearing a veil of mourning in that sacred pine satin as you said good-bye to her. Killed by the birth of her first; a son. Your parents had been proud - You became the oldest of your siblings that day.

You can barely stand to look at green anymore. No, instead, you mostly see black.

Black, white, and red. 

They'd sent you away to make for your house a Fortune; a son, they'd wished, for your sake - and, by whispers of your Lady Mother, a daughter - but this place... it crawls with shadows and monsters and deadly smiles; most in the form of your betrothed.

Your na-Baron. 

If Feyd-Rautha ever had a semblance of hesitancy, it was when you first met four years ago. You were at the end of your seventeenth year; he, freshly eighteen. He had been as cordial as you'd ever seen him, escorting you with an arm held out, eyes malicious but mouth less than offensive. He'd even called you Lady Bourbon those first few months on Giedi Prime. And, in fact, you can consider yourself lucky; perhaps for your bloodline, or for you yourself, Feyd-Rautha took special care of you. Maybe he did care for you -in the ways that he could. 

After that, he taught you all you needed to know about the rest of the world. In these final days together, he has admitted furiously that he waited too long to claim you as his wife - four years was much too long for you to wait, even if your purity was claimed by him long before then. 

The accusations had come from his uncle, the Baron; House Bourbon was stealing their precious refinery codes, committing treason against the trading accords along their exportation route. Perhaps, he thought, you were the one to plot it against your beloved future family.

But Feyd-Rautha knew better - knew that you'd never dare betray him. He was the one to demand a public execution of your family - but also the one to redirect your sentencing to a mere prisoner. As if you weren't one already. 

Don't look away. See what we do to scum, my pet? 

After all the sparring, each time you drew that precious blood from him, and you still haven't been able to kill him. If you'd had a blade, you would have, right there in the stands. 

You were, in some ways, relieved when their bodies had hit the sand fast; You'd never seen your brother's skin so reflective as you did this morning. The black sun couldn't hide the blood that had seeped from him, nor from your mother's throat. You'd swallowed thickly, wishing you could look away, gasp - cry; but you had to hide your pain. Your na-Baron would've loved it too much.

Why don't you leave me with them, then? You'd hissed through your teeth.

Though he was wild and psychotic, growling with hunger at the bloodsport in front of him, he heard you for what you'd said. Feyd's fingers pulled your hair hard; forcing your chin to stare up at him. A sickly glint in the black sun, his teeth shone with hunger. 

You'd have me throw you to your Wolves, and lose my prize? He'd tutted, kissing your forehead with a sickening sweetness; enough so that the servants had turned away their spider-black gazes. They didn't care much for the acts of affection you'd occasionally show one another - in a world marred by ugliness, any glimpse of beauty becomes a hauntingly grotesque show of power.

He'd snarled, slapping your cheek hard enough for you to groan. His breath hit your face, you're mine to keep - there's plenty of life left for you to serve.  

He'd held your eyes open as they'd slit your father's throat; then both of your sisters, and your brother's. Your mother had fought as much as she could in her drugged state - the Harkonnens are rutheless, and Feyd-Rautha had sat calmly behind you, your head in his hands, caressing your shaking cheek - but the neckline of her gown was too high, and too thickly inlaid with encrusted heirlooms. 

Bless their voided souls.

The emeralds that tore from her gown as she'd spilled her blood to the sand sent a ripple of pain out of your throat. Feyd had buried his face in your neck, teeth sharp as he sucked a mark just behind your ear, watching as you clenched your palms so hard, your own ruby blood beaded out, blackened in the sun's light.

If anybody would have bothered to look before burning the bodies, you know they'd find all the family diamonds sewn into the fabric of their clothing - centuries of your House, melted away.

Feyd-Rautha had drank up your agony with his lips, smiling as his hand wrapped around your throat. 

Now, alone and away from the thick industrial air, your chambers are cold and suffocating.

There are screams coming from the hall - not the kind that you've grown to associate with your na-Baron testing his new blades, but the kind that comes with danger. With change. 

As it turns out, you are not Feyd-Rautha's to keep any longer.

A loud noise outside of your quarters jolts you from your bed, whispering to yourself. They're coming for you. Pulling the sheets closer to your body, your hand finds the blade gifted to you on your nameday three years ago by your husband-to-be, still tainted with the ghost of your own blood.

Your whispers reverberate in the empty room. "I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me."

Your voice shakes. Few things remain from your early days of training, before you were sent off to become a Harkonnen; This is one is a relic.

There is a loud noise just outside; blades. 

For a moment, you imagine there is a hand on your arm. It is strong, ghost-white, and possessive. His voice rumbles in your head. Don't look so sad, my pet. I will never let them keep what is mine. I will find you again. 

You almost wish he will. 

When you look down to the weight on your arm, you do not find the hand of your once-betrothed, but the remainder of his ownership, a handprint of a bruise that will not fade even as the soldiers in Atreides armor deliver you to the next planet.

You rise from your bed, preparing your sore body for a fight that will surely end before it even starts. You don't stop your old prayer, in fact, you hardly notice that you're saying it at all. Even as the doors give in. 

"-and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing - only I will remain-" There are soldiers that burst through.

The way one of them fights strikes a faint memory from a lost childhood, and it fills you with rage. 

Why did you wait so long to rescue me?

You lunge, snarling like the wild beast you've become in your captivity. You will fight, because that is the only thing you know how to do. It is the only thing you have left. 

Your blade falls within minutes.

You're taken by the man from your past not a minute after. 

You're on a ship, watching the black Opiuchi B disappear, in an hour. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

"My Lady."

You don't realize the worker addresses you until you snap out of it, flushing behind your veil as you step out of the aircraft.

The dress you wear, salvaged from your family's old castle, is dusty. 

It clings to your skin, drowns you, as the rain falls. A staff of House Atreides holds an umbrella above you, shielding your elaborate dress from the water as you walk up towards where the members of the House await you. You stare down at the dress - green velvet. A texture you have not felt in years; your skin looks different not wrapped completely in black.

Your eyes strain to take in the grand entrance to the castle from the hangar which Duncan Idaho had escorted you, ignoring him as he turns to glance back at you momentarily. You can't bear the look of unfamiliarity that flickers over him when he looks at you, now.  

He looks the same - maybe less tall, but that has more to do with it having been six years since you last saw the man. You, however, are not the same girl you were when he knew you on Sabberon. Fear, panic, and wrath rage within you while your gaze smolders daggers at the back of his head. 

He walks just slightly in front of you and despite yourself, you slide just a bit closer - the only semblance of comfort you can allow yourself to feel as you take in the largess of the castle. The air is thicker here than you've ever felt; salty, windy, like you can taste the sea in the rain... it clings to your skin, but it feels clean. You'd been changing into your robes when you entered atmo - you've heard many things about the ocean, about Caladan. 

Something within you yearns to witness it yourself. Subtly, you crane your neck outwards to catch a glimpse; nothing in the near distance but the walls of the castle and high cliffs. 

You nearly trip as Duncan Idaho stops just a few paces from where the members stand at attention to greet you and your retinue.

Duke Leto Atreides, regal and composed, stands at the center of the room, his presence commanding your attention. Beside him, a woman wearing a deep cerulean gown - Lady Jessica. Easily, from behind your own veil, her gaze penetrates you; A cool sensation down your spine as you seem to feel her words in the back of your head as she watches the Reverend Mother who'd travelled with you per High Court orders.

 Hello, sister.

You purse your lips, looking on - there, next to his mother; Standing tall with an aura of quiet intensity, his eyes on you, is Paul Atreides.

The son to whom you're now destined.

Even from your obstructed vision, you can see that he's handsome - lithe, hair curled and combed back to show his eyes. They are wide, penetrating like his mother's, but Maker, they are so green. 

There is no hunger in his eyes, nor hatred, nor anything but a mild curiosity; it strikes a chord of fear in your gut, wishing briefly to return to the na-Baron's sight. It was easy to go unseen with the Harkonnens; They always made their intentions clear, and the na-Baron never wanted many to see you besides himself. You always knew what he wanted, and you could give it to him enough to control him. 

But Paul. His stare betrays no emotion but duty. If not for the boyish pout of his pink lips and his freshly-shaven jaw, you could have mistaken him for his father. A Duke. 

Your name, boomed from the voice of Leto Atreides, pulls you back to the surface of Caladan. "Welcome." Duke Leto's voice resonates through the hall with authority as he addresses you, his tone measured yet warm. Your stomach twists and turns as the man nods courteously to you. Coaxing your body to move, you bow to him.

"We are honored by your presence." His voice is surprisingly humane, exceedingly polite towards you; someone who was just come from the protection (a laughable phrase) of their sworn enemy. 

Your throat tightens at this. There is no honor to your presence, not anymore. 

Though you feel the prickling behind your eyes, you force your head to tilt in acknowledgment, schooling your expression to respectful - perhaps they can't quite make out your face, but Lady Jessica watches closely. She sees.

You take a sharp breath, swallowing away the lump of emotion in your throat. 

"Thank you, Duke Leto, my lord." Your voice carries steel beneath its polite, quiet veneer, though you try to calm your heart. You turn to Lady Jessica to greet her.

"My Lady, it is a pleasure." You say, equally even. Lady Jessica offers a tight smile, something akin to understanding swimming among her irises. It's been quite some time since you were permitted to talk to a woman; Your servants on Giedi Prime were, of course, tongue-less, as na-Baron wished. "Thank you for welcoming me to your home." 

"We understand that these are trying times for you." She says softly, her words a gesture of solidarity as your legs stagger. You feel dizzy and tired, but you force yourself to nod, bowing again. Your chained headdress overlaying your veil chimes slightly with the movement, swaying with the rain.

For such an acclaimed House, you're surprised by the gentleness of their welcome. Perhaps, they'd thought that the groaning and echoing hallways of Giedi Prime might break you, that they'd be taking in some injured little dove, wings clipped by the ferocious boy who'd gifted her with a knife plunged between her ribs on her nameday. 

The scar that lies just below your breast on your right side serves not as a reminder, but as fuel. It did not quell your spark. It ignited it, with a bloodthirsty rage for revenge.

Months of being thrown into a pit under the glaring black sun; Not the arena that assassinated your family, no - this pit was smaller, with one large seat for the na-Baron himself, and drugged concubines and servants with blades to service his na-Baroness. A place to watch his pets play. 

Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. 

Unfortunately, you endured. You learned how to live with the Harkonnens, to be one of them- and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

Lady Jessica is correct, these are trying times for you. You swallow as you straighten your back. Despite everything, there's a minor comfort in the Atreides' insistence of providing you with the necessities for you to perform your traditional customary mourning traditions. Your family may be gone, but you can still have this part of them; as a way of saying good-bye. It's what they would have wanted. 

You turn to the young man who stands next to Lady Jessica.

The Harkonnens had tried to show you the dangers of house Atreides; The poison of appearance, of trust. You are not foolish enough to have believed the Baron Vladimir and his webs of deception, but you are sharp enough to know that in times like these, nobody can be trusted. 

Your betrothed watches you, as if trying to see through your mourning veil. The green of his eyes sends a warmth through your stomach as you avert your eyes. "My Lord," you bow to him, your heart thumping in your chest, remembering how you might be rewarded for looking your formerly betrothed in the eyes during ceremony. Trying not to flinch, you wait to see what Paul's hands may do. But they do not strike you, nor grasp your jaw sharply. He barely moves. 

"My Lady." His voice is softer than you expected, and it strikes your heart with a cool unease. Distrust slithers around you like a daunting snake. He bows back to you. 

It's silent for a thick moment before Duncan Idaho - the man from a distant past - speaks from beside you. "We have much to discuss." 

Cutting to the chase, as always. Your eyes fall to the Duke, who nods. "Do you need to see treatment?" He asks the Swordsman, eyes assessing the soldier. 

Duncan laughs at this, gesturing to his arm, where beads of blood still slowly peeks through his the tunic he'd slipped on after changing out of his armor.

"Harkonnen blades are sharp. So are Lady Bourbon's nails."

The prickling of four pairs of eyes strike you as he continues, turning this time to address you full-on. "Your fighting is much different than I remember, Little Bourbon." 

What he doesn't say is clear to you: Much more savage than he remembers. Something between shame and pride licks at your cheeks and you avert your eyes; It had been a force of habit - rabid hounds don't tuck tail when cornered, do they?

You clench your hand, your nails digging into your palms; you learned early on that sharper claws could keep Feyd tame for longer. 

The force of Duncan's old nickname for you, when you'd been young - it nearly knocks the air out of your chest. It's been over half a decade since you'd seen the man; too much has happened since then. Nonetheless, you smile toothless behind the veil, trying not to think of the life you'd just left behind. Of what cold life lies ahead. 

When you respond, your voice is frigid. 

"Sometimes adaptation is survival, Duncan Idaho. Threats demand evolution." 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

The rain is gone by the next day.

In the morning room, forks scrape over blue-plated China. There must be a clock somewhere near, as the seconds pass in quiet, insistent ticks. A cleared throat, a swallow of water. 

Your eyes burn from exhaustion.

Your arrival last night held no such time for small talk - you were whisked away by the service staff to make sure your quarters were comfortable; Your old clothing and that of your sisters and mother - the few things the Atreides soldiers had salvaged from the ransacked Castle at Sabberon - had been washed thrice of rubble and smoke and were hanging, waiting for you, in the wardrobes. 

Barely awake, late in the evening, you'd attended a meeting in a small conference hall. There, sat across from Lord Paul, Masters of War and Swords and Strategy, a Mentat, and the Lady Jessica, the Duke had asked you questions, ensuring you were not harmed - more importantly, trying to ensure there was no malicious intent to your presence. Your eyes could not ignore the Lady Jessica, who stood behind the Duke, her fingers twitching to the others when you responded to a question asked of you. They had some kind of language, you'd realized, as they responded in their own subtle hand gestures. 

You'd only been there for ten minutes before you were escorted by a handmaid back to your chambers, where you sat without rest through the night. 

Truthfully, you're breaking fast with Lady Jessica and Lord Paul out of courtesy; You were up far before the sun had found the horizon this morning, staring emotionless at the ghost who stood in the corner of your new chambers.

You'd sat watching, cradling your chest with wide eyes, as the ghost slid onto his knees. How he'd crawled, smirking at the foot of your mattress, whispering to you with sharp teeth and beckoning fingers. The sweet promise in his eyes laid with blood and pain, coaxing you forward despite yourself - until something in the corner of your vision moved, and you'd screamed. 

That had woken one of the servants.

She came in with her head tilted down, holding a pitcher of water, and you'd asked her to stay.

Her name is Hestia; she must barely be twenty. You insisted on sharing a pot of tea with her, sitting in the silence but sipping shortly on your teacups. You didn't talk much, but instead breathed and felt the safety and of a woman's company, even if she is a few years younger than you. 

It wasn't until she'd brought you breakfast a few minutes later that you realized the staff must have been informed of your courting customs before your arrival - she said nothing as you ate silently, staring out towards the coast of rocky cliffs and rolling moors you could just barely make out from your chamber windows. 

And now you sit similarly - in the morning dining room, your hands perched in your lap, unsure what to do with yourself.

Your future husband, no older than yourself, sits across the table from you now, pushing his omelet around on his fork. The table shakes just slightly, jilting your glass full of water - he must have a restless knee. He chews at his lip, avoiding your stare, sharing slight conversation with his Lady mother. Her attempts to bring you into the conversation are met with polite answers and more silence, your voice shaky and cold. 

After a while, a woman enters, whispers something to the Lady at the end of the table. Nodding, Lady Jessica takes her leave with a pointed look at Paul, suggesting he might escort you around the castle to settle you in.

Though your stomach coils, you nod, "-if you have time, my Lord, I'd appreciate it."

His eyes find yours from behind the veil and you clear your throat. He's quiet but chivalrous; A nod, a glance sent back to his mother as she leaves. A short gust of air through the room and suddenly you can smell him. His hair, clean and glossy - healthy - glints as he faces a window, exposing the early morning sun to his bright eyes.

It's silent for a few moments as only the two of you remain; Your food untouched and his half-eaten. 

"Are you one of them?" 

Them?

You stare at him from behind the thin pine veil that covers you. It occurs to you that Paul may assume you are just as bald and sick as each Harkonnen; years of adapting, surviving off of instinct and placation, are over. With a jolt, you realize you are not a Harkonnen. And you will not be wed to one.

You shake your head, thankful for the lack of chains upon the crown of your head today, ignoring the melancholy feeling in your gut. 

"I have hair." You state simply, looking down at the skin of your arm; The skin that boasts arm hair, none of the sickly pale skin that knew of no clean air nor healthy sunlight - your skin, glowing with real melanin like the House of Bourbon.

You'd never spoken this freely on Giedi Prime besides in the sole company of Feyd-Rautha - stars, you'd never have spoken this freely at home on Sabberon, either - but there is no home anymore. And if you've learned one thing in your years since coming of age, its that the Great and Noble Houses of the Landsraad are crawling with perjurers, fabricators. 

Paul is likely the same. 

If the Atreides boy must be wed to you, you cannot help that, just as you couldn't help with Feyd-Rautha. They can dress you, insist in your traditional customs - but you will not go down easy. No matter how cold the home, you can be colder. You are more than the bones which hold you up; Meaner than the demons that kept you in their ghostly-grip for four years. 

His cheeks flush a peculiar pink, bottom lip captured between pearly teeth. "No," he starts again, eyes searching - trying to find you, beneath the layers of green that wrap around you. "Not Harkonnen-" he quiets after he says the name, as if worried to offend you. "I meant-" his eyes swim, "Bene Gesserit." 

Your stomach chills as you meet his eyes. 

After some hesitation, you shake your head. "No, my Lord."

When he blinks at your words, you feel compelled to continue. "I suppose I was..." you move your hand to pull on the sleeve of your robes.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

"or, I was supposed to be." your unemotional tone rings through the room. Paul doesn't say anything to that, biting back the suspicion that climbs up his throat.

He stands when you rise from your seat; Your mourning dress, unlike anything he'd ever seen before, flows like the leaves of a weeping willow as you push your chair in behind you. When he offers a stiff arm to escort you out of the room, you hesitate before looping yourself loosely to him. 

She is telling the truth. 

His mother had indicated, with flicks of her hand, during the meeting the evening before; you, sat before the Atreides' council, unaware that his mother was reading your honesty. 

But that could be a trick; you've admitted to being partially trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, perhaps you found a way to deceive his mother. As much as he trusts Duncan and his father, he can't shake the suspicion that you're a mere pawn in the Harkonnens' game.

But his father's words burn sharply into his mind. 

Duty often requires us to navigate paths we may not have chosen for ourselves, Paul. You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future spouse. Love may come in other ways - but you will marry her, and together you will sire an heir when the time comes.

By decree, it was ordered you be wed to Paul, but he can't find it within himself to lose the feeling of distrust. He has spent hours learning about the Harkonnens - how they think, their strategy; and yet, from Duncan's account, the Baron and his nephew just let you go. It makes no sense to him. 

"I was supposed to be a lot of things." 

Your voice is undeniably beautiful; strong, much more resolute than he'd expected. But you are extremely cold, and evidently unwilling. Polite, yes - it seems you've been trained just as he and every other young noble of the Great Houses have - but you are calculating, aggressive.

He saw the claw marks you'd left upon Duncan; a man you've known since you were a young girl.

You walk with your chest out, back straight like a soldier; your words are cordial yet laced with steel and indifference - it only serves to deepen his unease. He guides you through the castle, murmuring quietly as he shows you along, introducing you to various members of staff who stop and bow in recognition. 

You don't say much until he escorts you to a path that winds down out of your sights; Below the castle, between jagged rocks, Paul finds himself concerned to no longer be surrounded by castle walls. Beside him, you take a deep breath, your footsteps faltering as you slow to stare at moss that sprawls across the cobblestone. 

Curiously, Paul slows to a stop beside you.

For a moment, you stare down at the dirt and fallen tree limbs, the grassy fields and rocks. Soon, as though an invisible string pulls you upwards, you snap your head, voice sheepish behind your veil. "Apologies, my Lord." You start to turn away. "I've read of plants like this, but never seen them before in person." 

Paul is suddenly struck by the realization that you may not have seen much of any flora nor fauna on Caladan. He knows what Giedi Prime is like; and your homeworld, from what he'd read last night before bed, was mostly full of Glaciers, forests, and high altitudes. Perhaps you are interested in such things; the idea surprises him. 

So instead of moving along, he finds himself bending to pull off a bit of the moss from a fallen trunk. The earthy dirt spreads between his nimble fingers, the green bright against his skin. You watch him silently.

"It absorbs up to twenty times its dry weight in water." He says it quietly, repeating what he'd learned in an ecological lesson, pushing on the spongy material with his thumb. "Banks of it grow just around the brackish tidepools outside the castle." 

Your interest, piqued, causes your head to crane slightly from your short height - he can tell, even without seeing any part of your face, that you are fascinated. "Am I allowed to see?" You ask stiffly, your arms by your sides.

An initial wave of protectiveness over his home washes over him; remembering his father's words, he forces his shoulders to relax. He lets the moss fall back to the stump, brows furrowing. 

"You are to be Lady Atreides, one day." He tries to school his voice evenly, avoiding any hint of resistance to this fact. "You do not have to ask permission to see your own land." 

The wind from the sea whips around you; his stray curls fly in his vision. There are no words from you for several very long breaths, in which you clear your throat. 

"I do not feel well, my Lord." You say moments later, voice cordial but thick with the desire to be alone, "I believe I am sick from travel. Please, if you would excuse me." 

He is unsure if he had made you uncomfortable or if you are truly feeling sick; nonetheless, Paul escorts you to your chambers silently, calling one of the handmaids - Hestia, her name is - to check on you. He insists she bring you some bread and cheese, to draw you a bath if you please. 

His jaw clenches; he's to train with his mother soon, but he needs release. His muscles clench in repressed frustration and so Paul lets his feet carry him swiftly to the training quarters.

His fingers itch for a blade; his mind itches to forget about the last day, about the cold life that lies ahead of him. 

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

[saintsenara]

What do you think of the trio's post-canon careers? Because recently, something that has really captured my imagination has been the idea of healer Ron.

The profession, of course, most often crops up in Dramione fic where Hermione has taken up at St. Mungo's (laughable-- this is a girl who needed Harry to unstopper the dittany because her hands were shaking so bad, and frankly, I shudder to think of her bedside manner) but it is predictably absent when veering off the canon course with Ron. This is such a shame because his willow wand is outright good for healing magic (and it is a fairly uncommon combination that he has! The only other person with a willow and unicorn wand, fascinatingly enough, is Lily Potter.)

Ron is also the only person who's canonically interested in healing as a profession (he's immersed in the leaflet for it at breakfast.) He remembers the spattergroit incident from OOTP and then uses it as a cover story in DH. In Half-blood Prince, he takes the exact same classes Harry does, which means he has the grades required to go into auror training, yes, but they are coincidentally the same requirements a student needs to meet in order to apply to be a healer. (On that note: Ron and Harry were clearly high academic achievers and the fanon assertion otherwise needs to be beat back with hammers.)

But the reason why I think healer ron would've been a cracker of a route to go down is just how refreshing it would've been. The Girl of the team, the gang, the trio, being the Healer and Caretaker is such a TRITE trope at this point. DADA Professor Harry is a classic, but this is my case for Healer Ron deserving to be up there. Send his ass back to Hogwarts again if you have to (Hermione will definitely be pleased). Have him intern with Madam Pomfrey for a year and then grumble behind Neville while he takes notes on medicinal herbs. Healer Weasley, who's a big hit in the paediatrics ward because he makes the kids laugh. Who flirts with the oldies and plays chess with the curmudgeons. Who just cares, more than anything, and will bring you a cup of tea no matter the hour, no questions asked. I really do think he's got the disposition for it. What do you reckon?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i am immediately compelled by the concept of ron-versus-wizarding-medicine. because, certainly, i never see him as someone who stays in the auror office long-term - i think it makes sense for him immediately post-war, especially when he will undoubtedly just want to keep busy and hunt down baddies as a reaction to fred's death, but i think he only stays in the role after this initial burst of vengeance until he feels comfortable leaving harry in a high-risk situation on his own.

because, of course, ron's vibe with everything he touches in canon is influenced by the fact that he's someone predisposed to being caring [right down, as you say, to his wand]. the bit in prisoner of azkaban when he offers to make a cup of tea while hagrid's in hysterics about buckbeak's death sentence is something i find genuinely lovely, for example, and i do think - as you note - that there's something really striking about ron occupying that caring role within the trio which a fanon deviation to trite gender dynamics in which men are stupid and women are nurturing undermines in a supremely tedious way.

i'm not sure, though, that i would back ron in any specialism of healing that could be classed as emergency medicine - he has the vibe of, and i mean this with great affection, the sort of surgeon who habitually leaves sponges behind in patients - but i would back him in specialisms which need to be a bit more holistic or slower in pace. his chess skills - and his good intuition - suggest to me that he'd be a pretty effective diagnostician, and i obviously think he'd have a great bedside manner.

healer ron, then, is going to be at his best, absolutely, in something like paediatrics, which means that i'm going to take your suggestion about him interning with madam pomfrey and run with it to say that ron as hogwarts matron [or whatever the non-gendered version of that term would be] is his ideal career.

think about it! the work's varied and sometimes complicated, but it's not too high-pressure because really serious cases will be sent to st mungo's. the work will frequently relate to things that ron is interested in, like quidditch. and the work will frequently require ron's key talent - being sound - to shine. this is a man who would do an excellent job, i think, of handling mishaps caused by teenagers trying to hex their own acne off, or offering tea and sympathy to the homesick or the recently dumped. i think he'd do a great sex-ed presentation, would manage to charm honeydukes into giving the school its medicinal chocolate at a huge discount, and would be considered a huge legend by the student body for always being willing to certify to the teachers that someone who used a puking pastille to get out of class was actually sick.

as for the other two, i much prefer hermione as a barrister than as a civil-servant - not just because of her temperament but because i think the change she wants to bring to wizarding society is going to be won primarily by her slapping on a wig and gown and being condescending to witnesses.

as for harry, i like to stick to him as an auror. while i have some exceptions, i'm actually really not fond at all of professor potter as a trope - and, even more controversially, i really don't like the concept of professor riddle - largely because teaching is far too sedate for someone who runs on adrenaline as much as harry does.

and - i must be honest - i think the idea of harry as a teacher [or a healer or a quidditch player] often hangs on people feeling uncomfortable with the idea of him as, to all intents and purposes, a police officer. but i quite like taking that in the opposite direction, and playing with harry's canonically black-and-white morality and capacity for self-righteousness to have him - while not a corrupt or sadistic auror - a complacent one. i like the idea of him as someone who thinks that he always applies the law justly and so the law is therefore just, and so on - and the fact that this would allow him to overlook his own childhood lawbreaking is part of that...

[boyfridged]

i get the appeal of dick & jay having a kind of brotherly relationship where they get on right away and tease and banter and i’m not saying that it would never happen (they would def grow into it!) but i just really like how careful and considerate dick was in their sparse interactions we have seen in the 80s & how completely star-struck jay was... it’s just that it’s the first time any of them have this kind of a relationship and jason is quite insecure and shy, and dick is clearly so mindful of that but not quite sure how to approach him… and i def think if not for 1. how little the editorial cared for jay & 2. how short the span of post-crisis robin jay’s publishing history was (and if not for the fact that there were inter-office politics at play, because dick could not be often “borrowed” into batman titles at this time!!) we would get to see how this tentative bond grew into a familial love. some of these gaps were filled in later on and there are some element in the later flashbacks & references that i find compelling (the ski trip, the train surfing; i def think dick being an intense person he is would have a similar idea of bonding, and i think jay would be a bit worried about what bruce thought at first & just freaked out, but would have fun in the end) but also. the general “dynamics” they have is so weird in most of these late (post-mortem and post-res) stories. jason being overly cocky and mean to dick is adorable only if you don’t know how ooc it is compared with his 80s characterisation and if you don’t think about how much of it is a product of classism.

[deusvervewrites]

Dread lord:

I reckoned Nedzu would have the Midoriya's address because of him enrolling in UA already. Which usually involves giving your address (Atleast where I live).

It makes sense for them to life in the night dimension though. But that brings up another question. How easily can they be reached while inside of the dimension?

I reckon the post office isn't funded enough for inter dimensional delivery. And phones probably wouldn’t work either.

Is there any other way to contact them besides calling on Izuku?

I knew that's what you meant but Midoriya either put down the empty apartment or their address in the Kingdom of Night. Probably the former since that way Nedzu can actually mail the results.

The Mirror in the palace means that it's technically very easy to get Midoriya's attention if you want to speak with him, but otherwise, the only means of communicating between Earth and the Night Kingdom are magical in nature

[opencommunion]

"Britain’s largest gathering of counter-terrorism experts assembled in London last month to discuss what one police chief called 'legal but harmful protest' following Israel’s war on Gaza. Inside a cavernous Docklands conference hall, companies at the Counter Terror Expo displayed gas mask-clad dummies and crowd control systems as enthusiastic AI reps promised revolutionary advances in surveillance. Tools for hacking phones with 'brute force,' monitoring someone’s emotional state based on their social media and rapidly digesting the contents of an 'acquired' computer were all up for sale. Among the potential customers were foreign police departments, including officers fresh from Georgia’s violent crackdown on anti-Russia protests.

Several salespeople declined to explain their products to the media. 'I can’t believe they let you people in here,' one rep told Declassified after seeing our press card. 'I think it’s disgusting.' Her company markets AI tools for military and law enforcement to process recordings of people’s voices. 

When delegates weren’t browsing spyware or sipping craft beer with a £12 'world food' meal deal, they could listen to the security industry’s leading lights. These included detective chief superintendent Maria Lovegrove who runs Britain’s Prevent strategy against radicalisation. She trumpeted 53 arrests for terrorism offences since October 7. Only one of these was for violence. The rest concerned social media posts or attending gatherings. Asked whether this data suggests police are overreacting to peaceful pro-Palestine protests, Lovegrove valorised an 'early intervention' approach. She told Declassified this was the 'greatest tool in preventing terror attacks' and insisted officers 'only arrest and prosecute when we have to.' Among those arrests were three women found guilty for wearing paraglider stickers at a protest.

Dom Murphy – the Met’s counter terrorism commander – told delegates he was monitoring 'legal but harmful' protests and the risk of 'low-sophistication' attacks by people radicalised online or at university since October 7th. 'If there are 100,000 people at a protest, and one person holding a Hamas flag, we will find them and arrest them,' Murphy reassured attendees. A majority of recent arrests targeted individuals aged under 17, he boasted, as proof that the 'early intervention' approach was working. 

Another panellist praised Britain’s ability to pre-emptively arrest people for public order offences at demonstrations and target them for terror offences further down the line. Craig McCann, a former senior Prevent officer, expressed the mood in the room when he described ceasefire marches as a 'permissive environment for the transfer of extremist ideology.' Like other speakers, he sought to delegitimise opponents of Israel’s war on Gaza by characterising pro-Palestine protests as an 'Islamist camp conflating with far-Right anti-Semitism.' McCann explicitly linked Palestinian nationalism with Nazism, an Israeli propaganda point. Fellow panellists claimed parts of London were a 'no-go zone for Jews.' Discussing threats from 'street protest all the way through to terrorism,' the conference presented far Left, far Right, 'Islamist' and 'environmentalist' ideologies as equal, inter-related threats to British society. ... After lunch, discussion turned to 'British values' and protecting England from the menace of social media and foreign flags that vexed thousands of officers under Murphy’s command. Many felt the next-generation tech on display would ensure ever more effective crackdowns on street protest and dissent."

[promitto-amor]

Opportunity

It's been a WHILE since I was on Tumblr, but I find myself inspired to write and Mark Hoffman reappeared in Saw X at the most opportune time...

Summary: Mark Hoffman has a special interest in the Rook at his precinct. After she blows off post-work drinks for a date, Hoffman can't let the opportunity to make a move pass by when she turns up at the bar with a familiar date.

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x Ivy Reeves (original character)

Warnings: Language!

There aren't nearly enough Mark Hoffman fics out there so this is my contribution. Who doesn't like a jealous Hoffman hmm? Ivy is mine from a fanfic I never finished years and years ago. I've brought her back for this one shot because she needed a name for this fic to work. Please feel free to insert your own name! This is pretty PG for me! Also I will forever headcanon that Adam lived. 👀

Mark didn’t like work drinks. Ever since he had been converted, the thought of alcohol always turned his stomach to lead. The temptation to once more travel down the path of blackout nights was always too great and Mark had to keep his wits about him.

He couldn’t afford to slip up. One slip up could spell the end for him.

Clenching his fist around the non-alcoholic beer that had sat in front of him for the last hour, Hoffman surveyed the throng of drinkers. Among them was Fisk, his occasional partner and first Detective on the Jigsaw case. A man that was too simple for this world, simple enough to have achieved the rare feat of never prompting Jigsaw to put him in a trap. Beside him was Rigg, a future victim, but for now Rigg could live his life in the ignorance that his time was being drained as fast as his third drink. Kerry looked how Mark felt. She’d spent most of the night staring at her gin, too down about Eric Matthews to be in much of a social mood, despite Rigg’s encouragements.

It seems that Matthews himself really was the life of the party. Too bad he’s stuck in some cell of Jigsaw’s making to join them for Friday night drinks.

The only other person who could have made the night somewhat better would have been Ivy. The youngest on their serial killer task team, Ivy had taken to staying late, volunteering to take on swabbing through the heaps of evidence recovered from the latest game. Whether this was due to a morbid fascination with Jigsaw’s modus operandi, or ambition to get ahead in her job, Mark wasn’t sure. But it certainly made the nights when he had to stay late less lonely. With his fellow co-workers becoming more despondent since Matthew’s disappearance, Ivy’s lack of inter-work relationships was refreshing.

Ivy made the best coffee in the office and was the only person to remember that Mark took his coffee black.

A body slumps down beside him, Fisk leans in close to him. “Reckon I’ll be able to get two weeks off?”

“You planning a vacation?” Mark tips back his glass and tries to finish it, but there’s too much left to down in one.

“Thinking of it.” Fisk admits, “I feel like things might be slowing down. I know we had one last week but…hey doesn’t look like anything big is planned.”

“Could just be a matter of time.”

“Maybe,” Fisk grins. “All the more reason to be out of the city when it happens.”

Mark would like to trap him for that alone, but sadly if he could have left New Jersey and Jigsaw behind, he would have been in Europe by now. There was a time when he thought about it. Around the time Ivy had become more present in the Jigsaw case, Mark had allowed himself to fantasise about starting a new life in another country. A new face and a warm smile to wake up next to. But John’s recent resilience across the border in Mexico had proved Mark will never be free until Jigsaw and his puppet apprentice were both dead.

Fisk casts a look round the bar, “Where’s the rook tonight?”

“You’ve gotta stop calling her that.”

”I know,” Fisk nods. “Force of habit, besides she is still new to the task force.”

“Even so she’ll punch you for that soon.”

“I notice you’re avoiding my question.” 

Fisk is eying him and so Mark has no choice but to grumble out, “She has a date.”

“Interesting.” Fisk enunciates every syllable and leans back on his bar stool. “Any idea who?”

“No.” Mark seriously considers ordering a shot, “That’s all I know.”

“Good for her.” Fisk says, “For making sure she has a life. Important that, you know?”

Mark’s known him long enough to get the hint, “I’m fine, Fisk.”

“I know,” Fisk says again, his eyes now on Kerry. “I guess better to be single than caught up with a married colleague.”

Maybe John would allow Fisk to be trapped on the basis of being a gossip?

The bar door opens a couple of times as Fisk continues to chatter about a variety of topics. Mark offers one worded answers whenever suitable. On the fourth time the bar door opened, Adam Stanheight walks through the door. He doesn’t know who Mark is, but Mark knows the wannabe PI well.

This kind of dive bar is where he’d expect Stanheight to frequent. A place where lost souls gather to watch the same generic rock bands, play pool and eventually hook up. Exactly why Mark’s precinct usually favours it. Easy to get lost in the flow of people that gather. It is not the sort of place anyone should bring Ivy Reeves on a date.

She slides in after Adam. Rigg spots her immediately and sends her an enthusiastic wave. Ivy pauses on seeing her coworkers, whispers something to Adam and he too looks over. Adam’s eyes dart from Rigg to Ivy and on her taking his hand the two make their way to the bar. Mark notes Ivy puts as much distance between their position and her position at the bar as possible.

Fisk’s eyes are watching everything unfold, “Isn’t that-“

“Yeah.”

“From the bathroom game.”

“Yes.”

“The one that just appeared.”

Ivy had been the one to speak with a nearly dead Adam Stanheight, who appeared at the Angel of Mercy hospital at some godforsaken hour. He’d been dumped in an empty bed and hooked up to an IV with saline solution. Apparently it had given the nurses quite the scare and when all Adam could say was the word ‘bathroom’, the hospital had been quick to call in the Jigsaw task force.

Mark knows who freed Adam. He’d heard the same rant from Amanda over and over about how interfering Doctors should stay in their lanes.

On that rare occasion, Mark had agreed with her.

Ivy’s eyes track across the room and Mark hopes she might be looking for him. Taking the opportunity before him Fisk calls out, beckoning Ivy over. Mark waits for her to find him and once she has Mark offers her a small nod. She looks away and her hand subconsciously tugs at her top. When she turns back to them Ivy holds up a finger and Fisk shoots a smirk at him.

“What are the odds?”

“She can date whoever she likes.”

“Never said she couldn’t” Fisk is watching him like Mark has become his favourite TV show. “You jealous?”

“She’s ten years or so younger.”

“So?”

“Shut it, Fisk.”

Ivy accepts a drink from Adam, who hasn’t stopped talking since they arrived and takes a cautious sip. When she thinks it’s been long enough, she glances over at Mark again. He catches her eye again and this time, Ivy has little choice but to whisper in Adam’s ear and make her way over to them.

“Did you know we were coming here?” Fisk ask as soon as Ivy’s in earshot.

“No,” She says, leaning in close to hear Fisk over the chatter. “Adam knows this place, an ex-friend of his used to play here.”

“Hoffman’s been missing you.”

Mark’s definitely putting Fisk in a trap. Even if he has to lie about the reason. Ivy’s eyes slip back to him, “I doubt that. You all look like you’re having so much fun.”

“Sarcasm?” Mark asks and Ivy sends him a shy grin.

Adam sidles up behind her. He rubs the back of his neck, “Didn’t think I’d see you guys so soon.”

“How you doing?” Fisk starts up small talk with Adam, as if he really cares about his recovery. This leaves Mark the perfect opportunity to corner Ivy. He stands up and leans on the bar, blocking Fisk and Adam from her line of sight. “How’s the date?”

Ivy sips her drink. Her eyes look in all directions but at Mark as she searches for her answer. She’s uncomfortable. But for what reason? Is it because she’s out with a victim of the case she’s working? Mark doesn’t even know if that would count as a conflict of interest. Ivy finally answers in a voice low enough that Mark has to lean in, “Adam’s my usual type. He’s nice enough, made me laugh on our first date.”

Mark places his empty glass on the bar top. “But not enough on a second date?”

Ivy’s fingers tighten on her own glass, “I thought I would enjoy it more than I am.”

“What’s wrong then?”

She glances over at Kerry and Rigg, “I should say hello to them.” She glances back to him, as if asking permission.

Mark seizes the opportunity, “You knew we were going here. Did you convince him to take you here tonight?”

Mark didn’t need to be a Detective to read the guilt that washes over her. “I wasn’t feeling it much when I agreed to go out again. I thought if we came here, where you were, I’d have an easier way out.”

He presses in a little closer to her. Ivy’s eyes jump over his shoulder, like a skittish doe, no doubt checking on Adam. Mark knows he’s sizing her up, the dare evident in how he’s gotten so close to her. “Do you need a way out, Ivy?”

“No.” She balks and takes a step back. She tips her drink back, places the glass on the table and crosses the short distance to reclaim Adam from Fisk. She leads her ‘date’ over to the pool tables and Mark retakes his seat by Fisk.

“I like him.” Fisk announces, “He plays electric guitar.”

“He still stalking people and taking their pictures?”

Fisk shakes his head, “Didn’t ask, but I doubt it.”

Mark’s eyes stalk Ivy as she collects the pool cues. Adam is lining up the balls and then he’s leaning over Ivy, helping her break. Not that she needs help. Mark’s certain Ivy’s played before, judging by how she lines up her shot and pockets a stripe.

“I’m going home.” Mark announces, “Someone’s gotta be coherent in the morning.”

“Yeah, me too.” Fisk nods, “I’ll tell the others.”

Mark sidles over to the back exit, where he’ll deliberately pass by Ivy. She’s leaning against her pool cue, chalking up the end when Mark presses himself behind her to get past. “Your opportunity is leaving.” He murmurs in her ear, hands finding her waist. He knows it’s a cheap move, but Ivy tenses deliciously under his touch. He doesn’t care whether Stanheight is watching or not. Mark pushes open the back door and heads for his car, parked just a couple of feet away.

Thankful he’s made it another night without drinking, Mark puts the key in the ignition and waits a couple minutes. Just as he’s about to drive away, the backdoor opens. Ivy walks straight for his car, opens the passenger door and climbs in.

Mark leans back in the driver’s seat and waits for her to speak.

“Just take me home, Mark.”

“I don’t know where you live.”

She turns her head to face him, “Yes, you do.”

Mark sets off. He lets the silence linger between them as Ivy plays with her fingers. The small bag she’s been carrying around all night is on her lap. Mark can tell the silence is eating at her, but she’s too stubborn to speak first. When they are less than five minutes away, Mark gives her some mercy. “What did you say to get away?”

“I said forensics had found something.” She heaves a sigh and runs a hand over her face, smudging some of her mascara. She’s still beautiful to Mark.

“Why’d you lie?”

“Because I wanted to be with you.”

Her admission unsettles him as much as it pleases him. To have won another kind of game, one Mark has rarely ever let himself play is thrilling. He could see how it could become addictive, but Mark isn’t going to be smug about it. Not much. “I didn’t think you’d entertain the idea of someone like me.”

It should be more of a warning than it is. He should be pulling over, telling her to get out. Mark knows he should do everything he can to make her hate him. But Mark can only resist one temptation tonight.

Ivy doesn’t answer as he pulls up outside her apartment block. Mark smirks as the cliche, loaded question leaves him, “Do you want me to walk you upstairs or are you good?”

Finally, she looks at him, “Do you want to?”

He bites back a growl. “Of course I fucking want to.” He says, holding onto the last remnants of his restraint. “You’ve been on my mind all fucking night, Reeves.”

She reacts at once, climbing across the gearbox and onto his lap. Mark just pushes the seat back in time as Ivy settles herself. His hands don’t know where to hold, his bravado from earlier abandons him when Ivy is bearing down on him in all areas. She looks down at him for a second and then her lips are on his. 

--------

How tempted I was to keep this going, but sometimes a tease is better than full smut no? You can let your imaginations go wild from here. 😈

[romione-trope-fest]

The Way I Love(d) You

Fic Title: The Way I Love(d) You

Author name: adenei

Trope: Soulmates

Summary: Junior Auror Ron Weasley is about to embark on his first assignment thanks to a new Death Eater threat. Hermione Granger has sworn off the Magical World forever, living in ignorant bliss as a Muggle. But what they both don’t realize is just how serious this threat is, not only for the magical world, but also for the two of them, and what it means for their future.

WC: 2k & counting (more chapters to be posted on ao3

Rating: Teen

TW: None

*****

5 March 1999

Attn: All Active Junior & Senior Aurors

There will be a mandatory briefing in Fawley Hall at 16:00.

Signed,

G. Robards, Head Auror

“Any idea what this is about?” Ron holds up the inter-office memo that he pulled off of his locker moments ago.

Harry finishes toweling off his hair before acknowledging the half-sheet of parchment. “No idea. But it doesn’t say ‘trainees,’ so why are we included?”

“Well, we did technically finish our six months of training,” Ron reasons.

It’s true. Long, grueling, eighty hour weeks have kept them both occupied since August. Not that Ron’s had anything better to do with his time. Especially since—no. He refuses to go there. He can’t.

Focus on the job. On protecting people. On making a difference. 

That’s all he can do right now. Anything’s better than grappling with what went wrong.

“—Ron?”

“Huh?” He glances back at Harry, realizing he’d tuned him out.

“I said—nevermind. It’s not worth arguing.”

Ordinarily, Ron would want to know what Harry said, but right now he’s too distracted to care. He pulls a clean undershirt out from his locker and pulls it over his head before throwing on his robes and affixing the shiny new badge that very clearly says ‘Junior Auror’ on it to his chest.

“Because you know I’m right.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, we may hold the title of ‘Junior Auror’ but we’re still at the bottom of the totem pole.”

“I love how you say that as if you’re not already some God-sent war hero.” Ron snorts. 

They both are, but Harry definitely gets higher preferential treatment. Not that Ron’s resentful at all. He earned the right to be here, and he’s bloody proud of the badge, even if it means they’re being pulled into a last-minute briefing on a Friday afternoon.

“It’s nice to pretend I’m just like everyone else every once in a while.” Harry grins, trying to keep the comment light-hearted, but Ron knows there’s a stark truth behind it. “Come on, we’re going to be late if we don’t get moving. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not be on Robards’ bad side when we’re just starting out.”

Ron bites his tongue, resisting another jab as they head out of the locker room and toward the main entrance of the Auror department. It’s the quickest way to get to the briefing room, otherwise known as Fawley Hall. The large meeting area is already half-full by the time they get there.

Harry and Ron stand against the wall in the back with the other Junior Aurors who don’t dare to take one of the coveted seats at any of the tables. It’s common knowledge among the ranks that the Senior Aurors get precedence in these types of meetings. And though Ron would love to sit because of his aching legs after today’s training session, he doesn’t complain. Hopefully, this will be quick, and they’ll be on their way home for the weekend in no time.

A minute before the meeting is about to start, Ron turns his attention toward Robards, who’s standing tall at the podium. His brow is knotted even tighter than usual and he keeps glancing at the door.

Huh. That’s strange.

Ron’s gaze follows the Head Auror’s and he’s surprised when the Minister for Magic enters the room. 

What the hell’s Kingsley doing here?

He nudges Harry in the side, then cocks his head toward their fellow Order member. “This must really be serious if Kingsley’s here.”

Harry nods, opening his mouth to say something, but Robards clears his throat, signaling that he’s going to begin.

“Thank you all for your punctuality. We won’t keep you long,” he begins in his gruff voice. “Your tireless work to help the Ministry get back in order following the defeat of Voldemort has not gone unnoticed. However, it is far from over. 

“Most of the Death Eaters have been apprehended, but there is still a group of rogue sympathizers who continue to fly under our radar. All of our leads have resulted in dead ends, and while we have names and warrants out for the arrests of half a dozen individuals, I am afraid this may be more serious than we realized.” Robards pauses, looks to Kingsley, and gives a small nod.

Kingsley then steps forward and addresses the room. “There has been a breach in the Department of Mysteries, specifically the Registrar room.”

A low rumble rolls across the room as people mutter to themselves and each other. Ron and Harry share a look. He doesn’t remember the Registrar room. Did they not visit it during their excursion back in fifth year?

Robards holds his hand up to regain everyone’s attention, then continues once it’s quiet. “A large portion of one of the lists was stolen, and we believe that there are many people in danger now as a result. In order to stay ahead of this rogue faction, we need to protect the innocents we believe they are targeting. 

“All Senior Aurors will be prioritizing this case above anything else. We need to catch these Blood Purists before they can do any physical harm to anyone on that list. Junior Aurors, you will be assigned shifts to guard at-risk individuals. Twenty-four hours on, twenty-four hours off. Right now, the threat level is minimal, so the affected witches and wizards will be permitted to go about their daily lives.”

“So, we’ll be acting as their bodyguards?” one of the Junior Aurors calls out. 

Ron can’t help but raise his eyebrows at the bloke’s brazenness. He doesn’t remember the guy’s name, but he reminds Ron of McLaggen. Robards glares at him, but still offers a curt nod. 

Kingsley interrupts again, staring directly at the Junior Auror who spoke out of turn. “Your job to protect these people is just as important as those who are trying to apprehend the Death Eaters. More important, perhaps, considering you’ll be the one in the line of fire should an attack happen upon your watch.”

A Senior Auror in the front raises his hand and Robards nods to him. “What list did they steal? And how do we know who is being targeted off that list?”

“A duplication charm was detected on the Fatum Animarum. They only managed to steal a few pages before stunning the Unspeakable on duty and fleeing. And if you have to ask about targets, then you might need a refresher on the fundamental beliefs of the Death Eaters.” Robards rolls his eyes before continuing. “Now, if there are no further questions, Senior Aurors can pick up their assignments from Cole at the front desk and Junior Aurors come see me. Dismissed.”

A loud scuffle of chair legs scratching against the wood floors accompanies the immediate rise of voices as people begin moving about the room. It’s a bit of a mob scene as half the people head for the exit and the other form a line in front of Robards. Given that Harry and Ron are in the back, they file in at the end of the line. Ron doesn’t mind though, since it gives him time to digest the information.

Harry turns to him while they wait. “Fatum Animarum? Have you heard of that before?”

“Nope. Don’t have a clue. Fatum’s ‘fate’ though, isn’t it?” Ron ponders.

Harry nods slowly. “Or destiny.”

“Why do you know that?”

“It’s the only thing that stuck from Divination. You know, Trelawney had a field day trying to predict my ‘fatum.’” Harry pretends to gag while Ron sniggers. He’d forgotten about that.

“Ah, that rings a bell now that you mention it.”

Now, if he could only figure out what Animarum means. The line is slow moving, and Ron taps Harry on the shoulder to get his attention again, but when his best mate turns around, he’s frowning.

“What?” Ron asks.

“I’m just thinking about Robards’ statement—about who we’re going to be protecting.”

“And? What about it?” But even as Ron says the words, his blood runs cold. “Muggleborns?”

“Who else would Death Eaters be targeting?” Harry tries to reason.

“Fuck.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. Ron’s mind goes blank and overflows with a million different scenarios all at once. He can’t think straight. They’re supposed to be past this. Everything is supposed to be okay now. But even through all the commotion banging around in his head, one name screams at the forefront. 

As if reading his mind, Harry places his hand on Ron’s shoulder. “She’s fine. What are the chances she’s even on that list?”

Ron nods, as if to placate Harry, but he doesn’t mean it. How can they be sure?

No, he can’t let himself go down that path. He needs to focus on the job. He’s about to get an assignment. He needs to keep his senses clear to gain whatever intel he can and—

“—souls.” He catches the last part of someone’s conversation as the line moves forward. It’s a group of Senior Aurors who haven’t left yet. They’re huddled around a nearby table discussing possibilities, apparently eager to get to work. 

“They stole names from the Destiny of Souls,” a dark-haired witch says.

“But why? If they’re targeting Muggleborns, wouldn’t it have been easier to just get those names instead? Hell, I’m sure someone in their ranks already has them! Why go to the trouble?” A balding wizard with glasses retorts. “I’m not saying it’s right either way, but—”

“Merlin, you’re really thick sometimes,” a blonde witch cuts him off. “They don’t care about just any Muggleborn anymore. They’re going after the ones who have the potential to taint bloodlines and make ‘impure’ baby wizards and witches, you dolt.”

“Blimey,” the wizard says, making the connection. “So, they’re targeting the Muggleborn halves of Soul pairs?”

“It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?”

Ron catalogs the information he’s overheard, intent on doing his own research once he has his assignment now that he has more to go off of. The line finally starts to move faster, and eventually he gets to the front.

“Weasley,” Robards addresses him before thrusting an envelope in his hand after Harry moves to the side. 

He takes it and turns around, taking a few steps toward Harry, who’s already going over his assignment. “My first shift’s Sunday,” he says. “What about you?”

Ron tears his envelope open, pulling out the slip of parchment. His heart plummets to his stomach for a multitude of reasons when he sees the name. “No.”

There, in a loopy scrawl he doesn’t recognize, is the name of the witch who left a hole the size of England in his heart: Hermione Granger.

“Wha—oh, shit. Really?”

Ron whips around, turning back to Robards, who is gathering his things in an attempt to leave. “Sir, this has to be a mistake. A conflict of interest. Plus, she’s not even—”

Kingsley, who must have overheard Ron, abandons his other conversation and walks over to him. “It’s not a mistake, Ron.”

He shakes his head. “No, but—why? She’s in—she’s not here.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s safe. None of the Muggleborns on that list are. Especially her. Not after everything she did alongside you two to stop Voldemort.”

A million questions whiz around in Ron’s mind, but one keeps fighting its way to the forefront. He’s not sure how many questions Kingsley or Robards will entertain, so he has to choose wisely. And though there are more logistical questions that should take precedence, the two words slip out anyway.

“Why me?”

Kingsley and Robards share a look before Kingsley’s soft, yet serious expression meets Ron’s. It’s full of the same sureness he remembers when the older wizard assured Ron that Hermione would be okay while she was with him when they went to retrieve Harry two summers ago.

The Minister gives him a small, sympathetic smile. “Because if something happened to her, you’d never forgive us if it was anyone else.”

[jpitha]

Table of Contents!

Hi Everyone! I'm jpitha!

I write sci-fi shorts and stories! I have a few universes that I like to write about, mostly so I can keep worldbuilding straight. I post here and on r/HFY (a scifi writing focused reddit) and I've been trying out posting links back to here on Threads.

I like to post nearly every day. My longer works usually get posted once or twice a week, but I try and fill out the week with other stuff.

Since I have a bunch of posts now, here's a ToC to help you find the kind you want to read, broken out roughly by theme:

Multi-Part Long Reads

The Race (2 parts) First long one I did and the first time I introduced a K'laxi. I edited it from its original post as I learned more about them. Complete

Blockade Runner (2 parts) Might come back to this one later

Awakenings (4 parts, Intertwined with Hidden Depths) Complete

We Need a Ride (7 parts, 2 Codas stuff in Awakenings and Hidden Depths references it) Complete

Hidden Depths A Multi POV Adventure about when everyone on the Joint Human/K'laxi Starbase comes together to defeat an invasion force with the help of a long lost colony ship. (27, plus extra parts, Intertwined with Awakenings) Complete

Just A Little Further YA Flavored, first person adventure about Melody Mullen and what happens when she goes along on an exploratory trip to try and reach the end of the Warp Gate system. (40 parts) Complete

The Dreams of Hyacinth Cyberpunk Noir. Nicholas North is a easygoing small time crook who lives on the Corporation owned High Mars Orbital Hyacinth. When he is asked by a friend for some help, he agrees readily, not realizing what he's getting drawn into. Ongoing

Aliens are Gardenworlders

I want to live on the Gardenworld

Tumbling on a low gee world

Diary of a Human on the Gardenworld

Spacediving

Gord the Maplelegger

Gord's Tall Tale

On Lawbreaking

Gord Goes Curling

Gord Meets His Match?

Worldbuilding

Blockade Runner (redux)

Avoid Humans are Mary-Sue's

Remember that your Aliens aren't idiots

The Fire Brigade

Starjumper age

On AIs

How to Communicate Across Vast Distances

Working out the Day/Time/Date differential

The Real World is Messy

Humans Are Old (friends)

Humans get fevers

How to Communicate Across Vast Distances

Hidden Depths: A Side Story

On Cooperation

Did AIs Ever Think to Wipe Out Humanity?

The First Few Rows Will Get Wet

Slice of Life Stories

The Cyclists

Acetone is bad?

Gene's High Gee Gym

Hospitality

K'laxi and Human kids playing

Office Cookies

Humans and their Hobbies

All Human Ships Have a Manual Override

Allergies

Liver and Kidneys mean we eat anything

Frisbee tricks

Risk Tolerance

The Dinner Party

The Long Way Round

Humans Solve Problems With Explosions

Humans Play Wargames

Everyone has Proprioception

K'laxi Used to Run on All Fours

Humans Still Solve Problems With Explosions

Tattoos and Piercings

Ambassador Transport

Just One Question

Lin Makes Art

Bar fight Aftermath

K'laxi and Cats

Do it With Style

Upgrading Starbase

How are AIs Powered Anyway?

Computing Power (edited)

Outside the K'laxiverse posts

Humans and their computers

Who Is The Human?

Throwing

Mating Rituals

Hunting

Determination

Lateral Thinking

Catching

Oxygen Ain't Nothing to Mess With

Flash Fiction Friday Posts

FFF187 - You Can't Be Serious

FFF189 - Because You Need It

FFF191 - We're On Our Way

FFF200 - It's Just a Walk for You?

Encyclopedia Posts

Humans Make Friends with Anything

Human Kids Make Friends Easily

Humans Make an Entrance

Humans bring Busking

War Emergency Power

On Starjumpers and Battle

War Stories

A Matter of Scale

Just Another Merc

Time to Go

Gotcha! (or is it?)

Inter-Colony War

Always Ready

The Sacrifice

Relationship Stories

K'laxi Can Eat Waffles

Peripheral Vision

Dancing

Flirting through exercise

Nilan and Ta'reni learn about timekeeping

The Big Game

Heart to Heart

YA-esque Stories

Water Balloon War

The Birthday Surprise

Kelly and Panemi look at kittens

[discotitsposts]

my favorite distraction

unit chief spencer reid x reader

reposting as a whole new post bc i couldn’t link the second part before

originally posted March 25th 2024 i believe

The team was currently giving the profile and the way Spencer was speaking with such authority and confidence you’d never seen before. It was so hot. He had stubble on his face and his shirt was slightly disheveled from underneath his cardigan. After he’s finished speaking the cops leave to do their job. You and Spencer go back to the office you guys had been using to try to solve the case. Spencer realizes suddenly how warm it is in the station and goes to remove his cardigan. You are in shock as he starts taking it off practically drooling at the sight. Spencer, completely oblivious hands you his cardigan and asks you if you could hang it up for him. Without thinking you reply, “Yes, sir.” He gives you a funny look and you smack your forehead when you turn around. He thinks nothing of it until it happens again. This time back at the BAU. As the new unit chief he has a lot of paper work to get done. He doesn’t mind it he likes paper work. One thing stands out to him, one of your files is incorrectly done. You’re the only one still left in the office so he brings it down to you to correct your small mistake. You look up when he walks over to you. Oh and the way he walks, it always gets to you. Especially when he’s wearing a too tight shirt, like he is now. Uh oh he’s walking towards you. He hands you a file you had finished earlier.

Hey, I was just wondering if you could take another look at this for me, I think you made a little mistake right here,” He reaches over your shoulder to point at the misinformation. You nod at what he’s saying. “If you could please fix that and then get it back to me I would appreciate that.” He smiles at you and waits for your answer. Again, only thinking of his constricted biceps in that shirt you blurt, “Yes sir!” You put your head down immediately and get to correcting what he had told you to, until you feel his big warm hand on your shoulder. You look up and he’s staring you in the eyes, he breaks the silence.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what,” you whisper so softly he can barely hear your reply.

You keep calling me sir, I told you you don’t have to do that. It feels strange when we’ve worked together for 12 years. My desk used to be right there,” He points at Luke’s new desk. “Now it’s up there,” He raises his finger to Hotch’s old office. “Not much difference except the stairs.” You giggle without thinking. Wait maybe he didn’t intend that to be funny. NO. He breaks into a smile.

“You know, I would tell you why you keep calling me sir, but that breaks the rules of inter-team profiling.” You panic and feel sweaty at the prospect that he might know why you panic around him. “It’s you!” You blurt. His mouth opens in shock, “Me?”

YOU! I love those damn cardigans on you and your hair is so fluffy and you’re so warm!” He stares at you in shock still and you cover your mouth with your hands to stop more stupid stuff to come out. You stand up to make an escape but his hand slams on the desk in front of you to stop you. His other arm gets on your waist and he kisses you mindlessly. He stops suddenly and pulls away. You stand there with disappointment written on your face.

We can’t do that, ever again, at least not while both of us are still in the BAU.” He sighs.

“I’ll quit!” You blurt again.

He chuckles, “I can’t ask you to do that. I know you love your job.”

“I’ll transfer! Whatever you want me to do I’ll do it.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t do that. Well, it’s getting late. See you tomorrow.” He walks back to his desk and brings your now corrected file with him.

The next day

Spencer gets to his office early head still reeling after having replayed his moment with you the previous night. He feels terrible about it and wants to apologize. You’re not in yet since there’s no coffee cup on your desk like usual. Some part of him fears he may have scared you off. You two couldn’t be the same after that. He sits down and notices a paper on his desk. He skims through it.

It was your Request Of Transfer.

He picks up the phone to call you.

part two-

use of she her pronouns for reader but you could honestly replace any details some mature themes. 18+

Spencer was kissing you so passionately and aggressively you couldn't stand it. You wanted, needed more, you break away to rip your shirt off and he rips his open. Buttons flying. Then a loud sound right in your ear ringing so loudly you can barely focus on kissing him.

You open your eyes and you're in your bed, alone. Well not totally, your phone is ringing like crazy. Completely annoyed that whoever it was had interrupted your dream.

You check the caller ID. Spencer. Uh oh. What if he was angry you requested a transfer. He had told you quite firmly to not do that. Oh well how bad could him being angry be? He was really sexy when he was angry anyway.

You pick up and hear his even sexier morning voice.

"I thought I specifically said do not request a transfer."

Not angry. More nervous? Concerned maybe.

"I said I would do anything for you." You reply picking at your nail.

"No you said, 'Whatever you want me to do l'll do it,' I didn't want you to transfer."

"Well do you want me to quit instead?" You start fixing your hair in the mirror as though he could see you.

"No that's not- why are you doing this. Really. Is it me?"He still sounds nervous.

"Yes, because you said, and i quote "We can't do this while we both are in the BAU." You put your fingers up as air quotes even though no one can see you. Well except your nosey neighbor, Terry, who's always peeking at your window. You wave at her while Spencer takes a deep breath.

"Just come into work today. Alright?"

"Work? I'm unemployed right now!" You joke.

"Just come in here. Come to my office right away when you get here. I need to speak to you in person about this."

Feeling more confident you speak in a sultry voice, "Yes, sir." You hang up and go to get ready.

After you hang up Spencer is in shock at your last words.

"Yes sir" Why had those two words been so hot coming from your mouth. He feels a certain rush of blood between his legs and curses. His stomach felt all tingly.

Butterflies they call it, normally caused by stress or anxiety but this wasn't stress or anxiety. I don't feel that around her. It's the release of norepinephrine in your central nervous system but does that mean i'm in love with her? He thought. (had to google that one)

"I'm going crazy." He says out loud and rubs his face with his hands.

"You still seem to have all your marbles to me." He looks up as David Rossi walks into his office and shuts the door. He gives him a look that says, you can tell me. Spencer spills his guts to Rossi about the whole situation. Well except for the part about his enlarged crotch. When he's done Rossi sits back in his chair and is silent. He crosses his legs and fixes his cufflinks. Cartier, probably way too expensive. Spencer thinks. Rossi finally speaks. "You're not crazy kid, you're an idiot."

Spencer looks taken aback, and opens his mouth to talk when Rossi speaks again. "No I know you have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute so statistically you're not an idiot. I mean in love. You're an idiot in love and if you don't let her transfer you're going to regret it for the rest of your life. Not only that, she is going to do everything in her power to drive you insane until you let in. Save yourself the trouble and when you two get married you can host the wedding in my backyard." He pats Spencer on the back and stops at the door. "Oh and incidentally you're not fooling anyone having that book in your lap. Don't worry it's perfectly natural to have that reaction. Good luck." With that he shuts the door and Spencer's mouth is left open in shock. As Emily once said, IQ of 187 slashed to 60.

You get to the doors of the BAU and give yourself a little pep talk while staring at Spencer's closed office door.

You shake off the nerves and click-clack up the stairs.

You knock softly on his door but he doesn't get up and open it. He simply calls out, "Come in." You, being very mature, giggle at the word come and push the door open and step in. In a form fitting dress that makes you look very beautiful and in the most flattering color, you look like a literal goddess. Spencer almost loses his mind completely at this look on you. Was he dreaming? Maybe. Since you're walking around his office admiring his awards and PHDs, he discreetly pinches his arm and feels pain instantly. Nope not dreaming. You stop looking around and he motions you to take a seat. You look at the comfy chair in front of him. You opt for sitting on his desk instead. He stares in shock as you hop up on his desk and swing your legs. He stares at them and then at your face. He's not saying anything so you start a conversation. "Aren't you glad we're not cartoon characters?" He snaps out of it and says "Huh?"

"I said aren't you glad we're not cartoon characters.

“Otherwise we'd have to wear the same outfits all the time."

"Oh- oh yeah I guess i've never really thought about that before." He is confused why you would bring this up. This has nothing to do with why you're really there.

"Like if this was Scooby-Doo I probably wouldn't be wearing this ah-dorable dress!" You put emphasis on the adorable part. Which makes him look up, but this means his face is level with your chest which is also emphasized today. He chokes up and manages to stammer out, "Y-y-yeah," His adorable puppy eyes look at you. Trying to avoid what's in front of him.

"What's the matter Reid? Cat got your tongue?" You smirk at the fact you're making him forget everything he knows. This newfound power you have over him is insane to you. Deep down, he really is still the same man from all those years ago, before all the bad happened to him. Still just as nervous around breasts as he always had been. “Why don’t you sign my transfer request, send it in, and then come over to my place tonight for a rendezvous, hmm?”

He nods then realizes, “What, no?!”

“I'm gonna make your life hell then." You smile and walk away. He gulps. He has a feeling he knows what you're going to do.

Garcia briefs you of the new case but all Spencer can focus on is your hand creeping up his thigh. Then you pull it away and you lift your dress up right in his view. To anyone else it would seem you were adjusting the the hem but he knew you were doing it just to torture him.

Well he wasn't going give in. What were you going to do take your bra off in front of the team?

The real reason he didn't want to sign your transfer was because if he did, it would all change, which he wasn't big on. He likes the banter with you while on cases. It lightens the mood when he feels stressed. He likes you being in his sights at all times. If you transferred he wouldn't see you all day and if you were to pursue a relationship with him? He would definitely worry about you even more than he already does. Truth is, he's terrified.

On the jet you still didn't let up. Everyone knew Spencer liked his time alone on the jet to read after discussing the case so they usually let him sit alone and do his own thing. You weren't about to let him have a moment of peace. You stand next to where he's sitting. "Seat taken?

You say pointing at the one across. He looks up from his book and shakes his head. You tell him, "Actually I think I'll take this one," You point to the seat next to him and before he can protest. You're crawling over him to get to the seat next to him. Your butt bumps his book and knocks it out of his hand. He's so flustered and red it makes you chuckle into your hand.

He mutters, "Now I'm REALLY going to not sign your request off."

You blow him a kiss, "It's your funeral." He picks his book back up and you grab another from his bag and start reading it. You bring your arm up his bicep and drag it up and down, up and down. It's quite relaxing and he ends up falling asleep. Something he hadn't done well in a while.

He wakes up when the jet lands in Florida. Since it's summer it's especially hot. He half expects to see you next to him in a bikini but you're not there. and his book you had borrowed tucked neatly back into his bag.

Everyone gets to the precinct except you. He pulls Ju to the side, "Where is y/n?" He whispers. Nervous if you're up to anything.

JJ looks up, "We sent her to make the hotel arrangements." Uh oh He pulls his phone out, contemplating calling you, when the lieutenant walks in he puts his phone away and shakes his hand and introduces everyone.

When you walk back into the station wearing a normal tank top and jean shorts, Spencer thinks it looks like normal attire thank goodness. Your shirt isn't even cropped and the shorts are tight and a little short but hey it's hot out. He lets it go and figured you'd be too embarrassed to try anything. Especially with the case at hand. Which was just a con artist who had scammed people out of millions of dollars but he needed to be stopped.

Emily and JJ go to speak to some of the people who had Luke and Matt spoke to the rest. There was a lot. Rossi and Dr Lewis went out to the last known location of the Unsub to profile, while You and Reid set up an evidence board and draw a profile up. "Definitely a white male mid 30s-40s l'd say." Reid stares at the map of all the locations. Definitely you agree in your head. You only plan on distracting him for a minute. When he stands up straight, You slide past him brushing against him. His breath hitches. So that was why you had worn the shorts. Then it gets worse. Or better. He doesn't know yet. You throw a marker on the floor. "Oopsie!" You bend over to grab it and stand back up and then throw it again. "Oopsie again!" You yet again bend over to grab it and he grabs your arm and sits you down.

"I know what's you're trying to do," he starts.

You cut him off quickly, "What do you think I'm trying to do sir?" You push your arms together and pout. He lets out a quick breath and then notices JJ and Emily come back. "We have a suspect in custody!" Emily announces excitedly. JJ shakes her head and smiles.

"She found him peeking in the window while we were speaking with the James family and she chased him down the street, through a bush and kicked in a gate and slammed him down. She's pretty proud of herself." You laugh knowing how Emily loves taking unsubs down.

You guys take a break for the night to get some rest.

Spencer reaches his assigned hotel room and he opens it. Nothing unusual. One bed. You're not here, so at least he'll probably get some sleep without thinking of your hips. Shit. Just when he thinks he's safe you walk through the door holding your keycard, smirking. "You didn't think you'd be alone tonight did you?" He pushes his face into his hands and flops on the bed stomach first. "Oh no, I forgot you made the hotel arrangements." Then he starts laughing. You start to unpack your bag with everything you'd be needing for that night. Careful to not let him see a few select items.

You go get ready in the bathroom. Wearing a purple see through slip you decide to ditch the underwear and sleep with nothing under. When you get out of the bathroom Spencer is turned around bent over his go bag. "Nice butt," You say and he stands up slightly embarrassed,

"You like it huh?" Then he turns around and sees you and your lack of clothing. "Purples your favorite right?" He nods slowly taking it all in. You climb into bed. Spencer's so tired he doesn't even do a night routine and slides in next to you. The both of you fall into dreams immediately. When he wakes up he realizes his arms are hugging you close to him and you're snuggled together and you're so warm and comforting. Then he gets an idea which he will put in motion the second they get back to the BAU. He leaves the room before you wake.

When you wake up you're all alone. Wondering where he had gone you fear you may have done too much, taken it too far. Maybe you had scared him off and he had waited until you were asleep and changed rooms. What if he-

Theres a knock at the door to the room so you go to get up. As you do the bathroom door opens and Spencer comes out with just a towel around his waist. You had never seen him shirtless and you were drooling. He opens the door and thanks the man for the room service.

"Ordered you breakfast," He says rolling the tray to the bed. "Stay there." He commands and you throw your legs back into bed as he sets a tray over you and he pours creamer into your coffee the way you like. He stirs it for you and you don't think about why he might be doing it you just lay back and enjoy him making your breakfast perfect. He pours the syrup on your waffles and you think about making a joke but decide against it to not scare him off. Thank goodness he had just been in the shower when you woke up. If he really didn't want to pursue a relationship with you and let you transter what was the point in trying anymore?

Was he even attracted to you?

When you're done eating and back in the precinct you manage to prove it was this guy who had in fact conned everyone out of millions. He was now on his way to being sent to prison awaiting trial. On the jet home Spencer notices you've stopped hitting on him and acting sexy.

Now you're all covered up wearing a big sweater with sweatpants. He frowns at the thought that maybe you were upset he hadn't played along with your games. He had wanted to. You'll see when you get back to the BAU he would fix it.

You go back home Spencer having told everyone to go home and rest and take time to recuperate after working hard. You were a little bitter at this and upset he declined your offer to come over to watch a movie. You decide to just take care of yourself and reach into your drawer for your vibrator. You fall into bed and turn it on.

An hour later when you're done you put on a fluffy robe and make yourself a snack and start watching New Girl. When your phone rings. Spencer. You answer with, “What?” "I don't mean to bother you, but can you come into the BAU I know you're probably busy relaxing but-"

"I once told you l'd do anything for you." You smile to yourself, he DID want to see you.

"Ok but don't go to my office. I'm in the big conference room on the floor above the BAU." After hanging up you were about to grab your purse and go but catch a look at yourself in the mirror. No makeup, hair out of place and in a bathrobe! After quickly changing into something professional you hurry to the BAU and go one floor up to the room he had told you. You prepare yourself and then push the door open.

"Agent (Y/N)!" You see the Director, Aaron Hotchner. He shakes your hand, "It's nice to see you again. Reid was just telling me that he would like a few rules changed..." You look at Spencer who's smiling like a kid who's parents just told him he's going to Disneyland. "More specifically, Spencer requested the rules on relationships within the unit be changed. We wanted your input. I would allow you and Spencer to pursue this relationship while both of you still work in the same unit under the condition it doesn't affect the way the unit works. If I notice ANY misconduct between you two while on a case you will both be suspended and these rules reevaluated. Do you both understand me?"

"Yes I understand." You and Spencer say at the same time.

"Good. Sign here." Hotch cracks a smile and hands you a pen. You sign next to Spencer's scribbled signature.

"Good luck to you both."You hug him, "Hey are you and Jack going to JJ and Will's this Saturday? They're having a little get together!"

You ask when you pull away.

"Wouldn't miss it!" He says as he walks away and waves bye. Leaving you alone with Spencer. "Wow. You actually changed the rules to the game. I'm impressed." You cross your arms and he stands up and walks over to you and kisses you as passionately as he feels. You can't believe he did all that for you. In between the kiss you break away to tell him you love him "I love-"

"I know. I love you too."

2 months later

"Get on your fucking knees." You command. Spencer falls to the floor immediately when you walk in. He's ready to do whatever you ask. You crack your leather whip and he jumps. With every click of your stiletto boots, excitement grows within both of you.

He may be the boss at work, but at home? You were in charge.

again, reposting so it’s all one post!

(this was inspired by @mandarinmoons post here)

i ♡ sub spence i had to include it.

[jarenka]

Opera poser for @dreaminghour (tbh I suck at graphic design so it's more like an illustration)

I was thinking what I should draw for this request and if I need to come up with full new opera plot. No, I already have one! Actually in post-ROTJ au fic there should be (I don't know if I include it in the final version of the fic) an episode featuring one of the Anakin's favourite opera.

It calls "Celia" after the main character, and i thing you will easily recognise which real opera inspired me.

Here is the plot.

Celia is a canteen owner on a planet in the Outer Rim. She has a lover, captain Liim, who was military officer on his own planet before he met Celia and fell in love with her. He left military, moved to Celia's planet a bought a cargo ship to become a regular cargo ship captain on local inter-sector routes so he can see her regularly.

Once captain Liim starts to suspects that Celia is gradually losing interest in him. Celia sings and dances for him to show her affection, but captain Liim is still suspicious and jealous. Meanwhile Celia is introduced by her friends to Jasen Taal, emerging racing star. He is beautiful and charming, he flirts with her and promise to visit her canteen.

Couple of weeks later after winning another race Jasen Taal celebrates his victory in Celia's canteen. Captain Liim should be working, but he doesn't take orders from his clients and refuse to leave planet. He is jealous, he is afraid that Celia would cheat him when he is away. His crew is very unhappy about it, if captain Liim continues to act this way, they won't get their money next month and their regular clients will find another carriers.

Captain Liim visits Celia's canteen in the middle of celebration, he sees Jasen Taal flirting with Celia, and she doesn't stop him. Jasen Taal claims that he is completely mesmerized by Celia, he never saw a woman more charming than her. After the whole bottle of Corellian whiskey, in the end of the evening, captain Liim starts a terrible scandal, accusing Celia of cheating. He calls her slut in front of her employers and late guests. Celia is really mad. She says that captain Liim is a terrible person and she doesn't want to see him. Canteen's security guard kicks him out.

Next couple of weeks captain Liim drinks and tries to meet Celia to beg her for forgiveness. People are gossiping about him. And also he hears gossips that Celia is dating Jasen Taal now. He doesn't want to believe it.

One day captain Liim is able to find Celia in her home alone. Big annual race is coming, all the town is festive, and everyone is sure that Jasen Taal will win this race. Celia is going there too, but captain Liim doesn't know about it yet. He begs her to forgive him, he wants to be with her again. He tries to talk her into marrying him and stay with him on his ship. They will travel together. Celia finds his proposal utterly ridiculous and mocks him. Captain Liim accuses her of cheating again, Celia says that it's not his business. She doesn't want him. Captain Liim begs her to give him another chance. They were lovers for years and he thinks that deep down Celia still loves him. Celia doesn't love him anymore. They start to quarrel, Celia tries to get from her house but captain Liim blocks her way. She says that the race starts soon and she wants to see it.

"You wants to see you new lover!", accuses her captain Liim. She says that it's true, Jasen Taal is her lover now, and captain Liim should leave her alone because she loves another man. When he tries to claim her as his woman, Celia laughs in his face and says that she is her own woman and doesn't belong to any man. She tries to get past captain Liim again, but in his rage he violently pushes her away and trows her on the ground. She hits her head and when captain Liim, horrified by his own violence, reaches her, she is already dead.

So, Anakin watched this opera more then once in his youth, it's one of his favourite, it has really beautiful music and a lot of passion just like he loves. If he ever associated himself with anyone in this opera, it was Jasen Taal, charming racer. Also in Galaxy Opera House he was usually played by the actor who looked a lot like Anakin. He kinda despised captain Liim. When Anakin found out about Clovis, he mentally compared him with captain Liim.

He hasn't seen any operas when he was Vader, but later on Carati, he found a good recording of this opera from one of the local opera houses. At first he was a bit hesitant. The scenery was pretty simplistic, he usually didn't like this kind of staging. But when Celia appeared on a scene with her first aria Anakin was completely mesmerized by her. Actress had a beautiful deep voice and irresistible charm, it was very easy to understand how both captain Liim and Jasen Taal lost their minds over her. Anakin watched this pretty long opera in one sitting, but towards the end he became more and more uncomfortable. And when captain Liim killed Celia, Anakin was like: "Oh shit that's me. I was like that too".

[charlotterhea]

Writing Patterns

Oh, I saw this on my dash being done by other authors and hoped somebody would tag me, so thank you @cissykenway! 💚

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Taking a walk across the grounds after the end of the Welcoming Feast was a habit, almost a ritual of hers. ("Inter Spem et Metum - Between Hope and Fear")

Coming face to face with your own reflection on the curved surface of a prophecy sphere was an uncomfortable experience in and of itself. ("Otherside")

Ten. ("Our Souls at Full Moon")

At the sight of Ron slipping into the office, something inside her crumbled like a sandcastle in the sun, causing the quill in her hand to tremble and her vision to blur with tears. ("Flying to the Moon")

With a furrowed brow, Hermione closed the thick personnel file that hadn't left the register for at least five years. ("Awake O Sleeper")

In hindsight, it had been a bad idea to leave the west wing part of the castle damaged after the end of the war. ("Look No Further")

Hermione Granger hadn't been Severus's first sexual partner. ("Open Talks, No Talks and Everything in Between")

“Good evening, sir!” ("An Eye for an Eye")

He cried. ("Good Boy")

Returning to Hogwarts as a professor only four years after she'd graduated was first (and foremost) an escape, then a challenge, and finally … well, full of unexpected opportunities. ("A Shared Display of Salaciousness")

Don't know what to think of the fact that half of these stories are my latest threesome obsession that initially was meant to only be about the smut but oh well... 😅 I think there is definitely a pattern. I like to start with statements. But there's still some room for improvement and I plan to focus more on my first sentences in the future. ^^

Gently tagging @frenchpresswriter, @giosnape and @naomijameston.

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Discussing lore and story predictions for 2.2 CN story "Tristes Tropiques"

(Major spoilers for 1.9 and beyond)

There will be images below, if you are here before the 1.9 livestream DO NOT READ this, major spoilers here.

(Disclaimer: I am neither Brazilian or have read Tristes Tropiques. This is only a discussion from purely a lore basis and as the first mainline chapter of the 2.0 story)

Alright.

(I already talked about Bessmert/Martha in a previous post so Im not mentioning here, also image limit)

What the hell is happening here? Either this is early on in the story or near the very end/ climax of the version story. From 2.0 story the previous owner of the robot toy was Eternity, then the Preacher released Kimberely/ Anjo Nala against Joe, and by the end of that patch supposedly the robot was in the hands of a Manus Footsoldier.

(From this point Im refering to Kimberely as Anjo Nala, the first maybe an Alias? Im not sure which is which)

In 2.1 Anjo Nala was working with Ms Grace (appeared at the end of 2.0) and reported to her at the end of the event story, Im assuming that the robot was in her possession at that point.

But here? This guy works like a Zeno officer, Igor mentions the Zeno branch here or at least a part of it muntinied and killed their commanding officer, the final bit of the PV shows dead Zeno officers and seems to be a continuation of the first bit of the PV. How he got the robot is beyond me, Igor theorised the mutiny included Manus so maybe thats how he got it?

As for Vertin, really how did she end up alone completely? Wheres Lilya and Sotheby? Also noticing the willingness to show onscreen violence and blood, before this was implied in text and now we are seeing it. Mind you first chapter of the patch and immediately Vertin gets strangled nearly to death. Im guessing where we se her fall unconscious is the moment Anjo Nala snaps and attacks the Officer.

(Side note: since she is playable and ofc that means joins the suitcase, we know Vertin does have the tendency for physical affection like holding hands or patting the heads of some of the suitcase residents. But here? Potential trauma and Anjo Nala having a different line for the head and hands touching? Vertin being outright uncomfortable with it? Just conjecture.)

Time for Manus.

Oh wow we finally see Arcana being literally vaporised. I think the PV confirms that everyone truly believes she is dead EXCEPT Druvis in the inter-chapter of 1.9, so I don't think she is dead but instead as created a matryrdom out of herself to manipluate characters like Sophia and the Apostles Brotherhood.

Speaking of them, Igor refers to them as a notorious gang in Sao Paulo, likely not actually affiliated with Manus but choosing to align with their goals and eventually joining them (the name Order of Enlightenment maybe just refers to the Manus worshippers in the US maybe?). This is probably gonna be a big point for Lilya's character, potentially placing her at a tension point over Zeno's ethics or even a crosswords between Zeno and Vertin.

The name Moldir is the only one we haven't met yet, either this is the guy who looks to be leading the Apostles Brotherhood or

This person hugging Lopera (or the same person, lighting is different here)

What is noticeable is that everyone (idk Mr Duncan and White Rum) are members of Zeno) Lopera literally leading a firing squad here. Also it says here arcanists and humans showing the both of them, either Lopera or this person is human? I have a feeling they are the doomed people this time around.

This came before the last image, forgot the order but its Lopera and Anjo Nala interacting here. Maybe they have met? Where this happens I don't know, also if this place was hit by a Storm (some people were saying 1950s?) then maybe since we know Anjo Nala was stored in the robot for some time in the Foundation then Eternity, maybe its like Marcus and Heinrich and this is Anjo Nala's era, or this is Rayashki again and shes returned to the same place at a different point in time?

Ok Mr Duncan, one of his lines was "old friend" addressing Vertin Im assuming, either this is just a friendly greeting or as in literal we have met before is again speculation.

More importantly he is probably gonna tie to Sotheby's character in this patch and arc, he already reminds me of Mr Karson, what if they are related? Also they look to be doing a handshake of sorts (If he is related to Mr Karson oh no the pain)

Again what is going on with Vertin she seems to be catching Ls everywhere. Why are you in the sea again (river maybe). Maybe this is the first interaction she has with Anjo Nala here, there is a shot of Anjo Nala on a boat, maybe she's rescuing Vertin falling off Red-38 or something.

In terms of plot the focus will be on the Zeno Mutiny in Sao Paulo, the Apostles Brotherhood being associated with the Manus. Maybe that Zeno Officer is similar to Stephen in 2.1 and thinks Vertin is a murderer over Arcana, proceeding to attempt to kill her through Anjo Nala. Maybe Lilya might be forced to choose between Vertin and Zeno? Again conjecture.

[missathlete31]

Nowhere to Run Chapter 1

Once the Daggers are allowed to be a permanent squadron, Maverick expects everyone to want to join. When Cyclone tells him he has one hold out, Mav decides to question the lone pilot, leading to a confrontation of epic proportions.

The Dagger Squad will never be the same

(Aka Bradley probably shouldn’t have gone on the mission and Jake states why)

In hindsight, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell should have known this was going to end badly. It wasn't that he had gone into the hanger expecting such a confrontation but he should have known that cornering any pilot, especially Jake "Hangman" Seresin was a dangerous move. So dangerous in fact that he wondered if their Dagger Squad would ever recover.

It all started when the team was called back after their three week courtesy leave from the Navy. They were told to report to Top Gun where Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates met with each pilot and gave them the offer of joining the Daggers permanently. It seemed the Navy was impressed by what they were able to accomplish during the Uranium Mission and felt it was advantageous to keep this elite squad together. Maverick was overjoyed when he heard the news, it meant that Bradley would be stationed out of North Island, close to Maverick and Penny while also getting to stay with his friends. When Captain Mitchell was then offered to run the squadron (only in training, no more missions for him), the older man thought he couldn't be happier.

Maverick knew he shouldn't expect everyone to agree. These 12 pilots were the best of the best and had squadrons they trusted, postings they liked, or families that needed them elsewhere. He tried not to get his hopes up too much, chatting up Penny's ear whenever they had a private moment about how Payback might prefer a station closer to home, how Yale was always going to want to be on the East Coast, how Halo and Omaha might not have like flying together, how Pheonix and Bob might want to head to Lemoore, or any other excuse he could think of for each pilot. Penny would humor him each time with a patient smile that told him he was over thinking it and that he would just have to wait and see. Pete Mitchell hated waiting.

So when the day came and Simpson and Bates called him into their office, Maverick took a deep breath and waited to hear that the squadron wouldn't be happening. Too many no's, too many other squads or other plans or other choices. He was so ready to be turned down that Pete was shocked when Simpson began the meeting with a congratulations. So much so that the Captain missed most of everything else the Admiral was saying.

"-so the 11 will start and then when we find a replacement-"

Maverick zoned back in time to hear Simpson's last words, "wait" he held up a hand and tried not to smile as Beau rolled his eyes at being interrupted, "11? Who said no?"

"Lieutenant Seresin opted out of the squadron."

"Hangman? Really?" Pete couldn't contain his surprise. After the mission, after Hangman defied orders and saved Maverick and Rooster, everyone could see the way the man had changed. He was more open, less hostile, still cocky as anything but at a more accepting level. Hell Maverick was even growing rather fond of the kid. It stung a bit to think Seresin of all people would have declined working with them all. Though Maverick didn't know much about the Vigilantes, he assumed Hangman would have jumped at the opportunity to be a part of the best of the best. Pete tried not to show his disappointment, "So Seresin's going back to his old squadron then?" he questioned curiously.

"Actually" Bates drawled from the corner, "Lieutenant Seresin didn't request to go back to his squadron either."

Maverick's face turned quizzical, "so where does he want to go?"

The older of the Admirals shrugged, "he asked for a bit more time to think."

"Which is why" Simpson cut in, "we were hoping you could try talking to him."

"Me? Really?" at the flash of annoyance on his CO's face for yet another interruption, Mav gave an apologetic smile, "sorry Sir, but I mean, you think talking to me will help?"

"We are hoping he might be more forthcoming with you. It seems like the team as a whole has been much more receptive to each other since we've docked back in Miramar. If there is a hesitancy to get back in the cockpit, Seresin might find it easier to share with you than either I or Admiral Bates."

"You think he doesn't want to fly at all?"

"We're not sure" Cyclone motioned to the papers on his desk, "he passed his psych evaluation but we fear perhaps the mission was a bit more for him to work through than originally thought."

Bates nodded from the back, "And he did get another kill” the older man added solemnly, “that could be affecting him."

Maverick cursed himself for not noticing sooner. Taking a life, even in the armed services was a hard task, one that was also rare in their section of the Navy. Besides himself, Seresin was the only other active duty pilot with two to his name. While the psych evaluation was meant to look for any difficulty in the processing process, it wasn't foolproof. It could be very likely that Hangman was struggling with what he had to do in the air that day. If there was any doubt in his mind about his role or duty, as his CO and as someone that had grown to care for the man, Maverick knew he had to talk to him. "I'll talk to him this afternoon Sir" he offered Simpson.

"Good, let us know if you need anything on our end."

Maverick nodded, saluted them both and headed down to the hangars. When he arrived he was happy to see Hangman was the first to arrive, sitting in his usual seat in the front. Pete strolled down the aisle, trying to stay casual as he thought about the best way to start the conversation without seeming like a full fledged confrontation. As he got to his row, Jake looked over, offering a nod and a small greeting, "Sir" he acknowledged.

"Seresin" Mav answered back, "how you doing kid?"

The blonde shrugged, a look of suspicion in his green eyes, "fine Sir, you?"

"I'm alright-" Pete's voice died away in his indecision of how to broach the next subject. He knew the rest of the Daggers would be in any minute, so he had to ask fast, "Look Seresin, can we talk after the hops today?"

For once the blonde pilot refused to meet his eyes, instead looking nervously down at his hands,"Is something wrong?"

Pete leaned down on the desk, feeling like he was dwarfing the other pilot as Jake sank further in his chair, "I wanted to talk about you declining the Dagger squad. I was hoping we could discuss it together."

"With all due respect Sir" and Hangman was officially flushing in unease, "I made my decision on that matter."

Pete leaned back, surprised at the tone, "From what I hear from the Admirals," the captain broached delicately, "you seemed to make no decision. You don't want to join the squad but you don't want to go back to the Vigilantes either. Is it the flying Jake?" Maverick tried to move down to meet the man's eye a bit more, "are you nervous to fly another mission?"

"No" he shook his head, "I plan on going back to my old squad. I'm fine-"

"Jake" the other Daggers were filing into the hangar but Maverick didn't want to let the conversation stop right here. He knew it wasn't the smartest move but Maverick wasn't known for thinking things through, "don't you want to fly with your friends?" he continued to press, "Coyote? Omaha? Halo?"

"Of course I do."

Pete shook his head, not understanding, "Then why won't you join the Daggers?"

"It's because of you."

Of all the things Hangman had said in the weeks Maverick had known him (and it's been quite a bit from the talkative blonde), nothing had floored the seasoned pilot more than what he just uttered. He was so shocked he didn't even notice that the room had gone silent, the rest of the team catching the tail end of the discussion and was now listening with interest over the interaction. Pete cleared his throat, "I don't- what do you mean because of me? What did I do?"

"I don't trust your judgment Sir" and there were a few stunned gasps from the back of the room.

Mav ignored all the others, his eyes zeroing in on the pilot in the front row, "Is this because you were only the spare?"

Seresin moved his eyes to the floor, an obvious tell if Maverick ever saw one. When he didn't reply Maverick pushed again, "tell me that you aren't turning down an amazing opportunity because you're upset you weren't picked for the mission?"

"Wait, Bagman you're not joining the squad?" Phoenix asked in obvious surprise and then suddenly the room seemed to erupt with noise. Omaha was asking what the blonde was thinking, while Fanboy yelled about being a sore loser. Pete could see he was losing his moment, losing his chance to finally get into the infamous Hangman's head and see what the normally cocky Texan pilot was thinking. He raised a hand and looked to the rest of the room, "quiet" he ordered and everyone took their seats with closed mouths. "Jake" he turned back to Hangman, noticed the hitch in the man's shoulders, the way he was tapping his foot and playing with his fingers on the desk. "Let's go have this discussion in my office, okay? I'm fairly confident that if you really think about it, you'll see that being part of this squad would be the best place for you. I know that your ego was hurt not being picked but letting it ruin this chance for you-"

Green eyes flared up at him, an anger that he never saw in Hangman before appearing within them. "This isn't about my damn ego-"

"Jake" Coyote was standing up, the uncharacteristic display of emotions from his best friend making the other pilot instantly want to jump to his side, "we should go get some air. Sir, can you excuse us for a minute?"

"No" Jake rose too and flashed a look at Javy before motioning towards Machado's chair, "no, Javy sit, he wants this discussion then let's all have this discussion right?" He turned back to Maverick, a shark like smirk on his face, "you want to know the truth?"

"I do."

"Fine" the blonde slammed his hands down on the table dramatically, "You didn't pick me for the mission, fine. Did it sting? Yeah, it freaking did but you know I could have gotten past it if you had picked someone that deserved it instead of trying to use the spot to buy forgiveness."

At first the room was silent. Then as everyone processed Seresin’s words, the room seemed to explode again. It didn’t last long before a voice rang out louder and more pissed than them all combined. "Oh well fuck you Seresin-" Rooster began as he stood from his chair so quickly that it fell back behind him. The image of it all took Maverick's mind back to the eerily similar altercation during training. Except this time Hangman didn't look on smugly, he looked livid. "No" Jake turned around to face Bradley head on, "I'm getting this out Rooster so help me fucking God, so sit your ass down and shut the fuck up."

"I'm not going to let you talk about us like this" Bradley's brown eyes flared, no intention of backing down, "I'm not going to let you talk to Mav like this-"

"Then you can leave for all I care Bradshaw, if you're too cocky to listen-"

"Cocky ha!" Rooster looked around the room as though he was on a hidden camera show, "that's rich coming from you."

Jake shook his head like a disappointed parent, "you don’t get it."

“What don’t I get?” The other man egged on, his temper flaring, “that you’re still nursing your wounds from not being picked team leader or even a Dagger that you need to come in here and attack me and attack Maverick’s decision making?”

The blonde shook his head in exasperation, “you really don’t see it? How you should have never even been out there?”

“Screw you, I earned my place here!”

“No you were picked so Mav could win back your affections-“

Bradley looked murderous as he stared down Jake with visceral disgust, “Screw you, you asshole! Don’t even pretend to think you understand anything about our relationship!”

”You shouldn’t even have a relationship!” Hangman yelled back, his normally non-existent temper on full display now, “I’m sorry but there’s a reason that the Navy makes you disclose personal relationships with others especially your COs, to prevent conflicts of interest-“

”There was no conflict of interest!" Rooster yelled even louder, as though the higher the volume the more right he was in his convictions, "I was chosen because I did what needed to be done and got everyone home!”

”Is that really what you believe?” Jake asked despondently, “Jesus I always knew you were stubborn but I didn't think you were that oblivious. You need a wake-up call"

Rooster's eyes turned to slits, "I'll give you a fucking wake-up call-" he moved to take a step but Payback was holding his arm to keep him back. "Easy" the sidelined man urged but no one seemed to listen, their anger and emotions making them almost feral.

"Guys!" Phoenix was standing now too, looking to Maverick with a pleading expression for him to intervene. "Guys come on-"

"Yeah come on man," Billy called from the back, "let's all just take a minute-"

"No," Bradley brushed off Reuben's hand and moved to the aisle. He squared himself up facing Jake noticing both Coyote and Harvard moving to defend if necessary. Maverick though still stayed silent in the front of the room, whether shocked still or just watching how everything would proceed, no one could tell.

Hangman and Rooster locked eyes, inches apart. Bradley gave a sneer, "Okay I'll play along, let's let Hangman of all people tell me how I wasn't the right person to go on the mission. Go ahead."

"You were the only one who never made the time Rooster" Jake spoke viciously, his voice dangerously low.

"Excuse me?"

"You never made the course under the time. Not once in training-"

"I made it when it mattered!"

"Did you?" Hangman took a step back, "Maybe you don't remember but I sat on the carrier that day and listened to Payback and Fanboy beg you to speed up. Beg! And what did you do? You still slowed down!" The blonde walked away from the other pilot, pacing as he ranted to the shocked silent room, "You know what else I heard?" Jake continued, "Command, when they noticed that Payback had to rise up in the air to avoid hitting you. You know how close he was to hitting the SAMs threshold? Two feet. Two feet higher and we would have had two empty coffins to bury in the ground. No one talks about that huh? No one cares? Well I fucking care."

Before anyone could respond, Hangman turned swiftly back to his CO, Maverick shifting just the tiniest bit with unease when he was locked with devastating green eyes, "you asked us every damn day what would we tell our wingman's families" Jake reminded him, his voice sounding purely demoralized, "Well what would you have said to Payback's fiancé Jacqueline? Or Fanboy's parents Marco and Marcella? Hmm? That their fiancé and their son died because Rooster was having an existential crisis during a mission that he should have been disqualified for from the start? That he was chosen by the man that was the closest thing he had to a father growing up in a clear case of nepotism?"

Jake watched as Rooster instinctively turned to look at Payback and Fanboy, both looking pale as the truth came out. With the happiness of the mission being deemed a success no one talked about how close things came to falling apart. "You spent all of training convinced that your way was the right way Rooster, you didn't even listen to Mav-"

"And you did?" Rooster asked back incredulously, "you left everyone hanging- like you always do. Like you're known for. But I'm supposed to listen to you criticize me? You, the least team oriented man in the world?"

"I'm a lot of things and you can say what you want but I tried to do better. My last hop with Phoenix and Bob- we gelled perfectly, you all said it yourselves." Jake turned to the two other pilots, Phoenix watching him with wide eyes and a pained expression on her face, Bob with knowing eyes. "The two of you said it that last day too, 'It felt good, it felt right', you know you did, because we all listened to each other, we listened to Mav." Neither voiced an agreement but Jake just continued on with his argument, shifting to the back rows, "and Fritz with Payback and Fanboy, they were smooth and hit bull's-eye each time. They were the stronger team! Rooster was the only one who never had a successful run, who refused to even try to hit the time, who stubbornly insisted that going slower was fine."

"Fuck you-"

But Jake refused to stop now that he had gotten it going, "And how about the bombing? You didn't even give Fanboy a chance to lock on-"

"We had no time."

"You did" Hangman insisted, "It took Bob a few seconds too but Maverick waited. You didn't Rooster. You took the shot blind, a huge risk, all because you had no faith in Mickey."

Rooster's face blushed and he spun around to face the man in question, "That's not true" he told Fanboy but the man just stayed silent. Bradley turned back to Hangman, rage in his brown eyes, "I took the shot because the laser wasn't working. It wasn't Mickey's fault."

"I know it wasn't his fault."

"It wasn't my fault either asshole-"

“It could have been” Jake argued, “Rooster it was an almost impossible shot-“

“Yeah and I made it!”

”What if you didn’t? What if you going in blind, what if you not waiting, not giving Mickey a chance, meant the mission was a failure?” Hangman dropped his eyes to the floor, before he looked back at the others, “I know it wasn’t the case but does that mean we don’t talk about the risk he took out there? We don’t talk about all the ways it could have gone wrong?”

When no one replied, not in agreement or argument, Jake signed and turned back to Bradley. "How about coffin corner" the blonde edged, "was that your fault?"

Bradley paled, "what about it?"

"Dagger three and Dagger four came back with flares intact, you know why? Because you refused to even let them try to defend themselves-"

"I was protecting them you self righteous dick," he pushed into Jake's chest harshly but the other man held his ground, "I was protecting them like a good wingman does" Rooster pointed behind him, "like a teammate does. You wouldn't understand-"

Jake shook his head, "You're right I wouldn't have done what you did. I actually have faith in all the other pilots on this team. I wouldn't follow Phoenix's shadow or Payback's wing unless they called for me, unless they needed it, because every pilot in this room is the best of the best and knows how to evade. But not you Rooster, you didn't even try to get out of there, you put yourself and your team in more danger trying to cover them all and then when you really needed it, you had no flares for yourself. You forced Maverick to risk himself to save you. He was too compromised not to."

The room was deathly silent.

"And then you went back against orders, because you were too compromised to listen. You both should have never been allowed to serve together. You both could have died a million different ways. You both could have caused the deaths of other pilots on the squad as well." Hangman shifted, the last part of his argument directed right to Maverick who's green eyes looked sad at the way the conversation had turned. "So that's why I don't trust your judgment Sir," Jake began sadly, "I'm sorry but I can't."

"Seresin-"

"And the worst part" and somehow, embarrassingly, Jake realized that he had started to cry during his ranting. He wiped at his greens eyes stubbornly, "the worst part is that I want to be on this squad so badly, I want this team." He shook his head, "but I can't, it already compromised me as well.”

"When you flew out against orders" Maverick supplied gently. The blonde nodded, swallowing roughly, "I can't have that. I can't. I can't get attached to you all and then almost lose you. I can't have your relationship with Rooster mean I have to bury a friend. I need to be detached, I need separation-"

"Jake-"

But the blonde was done listening, all his fight was gone. "I don't belong here" he told the group, "and you don't want me anyway. Let me be Hangman, let me be the one man squad, it's better this way." He picked up his things from his desk and moved forward. Rooster, the only one still in the aisle, stared him down before moving to his left allowing the other to pass. Jake, for just the briefest moment thought someone would speak up, someone would stop him but they didn’t. Instead Hangman continued his walk out of the hangar as he left the best team he ever was a part of, the best chance he ever had at a family, behind.

[cantsayidont]

A common apologia for STAR TREK — particularly TOS, but extending to the newest shows as well — is that it wants or tries to be progressive, but is tripped up by the writers' unconscious biases or the ostensibly more backward social attitudes of its time (whatever time that may be). This argument is somewhat perplexing because STAR TREK has never been what you'd call subtle in expressing its liberal imperialist values, either in 1966–1968 or now.

The core of STAR TREK, which is explained clearly in Roddenberry's pitch and the TOS writer's bible (excerpted at some length in Stephen Whitfield's THE MAKING OF STAR TREK, inter alia), is a hybridization of Horatio Hornblower, the C.S. Forester adventure novels about a heroic British naval officer during the Napoleonic wars, and the American Western, a genre that still dominated a big swath of American TV drama in the period when STAR TREK was conceived. Roddenberry himself had previously written for some of those shows, in particular HAVE GUN, WILL TRAVEL, and his pitch line for STAR TREK was "WAGON TRAIN to the stars."

To its credit, STAR TREK ended up being about more than just that, but Roddenberry was very clear that at heart, the series was about extending the conquest of the American frontier to the stars. Of the Enterprise and the other ships of its class, Roddenberry said:

In addition to the twelve Starships, there are lesser classes of vessels, capable of operating over much more limited distances. They are involved in commercial ventures, survey work, archaeological expeditions, medical research, and so on. The Starships are the heavy cruisers, the ones which can best defend themselves as they probe farther and farther out, opening new areas … and then the others follow. [Whitfield, 204; emphasis added]

Because TOS avoids saying anything very substantive about civilian life and government outside of Starfleet, we actually know very little about factors may be driving this wave of colonialism. If Earth in the TOS-era is a post-scarcity paradise (which, it should be noted, the original show does not ever actually say), why leave home for a riskier, hardscrabble life on worlds like Rigel XII ("Mudd's Women") or Cestus III ("Arena")? Part of it is plainly capitalist interests: There are explicitly opportunities to strike it rich discovering or exploiting valuable resources (or fleecing those who have or hope to, as Harry Mudd does). The Federation is also keen to cement its political hold on worlds that are near the borders of rival empires; the plot of "The Trouble with Tribbles," for example, hinges on the Federation's determination to colonize Sherman's Planet, which is also claimed by the Klingon Empire.

However, these plot details are to some extent beside the point: The premise of STAR TREK, and of most Westerns, is that the importance and heroic necessity of colonizing and "developing" the frontier, bringing (white) civilization to the "savage" wilderness, is self-evident.

Much of STAR TREK is predicated on concepts of "social evolution," the idea that there are a series of consistently defined hierarchical stages from the primitive to the advanced. TOS often states this quite explicitly, but it has remained a key feature of the STAR TREK premise up to the present. This process of advancement is described as both natural and a matter of moral urgency: Kirk rails against the "stagnation" of less-advanced societies, and on multiple occasions argues that the importance of reversing stagnation (or devolution) justifies violating the Prime Directive with dramatic interventionist action to put a civilization back on what he considers the proper track.

The concepts of social evolution STAR TREK espouses are fundamentally racist — it's a philosophy that rationalizes colonial exploitation (and in the real world even slavery) — and play into the franchise's virulent anti-indigenous attitudes. Indeed, STAR TREK frequently takes an openly contemptuous view of "primitive" peoples, who in TOS are often presented as simpletons, either kindly child-men (e.g., "The Apple") or dangerous savages driven by quasi-animal cunning (as with some of the characters in "A Private Little War"). Probably the ugliest example in TOS is "The Paradise Syndrome, where Kirk loses his memory and falls in with a society of American Indians transported centuries earlier to a distant planet; the story emphasizes that, even deprived of the knowledge and technology of his century, Kirk is still the intellectual superior of the people around him (who of course are played by white actors in redface). However, this a recurring theme throughout STAR TREK: Indigenous species are consistently presented as something less than people unless their stage of advancement approximates that of 20th century Earth (as with the Roman proconsul in "Bread and Circuses," who is one of the very few indigenous "primitives" to be credited with any kind of intellectual sophistication). The application of the Prime Directive (which is wildly inconsistent and honored more in the breach than in the observance) is based not on respect for cultural differences, but on a patronizing desire to "protect" indigenous pre-warp civilizations from ideas that their primitive minds can't yet handle.

STAR TREK pays lip service to the idea of cultural and racial diversity, and the Vulcan slogan (in the third season of TOS) "Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations." However, what it most consistently espouses is the importance of ensuring the march of social evolution along orthodox lines and the eventual absorption of other races, cultures, and species into the Federation's (white American liberal) ideas of socioeconomic and technological progress. As Kirk says to Ayelborne in "Errand of Mercy":

KIRK: Gentlemen, I must get you to reconsider. We can be of immense help to you. In addition to military aid, we can send you specialists, technicians. We can show you how to feed a thousand people where one was fed before. We can help you build schools, educate the young in the latest technological and scientific skills. Your public facilities are almost nonexistent. We can help you remake your world, end disease, hunger, hardship. All we ask in return is that you let us help you. Now.

"Errand of Mercy" is notable in that Kirk's condescension toward the Organians proves to be ill-founded: What he and Spock assumed was a stagnant, primitive society is actually a kind of backyard bird feeder maintained by a vastly more advanced species that is trying very hard to be patient as Kirk and the Klingons strut around making pronouncements. At the end of the episode, Kirk admits openly that he's embarrassed at how badly he misread the situation. However, this doesn't ultimately lead him to question his presumptions about social progress; he simply admits that in this specific case, they were misapplied.

The result of "Errand of Mercy," as revealed in the second season of TOS, is a peace treaty between the Federation and Klingons that makes the show's endorsement of colonialism and economic imperialism that much clearer: As we're told in "The Trouble with Tribbles," under this new treaty, if there is a territorial dispute over a newly discovered or colonized world, "one side or the other must prove it can develop the planet most efficiently," with the ostensibly benevolent and freedom-loving Federation and the ostensibly "brutal and aggressive" Klingon Empire vying to determine who will be permitted to exploit that world and its resources. The exact role of the Organians in the framing of this treaty is unclear — they have no need of or interest in Federation-style economic development, and nothing in "Errand of Mercy" suggests that they see much value in it, although the Organians do say they find the prospect of a shooting war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire both morally objectionable and "intensely painful" — but its result is to more firmly establish the Cold War conflict between the Federation and Klingons as the competition of two rival colonial powers for control of valuable territory and resources. Their conflict is a primarily economic one, not really substantively based on what Kor calls the "minor ideological differences" between the two empires, which both Kor and the Organians regard as incidental. (Kirk takes issue with that contention, but as previously noted, Kirk has more than once used the explicit threat of planetary genocide to get what he wants, so Kor probably has a point here!)

Later STAR TREK shows are sometimes more self-conscious about these values, but they seldom actually question them, and there's really only so far that STAR TREK can move these load-bearing narrative elements without becoming something really fundamentally different than it is. Moreover, DISCOVERY, STRANGE NEW WORLDS, and PICARD have seemed committed to doubling down on many of the franchise's more disturbing ideological elements, while attempting to paper over viewer unease with appeals to nostalgia, faux-patriotism, and sentimentality.