Not Hen telling Eddie to treat the husband in that first call because she knew something was sus and knows Eddie is probably best equipped to handle someone if they’re about to get dangerous.

accident. | JP x Reader

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

SYNOPSIS: we all make accidents. javier forgetting to pick you up at the train station was an accident. you forgetting to bring an umbrella was an accident. throwing a knife at your husband? you’re going to have prove that one was an accident to him.

WC: 3.6k

WARNINGS: SMUT, angst, mentions of weapons and knives, reader throws a knife at javier *just read you’ll find out*, implied age gap, established relationship, javier is a bit older than reader, domestic au, slight dom!javi, mentions of food and cooking, profanity, bratty!reader, reader is mean but javier can be meaner, floor sex, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, handcuffs, cum eating, brief oral (f recieving), slight non-con, rough sex, praise, degradation, post-sex sweetness, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE: obsessed and mentally ill. so here’s slightly dom!javi with a ton of angst

A headache ensues in Javier’s mind.

He tries to combat it with the clouds of smoke rising through the air, the comfortable scent of tobacco and cigarettes filling his nose as he takes a drag from the stick perched in between his blistered fingers, this inhale, longer than the last.

Today had been shit. It really had. All day he had been cooped up in the office with stacks of paperwork almost taller than himself, tossed onto him and Murphy's desk by the higher ups, a high demand for deadlines with their patience being low.

Javier had been sitting in his office for almost seven hours straight, looking at papers with tiny writing and filing reports with pen until sensitive pink blisters formed around a hand that should’ve been driving and carrying a gun today, out in the field on a mission another team had instead been tasked with.

He’s getting old for this stuff, and he knows its true when he feels a strain in his back from shifting in his seat.

Maybe that’s why they shoved the paperwork in the old man’s hands.

Javier leans forward, grabbing his almost empty pack of cigarettes from his desk, deciding a fourth one was necessary for tonight.

“Javier,” a voice calls for him, looking up when he sees the new secretary holding the phone facing her chest. “You’ve got a call”

“From who” he says gruffly, brows furrowed. He lights the cigarette with his lighter, tossing it onto his desk and taking another puff.

“It’s your wife,” The secretary states. “she’s asking what you want for dinner.”

Javier stops in the middle of flicking the ashes, letting the cigarette sit warm in his fingers when he turns his head so he could see her correctly.

Your sweet voice calls out through the receiver, a chill running down Javier's spine when he makes out that it really is you.

“Yeah, Sherry, it’s fine if he’s busy, just let him know I called. Tell him dinner’ll be late tonight, at around 10.” you piped up sweetly, saying goodbye to your husband's secretary before hanging up the call.

She leaves after telling him what he already heard, but Javier is quick to immediately put out the burning cigarette and quickly grab his coat, making his way out the office.

“Peña, Where are you going? We only got a few more stacks left” Murphy calls out, hair in a mess from the many stressful tugs and his own cigarette nestled in between his fingers.

“my wife.” Javier replies, suddenly not liking the bitter taste in his mouth.

“It’s raining outside, you’re gonna get drenched” the blonde tells him, shaking his head as he took a drag from his own cancer stick.

Javier stops in his tracks, looking outside the window to see his partner was right. It was pouring out there, hardly able to even make out the cars in the parking lot.

Him getting wet was the least of his worries. It was you, he was thinking of.

“Fucking hell.”

_

You set the receiver down on the living room table. The ticking of the clock resonating in the silent house before a sigh finally escaping your lips.

Droplets of rain water cloud your vision, cheeks pink from the cold as water dripped onto your wooden floorboards.

Fists clench and unclench around the handle of the umbrella given to you by an old lady at the train station.

“A girl like yourself shouldn’t be alone in the rain, mija” she insisted, letting you take her frilly umbrella as her son would pick her up shortly.

Javier was supposed to pick you up too.

But after forty minutes of standing out in the rainy weather under a flimsy roof as you waited for his truck to pick you up, you disappointedly caught a taxi and drove home by yourself

You were returning from your visit to your sick grandmother. You were her only granddaughter who she called the week prior, telling you how she missed you and wanted you to visit.

Javier insisted you went, not wanting to hold you back and assured he would come to pick you up at the station after the weekend spent with her.

What a fucking liar, you thought to yourself.

You quickly undressed your wet clothes, the outcome of having to have walked in rain to find an available taxi this evening.

You're curious to see the look on Javier’s face when you make him beg on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Maybe you wouldn’t even kiss him tonight, thinking in silence as you prepared for dinner.

You definitely weren’t trying to think about what an excellent opportunity this was to be a brat.

—

Javier parks into his quiet drive way exactly thirty minutes before 10. That’s thirty minutes of trying to get on your good graces and pray that he wouldn’t be sleeping outside tonight.

When he opens the door to the house, his heart beats fast. Prepared to see you ready to lash out at him, he’s instead surprised with the aromas of spices and your homemade cooking wafting to his nose, unconsciously realizing that he skipped lunch today from how caught up he was with work.

Picking up your wet jacket from the floor, Javier slots his keys and sunglasses in the bowl by the entrance, hanging his own jacket as well before he makes his way quietly to the glowing kitchen.

The stovepot is on a low boil, and he sees you in a long t-shirt, one that you made sure wasn’t his. Your hair is damp, probably from a shower as you swiftly work your hands away in prepping the vegetables.

Javier mumbles quietly in a gruff voice. “You, uh, left your coat on the floor.”

Thwack.

An aggressive chop at the carrots replaces your words, each cut piercing louder like a gunshot ringing in his ears.

“Hermosa, I am so sorry.“ Javier begins sighing because he knows he fucked up real bad this time.

Thwack. You moved onto the chicken meat.

“There’s no excuse baby, I wasn’t keeping track after being cooped up in the office today.” he sighs, brows furrowing as big brown eyes stared into your back.

Thwack. Thwack.

The DEA agent flinches at the sound of the raw chicken being butchered by your swift, angry hands. You’re not facing Javier directly and yet he can already see your glaring eyes. He sighs, not wanting to fight you. He tries to lighten the mood, voice soft as he comments.

“Qué te ha hecho ese pobre pollo”

You don’t reply, let alone acknowledge your husband, continuing to brutally dice the chicken on the cutting board before turning around to wash your hands.

Javier watches you swiftly work in your kitchen, feeling sorry as he still watches you prepare dinner for the two of you after such a long train ride.

He moves forward, rolling his sleeves as he tries to help you . “Querida, I’ll help with the pot-”

The clang of the knife hitting the cutting board echoes in the kitchen, finally looking up to face your husband. Javier leans back, resting against the kitchen counter, arms crossed and gun holsters unremoved after coming home.

You try to ignore how tired he genuinely looks, reminding yourself you were just the same when standing all alone for that one hour.

“Y’know what Javier?” You begin, eyes watering and nose twitching in anger. Javier stays silent, staring at you with sincerity.

“Fuck you” you spit, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “fuck you and your fucking DEA work, Javier”

“Mi-”

“I had to wait forty minutes outside in rainy weather, trying to see if every car passing by would be yours.” you said, voice breaking towards the end. You felt uncomfortable waiting by yourself.

Javier shuts his eyes, forehead wrinkling as he tries to calm you down. He draws your name out in a firm but gentle tone.

You ignore him, replacing his words with your attitude. “You always do this!” you exclaim, voice rising.

“Leaving your wife and family second while you think it’s cool to go and chase criminals while risking your goddamn life.” You mutter, glaring at your husband.

“I didn’t want to leave you at the station all alone, honey. I’ve been sitting at my desk since afternoon drowning in paperwork the higher-ups dumped on us” he presses, eyes sincere but patience wearing thin.

You scoff, shaking your head. “So even stupid paperwork makes you forget your wife.”

Javier pinches his nose bridge, his head pounding as he tries to communicate with you.

You go back to cutting your vegetables, mumbling under your breath. “Who the fuck in Bogotá is giving you credit for slaving away all day trying to catch Escobar, hm?”

The words pierce through Javier’s heart.

Your eyes light up in fake sarcasm. “Oh, I bet it’s the fact that you’re too busy being a fucking doormat to all the younger agents at work aren’t you? What, Murphy said he can’t do his share of the work so he gave you his leftovers?” You spit.

“Hey," Javier snapped, gruffly and darkly. He looked at you, eyes narrowed and dark. "Stop it. I've told you."

Anger gets the best of you as you turn to the cutting board. Grabbing the first thing you saw.

A carrot piece shoots in his way. Javier flinches, the food hitting his chest. Your husband stands there, stunned at his wife’s childish behavior.

“Go fuck yourself, Peña” you say menacingly.

“We don’t throw food in this house, mama” he barks, hands on the hips of his belt, gun and badge tucked in his back. He would never use them on you.

A celery stick slaps Javier in the face this time, making his patience hanging on by a thread even thinner.

Maybe he could whip out the handcuffs.

“Dont you fucking call me that!” you said spitefully, throwing anything and everything you could at the man who dodged your attacks.

“Querida!” Javier raises his voice at you, a growl in his words.

You felt the cold, hard material in your hands for a split second before you’re throwing it at him, almost wondering yourself why you were getting so angry at Javier.

You didn’t want to fight this bad, but at the same time you were sick of watching him work himself to death, forgetting about you. This wasn’t the first time he did something like this.

But you already crossed that line. You both stand in silence, holding your breath as you realized what you threw.

Now it was your turn to fuck things up.

Javier’s lip snarls and his mustache is in a scary frown when he shifts his head.

Only a few inches beside his face lands a dull potato knife, wedged in the kitchen cupboards above. It wouldn’t have worked on anything since it was unsharpened and unused, but the tremendous force you had thrown it with allowed it to have been lodged in the wood.

You gasp, hands flying to cover your mouth.

You both watch Javier slowly raise his hand, pulling the knife inches beside his head with ease before tossing it into the sink. The clatter of the metal blade hitting the sink rings in the kitchen. A swarm of guilt fills your chest as you stand still in fear.

“Javi… I-I’m so sorry” you say, heart beating against your chest, cautiously awaiting a reaction from him.

Javier dusts off the carrot peels on his shoulder, watching as his jaw tenses but shoulders relax.

“Come here.” he all but says quietly. You see Javier reaching for his back pocket, taking out his gun and badge and placing it on the counter.

That wasn’t what scared you.

What scared you was then seeing Javier pull out the silver handcuffs lodged in his back pocket. Your eyes widened at the sight of him playing around with them.

“Javi, I’ll go get the-“

“Come. Here.” Javier cuts you off, staring at you with dark eyes.

You swiftly shake your head, refusing to go. “It was an accident!” You exclaimed, dashing out the kitchen as you tried to escape Javier who was hot on your heels.

“Honey.” he says in a not so endearing way, a warning edge to his voice.

Tears littered your cheeks, knowing that you pushed Javier’s limits and that he would really punish you for how bratty you had been tonight.

You gasp, running up the stairs before strong arms encaged your frame, desperately trying to escape before shrieking in surprise as Javier hoisted you over his shoulder, a loud and painful smack being brought down to your ass by his strong hands. You grimaced, helplessly being brought to the kitchen in swift strides.

”It was an accident, I’m sorry, I was just so angry!” You wailed, groaning as your back hit the carpeted floors of your living room. Your vision was hazy, the dizziness getting to you as you saw Javier leave the room into the kitchen, and come back a few moments later. This time, he was unbuttoning his shirt, his forest of chest hair and strong muscles peeking through.

Javier took a deep breath, eying the way your t-shirt had hiked all the way up so your panties were showing. Your hair spread around your head like a halo, and he noticed how you clenched your thighs together in vulnerability.

“Some accidents need to be punished, baby” he muttered darkly.

You sobbed softly, nose red as you turned your head to the side, looking away from Javi’s menacing look. He didn’t mind, he knew once he was done messing with you, you would be clawing at his chest, begging him to fuck you properly while looking into his eyes. Javier leans down at your level, crawling on your body so he was on top and you were trapped on the bottom. He rips your t-shirt off of you, leaving you in your bare state with panties flimsy enough he could rip them with his teeth. Not today though, he had other things in mind.

He coos at your weak state, dropping his head so he could press a kiss to your sensitive neck, giving a small nip that made you yelp. Two large hands come to play with your nipples, pulling each one hard in between his fingers as you moaned hysterically.

“What did I say about being fucking mean?” He says roughly. He inhales your scent, smelling a sweet sense of fear.

“Carino,” a warm voice calls out, you can feel the grin spreading on Javier’s face. You cry in a mix of pain and pleasure when he flips you on your tummy, cheek pressing against the rough carpet material as Javier slots his hard member encased in his jeans, right by the curve of your ass.

“Answer me, mama”

A clinking of metal makes you cry out in protest. No, you wanted to say, feeling Javier cuff you behind your back like you were one of his petty drug thiefs. But a slap to your ass cheek makes you gasp, eyes shutting as Javier pulls your panties off.

”Being mean gets me punished” you responded softly, a pool of desire aching in your folds as you almost tutted your ass up to show him you were ready. “I’m sorry, Javier” you sniffled quietly, hoping he would hear.

Javier laughs, cocking his head to the side as one hand groped the flesh of your bum, and the other undid his belt buckle. The sound makes your mouth water, wondering if he’ll let you suck him off too for forgiveness.

“So you do know how to be nice?” He groans, giving you no time before his hard members penetrates your entrance, head turning back and eyes rolling when you clenched around his dick so well. “Javier!” You screamed, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the strong stretch.

Your arms ached, desperate for release so you could brace yourself against the floor for every hard thrust your husband would give you.

“Listen carefully, querida” he moans into your ear, humping you as you moaned loudly. “You’re gonna be a good girl and let me fill you up, alright?” When there was no answer, he slapped your cheek again, this time echoing throughout the living room and leaving a red splotch on your ass. “Answer me.” He growled, patience growing thin from your pathetic wailing.

You grit your teeth, hating the fact that you were supposed to be mad at Javier for forgetting about you, and yet here you were receiving back shots with a stinging red ass.

”Yes, Javier” you said back, feeling his girth stretch your walls.

”Good. And once I’m done fucking my pretty wife, you’re gonna suck me off like you mean it. That sounds good mi amor?”

You nodded in return, eyes shut and panting like a slut from the feeling of Javier slowing down his thrusts, deepening every stroke.

“Yes, Javier” you repeated.

He smiled, kissing your neck sweetly, contrasting his hip movements. “Thank you, mama” he replied, cherishing your sweet moans and gasps as he went at a deeper, harder pace.

It’s delirious, the whole situation. You feel as though you’re on cloud nine with the way Javier is so possessive of you, caging you like a butterfly in his garden with the apple of desire.

You felt sinful. You felt glorious. You needed his release to fill you up so badly.

“Javi…” you muttered, tits starting to get carpet burn from being fucked against the ground.

“I know mama, you’re doing so good for me. Taking your lesson so well” he groans, sweat beading at his forehead.

You were aching and begging for orgasm, but feeling Javier rut into you so passionately made it all worth it. It dissolved any anger, any resentment from earlier because you knew how good he could take care of you.

“You’re so fucking mean sometimes, you know that?” he tells you, brows furrowed and concentrated on fucking the daylights out of you. You could feel the handprints marking your hips, wondering how many of Javier’s marks would be on you tomorrow morning.

“I know” you sigh, feeling a slap come down on your ass as you groan louder.

“You’re so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know that too?” you pant, squirming under your cuffs. Javier shudders, your walls sucking him a little too well.

“I know.” He says back gruffly.

Javier feels the knot untying in his stomach, too late to tell you verbally as you felt his warm seed leak inside, cumming first.

“Merida”

You were also close, loving how despite already coming, Javier was fucking you so that you could cum too.

”I’m gonna” you pant, forgetting to finish your words as you felt hot liquid threatening to spill from every stroke he made in your hole.

Javier whispers, pressing ticklish kisses from his mustache to your bare shoulder. “Cum on my cock, baby, you know what to do” he muttered, both of you groaning loudly as both your releases became mixed inside you.

“Oh fuck, Javi!” you scream, hair a mess and pussy aching.

You feel dizzy, used but happy, shivering as a large sludge of your cum spills out and drips down your thigh to the carpet.

Javier is quick to lap you up with his tongue, slotting his face in your ass as he filthily cleans you up.

“Can you get these off me, please?” you ask him meekly, relishing the feeling of your sensitive wrists when they touch the cool air.

Your husband presses a kiss to each one, marking your ass and shoulders with playful hickeys and bruises.

You both catch your breath for a moment, Javier turning you over so you were facing the ceiling, your sensitive tits perking up.

It’s all so sudden but before you two realize it, you’re latching onto each other immediately, hungrily sharing a kiss as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hermosa,” he tries to begin, before being shushed by you, pulling him back in to lovingly kiss your husband.

Sure, rough sex was great, but god did you love just kissing Javier absentmindedly. You had to touch each other, kiss each other, that was how you two made up.

“Lo siento, hermosa” he sighs, wanting to get lost in your embrace. You smile, knowing that Javier is sincere. “Me too.” You reply, voices hushed as it was now later in the night, the neighbors probably aware of what had happened next door. A moment passes.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to suck you off?” you asked innocently, gazing up at Javier as your head rested on his chest.

He grins, softly whispering a later as he played with your hair, cock soft against his thigh as your leg nudges it playfully.

He growls, nipping your ear. “Behave” he says firmly, cheeks rosy. This time you listen.

“Who picked you up today then if I didn’t come?” Javi asks, reaching over to wrap a blanket around you two near the fireplace.

You smile, knowing that you can’t always listen to Javier’s warnings. “Just some cute young taxi driver. Asked me for my number y’know” you grinned.

Javier looks down, eyes darkening as he mutters softly. “Unless you’re gonna be a brat again, you better watch yourself” he reaches for your mound, cupping you softly so you moan in pleasure, still sensitive from the previous activities. He hoists you above his stomach, feeling your nails scratch his pudge and bend down as you give him a kiss. “I’m just messing with you” you giggle, a familiar feeling coming back when his bare cock is nestled by your thighs. “He was old. A grandpapi” you said, feeling his hands roam the flesh of your ass.

You press a hand against Javier’s chest, giggling as you peck his jawline. He rolls his eyes, hands wrapping around your waist instinctively.

“I missed you.” he mutters, feeling you up.

You smile, remembering how warm it is on top of your husband before you shut your eyes softly.“Me too.”

You look up, apologizing to him. “Sorry for almost stabbing you with that knife”

You feel the vibrations and sounds of a loud chuckle, Javier holding on to you. “It was an accident” you mumble, circling shapes on his skin. He knows.

You make up for it by leaning in, pressing kisses under the shell of his ear. Whispering how you’ll let him stuff his cock in your mouth again to get even.

Fuck it, he thinks. He’d let you kill him anyday.

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: a couple of bad words

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is my submission for @nacho-bucky ‘s writing challenge! My prompt was ‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. As a side note, I drank a whole pot of coffee yesterday and wrote this in one afternoon, so it’s also unedited :) As always, let me know what you think! 

By the time the quinjet is an hour out from New York, Bucky Barnes is in an irredeemably foul mood.

Breaking up terror cells in Germany was supposed to be an easy mission - in and out, with the practiced ease of their well-oiled strike team. Really, they took the mission to spare German special forces the trouble...that, and a potential connection to an old Red Room contact of Natasha’s. With their “dream team” (Sam’s words, not Bucky’s) of Cap, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, this should have been a light op, a scrimmage, Nerf ball.

Turns out superheroing is a contact sport, and they’ve got the bombs and broken ribs to prove it. A train station, a decoy, and an explosive device Natasha failed to disarm. With Sam coordinating civilian evacuation, there had only been a couple dozen injuries, but the suspect had slipped away, leaving them bruised and empty-handed.

Bucky had taken a brutal hit as he pulled Nat to safety, and now he is curled in his seat on the jet, metal hand holding his ribcage. He watches Steve scowl in the cockpit, jaw unflinchingly tight as he goes over the mission in his head. The captain doesn’t know how to let things go - never has, never will. Sam is actually piloting the quinjet, making unreturned small talk about a basketball game he went to last weekend. Natasha sits across from Bucky, a Stark tablet in her hands, dissecting bomb schematics and diagrams of diffusion techniques. There’s a little scab of dried blood on her bottom lip that she pokes at with her tongue, red brows lowered in concentration.

Bucky is exhausted - his hair smells like dust and smoke, his mouth is tangy and dry. There’s dried sweat underneath his uniform and he itches and his feet are hot in his boots and his ribs really fucking hurt. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and wishes they were home already.

**********

She pops her head up over the back of the couch when she hears them. What a sight they make: Bucky, propped up on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha dust-covered and buried in her tablet, Sam still sweaty and tugging at the harness on his suit. She still smiles, tentative but kind.

“Hi guys.” She lifts her fingers in a little wave. “Everyone okay?”

Bucky grunts in response; Natasha says nothing, making a beeline for her room and a shower. Sam, without doubt the most talkative person on the team, props himself on a stool and blows a harsh breath past his lips.

“We’re alright, yeah,” he sighed. “Barnes is a little beat up but he’ll get over it - he’s just  dramatic.”

“Fuck you, too, Wilson.” Bucky flips Sam off over his shoulder as they hobble towards the elevators.

She winces, not yet used to their harsh banter.

“Hey man, be nice in front of the rookie, alright?” Sam hollers, mock-offended. “You’re creating a hostile work environment!”

Steve chuckles a little at that, jostling Bucky’s tender ribs, which makes him scowl at his best friend.

“Bucky is a hostile work environment,” Steve deadpans. They’ve reached the elevator, and shuffle inside, turning to face the common room. Bucky catches the rookie’s eyes as she giggles behind her hand.

“She’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, sparing a wink for the rookie. “When I make it hostile, bird brain, you’ll know.”

The elevator doors close, and he leans on Steve a little heavier, and jabs his elbow into Steve’s stomach.

“Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” he huffs.

“What?” Steve feigns innocence, and very poorly. “Didn’t know you were so worried about making a good impression on the rookie.”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

They meet Dr. Banner in the medical wing where his lab adjoins the clinic; Sam had messaged him half an hour ago that they were inbound with a broken supersoldier, and Bruce had taken the liberty of setting up some of his supplies. Of all the doctors on staff, Bucky favored Dr. Banner - he was mild and soft-spoken enough to not trigger Bucky’s anxiety, in spite of the needles and IV drips and the snapping of latex gloves.

An X-ray and some bandages later, Bucky is removed from the active duty list for two weeks.

“Even with your advanced healing factor, I wanna be careful with this,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses to scratch the side of his nose. “I mean, your medical history is a little blurry, to say the least - and with all the shit HYDRA pulled, who knows what kind of stress your bones have been through before.” He taps away on his tablet, notifying FRIDAY and the admin system to remove Bucky from the roster. “In the meantime, take it easy - no missions, no training, no lifting weights. Probably avoid the motorcycle, too. I’ll check on them again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve is nodding - he never leaves Bucky by himself in medical - and crosses his arms. Neither of them have changed out of their uniforms yet, and in this sterile observation room, Bucky can finally smell the layers of grime and sweat clinging to them. His nose wrinkles when he gets a little whiff of himself, feeling bad for the nurse who bandaged his ribs.

“Oh I almost forgot -” Bruce turns around and reaches for something on his lab bench. A little blue bottle, full of round white pills. “Here. I developed these for the two of you - since you metabolize normal painkillers so quickly, I figured we might need something that would work in the event you sustain heavy injuries which…well, seemed likely. Take 2 every 4 hours, okay?”

His metal fingers grip the little bottle, rattling the tablets inside.

“Sure thing, doc.”

**********

She lifts the hem of her shirt, wiping at the sweat on her forehead, and leans against the wall of the gym. Her breath comes in short pants as her chest heaves, trying to cool down from her last bout with Agent Romanoff.

“Heads up.”

Her hands barely make it up in time to catch the flying water bottle headed for her face.

“Good catch,” Romanoff smirks a little. She’s sweating, too, but in a way that’s decidedly more sexy, little red curls hanging by her face. She looks fresh from a Pilates class, not a suicide workout - the rookie can feel the heat of her own face, the sweat drenching her clothes, and knows she’s not nearly as glowing as her trainer.

“You did really good today,” Romanoff continues. She keeps saying to call her “Natasha” but that is so hard to do with a woman so intimidating her alias is one of the world’s deadliest animals. “Really good. You’ve shown tons of improvement since we started. I’m going to recommend we start letting you shadow on missions in a couple more weeks.”

“Wow, really?” Her face lit up in spite of her exhaustion.

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. “I know it’s gotten a little boring, having you go through all of this.”

“Boring” was an understatement. Despite having a few years of experience under her belt - well, according to Tony Stark, vigilantism barely counts as “experience” - the rookie was assigned to a training program for her first couple of months on the team.

“Too much of a risk to put you in the field right away,” Stark had rattled off, handing her forms to sign and an official t-shirt (‘Look Mom! I’m an Avenger!’) and a tablet with a map of the compound. “Legal says we can avoid liability issues with a training program before we gradually phase you in, and I’m inclined to agree, so! Welcome to the team, but not officially!”

Her days consisted of early morning workouts, followed by combat and tactical training with Black Widow herself, and then...well, not much. There was research, of course, and she stayed on top of the intelligence briefings with the rest of the team. She went to meetings and official dinners and unofficial karaoke nights, but the rest of her time was mostly her own. Frankly, she was chomping at the bit to get back out there, in the action. Helping people.

“Well, hopefully it’ll pay off,” she sighs, giving Agent Romanoff an exhausted smile. “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link on the team.”

“You won’t be, believe me,” Natasha shakes her head. With a glance at her watch, she picks up her own water bottle and heads for the door. “Now I’ve gotta run, Skype meeting with Fury in 5. I’ll see you later, Rookie!”

**********

Bucky Barnes was feeling good.

Like, damn good.

Like, ‘Banner should label his controlled substances’ good.

Thing is, post-HYDRA and post-fugitive and post-cognitive reconstruction therapy, Bucky was more mentally okay than he had been in decades. He had the occasional rough day, and he definitely wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the shrinks that Stark had on retainer, he was getting better at dealing with it all. His physical health, however, was more of a moving target. In spite of receiving a bastardized supersoldier serum, he had been pumped full of so much other shit and gone through so much physical stress that his body had fundamentally shifted equilibrium. Multiple appointments with Dr. Cho and Shuri revealed that his chronic pain may never fully heal - if it did, it would be a very gradual process. Normal painkillers in reasonable doses did nothing for him, so Bucky settled in to his discomfort, carrying it the way he carried his knives and his scars - always.

24 hours into his medical leave, a few doses of pills down, and he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his body - he shifted his awareness to each part of himself, like that guided meditation thing Wanda did sometimes, and he couldn’t find the pain, not even lurking behind the muscle and metal. He might be a little miffed at being off the active duty roster, but if his whole vacation is going to feel like this? Well, he doesn’t mind to let Steve handle the next threat to world peace.

With his schedule suddenly wide open, Bucky wonders what he’ll do with his day. He can’t remember the last time he truly had nothing to do - it’s an exciting prospect. So he lets himself ease through his morning, sleeping in, long hot shower, slipping on those plush Black Widow pajama pants Nat gave him as a gag gift. He knows everyone else will have had their breakfast and moved on to morning briefings and training drills by now, and he wanders down to the kitchen in the hopes that they’ve left him some coffee.

He sees her there, perched on a stool at the island and frowning at the tablet in her hand. There’s a little scrunch to her nose when she does that, he notices.

“Good morning,” he says softly, trying and failing not to startle her.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” she smiles, watches him round the island to the coffee pot on the counter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“S’okay. I’m quiet.”

“You didn’t get tapped for the recovery mission? They’re going after your suspect from Berlin again, I think.”

“Oh, I’m off missions for two weeks.” He turns, giant ‘Don’t forget to be awesome’ mug gripped in his metal hand. “Banner’s orders. You didn’t hear about my smashed ribs?”

“Oh no, I guess not - are you okay?” Suddenly she’s concerned, and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m still a little out of the loop I guess.”

He feels guilty for that - she’s eager, bright, kind, a brilliant recruit. But it can take a while before you’re ‘in’ with the team. Not because they exclude her, but, well - a group made up of outsiders has a hard time adding new faces to the mix.

“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” Bucky digs around in a jar on the counter for a few sugar packets, dumping them into his mug. “Anyways, I’m off the roster for now. Gotta figure out something to do with myself, I guess.”

Her smile is slow, ducked under pretty lashes - he really needs to stop noticing these things.

“Would you - I mean, you can hang out with me if you want?” She chews on her lip. “I’m done for today - my training with Natasha ended early and they didn’t need me in on the briefing so…”

The rookie was lonely - he could see that, anyone could. The fact is, between their own training and missions, it had been a little hard for the team to spend very much time with her. Bucky himself was often a bit of a loner in his free time, preferring to hole up in his room with books and movies rather than go out for drinks or another karaoke night. And yet, he found himself feeling eager at the thought of spending a relaxing day with the new recruit, getting to know her a little, hearing that funny little laugh through her nose.

“Sounds great, Rookie - what did ya have in mind?”

**********

“Okay, I just wanna go on the record and say I called it. I called it!” She’s grinning. “I knew you would love this.”

“Well, hey, in my defense, I’ve never hated beautiful women.”

She just rolls her eyes, kicks her feet out to rest on the coffee table in front of them. There’s a pile of DVD’s, all hers, laying across the surface, picked through and ranked in order of what was most important for Bucky to see. His film education was obviously lacking, considering he missed out on 70 years of movies, and didn’t even know what he liked anymore, so he was content to let her pick. After raiding the kitchen for an array of snacks, they settled in, opposite ends of the same couch with a bowl of popcorn and dark chocolate M&M’s between them.

Approximately 20 minutes into the movie, Steve appears, just passing through for an apple from the fridge. He stops in his tracks behind the couch, the crunch of the fruit in his mouth just above their heads.

“What is this?” he says around his mouthful. If his Ma could see him now, Bucky thinks.

“It’s called ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’ - came out in 1953,” she answers, smiling over her shoulder at him. “It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“That’s - that’s Lauren Bacall!” Steve perks up, smacking Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Betty Grable’s in it, too.”

“No shit!” Steve is grinning now, and he gives the rookie a conspiratorial look. “Y’know, Bucky used to have her pin-up poster. The one in the white bathing suit? Had it in his suitcase when he shipped out.”

“Oh, really?” She’s looking at him now, eyes sparkling at the rosy blush climbing up Bucky’s cheeks. “Betty Grable, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Well, everybody had that picture, I mean...it’s famous for a reason. All the boys had ‘em.”

“No, no, I get that,” she shrugs. “I just had you pegged as more the Rita Hayworth type, that’s all.”

It takes him back for a second, Steve too, that she knows these starlets, that they could’ve been having this same conversation 75 years ago. He can see that look in Steve’s eyes, sly and knowing as they slide towards him. Bucky works his mouth, tries to control his smile.

“Well, nothing wrong with her either,” he drawls, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “But did you see Grable’s legs?”

“I just thought you might’ve had a thing for redheads!” she laughs.

“They’re alright, I guess - now Dugan on the other hand…”

Neither of them notices Steve leave the room, tossing the apple in his hand and a huge dopey grin on his face.

**********

“Tell me again what the recipe says?”

“One cup of pumpkin puree.”

“Oh - shit, I thought you said one can.”

She smacks her forehead. “No wonder the batter is so goopy!” She rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re trying to ruin my bread, Barnes.”

“I swear I’m not, doll - it was an accident.”

“Okay, new plan - we just make a double batch since the can has two cups in it.”

She shuffles around behind him, grabbing her flour and sugar and sour cream and other ingredients, hands flurrying to measure and fix the dough. It’s mid-afternoon now, a couple of movies down, and they (she) decided they needed to get in the fall spirit by baking a ridiculous amount of...breads. The banana bread is already in the oven, the pumpkin will be on its way as soon as she fixes his mistake, and a blueberry bread (made from muffin mix) is next on the list.

“But...what’s so special about making it into breads?” He had asked, causing her to look at him like an idiot.

“Ask me that again after you try them, Bucky.”

So he shut up and cracked eggs and sifted flour, stirring when her arm got tired. He was already regretting his words now that the smell of the banana bread was drifting towards him from the ovens, and he had to admit the pumpkin and cinnamon from her bowl was making his stomach growl. With all the bowls and measuring cups laying around, they were making enough sweet breads to feed an army, but hey - the Avengers are practically a small army of their own. And besides, Bucky intends on taking an entire loaf - baker’s privilege.

He decides that he likes watching her work, bouncing around the kitchen, some oldies playlist on the speakers, her tongue poking out between her lips. She’s got her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows - he had to help with that, after she got dough on them. This song is good, too, and he wants to ask her who wrote it-

“Are you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna help?” she quips over her shoulder. He has no idea when he last smiled so much.

“You’re the boss, Rookie.”

**********

She’s got her feet in his lap now, and they haven’t said a word in an hour, and Bucky doesn’t even remember taking his last dose or two of his pain pills but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

There’s a huge book in her lap, Stephen King - a favorite, he’s learned.

“I read at least one of his books every year in October,” she tells him. “You know, to get ready for spooky season.”

“Spooky season? What the hell is that?”

“You know, Halloween time!” she smacks his arm. “It’s Halloween first, Buck, you gotta get in the spirit.”

“I’m -” he sputters, face drawn in the most adorably confused look. “Halloween first?”

She hands him a book of his own and now here they are - he’s 20 pages into The Shining, but he’s stopped paying attention because she’s yawning behind her book and her eyes are fluttering shut, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

He forces his eyes down to his own page, to Jack Torrance and haunted hotels, but they’re drawn back up when her book finally drops the rest of the way to her lap. Her head slumps sideways onto the back of the couch, mouth open just a little. He draws the blanket down around her feet and tucks it in a little tighter, but other than that, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s just fine right here, thank you.

He’s sinking in again, driving up the twisting mountain road to the Overlook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Carefully - in the way highly trained superspies can be careful - he lifts his hips up and pulls his phone from his pocket, managing not to dislodge her feet or wake her up. She merely sighs in her sleep, nuzzling her face into the couch pillow. A text notification from team group message lights up the screen.

It’s Natasha. A photo, a photo which she somehow managed to take without him knowing, of him and the rookie, practically snuggling on the couch and reading together. Her legs are propped over his lap, and Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at her over the top of his book. Nat has captioned the photo: “looks like Barnes found a good nurse.”

He snorts a little. Natalia. Glances up at her, still sleeping, and tilts his phone upwards a few degrees and snaps a picture to send back.

“She sleeps on the job” he types, thumbs still slow on the phone keyboard. Instantly, his phone starts buzzing with more texts from the team, but he mutes it and lays his phone on the coffee table. He doesn’t feel like talking now. Well, talking to them.

“Hey...Rookie,” he whispers, reaching out and shaking her shoulder a little. She hums in her sleep, but makes no other move.

“Rookie, I gotta ask you something.” He wiggles her leg a little, shaking her feet in his lap, and whispers her name. He’s rewarded with her eyes fluttering open, her mouth drawn down in a pout at being woken up.

“Whatisit,” she sighs, still slumped into the cushions. He clears his throat. Here goes nothing.

“So, there’s a charity gala for the Stark Foundation coming up next weekend,” he starts bravely. “And - and the whole team is going anyway, so I know you’re gonna be there, but - well, maybe you would consider going...with me?” Courage runs out, and his brain backpedals. “I mean, just as a friend?”

She huffs. “I can’t believe you woke me up for that.”

“Oh.” He looks down, hair falling in his eyes. “So...you don’t want to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Barnes,” she sighs. “Now shush. I was napping”

His face hurts from the stretch in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s gonna give Bruce those pain meds back.

Yo!I love your work!❤️❤️Btw,may I ask about Tobirama's background story? Did his parents force him to attend the military school like Sasuke's dad did? How did Tobirama's brother die?

 Thank you so much for your support. I am so happy you enjoy this story.  Tobirama is kinda out of character from the manga because 1. I couldn’t do much with Tobirama from the original Naruto series and 2. he was hot so I used him anyway and spun my own twist to is so yeah haha just saying. 

Anyway Tobirama’s tragic backstory. 

So he came from a family of six. His father was a very aggressive man. He worked in the army as a sergeant but was dishonorably discharged. The exact reason behind it always stayed a mystery to Tobirama. He then worked as a mall surveillance to get by but he was too pissed off about life and he took his anger out on his family. He beat his wife, he beat his children. Mostly it was Hashirama getting the full blow because he always tried to protect everyone. He was the oldest of the four sons, but still very young. He was just a teenager. Tobirama and his two younger brothers were barley pre-teens. Tobirama has a big hatrard for his father, but he also could not stand his mother for staying with a men like that. Letting him beat her or her children. How she averts her gaze when he kicks his own children in the guts. 

Situation got so bad one day. Their father was beating their mother so much Hashirama jumped in and Tobirama hid his two little brothers under their beds before rushing down stairs but he wasn’t ready for what he saw or rather said heard. He could literally hear the bones of his mother’s skull break and Hashirama screaming. A sound he never forgot ever again and still makes his stomach twist. Hashirama passed out. The police arrived at their house shortly and arrested the men after some bystander had called, hearing the screams coming from the house. 

Hashirama went to the hospital and he was in a coma from the beating he took. His mother had died that day. Tobirama and his two brothers were send to an orphanage on the other side of the country. They couldn’t see their oldest brother, they never heard if he even woke up. The orphanage was very crowded and underfund. They were going to be separated from each other and put in different foster homes but Tobirama didn’t want his two younger brother’s to be away from him. There was a solution, maybe too good to be true. There is a military boarding school that accepts pre-teens into their programme. It was their only option of staying together but they had to go to otogakure and Tobirama accepted. Like how bad could it really be? It could never be worse than what they have been through and in this way they could stay together instead of being seperated and all across the country. 

Thinking back of it there were a ton of warning signs Tobirama had not thought of at the time, being too desperate to keep his brothers with him. There should have been a major red sign when the social worker got an envelope with money pushed in her hands for “signing three recruits”. Kawarama and Tobirama started their first year in this academy while their youngest brother, Itama was for now receiving his middle school education in the same school. With exhausting training but it was less intensive and bad as the four years of the real academy. 

It was there when Tobirama noticed how wrong he was. He blamed himself till this day because he should have known better, he should have thought it through more. Their existence was erased from the records in Konoha and till the very end Tobirama didn’t even know if his older brother was alive or not. 

He tried his best to protect both his brothers. He was more focussed Kawarama since he was in immediate danger being in the same class. While training Itama to learn to protect himself. His brothers were not as big of a protogé as Tobirama was in all the combat training. What strived Tobirama was protecting his brothers it is all he wanted. He might have not been able to save Hashirama from their father but he was going to get out of the academy with both his brothers he was going to make sure of that. Naturally it also gave him a huge weakness that Danzo exploited a lot. His love for his brothers was his ultimate weight holding him back from his true potential of becoming a top assassin. He used Kawarama’s to push Tobirama forward. He had used him to teah Tobirama a lesson multiple times. If he was unable to do something, injuring Kawarama was the push Danzo used to get Tobirama to a level of what he wishes all his student could get to. 

Meanwhile years passed and Itama and Sasuke were in the same class and even though Itama had an advantage over his classmates from being in the academy for his pre-academy years and had training. His heart was too soft to actually hurt anybody or put himself above others. This made him weak. During a survival test the first years were ditched inside a forest and they had to find their way back to the academy only inside the gates would they be safe from the actual max prison criminals that were released to hunt them down. And not only to kill them, but to do anything as they pleased with them, everything was on the table, killing was consider merciful. As they were ditched there Sasuke and Itama crossed paths and Sasuke, having a soft spot for the kid because he reminds him of Naruto’s good heart, teamed up with him to make sure he was safe. They worked well together for a few days living of the forest. Itama knew a lot about plants and what they could eat and what not. He knew this because his eldest brother liked plants. He told Sasuke his real name instead of his ranking number. Itama told Sasuke about how he got to the academy and Sasuke opened up to the boy too and told him how he got there. 

Inside the forest it was their bad luck they faced a few of the criminals. They got lucky a lot and Sasuke managed to fight them off and Itama trapped a few with his skills in setting traps. They were reaching the end of the forest and they could see the gates of the school. They did not know back then that it was only logical for the enemy to be waiting there to attack, knowing they had to pass there to even get to the gates. Itama got impaled in his guts. Sasuke could see the men cut the child open and his abdomens just falling out of his body. It was a horrific sight. Sasuke held Itama in his arms, not knowing what to do he just shoved the guts back inside him somehow thinking it would work if he just stopped the bleeding. Itama died only minutes later and Sasuke couldn’t comprehend this, he thought if he brought Itama back, if he got his body to the emergency room he could be safed. Somebody could save him for sure.

It was difficult to get out of the forest. let along drag a body with you. He wasn’t capable of killing the man that had done this to Itama, but he managed to out smart him and get away. He dragged Itama’s body with him to the academy and it was there that Tobirama saw his little brother. He had cried so loudly and agonisingly. Nobody could really watch as he held his younger brother in his arms, stroking his cheeks as he just screamed. 

Itama was dead and there was nothing anybody could do.  Sasuke was thrown two weeks in solitary confinement because he was being punished for his action. 

Tobirama only had one brother left and he was going to protect him even it meant he would die in the progress. They had one last year to go before the graduate and could get out of this shit hole. He thought he really could at least have Kawarama. The only family he had left. However, in order to graduate one must be without weaknesses, a cold blooded killer that could accomplish any assignment. 

Tobirama, although very skilled was not without weakness. His brother was his weakness. Danzo knew this and so for Tobirama to graduate and be Danzo standard pupil. He had to get rid of Kawarama. Now it was not very simple because he couldn’t let the two fight it out and let the most worthy go. Obviously Tobirama was the better student and he would kill himself if it meant getting Kawarama out. He needed to know why caring about people was a sign of weakness and he tied Tobirama up. His legs and armed shackled, a collar around his neck. Tobirama figured they were going to torture him to keep the secrets of the academy, since he had shown no interest in going with any ‘job’ offers Danzo gave. He wanted to get out of Otogakure even if it meant being homeless for a while. 

What he did not expect was seeing two of his classmates push Kawarama in the room and just beat him up. Right in front of Tobirama. Tobirama struggled desperately against the chains. They were beating Kawarama up, they were cutting him and torturing him. Kawarama was calling out for Tobirama, pleading his brother to safe him. Tobirama struggled so hard against his chains he still had to this day the red marks around his neck, wrists and ankles.He struggled so much he passed out from the lack of oxygen to his brain. Only to wake up seeing his brother’s dead body in front of him. He was forced to look at it for two days before being released. He was broke, crushed...Just a flame that was burned out.

He graduated. He left. He wandered the streets. He wanted to die but killing felt like a too good of a release for what he has done. He had to suffer, he caused two of his brothers to die. He couldn’t safe any of his brothers. He reached Konoha where he wanted to see his eldest brother’s grave, he assumed he was dead. Only to do some light investigating and finding out Hashirama was alive. He was alive in Konoha and this sparked something in Tobirama again and he found his older brother, owning a little plant shop...Where he sold bonsai’s. He walked inside and just looked at Hashirama in a little apron, looking tall and strong and he smiled his usual smile. Hashirama looks at Tobirama, there is something familiar about the costumer. He looks like his younger brother only...This guy was super pale and skinny and had these red marks on his face and these red marks around his neck ..Not to mention he was white hair. But the eyes were just like Tobirama. 

Tobirama whispers; “Brother...” and it just clicked in Hashirama and Tobirama fainted in the shop. He woke up later and heard Hashirama’s side of the story. He woke up from his coma after 6 months and he tried finding his brothers but it was as if they disappeared from the earth. After a few years of trying he assumed they all died and it pained him so much. Tobirama told Hashirama what had happened and how Itama and Kawarama have died and like nothing had changed and they were a bunch of children scared of their abusive father...Hashirama hugged Tobirama and said nothing was going to happen to him again now that he was there. 

From there out he has not left Hashirama’s side. He worked in his plant shop for a little while before deciding to go to the police academy. The plant shop was just so boring. He became a cop, then detective. His brother got married to this sweet woman who uhm...Kinda has to accept Tobirama will always be in her life because he is not leaving his brother. But hearing why she understands compleetly and just says Hashirama came 1 + 1 free and then she point at Tobirama. She also makes the joke where she says “If you buy the brown one the white one comes extra!” 

Tobirama does not appreciate these jokes. 

The woman’s name is Mito and she had red hair and is a little scary at times. She is a little messy but she runs the shop with Hashirama and she has a kind heart. 

Tobirama is still left with a lot of trauma and PTSD. He can’t sleep more than three hours at the time. He needs to sleep in like intervals. He still has nightmares. He could never fall in love, he is overprotective of his older brother and even a little torn that cuts Hashirama’s finger and causes him to bleed can get Tobirama shaken. He can’t get any constriction around his neck or arms. Not only playful bondage, or messing around with cuffs. Even a watch around his wrist or a choker/ necklace around his neck can freak him out. Also just a firm hand wrapped around his wrist can do that. 

He never truly got over the death of his younger brothers, nor has he ever forgiven himself for it. He never visited his father in prison either. He can’t bring himself to. 

AND THAT IS TOBIRAMA’S TRAGIC BACKSTORY FOR Y’ALL! 

Waterdeep: Dragon Heist Session 1 recap - 1/15/2019

The season is spring and the setting is the City of Splendor, Waterdeep. We find ourselves entering the Yawning Portal, a famous tavern built over the entrance of a well, which leads down into Undermountain. We'll come back to that in a bit though. Entering the Tavern is a lovely half-elf named Sylvar. She enters with a cloaked wrapped tightly around her lithe frame. Is she hiding something? We shall see...She looks around for someone, but doesn't seem to search hard, or possibly can't find whom she is looking for. She is nervous and looks extremely out of place, but that is only to me, the DM who will set up her story and potentially her demise at a later date.  Following her as she takes a seat, at the only table made available to our unlikely group of heroes is Elias, a young male half-elf with mischievous intent in his eyes. He receives a lukewarm almost disdainful welcome from Durnan, the proprietor of the renowned Yawning Portal. Elias is warned by Bonnie to behave while she chastises him for getting the barkeep riled up with his presence. Elias unphased and amused, orders a drink and takes a seat at the back of the tavern, away from the large crowd, though ever aware of his surroundings. As he settles in and is brought his drink a large half-orc (all you interbred motherfuckers.) enters the tavern. He's no stranger to his surroundings, and his love struck eyes fall on Yagra Stonefist, a roughneck half-orc female, who's brutality and manhandling has earned her the attentions and affections of Dirge.  Dirge takes a seat at Bonnie's insistent that he occupy the table with the lonely half-elf. He orders a drink and watches Yagra arm wrestle a few of the hulking bandits seated at her table, with stars in his eyes. Panning the camera no one is holding to the entrance yet again, and you find yourself looking at a bruised up hill dwarf named Yossuck, returning to the tavern after a long days training with Hlam the eccentric monk in the mountains. Yes, you heard me, a hill dwarf monk.. weird I know. He moves with sore muscles straight to the bar and requests a drink. Durnan points over to a table and shoves a tankard of ale at the dwarf grunting about taking a seat and glaring at the pack of bandits who have become even rowdier with the third arm wrestle loss. Suddenly everyone hears the song, "Under the Sea" as Sebastian the crab enters... Sorry, scratch that. Kymani, an islander who sounds like the crab from my favorite Disney movie, enters the tavern. Loudly greeting anyone who wants to listen, (Psst which was no one.) asking a few unhelpful patrons if they've seen his friend, Obaya Uday, to which most just look at him as if he were shit that they stepped on. (people are so racist and rude) He is greeted by Bonnie who is flustered but seemed to have it all under control, as she is running around taking orders and serving as fast as her legs will carry her. She points to a table and scurries off with a promise of return and a look of distressed confusion, he takes his seat, and it seems as though the properly planted single table that was the only place for our random adventurers who never met before or knew one another were forced to sit together. As conversations fly between them all, Elias joins the group, offering overpriced tour guiding. Once everything seemed settled, there was an outburst from the back of the tavern, the group of rowdy bandits were now trying to fight the large half orc woman. She managed to knock two of them out, but eventually the remaining four overpowered her. She was knocked out, but not before several members of this mismatched heroes get a few hits in, though sadly for Dirge, Yagra missed his heroic smash of one of her enemies. During this epic battle for first level players... Elias pickpockets the distracted customers of the Yawning Portal. Lucky for him Durnan wasn't paying him any mind though in hindsight, he should have been for his patrons' sake.  Once Yagra falls, Durnan breaks up the fight, sending the remaining bandits scampering out the door. While everyone is helping make the knocked out Yagra comfortable, there is another catastrophe to deal with. Durnan yells out, "TROLL (earned XP)!!" and once again our heroes are put into a combat situation. They fight hard, though let's face it Durnanwrecked the troll with his 4 hits on the beast and a  cocktail of oil and flame. Though there was an explosion of stirges (earned XP), who tried to drain the party members. Durnan giving the group his thanks, though the tavern was filled with more suitable warriors who could have handled the troll with more finesse, (silly DMing done weirdly wrong and right) this group were the champs of the night. As they celebrated their victory over free drink and food for the night, they are approached by a man, who calls himself Volo. Members of the party don't bother to pick their own brains to see if they remember who he is, what he's "famous" for. He sits with them, enjoying their free drinks and food, and offers them payment for a little help. He hands them each 10 gold dragons (coins not the beasts) and tells them with a job well done, he'd pay them 10 times each what he had given them if they will help him find his friend Floon Blagmaar, who has disappeared a couple nights back, and he fears the worst of his friend, and for his safety. After a while of insights and shit talking, the party agrees to band together and find this Floon character. Heading off to the Skewered Dragon, in a seedy area of the seedy dock ward, they enter the new scene which is not impressive at all, and are quickly taken advantage of by the greedy and desperate proprietor of this establishment. He extorts them heavily for the little information he knows, which for the most part isn't helpful aside from the fact that after Volo left Floon that night, another man joined him for a few more drinks and they left together. The new man's name being Renaer Neverember (I can never remember.), who is the son of the previous Open Lord, Nagault Neverember.  A smarter, maybe nicer man sitting at a table, taking a smaller fee (at this point you all have paid among yourselves 20 dragons.) offers up that he watched Floon and Renaer leave together, and were followed by a couple of men who in other areas would be bad, but fit in nicely with the dark and bad-ass theme of this bar which is called for to progress the story. Sent to Candle Lane, to look for a door with a flying snake on it. The group enters the yard of the warehouse and making plenty of noise, and shedding tons of light because of their weak ass human member with no dark vision, they are once more tonight set up in combat. Fighting four kenku (earned XP), who leave them with a parting exclaim, "Xanathar sends it's regards." (So do the Lanasters, bitch!) the group basically raids the warehouse which is packed with trash, or at least as far as the searching eyes have found so far. Sylvar finds a door, and inside the tiny closet, they find, not the man they are seeking but his friend, Renear. He accounts a similar story of drinking and leaving the tavern, he was hit over the head and has spent a couple days in the dark. He expresses to the group that he fears that they may have mistaken Floon for him, and that they seek the fortune Renaer's father had embezzled and hid away somewhere in Waterdeep. Renaer makes a claim that he doesn't know anything about the truth of the gold's hiding place but seems to gather his courage and offers to help find his friend, possibly out of guilt or friendship, who knows now. And that my friends is where we have been left off for the session.

4 times Rein was hurt and had someone by his side, and one that he didn’t.

1.

“Look at me when I’m talking, boy!”

Reinhardt raised his head immediately. Blood from his broken nose rushed down his throat, and he almost choked trying to breathe and swallow at the same time. He sucked it up, though, eyes burning, not daring to complain. He was in enough trouble already.

“I will not tolerate this behaviour again, is that clear?” General von Alder’s brown eyes were stern. He was a huge man, big as a mountain--bigger than Reinhardt was, and he was gigantic at seventeen. “I don’t care what he said, who started what--and if you don’t understand that we’re here for a purpose bigger than ourselves, I’m kicking your arse back to boarding school, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” he swallowed again and grimaced when the tears he had tried to contain spilled on his cheeks. Shit. As if being told off was not embarrassing enough. “Sorry, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Again,” his snort was like a stone slab on his shoulders, and Reinhardt gritted his teeth.

“I won’t disappoint you again, sir.”

“Hope so,” the General smacked him on the back of the neck, hard, then walked away.

He had not dismissed Reinhardt just yet, so he could not leave, or move--or breathe without panting. A large hand pushed his head down without ceremony all of sudden, and a box of tissues appeared out of nothing into his field of view.

“Use it. And get out of here.”

2.

When he received a letter to present himself to a series of tests, Reinhardt was not expecting that his last assessment would be a hand-to-hand fight General von Adler himself. He had seen him weight-lift at the gym many times--damn, they have even trained together on occasion. He knew how strong he was and how he could bench-press him to the moon without breaking a sweat.

Yet, Reinhardt entered the ring with a wide grin; he was younger and faster. How difficult could it be to beat the old man?

After a while of exchanging blows where Reinhardt was not an inch closer to victory, he managed to connect an elbow to the General’s face. He spat blood and a tooth to the mat, and something changed in his eyes. It was not a game anymore.

Von Adler threw Reinhardt to the ground and grabbed him in an arm-bar wrench--all in seconds.

“Yield!”

Reinhardt had never lost a hand-to-hand combat while in the army, and he had never yielded, either. This was not going to be the first time, even if--bloody hell. He gritted his teeth, right hand clawing at the mat as raw pain tore through his left arm.

“Don’t be so stubborn! Yield!”

“Never!”

He roared when his shoulder popped out of its socket. The referees rang the bell to declared the combat had finished, then scrambled to look for a doctor, leaving both combatants on the mat.

“You’re a big idiot,” the General snorted, then patted Reinhardt on the knee. “Let me see.”

“Sir, with all due respect--”

“Shut it, I’ve done this more than once,” he rolled his eyes, setting a large hand on the joint itself, just over his. “It’ll be worse the longer you leave it like this.”

Reinhardt took a sharp intake of breath when he grabbed his wrist, muscles screaming as he pulled his forearm towards the outside. Sharp white pain lanced through his arm when the joint came back together, and he squeezed his eyes so hard he could count stars.

Once he could breathe again, he noticed the General was not sitting by his side anymore. A hand rested atop his head, and he looked up. Von Adler was rubbing his jaw, a little proud smile on his lips.

“It was a good fight, boy. Welcome to my secret project.”

3.

When Reinhardt woke up, the first thing he did was sit up and hold his throbbing head in his hands-- just they were not his hands, they were the huge cold hands of his armour. Then, and just then, he noticed his right wrist hurt like hell as well, and his back, and everything, really.

“Easy,” two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders or, at least, two weights anchored him down from the shoulders. “There was a bit of a problem while we tested your armour. Do you remember anything? Can you tell me your name?”

“Reinhardt,” he said, grimacing, lowering his arms. The armour weighed a ton, and every single muscle on his body was aching and complaining at the effort. “Couldn’t stop the engine. I think.”

“You scared me for a moment, here, ”Balderich’s brown eyes were warm and concerned as he patted his shoulders, making the armours clank softly. Then, he let go a relieved chuckle. “I’m glad I made you wear that ugly bucket of a helmet on your head.”

Helmet that Reinhardt was not wearing at the moment and that he could not even see around--nor care about, in his present condition. He spat on the ground a mixture of blood and dirt, and grimaced.

“Where are we?” Looking around and deciding it for himself was just too much of an effort. The sun in the sky was too bright, and his head pounded like someone was hammering on it.

“Down a cliff. I tried to reach you before you fell, but I was too late,” Balderich got on his knees in front of him, giving him the back. “Can you grab onto my shoulders?”

“You carrying me like a kid?” Reinhardt groaned. “I’m twenty-six.”

“Already?” Balderich laughed and looked over his shoulder, eyes glinting. “But the question is, can you walk your way back up just like us senior citizens?”

“Ah, just help me up.”

Balderich grabbed him by the waist and pulled him up with a grunt. Reinhardt’s world tilted to the side as he moved, the colours went paler. His body weighted too much. Just--

When he woke up again, he noticed most of his pain was a dull reminder of something that had gone pretty wrong. He was at med bay, stripped into a gown --eek. By his side, Balderich snored softly on a recliner.

He sighed at the thought of the old man carrying him on his back, but closed his eyes with a smile.

4.

There was a loud knock on the door, and Reinhardt covered his head with a pillow. It did not drown the sound of someone getting inside his room and pulling a chair by the bed, though.

“I could use my lieutenant on the field, you know,” Balderich said, a pinch of humour on his voice.

“I can’t be arsed to work, today,” he said, voice muffled. The truth was, he was feeling like shit and almost fell to his face when he tried to go to the loo before. After he had zig-zagged back to his bed, the mere idea of moving an inch more to call in sick was unbearable.

The General picked up the pillow from his face and put it aside, making him groan.

“Ah, you look like shit, Reinhardt,” he laughed.

“Fuck you,” he grabbed the pillow back and tried to throw it at him, but it just reached his own chest. The effort almost left him breathless. “This is your fault, old man,” he wheezed pitifully.

The General had been quite sick a week before, and every single one of their platoon was falling to whatever virus attacked him first.

“It is, sorry,” he said and put a hand over his forehead. Reinhardt closed his eyes. “You’ve a temperature. Had you taken anything yet?”

“I’m fine…”

“Obviously. That’s why you’re lying there like an old rug,” Balderich snorted, exasperation permeating his voice. Yet, he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it away from his face before removing his hand completely.

After a short while, something touched Reinhardt’s forehead again. It was not a hand this time, but a cold, wet towel that reached up to his eyes.

“The doctor will come around soon. While we wait, I’ll give you a run through the old films we’ll be watching during the next two weeks--”

5.

Reinhardt woke up on his side. He was not on a bed, but on top of a thick military blanket sprawled on the ground. There was a hell of a noise outside the tent where he was; people screaming and running, vehicles moving around. He was exhausted and disoriented, and the left side of his face burned and --shit, he groaned because his eye hurt like stupid. What--Where was he?

An engine roared all of sudden, and he pushed himself on his elbow. He gasped at the pain on his back, squeezing his eyes in a grimace. The roaring outside increased and he grabbed his head with a hand; all he could see were airplanes bombarding his position, machine guns firing, people dying, and why--why in the world he could not see with both--

I won’t leave you!

Be their shield.

Reinhardt gasped for breath, but it would not come. He looked around like an idiot, wheezing, a hand clawing the blanket on the ground. He was still wearing his boots. His armour was in a pile on a corner, broken and bloodied; his plasma barrier generator had been destroyed hours ago, and the plating could only stop so many heavy rounds before bending against his body.

The noise continued raging outside, but it was not nearly as deafening as his heart thumping in his ears. His arms still ached from pulling at people, carrying them to a safe place--just to find out there was none. He had tried. He had tried so hard to lead the other Crusaders, to get them to fall back safely with their soldiers, and yet, they all--  Balderich--

He squeezed a fist against his mouth when a thousand laughs, hugs, and beers spilled down his cheeks, never to come back.

Cowards abound

My daughter writes ff. I mean writes it like there’s no tomorrow. She also reads a ton of it. She gives reviews/comments that are honest. Unfortunately, one idiot decided to attack her for a comment. Then this waste of space posted a meme (did not admit to it being a meme) and threatened my daughter. Now my kid doesn’t ever back down from anyone and certainly not from this jackass. But once the moron started feeling the heat, they suddenly started claiming it was a meme. Really?! You tried big and bad but when that didn’t work and the heat turned up, you run away with your tail between your legs all the while claiming it was a meme. Why didn’t you say so in the first place? For that matter, why was it necessary to send my daughter that threatening meme?

The sad thing is that there are other idiots making excuses. Really? So if I were to send threatening memes to you, you would laugh it off and be fine with it? I think not. You are all just trying to cover your buddies ass.

And this is what was sent to my kid: What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.

Yup, out of nowhere in the comment section on AO3. So, yes, it was given as a threat and received as such. But the pansy now is backtracking. And yes, I did respond. I come from a family with many military members. I have even lived in Quantico. I know a real soldier when I come across one. Real soldiers do not behave in the manner that this meme suggests. I knew this idiot was blowing smoke out their ass. I was not, however, aware that this was a meme. But mama bear was not having that. My uncle is a retired Master Gunnery Sgt for the MARINES who served 2 tours in Nam and also served in the Korean War. That man has seen death.He has seen real fighting. He has a high death count of his own. Even now, he still has his guns and rifles. But that man doesn’t brag about what he can do. That is how I knew this jackweed was full of shit. All talk. 

You tried to threaten my daughter.She didn’t back off or back down. Then when the heat turns up, you cried meme. You are childish and a complete moron. 

“Palace Magnifique” Rose stands on stage in a tastefully understated black gown, First Night, “Considerable changes have been made since First Night was last held, but Gilboa’s dedication to the fine arts remains the same. Tonight, for the first time, I am joined by a new Minister of Arts and Culture. I’m very pleased to introduce Miss Monique Broadnax.” She applauds politely as Monique makes a dramatic, sweeping entrance. She’s dressed in an elaborate gown with trains in trans pride colors. Rose maintains a tight smile as the crowd applauds wildly for Monique. David, sitting besides Jessie, cheers for her. Monique, “Good evening!” More applause, shouts of “YAAAAAS!” Rose’s smile tightens even more. Monique, “For years, the Shiloh Ballet has been a symbol of grace and culture. Tonight, we seek to continue the tradition of First Night, but to bring it into a new era. As this city changes, its culture must change along with it. Tonight, for the first time, new styles of dance will be incorporated into the performance, style of dance that have previously been considered to be less than. Tonight, we are once again blessed by angels, but we invite new ones to the table. Please, welcome our new dancers.” She and Rose graciously leave the stage to applause. Classical music plays, and ballet dancers pirouette across the stage. After a few moments of pure ballet, the music and lighting change; suddenly all colors and hip-hop. Vogue dancers appear on the stage, dancing furiously. Society people pretend not to be highly confused and/or outraged. Gays and AFG veterans finger-snap and shout “YAAAAAAAAS!” Jessie’s jaw drops in delight and David smiles and laughs at her astonishment. More fierce dancing.

(“Tomorrow Is My Turn” Nina Simone) David’s portrait hangs in the palace- bright and colorful, with a big, optimistic smile on David’s face. Monique leads a team of designers and architects, furiously taking notes, around the lobby of the palace, “There needs to be some actual life in this place, some warmth, I want plants, natural light, and some color. There should be design elements keeping in the celestial theme of the AFG, and maybe a few butterflies as a tasteful nod to history.” She turns around, “King David has stated that the most important thing is that the palace be open to all people. There should be no part of the palace that isn’t wheelchair accessible. Prince Jack lives here and he still can’t visit half the building. We’re beginning a new day!” In the council chamber, David sits and speaks into the camera, “Good evening. Today I signed into law a declaration of rights for the Citizens of Gilboa.” David has his picture taken for Elite Magazine. He smiles with brilliant charm. In his office, a reporter asks, “The impact of your kingship is being felt all across North America. Do you encourage those in other countries to take up the fight for their rights?” David, “Not unless they’re willing to go through hell for it. You think you know what the worst thing that can happen is, but then, something even worse happens, and then something even worse happens, and it just keeps getting worse and worse. If you think you can survive that, then, maybe.” On TV: David, “Citizens of Gilboa have a right to free speech and a free press.” Jack sits behind the cameramen, smiling supportively and giving a thumbs-up. At their own press conference, Adam and Liam stand behind two podiums in crisp new AFG uniforms. Adam, “With the cease-fire with Gath fully implemented, King David is beginning the integration of AFG forces into the Gilboan Army.” Elsewhere in Shiloh, buildings damaged by the Amalekites get repaired. Joel gets photographed as he holds up the declaration of rights, “I wrote this.” Asher is photographed smiling and leading a service in a synagogue. Shay is photographed smiling and standing in front of a proud group of Queens of Gilboa in their new uniforms. David breaks ground on a housing project for refugees as a crowd lovingly cheers and applauds. Abby poses proudly in her office. Jack has his picture taken. Photographer, “Can you turn your head a little bit, I want to get a better view of your scars.” Jack’s smile fades, and he turns his head. In his office, David explains to the reporter, “Being king really is exciting, I’m actually building things and getting things done.” He presses a button on his phone, “Abby, can you get me those reports I asked you for this morning?” Abby, over the phone, “Lick my BALLS, David! You aren’t the only person who’s busy today!” David laughs nervously, “We haven’t quite lost the informality of the AFG yet.” In their apartment, Jack watches an elevator being installed by the staircase. Back at Liam and Adam’s press conference, Liam says, “AFG veterans who wish to retire from combat will be given full benefits and recognition as veterans of Gilboa.” Reinhardt grins like a smug, handsome asshole as he poses in front of a display of weapons. Rose is photographed at her press podium. Monique is photographed in front of the still spray-painted MSS building, wearing a sparkly gold gown, and waving an AFG flag in the manner of Liberty Leading the People. David, “*announces equal rights, no discrimination based on religion, race, gender, or sexual orientation.*” Gay couples flood a courthouse trying to get married. One of the couples is Abby and Michelle, holding hands and giggling. Michelle wears a slinky white satin slip gown and Abby wears a feminine tux. At her desk, Rose receives a magazine: on the cover is Jessie, “Gilboa’s Mom.” Rose tosses it aside dismissively. Jack and David have their picture taken together, David standing behind Jack. Reporter, “Will Prince Jack be granting an interview?” Jack glances at David. David, “Oh, no. Jack’s made really remarkable progress in his recovery, but speech remains a real difficulty for him. I’d be glad to answer a few questions, though.” Jack tries to smile. At Liam and Adam’s press conference, a reporter asks, “Will either of you be returning to active duty?” Adam, “If King David asks us.” Liam grins, “This is a good thing because if I were Premiere Shaw, I’d be terrified to know that I had this guy coming after me.” He points at Adam. At sundown, Monique stands in front of a building, looking up at its neon sign. It flickers and lights up, PALACE MAGNIFIQUE. Monique claps and laughs with delight.  Reporter, “You’ve legalized gay marriage in Gilboa. Are you and Prince Jack intending on getting married any time soon?” Both David and Jack blush and laugh. Jack looks up at David. David, “Oh, man, I’d love to, but royal weddings are a big deal, aren’t they? I’ve got a ton of stuff that I’m working on, I don’t know when I can find the time to do a wedding.” Jack, “We should.” David, “Yeah, we should.” Rose watches as the cold stone facade of the palace lobby is taken down. She stoically tries to hide her sadness. Monique saunters past, followed by architects and designers, “The new stairwell should go over here. It creates more of a natural flow, has better feng shui.”

In bed, at night, Jack wakes up, rubs his eyes, and sees that he’s by himself. Slowly and carefully, he gets himself into his wheelchair and goes out into the living area. He sees a light coming from David’s office. He goes over and opens the door. Jack, groggily, “David?” David looks up from his work, “Oh, shit, what time is it?” He looks at his watch, “Damnit, I’m sorry.” Jack, “It’s okay.” David puts his stuff away, and says, apologetically, “I swear I was gonna go to bed with you, but I wanted to take one last look at these refugee numbers, I kinda got sucked into them and lost track of time.” He goes over to Jack, “Come on, let’s go to bed.” They go towards the bedroom. They both get into bed. Jack curls up on his pillow, away from David.

Jack at physical therapy: he does exercises for balance and coordination after brain injury. It’s difficult and strenuous but Jack powers through it with intense concentration and determination. Afterwards, his physical therapist, Josh, helps him back into his wheelchair. Josh, “You’re doing really great, Jack.” Jack, “Thanks.” Josh, “If it were based on strength alone, you could run a marathon tomorrow. Your issues are all related to balance and coordination, which are trickier to address. Are you continuing your exercises at home?” Jack, “Yeah.” Josh, “Good. You need to be walking around at home. Are you using your walker?” Jack, “Yes.” Josh, “You need to start using it all the time. It’s gonna be harder moving around with it at first, but once you start improving your coordination, it’ll be no problem.” Jack, “Okay." Josh claps him on the shoulder, “You’re doing good, man. See you Wednesday.”

Jack quietly goes into the council chamber, where David sits deep in discussion with his cabinet. He goes over to the railing at the top of the gallery. He rests his arms on it, and then rests his chin on his arms, watching intently. David, “Okay, what’s next on the agenda?” Asher reads, “Mental health care for AFG veterans.” David, “In the Elite interview, I talk a lot about my own mental health and how important taking care of it has been for me, by the time it comes out, I absolutely need to make sure that AFG veterans have full access to quality mental health care.” The minister of health, Miranda, says, “I have a good plan in place, but I need to go through it with military leaders and make sure it can be implemented.” David, “Excellent, when this meeting is over, You, Shay, and Caesar can stay and we’ll hammer out the details together,” he turns to Asher, “Anything else?” Asher, “Nope, that’s it.” David, “Sweet! Let’s get to work!” Everyone but Shay, Reinhardt, Miranda, and David gets up and leaves. David glances up at the gallery and spots Jack, “Jack! Hey!” Jack smiles at him, “Hey, babe.” Reinhardt rolls his eyes. David, “Hey, you should come join us, I think you’ll have some great ideas!” He pushes Jack towards the stairs, but then stops. They both stare down at the steps. David, “Shit. I guess I really need to prioritize making the council chamber accessible, huh? Do you think you could make it down the stairs if I help you?” Jack looks at the stairs warily, and then looks up at David, “Lunch.” David, “Oh, that’s right! Shit! I’m kind of busy.” Jack, “Okay.” David, “I’ll see you for dinner, though, okay?” Jack, “Yeah.” David leans down and kisses him on the cheek, “You go enjoy your lunch.”

In the kitchen, Jack and Michelle eat sandwiches. Michelle, “I got all my textbooks today. This afternoon, I’m taking Cameron on a tour of the campus. He already says he wants to go into trauma surgery, can you believe it? Most of my classmates still have no idea what they want to specialize in.” Jack, “Cool.” Rose enters, carrying a magazine. Michelle, “Hey, Mom.” Jack, “Hey.” Rose sits down next to them and lays the magazine out, “An advance copy of Elite came today. David looks very handsome.” Michelle, snidely, “Of course he fucking does.” Rose, “I say Silas looked better on his first Elite cover, but of course I’m biased.” Jack points at the picture of David, “Second. Second cover.” Rose, “Oh, I know.” Jack opens the magazine, and starts flipping pages. He lands on Michelle’s picture. Michelle, “Oh, I like that one.” Jack smiles and flips a few more pages to find his picture. In the image, he sits in profile, the emphasis on his scars, still visible through his hair. Jack tries to hide his displeasure. Rose, “It’s a very striking image.” Michelle, “Hey, I got something for the two of you.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out two photographs, “Wedding pictures. You two can put them wherever you like.” She hands one to Rose and one to Jack. Rose looks at hers, and says with a hint of shade, “Well, you two look very happy.” Michelle, “What?” Rose, “I just imagined your wedding would be a bit different is all.” Michelle, “Was this before or after I vowed to remain a virgin and never marry?” Rose, “I was just imagining things.” Michelle, “Hey, you and Dad got married on an army base while you were pregnant. You can’t complain about my wedding.” Rose, “I’m not complaining.” Jack stares down at his picture in Elite. Rose, “What’s wrong?” Jack doesn’t say anything. Rose, “Do you not like the picture?” Jack, “Scars.” He flips the pages, and finds the picture of him and David, small and embedded into a page of text. Michelle, “Hey, that’s a nice picture.” Jack, “Small.” Rose, “Don’t fret over it, Jack, there will be other magazines in the future.” Jack grimaces. Rose, “Whatever you do, just don’t complain about it to David. Your job is to support him, not add to his worries.” Michelle, “So Jack is supposed to just be some subservient wifey now?” Rose, “He doesn’t have to be subservient, but being the king’s spouse does have its own unique responsibilities.” Jack, “Not married.” Rose, “When you are. I speak from experience. The success of David’s kingship rests largely on you keeping him happy. You have to give him everything he wants, and know what he needs before he needs it. You have to lessen his burden, not increase it.” Michelle, bitterly, “That’s how Seth was kept from us for ten years.” Rose, “That was your father, not me.”

In the evening, Jack lays on David’s shoulder while they watch TV together. David plays with Jack’s hair, “I swear, your hair is growing back curly.” Jack smiles, “Just messy.” David, “No, it’s curly. I like it.” He kisses the top of Jack’s head, and then yawns deeply, “Shit, it’s been a long day.” Jack, “Tired?” David, “Yeah, I think I might go to bed. You want to join me, or watch TV for a little bit longer?” Jack, “Join you.” David gets up, and then helps Jack up. David, “Lemme get you your walker…” Jack, “No. Myself.” David, “Come on, don't be stubborn, you need the walker.” He goes to get it, but Jack takes a few shaky steps on his own. David grabs the walker and hurries over, “Jack!” Jack keeps going, and then stumbles. David lunges and catches him, “Don’t give yourself another head injury!” He tries to get the walker again, but Jack pushes it away. David, “Jack!” Jack keeps going, walking slowly and unsteadily on his own. David gives up and hovers close behind him. Jack stumbles again, and David grabs him. David helps him re-gin his balance, and slowly, they make their way into the bedroom.

Jack and Reinhardt sit in David’s office. Reinhardt, “All right, I had my secretary draw up a report for you, everything you need to be briefed on should be in there.” Jack looks through a stack of papers. Reinhardt, “Anyway, I am BUSY-” Jack cuts him off, “Wait.” Reinhardt, “What?” Jack knits his eyebrows, “Questions.” Reinhardt, “What questions?” Jack, points to a page and slowly reads, “Arming rebels in Gath,” he looks at Reinhardt. Reinhardt, “I just thought why are we sending our troops to fight Shaw when Gath is full of rebel groups willing to do it instead?” Jack, “Terrorists.” Reinhardt, “The AFG was considered a terrorist group until you all took over.” Jack, “No… Amalekite terrorists.” Reinhardt, “The Amalekites never operated in Gath.” Jack, “No.” Reinhardt, “I mean, they blew up that one bomb but it was only so David would escape, right? And anyway, all of our intelligence says that the Amalekites died with Alek Amal, so we don’t have to worry about them.” Jack, frustrated, “No.” Reinhardt, “What? Are you saying they’re still working?” Jack, “No.” Reinhardt, “Then what the hell are you saying?” Jack sighs. He points to the list of rebels in Gath, “Bad guys!” Reinhardt, “Bad guys who are on our side.” Jack, “Can’t.” Reinhardt, “Can’t what?” Jack, concentrating to say the words, “Help… bad guys!” Reinhardt sighs with annoyance, “Well, it’s just a proposal, not a plan. Besides, you always get David to do what you say.” His voice is full of insinuation. Jack glares at him, “Done?” Reinhardt, “Yes, I’m done. And I have other meetings to get to, so if you will please excuse me.” He gets up, and leaves. Jack watches him leave, and then leaves himself.

Reinhardt walks into David’s office, “You requested me?” David, “You briefed Jack this morning like I told you to, right?” Reinhardt, “I did.” David, “How did it go?” Reinhardt, “As well as could be expected. We had a few disagreements.” David, “Disagreements? I told you, Jack is still your authority, if he gives you orders, you have to follow them.” Reinhardt, “That’s just it. Jack is not exactly the best person for conversation.” David, “What the fuck are you saying?” Reinhardt, “I can’t follow his orders if I have no idea what the hell he’s trying to say to me.” David, “Okay, before this goes any further, do you seriously not understand what he’s trying to say, or are you just being an asshole?” Reinhardt, “I need clear orders so that I don’t get blamed when they go badly.” David, “So you’re just being an asshole.” Reinhardt, "Am I supposed to be buddies with Jack now?" David, “Don't ask like you can't understand him!” There’s a soft knock on the door. David, “Yes?" The door opens and a secretary enters, “Sir, Queen Rose is here to see you.” David, “I'll be there in just a moment.” Reinhardt, “Should I leave?” David, “We will deal with this later.” Reinhardt, “Well, I’ll see you later, then.” He gets up and leaves. As he exits the room, Rose enters. Rose, “What is it, David?” David pulls something up on his tablet and hands it to her, “This.” Rose takes it. On the screen is an OMGossip headline, “Prince Jack’s Struggle.” Rose, “Ah, Andrew.” David, “I have been clear from the beginning, Jack is off-limits! There’s personal information in there! They say that Jack has migraines and seizures!” Rose, “He does have migraines and seizures.” David, “How could they know that?!” Rose, “The palace has over 5,000 employees, and this doesn’t include the employees of the hospital and rehabilitation center. Any one of them could have been paid to say something.” David, “I want it looked into and anyone who talked fired.” Rose, “Tell Thomasina.” David, “This isn’t the first time OMGossip has published personal shit. They’re the ones who published the fucking sex tape!” Rose, “So what are you going to do about it, David? This is all factual information. Under your new declaration of rights, they’re perfectly free to do it. There’s nothing you can do.”  David, “The only way they could have gotten that sex tape was from Gath, this is an issue of national security!” Rose, “Then discuss it with Minister Reinhardt.” David sits back in his chair, slightly deflated, “Jack’s recovery is hard enough as it is. I don’t want anyone adding to it. Can you, like, talk to Andrew?” Rose, “Andrew learned from his father to resent anyone named Benjamin, and it’s a lesson he took to heart. The fact that Jack got CrossGen only makes it worse. He won’t listen to me. He won’t listen to anybody. And besides. This is hardly the worst thing Jack has had written about him.” David, “That’s beside the point!” Rose, “Right now, you have much, much bigger things to worry about. I have the outline of my Council testimony finished, and we’ll be meeting about it this afternoon. You need to figure out what you want to say.” David annoyed, “There’s nothing to say.” Rose, “That’s not good enough. I'll see you this afternoon.”

At speech therapy, Jack slowly reads out loud from a book. He pauses and rubs his eyes. His therapist, Zoe, say, “Hey, you’re doing good, keep going.” Jack, “Headache.” Zoe, “Ah, gee, that’s rough. You look tired, did you get much sleep last night?” Jack, “No.” Zoe, “Well, make sure you take a nap this afternoon and try to catch up. We gotta keep going, though, come on.” Jack begins reading again, but he goes slowly and struggles with the words. He squints with pain and rubs his head. He pauses again, blinking at the pages in front of him. Zoe, "Are you sure you don’t want some aspirin or something?” Jack winces and then suddenly vomits on the table. Zoe jumps to her feet, “Okay, let's take a break.” Jack wipes his mouth with embarrassment.

Outside the council chamber, David speaks in low, conspiratorial tones to Liam and Adam, “OMGossip published a story about Jack and I am not happy about it.” Liam, to Adam, “I told you man, I should have beat the shit out of that motherfucker when I had the chance!” David, “What?” Adam, quickly, “We saw Andrew Cross at Council. Nothing happened. Don’t worry about it.” David, “Sine being in touch with the press is you guys’ job, I want you to pay attention. Ask around. where's OMGossip getting its sources? Is it someone inside the palace or from somewhere else?” Liam, “You want me to deal with it when I find out?” David, “What? No! No, don’t do anything stupid. If you find any information whatsoever, tell me immediately, don’t do anything else. With the declaration of rights, I’m not supposed to be doing anything to interfere with the press, and… Look, I don’t give a fuck what anyone says about me, but I want Jack to be left alone during his recovery, got it?” Liam, “Got it.” Adam knits his eyebrows in concern. David, “Adam?” Adam, “Yeah, I guess. I… are you sure we won’t be breaking the law or anything?” David, “Hey, I’m the king, the law is whatever I say it is.” Behind them, Thomasina steps out of the council chamber, “Your majesty, we’re waiting for you.” David glances back at her, “Okay, just gimme a second.” He turns back to Liam and Adam, “Just keep your eyes open, and whatever happens, I’ve got you guys covered. Come on.” He goes into the council chamber.

In the chamber, David sits at the table with Rose, Thomasina, Joel, Abby, Asher, and a host of other advisors. Liam and Adam find a place in the gallery. Abby begins talking, “Confirmation Council is largely symbolic, in the end, David is still king of Gilboa, no matter what, but it serves the very important purpose of setting a clear narrative on what happened during the coup, and establishing why David is king. Everyone directly involved with the coup is expected to testify.” Adam diligently takes notes. Rose, “Honesty is going to be our best course of action, since we have nothing to hide, and David has built himself an image of being somewhat unflinchingly honest.” An aide discreetly enters the chamber and goes up to David, "Sir, Prince Jack has cancelled his afternoon speech therapy for today.” David, "What? Why? What happened?” Aide, “He has a migraine.” David, "Where is he now?” Aide, “He’s in bed.” David. “Shit.” He stands up, “I have to go." Abby, “David this is very important." David, "I have to go be with Jack." Abby, “David, this is when you tell everyone why you're king!” David, “I've done that already! I’ve done it like five times! If someone doesn't understand by now, that's their fault. Figure out what I need to say, and I’ll say it.” Abby, “Some of it should come from you.” David, “Then we’ll reschedule! I have to go!” Adam watches him as he hurries out.

Jack lays in bed in a darkened room, eyes shut tight with pain. The door opens, and Jack winces at the beam of light that enters the room. David steps in and says softly, “Hey, are you okay?” Jack moans. David loosens his tie and takes his jacket off. He gets into bed beside Jack and puts his arms around him. Jack, “Work.” David, “Don’t worry about that.” Jack, “No.” David, “I want to be with you.” In too much pain to protest, Jack curls up close against David, and David gently strokes his hair, “I'm not going anywhere.”

David goes into Vesper’s cell and sits down. David, “Can I talk to you?” Vesper, “I have nothing better to be doing.” David sighs heavily, “I don’t get it… you murdered your wife.” Vesper, “Yes, I did.” David, “You turned your army on your own people. You murdered thousands, maybe millions of innocent people, and you murdered the person who loved and supported you and was the mother of your children… but when I talk to you, you seem pretty decent. You’re not like Silas or Warner. You don’t seem like the kind of person who would do what you did.” Vesper, “I know what you’re trying to ask, and I’m afraid it’s a question best left to the scholars- Why did Vesper Abbadon go absolutely batshit insane? Anyone else’s guess is as good as mine.” David, “Is that what you’d tell your kids?” Vesper, “Perhaps I’d try to give them something better, but… I’ve tried to explain it to myself countless times over the years. Every time I think I’m close to some sort of rationalization or explanation, I see how wrong it is, and I’m once again left with no answers. Evil is like that. Sometimes, it just exists with no why.” David makes a face. Vesper, “What other answers are you looking for?” David, hesitant, “Is there something wrong with the fact that… I actually kind of enjoy being king? I’m helping people! I’m getting stuff done! That… that feels really good. And it’s really scary to have that power. I don’t want to end up like Silas… or like you. I’ve already done a lot of things I regret, from before I was ever even king.” Vesper, “You know your own faults, and you’ve learned from your mistakes. You’re already doing better than I did.” David, “I thought for sure, I’d hate being king, but, I’d do it because doing the right thing is hard. I thought as long as I had Jack with me, I’d be okay. But instead, the work’s making me happy, and Jack…” he grows quiet, “Jack isn’t happy. And I don’t know how to make him happy.” He shoots Vesper a dirty look, “I know what you did to gay people, so I don’t know why I’m telling you.” Vesper, “You’re seeking a connection with someone who understands what you’re going through.” David, “Laura knows, she’s given me plenty of advice.” Vesper, “But she’s a busy queen with her own life and her own problems. I, one the other hand, am a captive audience. I have no right to judge you, and I won’t share your secrets.” David, “Yeah, I guess.” Vesper, “You care about Jack, right?” David, “He’s the most important thing in the world to me.” Vesper, “Then don’t ignore his unhappiness, or pretend it doesn’t exist.” David, “I don’t know how to make him happy! That’s the worst thing about being king- I can solve everyone’s problems except for the one person I care about the most!” Vesper, “I don’t have an answer for you, David, but I think you may have one for yourself.”

Hobbling slowly on his walker, Jack gets into the finished elevator in the apartment, presses the button, and goes up to the second floor. He gets out of the elevator, goes over to the stairs, and looks down them. He thinks for a moment, and then stands up. He puts the walker to the side. He clutches the railing, and carefully, slowly, lowers himself down the first step. With slightly more confidence, he goes down the second step, and then third. On the fourth, he stumbles, and falls violently down the flight of stairs. He grimaces painfully and sits up, rubbing his shoulder. He looks around for something to help him stand up, but it’s all out of reach. Panic washes over his face, but he takes a deep, determined breath, and tries to get up. He rises a few feet, but then stumbles over and is once again on the ground. He tries to get up, again, but falls. Panting, he tries once more, and almost makes it, but loses his balance. He lies on his back, teeth gritted, breathing deeply, seething. He lets out a scream of rage, and pounds his fists and feet on the floor. When his anger is spent, he breaks down and sobs with frustration. The door opens, and David enters. He sees Jack lying at the foot of the stairs, and runs to him, “Jack?!” He kneels down beside him, “Jack?! Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” Jack, muttering, “I’m fine.” David, “What happened? Did you have a seizure?” Jack, “No. I fell.” David helps him sit up, “Do you feel okay? You aren’t dizzy or anything, are you?” Jack, “No.” He feels his head, “Did you dent your plates?” Jack grabs his hand and throws it away from him, resentful. David looks up at the walker at the top of the stairs, “Did… did you try to go down the stairs by yourself?” Jack, “Yes.” David, dismayed, “Jack, you aren’t even doing that in therapy!” Jack gives him a resentful look. David, “Are you okay?” Jack, somewhat defeated, “Yeah.” David touches his forehead, “You’ve got a bruise.” Jack turns his face away from David’s hand. David lowers it and sits quietly for a moment, “I know you’re not happy. I know you’re in a really difficult position, and…” he drifts off, “I don’t know what I can do to make it better for you.” Jack puts his hands over David’s, “You… be with you.” David, “Is that what you want?” Jack, “Yes.” David thinks for a moment, “All right. I should’ve had some time with you, anyway. Do you… want to get married?” Jack smiles a little bit, “Yes.” David smiles back, “Then we should do that. Take a couple weeks for a honeymoon. Finally take some time to be together. Does that sound good?” Jack smiles, “Yeah.” David, “Okay. We’ll do that.” He thinks for a long moment, and then smiles sadly, “I never really thought much about how I'd ask you to marry me, but I always figured it'd be a lot more romantic than this." Jack leans forward and puts his head on David’s shoulder. David puts his arms around him, “You're still what matters most to me.”

Sam MorningstarWritten Jul 15, 2015Do you mean relative to other countries? [ Excerpted from https://www.quora.com/Why-do-cops-in-the-USA-shoot-unarmed-civilians ]

Well, one reason is that there is a larger wealth disparity in this country that people don't want to openly address, so there is a rather large underclass that tends to get involved in criminal activity at higher rates here. There are also more guns in the hands of the general population, so American cops are confronted with a higher rate of potentially violent individuals. Additionally, we have a large and lucrative drug trade along with a rather harsh governmental response to this trade (e.g. the War on Drugs). But, other influences or factors frequently get swept under the rug. To point out issues within law enforcement is often seen as cop-bashing. And to give them the benefit of the doubt and focus on criminality in the wider American population (or sub-groups) is also met with fierce political name-calling. However, I just have to be blunt here and call it as a see it...in the modern era. From what I can tell, there isn't really much discussion as it pertains to  police culture, specifically. We just get this vague "systemic racism"oversimplification, that doesn't really get to the heart of anything. White cops, or even non-White cops, are frequently aggressive and overly-eager and will use unwarranted deadly force on just about anyone...regardless of color. Some might see Black males as more of a potential threat. But, the fact that they are responding to threat stimuli in such a dramatic fashion is the larger issue. Examples. Trigger happy bullshit here in California, where local officials tried to have this video suppressed for 2 years before a judge finally released it (Hmmmm, I wonder why!):   Or, shooting a partially-deaf Native American man in Seattle, who was carrying a legal carving knife (with his wood carving in the other had) and walking away from an officer, here: Page on youtube.com Or, shooting an unarmed camper in New Mexico who was not resisting here: Page on youtube.com NOTE: This last one is particularly disturbing to me as I'm a combat veteran and I saw a lot of action in Iraq. Detaining insurgents or even suspected insurgents is part of normal operations in a war zone. Everything about this scenario screams military operation, except of course that these fuckers are more trigger happy than anyone I ever encountered during my time in combat. You can't just indiscriminately take out an unarmed, compliant individual like this goddammit! It is fucking horrendous. Fucking amateurs. And I have HUGE problems even with this "we wanna play soldier" bullshit anyway. This man wasn't an insurgent, he was a US citizen, camping...and probably homeless or with some kind of mental issues. Do we need to approach this kind of scenario with M-16s and trigger-happy wanna-be military dipshits? If so, why not cut to the chase and round up all homeless and just exterminate them anyway> I mean, that gets to the heart of this dysfunction. Cut to the chase at least! (yes, I'm being sarcastic 'cause I'm pissed off while watching these insane police brutality videos). What really friggin rubs me the wrong way is that in most of these scenarios where unwarranted deadly force is applied, it is supposedly to take out a potential threat, or that the officer didn't feel safe. But, you can't have it both ways. If you want to mimic military tactics you have to also meet certain thresholds and put yourself into different mindsets. In some cases, we were specifically ordered to hold fire until we TOOK direct fire. That means you have to put your ass on the line a little bit before engaging, in order to confirm hostile intent. Then you take out an enemy target. You also put yourself in a whole host of other potentially deadly situations, room clearing, running through open fields of fire, exposing yourself to incoming rounds. It's goddamn dangerous. But, interacting with "civilians" is not combat anyway! Only a few SWAT scenarios call for this kind of approach otherwise. It should be very limited and certainly not STANDARD protocol to conduct police operations this way. There is a never ending push to militarize operations and response protocols. In this atmosphere, there is almost no real push to really employ non-lethal weapons if an officer is taught to see "threats." That is why we are seeing more and more of these fatal shootings as soon as the cop has unholstered his weapon. That is training and muscle memory. There is a simplistic saying in some quarters that says, "If you draw your weapon it should only be used to eliminate a threat/for deadly force." When this gets taken too far, then the threat assessment becomes the first point at which things can break down. I mean, if pulling the gun automatically dumping rounds into someone, then there is less time to be discriminating about approach. This is precisely why we are seeing more videos of cops shooting people in the back. Improper and unrealistic training scnearios and drills that have created a dangerous muscle memory and response mechanism! Plain and simple. Even detention protocols can be severely lacking. It is getting to the point that officers will call out, "stop resisting" or announcing that they feel "threatened" as a precursor to using unnecessary force or aggression (including deadly force). They've been taught a certain sequence of events, and have developed a certain set of response mechanisms.  It's like a box they have to check off on a list, "Make sure you call out so that OTHERS can hear you say that, or when you have to testify in court, 'I told the suspect to stop resisting.'" There are a friggin shit ton of videos of cops doing this while "suspects" are CLEARLY not resisting. Just as some might worry about the Military-Industrial Complex, there is a similar thing going on in law enforcement. There is a widening gap between cops and "civilians." Couple this with aggressive tactics training that emphasizes eliminating "threats" like a soldier and we see these "shoot first ask questions later" scenarios becoming all too frequent. Cops are being given more and more weapons, aggressive mlitary-style training, donning uniforms that look paramilitary, surplus combat hardware, etc. If your only tool is a hammer, every problem will look like a nail, as the saying goes.   And this is not even really speaking to the cultural influences that have been more long standing. Cops represent a cadre of protected individuals who are not really beholden to the same kind of standards that "civilians" are. For some, a true gang mentality becomes entrenched. They are often held to LESS standards. It's not a stereotype that many cops do not give other cops speeding tickets. This is "common courtesy." This only scratches the surface though. Even drunk driving can be swept under the rug if there hasn't been an accident where a report has to be filed by default. Coverups, obfuscations and slaps on the wrist (for misconduct or even what would otherwise be illegal for "civilians") are par for the course. Powerful police guilds and unions often act aggressively to squash police accountability, and various internal affairs organization or oversight commissions are either staffed by the same insiders that perpetuate this kind of climate, or they are outsiders that have limited access to information to fulfull their oversight duties. An officer can openly harass "civilians" and even threaten them, and the complaint will works its way through an amazing web of review boards and only a minority will be ever be corroborated and sustained, and only a fraction within a fraction will receive any real “discipline.” This often represents a day "without pay," Wow, that's rough. Maybe some “sensitivity” training? Very effective! More egregious misconduct (e.g. assaults, illegal detention, threats, violence etc.) might simply be “written up” and stuck in a personnel file. However, any “civilian” caught doing this kind of stuff would be subject to the standard legal system and face real court cases, and possible felony charges (and convictions, if the case was prosecuted). Cops have to be involved in more egregious misconduct to be removed from duty or face criminal charges. Unfortunately, nobody wants to be blunt about these kind of problem. It is either "racism" or cops are unfairly being labeled, while having to deal with the dregs of society. The truth often lies somewhere in the middle. And in this case, the middle represents a legal/law enforcement system that requires a HUGE amount of overhauling.