I love Chiyo- and I kind of headcanon her as a Witch of the Woods (Sands???) archetype- a bitter old woman who has sacrificed too much, experienced and committed more atrocities than anyone can imagine, and who knows the truth about what lies in the hearts of men to live among the villages anymore.

In my AU she's got a pretty dark backstory. Back in time when Villages were just getting established, women weren't allowed to be shinobi in the same capacity as men. There was too much warring and death among the clans to risk women, so they were only ever allowed to serve as spies or medics. (Chiyo started off as a medic).

And like any military/fascist dictatorship, serving the state was more important than anything else- so women who were kunoichi were given missions to steal and return with powerful bloodlines. Even before villages, this was a common fear among clans (which is why so many of them have protective measures and inbreed/arrange matches very carefully).

Chiyo was one such woman, who took a X-rated mission in her youth because she was told it would 'serve her nation'. There was a powerful bloodline whose Kekkei Genkai could harden sand to something akin to Steel- something Suna very desperately wanted.

Chiyo succeeded in her mission, but despite the veneer of 'serving your nation', when she returned, she was considered, in her words, "Just another whore."

Then when her son didn't manifest the bloodline- it was worse, but Chiyo was happy because that meant her son was HERS. (This is when she met Enji, and he saved her son's life at great cost- so Chiyo owes him a blood/life debt.)

Then the war came, and they needed women to fight so now serving the nation meant something different, and Chiyo became a full fledged 'shinobi' and turned her healing towards poison and death- especially when she had to fight the Salamander.

Then she sealed Gaara and that was the atrocity straw that broke the camel's back and she dipped out Suna and retired to an oasis. She's still a healer, but adamantly refuses to serve shinobi.

Once again, thank you so much for these asks and all the support for this AU?

@youngpeacearbiter

💬 What the Smith has to say (new player guidance)

The Smith (the first time you interact) "Greetings, I am one of the Smiths—a stoker of fires and forger of futures. As a dedicated member of the Adventurers' Guild, I have been entrusted with the task of providing assistance to new adventurers.

I see you have but recently taken up the adventurer's mantle. The possibilities stretching out before you must be positively daunting!

In the Adventurers' Guild, we see new adventurers as fledgling heroes. You are our champions of tomorrow—our nascent stars of limitless potential!

My fellow Smiths and I are here to provide you with guidance, but the guild also enlists a cadre of veteran adventurers who will be happy to share with you their accumulated wisdom. You can recognize these helpful men and women by their title of “mentor.”

Mentors stand ready to advise you on any aspect of adventuring! They have hundreds of quests under their belts, and will likely have a solution for whatever dilemma might be causing you trouble. A mentor may even offer to accompany you on your adventures!

I highly recommend that you take advantage of a mentor's aid to enrich your experiences in Eorzea. Pray do not hesitate to ask me if you would like to know more!"

The Smith (Subsequent interactions) "How are you enjoying the life of an adventurer? The people of Eorzea are beset by troubles both mundane and deadly, and there are many who would welcome a helping hand from a stalwart hero. But should you, yourself, ever need help in your travels, do not forget to seek the advice of a mentor or other fellow adventurers. They were all once in your position!"

➺ Select "What is a new adventurer?"

The Smith "In the Adventurers' Guild, we see new adventurers as fledgling heroes. They are our champions of tomorrow—our nascent stars of limitless potential!"

➺ Select "What is the Novice Network?"

The Smith "No one sets foot upon the adventurer's path knowing all there is to know. Mentors are there to answer your questions, so be sure to make the most of their wisdom and experience!"

➺ Select "How do I earn bonus experience?"

The Smith "We have found that pairing a new adventurer with a mentor proves advantageous for both. Fledgling heroes blossom swiftly under a veteran's guidance, and the act of teaching serves to reinforce a tested champion's fundamental skills."

➺ Select "What is a mentor?"

The Smith "The Adventurers' Guild enlists a cadre of veteran adventurers who stand ready to share with you their accumulated wisdom. These helpful men and women are known as “mentors.”"

some rambling about the game put under a cut because it got a little long, aha.

replaying the original so i can get my picks of what to take from each game as my 'canon' and regardless of opinions on the originals writing / dialogue ( which is very 2000s and certainly regarding ash is inappropriate half the time ) i do think the remake fails when it comes to capturing the comedy of the original. part of the charm is l.eon thinking he's very funny and witty ( he's not ) - it's supposed to be a dumb american action movie that's why all these characters fit the tropes and stereotypes you would expect. i spoke briefly about how whilst i like s.addler in the remake, i think his og counterpart is just more interesting - they feel like two different characters instead of an improved one. characters like r.amón especially lose a lot of their flavour when all the comms scenes are removed. it's the one issue i have with all the remakes - they lack that campy charm by opting for serious 'realism'. l.eon still makes jokes but none of them land because he's so much more serious and whilst his jokes were bad in the og, i think him deflecting / coping with humour is an interesting trait.

i think operation j.avier suffers the worst from it though. they had the chance to add it in-game, even in just a cutscene, to finally give context and backstory and instead they changed it entirely to remove any mention of m.anuela ( even j.avier himself ), the virus ( though i understand many people new to the series due to the remakes won't know what t v.eronica is ), j.ack's infection and dismissal ( him working for s.addler and not w.esker is an odd change, but if they committed to it could have really worked - a disabled, disgruntled, isolated war veteran let down by the government is the perfect target for a cult ) but not to mention that the 'you can't save anyone' / 'this time it has to be different' makes far more sense when you consider m.anuela ( especially as l.eon could have no impact on saving m.arvin and by this point he already knows a.da is alive ) - especially if they canonized the 'bad' ending where she turns to ash ( as we never see / hear from her again, which is fine - personal take that not every one-time character has to return, even if i like them ). the parallel of a young innocent woman, infected, under l.eon's protection, would have worked much better than 'the government killed all these men for...reasons?' ( why were they killed? did s.immons have something to do with it, showing more of his corruption prior to six? were they infected with the virus they don't mention? as the series progresses this happens more and more, and l.eon himself aids in the coverups of rc etc etc, which could have added more context to the issues between him and j.ack but instead it just comes across for people who have are new that j.ack's blaming l.eon for...reasons? ). they could have sown the seeds of future events whilst bringing in the important things that get missed because it's in a railshooter side game and it's a missed opportunity! also i think if they did acknowledge the canon of m.anuela's survival that her and ash could have gotten on really well ) even if it's unlikely they'd meet.

ash definitely 'won' in terms of improvement ( though i never found her annoying, fandom just was outrageously sexist / harsh on her - whilst it's better now, her being relegated to the 'braincell haver' or the 'daughter / sister / niece' of l.eon ( and usually l.uis) when she's an adult woman not that much younger or the rampant over sexualisation of modders which is a plague upon every modding scene is still... not great. god forbid we treat women as more than accessories ) but i do wish they kept in a litte of her sharpness. it's been a long time since i've played the og so i'll have more thoughts but definitely the scene where she runs away / they get separated is a huge improvement. i've seen people say before the og ash was 'bitchy' but her shoving l.eon away always felt like panic - she's frightened! the remake definitely did a better job of showing it ( and the effects of the p.laga in general, although i do think they should have kept in the scene with l.eon and a.da, even if they changed it so he doesn't choke her, to show how it's effecting him too - especially as iirc he isn't given a dominant p.laga like ash is so he should be suffering far less control, although i suppose maybe that is shown in how he's rendered immobile repeatedly whereas she is controlled? who knows ). either way, the relationship between them two of them is vastly improved and though i wish we'd gotten to see more of her interactions with the rest of the cast ( though i do find her 'for l.uis' a nice touch - i'd like to explore their relationship but definitely the revelation that he's partly responsible because whilst l.eon knows, she doesn't ). it would have been nice to get a gauge on her relationship with her father, for her to talk about her experience being kidnapped and growing to trust l.eon ( especially as her security failed to protect her / were in on it and the subsequent distrust it would form in the government ).

tldr; there's a lot of things it improves on but equally as much it fails with ( that's what rp is for! ) but i'm glad after all these years ash has stopped being utterly ignored or despised by the majority of fandom.

Hue and Cry XIV

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), violence, thoughts of self-harm and suicide, depression, some triggers might not be fully tagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: It’s the final day of the tournament and all are holding their breath to see who prevails.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The arena was buoyant on the final day of the tournament. The most awaited event, the joust, was finally come. As Lord Barnes would once more be among the competitors, you were left on your own in the box with the rest of the ladies and their queen. Most of the noblemen were listed for the sport, Barnes, Rogers, Stark, and even the king.

You didn’t watch as the names were announced and the banners presented before the games commenced. Your attention wasn’t even drawn as the first clashed with their blunted staffs and galloping horses. It was much more perilous than the other contests.

You stayed away from the other women. You were not interested in humouring the queen’s false kindness nor were you interested in their chatter of things that hardly mattered to you. Sewing, birthing, loving; you didn’t care for any of it. You didn’t care for them or the men on the field. You cared for nothing in this bleak world.

As Barnes took to the saddle for his first opponent, you glanced down lazily but found your eyes drawn to clouds instead. It was bitterly cold under the grey sky, streaked with umbrous and ominous wisps. It would likely snow soon as if to mark the grand finale.

You tucked your hands into your sleeves and hugged yourself alone on the bench. You were drawn from your glowering by the rustle of skirts. The queen sat beside you and let out an airy sigh.

“Thankfully, my brother has kept clear of conflict,” she said, “in fact, he’s hardly spared another snarl for the visiting Baron.”

“Your majesty,” you muttered as the flag was waved and the horses barrelled at each other and the men pointed their long poles.

“Unless you count this,” she mused as his pole broke off the armour of the other men and sent his adversary sprawling and the other horse whinnying in a panic. You lowered your eyes meekly. “He will be eager to be away and I do hope you aid him in a speedy departure. The baron is expected to remain in the capital for the winter.”

“Yes, he is want to be gone back to the castle,” you assured her.

“It would be tragic if you were to be snowed in here. Very inconvenient and costly at that.”

“Certainly, your majesty,” you said flatly.

“You understand the urgency that will follow in the coming days,” she intoned.

“I understand but you do seem to misunderstand your brother. To think that I have any hold over him is farcical. He does as he pleases. He is a duke, I am a displaced chambermaid. That is all it is… your majesty.”

“You do not speak as a chambermaid,” she replied sharply, “my brother favours you but he still cannot overrule me, understood?”

“Your majesty, I understand my place completely,” you ceded, “would I be remiss to excuse myself?”

“For what means?”

“To find a commode,” you answered, “these game do carry on and I am distracted by my humanly needs.”

“Go off then,” she stood, “you are rather dour today. You would cast a mood over us all if you languish thus.”

“Your majesty,” you rose and made your way to the doors as she rejoined her ladies and gave a forced giggle as they welcomed her. You wondered how the nobles were trained so well in lies. Was it in their books or did their tutors include it in their curricula?

You descended the stairs without aim. You had no need of the commode, only an excuse. You stepped out into the lower stands and peered out at the field. In that moment, you could be gone. You could disappear and be away from all this misery.

You scoffed at yourself and leaned against the wooden planks. He’d find you again. You couldn’t make it far enough before he sniffed you out again. You weren’t stupid enough to try it twice, even at such an opportune moment. You would only earn yourself further punishment.

“Is something amusing, my lady?” you stood straight and looked startled to the man who emerged from the shadows of the stairway. Lord Zemo smirked and came to stand arm to arm with you as he looked out across the stadium.

“My lord, I was only watching the field,” you lied, “thinking.”

“Ah, yes, these games, how violent,” he remarked, “where I am from, we have festivals before tournaments. Singing, dancing, poetry, theatre… I suppose that is just as silly as all this.”

“It is… a privilege to be able to afford silliness,” you said, “to not be the one cleaning up after all of it and yet… so very pointless.”

He nodded and grumbled as he considered your words, “very true. Wise, even. I think that after one has seen how grave things can be, these affairs become less and less entertaining. It is almost sickening to think of them, let alone attend them. Why should men play at war as if it were fun?”

You peeked over at him. He was here because he once fought those men down on the field with real steel and armour. It was rather grim to think of. “I did not think of it like that but I suppose you are right. I know little of war, however, my lord.”

“You know of pain, though,” he said, “it is painted on you as much as those battle scars carried by veterans like your beloved Barnes.”

You were silent. You stared up at the sky again, the endless grey, the half-finished canvas.

“Beloved? Perhaps that is the wrong word for him. I see little affection there. I sense it is not an arrangement you asked for.”

“Does it matter if it is?” you shook your head, “My lord, you waste your breath on little more than a servant. I suffer Lord Barnes the same as any, I am no help to you.”

“Help? I have no desire to change my standing with Barnes, I am not so foolish as that,” he turned to face you, “Have none ever taken interest in you as your own being?”

“I am a servant. I am not my own being,” you murmured, “my lord, if you would, I should return to my party.”

“As you will,” he said dolefully, “it was a pleasure to meet again.”

“Was it?” you asked as you turned to go.

“It is always a relief to speak of anything but politics or gold,” he said, “and yes, you served me well in this conversation. As you said, that is all you are worth.”

You left him but didn’t ascend back to the box. You continued down the steps until you reached the final landing. You looked up and sat on the lowest stair. A moment of peace before you had to go back. To not think for a single second.

🏰

You listened to the raucous voices of the audience. You didn’t want to move from that spot. You didn’t want to go back to it all. You just wanted to stay on that step forever. But you knew you had to go. You knew you had to get up.

You lifted yourself wearily but your foot only hovered above the bottom stair. You heard more voices, and an angry one as the crowd bang and buzzed. You followed the lower sounds, the singular conversations yelled through the din. You ventured down the tunnel that led beneath the stands.

Horse kicked and snorted as you came into the area meant for competitors. Men sat and stood with blood on brow and lip. Those who’d already lost, many as the final face-off was about to commence. You looked around but did not see Lord Barnes. Perhaps he was on the other side or even looking for you.

You walked the perimeter of the large space and a familiar face caught your eye. Peter rubbed his shoulder as he muttered, his aunt and uncle sat with him as the former checked the cut on his chin. You felt the same stabbing in your chest as the night before. Before you could think, you were marching towards him.

You skidded to a halt before him and gulped. You didn’t know what to say, you only knew how you felt. He looked over at you as May and Benjamin followed his gaze. You wavered and blinked away the tears that threatened.

“I did want to be friends but I stayed away to protect you, Peter,” you said, “did you have to be so cruel?”

“What? I--” he stood and winced as he jarred his shoulder, “I didn’t-- I wasn’t--”

“I know what I am and I know we cannot be friends but could it have hurt to let me think ‘what if’?” You quivered.

“No, my lady, I--”

“You know I’m not a lady. No need to treat me like one now. I heard you last night. I didn’t come to change your mind, I’m not so simple as that. I only came-- well, I don’t know why, but perhaps I only wanted to say to one person how they hurt me. Perhaps I wanted to just once be able to speak my part and that I can do because I know I will never see you again.”

You brushed past him and he reached for your arm as he stammered, “please, don’t, I was l--”

“Don’t,” you shrugged him off and stomped on as the figures around you blurred and the anger and despair swelled in your head.

You followed the noise of the crowd. They were hungry for blood. If that was what they wanted, they would have it. 

You pushed out from behind the curtain and the wood and dirt vibrated from the cacophony. You saw Lord Barnes in his saddle as he was handed his pole and his competitor, Lord Rogers, as he took his own. Their attendants checked the horse and took them to their marks.

You quaked as the ocean of voice rolled over you and you crept out along the wall. All were entranced by the two dukes as they readied for their signal. Barnes silver armour was dented and dinged from his former bouts and Rogers golden armour was just as scuffed. The two men steadied their steeds and the crowd fell into a hush of anticipation.

The red cloth dropped and the riders galloped at each other across the field. The hooves dusted up the cold dirt, through blood stains left throughout the day, and the crash that came sent up another cheer through the crowd. 

Wooden slivers exploded around Barnes and Rogers was pushed back against his horse as his own shield was deflected. Both men kept astride and righted themselves as they rode back to their posts and again, their liveried attendants approached to calm their horses and fix their dressings.

They would go again and again, until one of them was tossed from their saddle or worse. You began to breathe heavily as you paced along the wall and the lords were handed new shields. You readied and watched the man in gray lift the rag. You began to run before it was even visible to the crowd.

You heard the horses barreling at each other as you did the same. You closed your eyes as you got closer to the lanes and you tossed back your arms as you threw yourself forward. A heavy and hard force hit you and several crushing blows landed across your body as the horse trampled over you and overturned.

You croaked as you were left in the dirt. The eerie silence that followed was void of the bouncing excitement. It was broken only by the screaming of the injured horse and the confused voices of those on the field. You heard that familiar deep groan, of pain, not delight this time.

You rasped and gasped as your chest ached and your bones throbbed. Your limbs were filled with sand and your head pounding. There were shadows all around you as you wheezed and you smiled as you tasted blood on your tongue. You began to laugh as your eyelids drooped and blacked out the arena.

“Don’t move her!” A voice called as someone touched your arm. It was broken, you were sure of it. It didn’t matter, they couldn’t fix you. Not your arm, none of it.

You laughed louder and louder as you heard more footsteps. It was all so funny. You were free! Your eyes rolled back and your mind flickered. Just before the flame gave its last lick, you heard his voice. The gravity of it gave you peace.

“Is she alive? Is she alive!? Help her! Help her!”

Lord Barnes could demand as he did for all he had but in this, he could not be mollified.

Congrats on 100! 🥳 I was wondering if I could request #100 and Wolffe 💕

thank u so much for the request!!!

#100: "Call me selfish, but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you." + Wolffe

warnings: kinda public sex. you dont fuck in front of anyone but its kinda close, jealous sex, clothed sex, creampies

You could think of a million different things you'd rather be doing right now.

You'd rather clean the barrack bathrooms after the boys don't have the heart to turn down Plo's well-meaning attempt at cooking. You'd rather be dropped off on an abandoned planet and be told to find a way off. You'd rather be getting shot at by fucking Seppies.

But, no. You're here in this ridiculous dress for some party thrown in the name of the GAR's brave and selfless troopers.

What a load of shit.

As if any of those senators give a shit about any of these men aside from how a picture of them shaking hands will boost their approval ratings.

You know you were invited as a deliberate political move. As the only volunteer nat-born medic for the 104th, you make the war easier to look at.

Look, Senators will say while they point to you, we don't rely solely on the creation of clones who are made to fight and die for a war they have no choice in! We have regular people involved in the war too!

Again. What a load of shit.

It's sickening the way that these politicians will pretend to care about the well-being of the soldiers who fight and die for them when it will make them look good. These people, if you can even call them that, don't know what it's like on the front lines.

You can barely understand what it's like on the frontlines, but you see the aftermath. You see the shell-shocked shinies and the trembling hands of even the most veteran trooper after a battle gone wrong.

Politicians are a disease, you think to yourself, and the sooner you can get out of this ridiculous dress the better.

The only benefit to this is the free champagne and the way Wolffe acts as a deterrent to any smart Senator or politician that comes your way.

Dressed to impress in a sharp gray suit, Wolffe cuts an imposing figure next to you. The tight suit jacket makes his already broad shoulders look impossibly broader and the buttons of his dress shirt strain against the muscles of his chest.

Your dress seems to compliment Wolffe in every way. Your dress is mainly white, but the gray accents serve as a subtle call to Wolffe's suit. Claiming you as his, you like to think. The same designs etched into the cuffs and collar of Wolffe's suit jacket are present at the bottom of your dress, circling the hem before fading as you look higher up the dress.

You think you'd enjoy the night if it wasn't for the Senate's... everything. You may be in a war, but you enjoy looking and feeling pretty. You think you'd feel very pretty if the meaning of the night didn't make you feel sick to your stomach.

With the commander acting as your shadow for the night, you've had little trouble keeping pesky Senators looking for a quick fuck away from you.

At least... the smart ones.

"As I was saying, my father is one of the main beneficiaries of the GAR," the boy — and truly he isn't enough to call a man — prattles on in front of you, totally oblivious to your uninterested expression and the clone commander hovering over your shoulder. You think he might be a senatorial aide and his father might be the Senator?

You wonder if you should adjust the plunging neckline of the dress so that the hickey Wolffe left behind last night peeks into eyesight.

"And I tell him that he shouldn't waste our family money on this war. Honestly, there's no need for clones," he continues, eyes flickering to Wolffe before he turns back to you, "I mean, what could clones possibly provide that a real man can't?"

He leans towards you, and with his last few words he drags his knuckles lightly up your arm. A smile that he must think is charming slithers onto his face as he continues to caress your crawling skin.

"Better company, for one," you mumble into your champagne glass before you can cause a scene. You drain the rest of the drink before you say something stupid.

You don't think you muffle it well enough because Wolffe's shoulders shake in muffled laughter behind you.

"Would you like to dance?" The aide blurts out, and once caressing fingers turn into a greedy grabbing hand closing around your wrist.

Wolffe stiffens behind you, jolting against your back before stopping himself.

Your face morphs into one of distain before you can stop it, "Actually," you begin, yanking your wrist from a sweaty palm, "I promised Commander Wolffe my first dance," your smile is so obviously fake it's painful, but the aide doesn't seem to notice.

"Well, maybe after you're done with the trooper, we can —"

"It's Commander," Wolffe finally speaks up, and his gravely voice has goosebumps spreading across your skin.

"Excuse me?"

Wolffe's hand splays across the small of your back as he steps beside you, "I said, it's commander," he repeats, voice cold like stone. Fuck, it makes your thighs rub together beneath your dress.

The aide's nose scrunches up, "Yes, well, when you're done with the commander, maybe you'll come my way?"

What is it with men not taking a hint?

"No, I don't think so," Wolffe answers for you before the hand on your back shifts from just a grounding touch to a guiding one, and he's leading you away.

Your skin is alight with excitement. You look up at the commander, whose jaw in clenched in obvious irritation. It makes you feel guilty, but Wolffe looks extremely attractive when he's pissed.

"Wolffe, we just passed the dance floor," you whisper as he rushes you past the chunk of the room marked out for couples to hold each other close and sway to the music.

"I know," Wolffe says shortly, leading you to the nearest exit so fast that you nearly fall out of your impractical shoes.

He practically drags you out the door and into one of the hallways you know you aren't allowed to be in.

"Wolffe, where are we — Oh!"

The commander cages you against the wall, hands on either side of your head as his hips press flush to yours through your dress. You can feel the bulge of his cock even through the layers of your clothes.

He breathes in deep through his nose before he speaks, "You're mine, you know that, right?" he rocks his hips against you as he speaks, and you don't get the best friction through the poofiness of your dress, but it's his words that make your thighs clench.

"Yes," you whisper into the space between you, "only yours, Wolffe,"

And it's true. You are Wolffe's no matter the setting — battlefield or ballroom — and no matter the outfits — hard plastoid armor or dashing suits and dresses.

Wolffe stares down at you, breathing hard through his mouth, searching for something in your face before he leans down to crush your lips together.

He kisses you like he's fighting. It's vicious and he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth until you whine, and it's only then that he lets it go. "Call me selfish," he whispers in your ear before he flips you around so that your face is pressed flush with the wall, "but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you."

Wolffe's hands are desperate as he begins to wrench the layers of your dress up and up until it's all bunched up above your hips, leaving your lower half exposed to him.

He inhales sharply at the sight of the lingerie the women who helped you into the dress had given you.

You never know whose going to unwrap you by the end of the night, one of the women had whispered like a secret to you.

But that wasn't true. You knew exactly who was going to unwrap you.

"Fuck," Wolffe hisses, dragging one of his hands across the delicate lace that covers your ass. "You wear this just for me?"

You pant against the wall, hands scrambling for purchase as Wolffe leans down to bite the meat of your ass. "Shit!" you gasp, just a bit too loud for comfort.

Wolffe drags his teeth down the curve of your ass, nosing at the wet patch of your panties. "How long have you been this wet, pretty girl?" he demands, pressing the tips of his fingers against the wet lace over your clit.

Your hips jerk against him. It's exhilarating to thing that only one door and a left turn separates a room full of Senators and Very Important People from the two of you.

It's filthy what you're doing. You're sure if anyone were to see you — pressed face first into a wall with little regard for the makeup that was applied to you with more caution than one treats a bomb and your expensive dress hiked up around your waist to expose your soaking cunt, you'd single-handedly ruin all efforts to draw support for the GAR.

"Answer me," Wolffe spits out as he drags your panties down your ass to let them fall around your ankles. One broad hand swats at your ass, right over the pulsing bite mark he left behind.

"All night!" you sob into the wall, biting your hand to muffle the groans you want to let out. "As soon as I saw you in that suit!"

A part of you wishes Wolffe would turn you back around. You want to see him in that suit — want to watch his muscles bunch and flex beneath the delicate fabric.

Wolffe's huff of laughter blows a puff of hot air against your cunt, making you clench around nothing. "You like me in this suit, sweet thing?" He raises to his feet and you can hear his hands fumbling with his belt and zipper. "Well, I'm about to fuck you in it,"

You whimper into the back of your hand. Your own slick starts to drip down your leg. "Please."

The blunt head of Wolffe's cock presses against your entrance. Usually he would make you cum at least once before he fucks you just to get you ready for his girth, but in this moment you couldn't care less.

You want Wolffe to fuck you, and you want to feel the stretch. You want him to fuck the feeling of that grimy aide touching you out of your head.

"S'that what you want?" Wolffe breathes as he starts to slide in, "you want to forget that boy? Huh? You want to be fucked by a man?"

A keen catches in your throat as he sinks in halfway. Fuck, you feel like you're being split in half. His cock just keeps going and going in this position, and all you can do is take it.

You bite down hard into the back of your hand as Wolffe finally bottoms out, but Wolffe grabs your hair, fancy curls and accessories be damned, and pulls your mouth away from your hand.

"Don't you dare," he hisses as his hips set a deafening pace. "Don't you dare hide your noises from me. I want to hear you — I want them to hear you."

Your moan echoes through the hallway.

There's something feral in the way that Wolffe fucks you. With his suit still on, totally presentable besides the cock that's been pulled out of the fly, he's beautiful.

You, on the other hand, look filthy. Your eye makeup is smudged with the tears that Wolffe forces out of you, and you know your hair will be a lost cause by the end of this. Your dress is already wrinkling and your delicate stockings are ruined with the slick that drips down your legs from your cunt.

"Wolffe!" you cry out as pressure in your core tightens.

"'m gonna cum," Wolffe grunts, hips pistoning even faster.

He's ruining you, you think through the haze of pleasure. He's ruining you and you love it.

"Please," you sob, one of your hands leaving the wall to grab at his hips. You almost can't hold on due to the force and speed of his thrusts, but your fingers claw into the fabric of his jacket and you hold on for dear life as he brings you closer and closer to release.

"I think I'll come in this tight little cunt, what do you think?" Wolffe drags the blunt edge of his teeth along your neck and up your jawline, ending just under your ear, "Stuff you full of me, and send you back into that ballroom,"

You clench at the thought. Fuck, you want that so bad.

You're nearly incoherent with pleasure. You're just babbling in agreement to the filth that drips from Wolffe's mouth like the slick that drips from your cunt.

"You like that?" Wolffe asks even though he knows the answer, "You want me to send you in there smelling like sex and dripping my cum?"

One of his hands snake around to circle mercilessly around your clit. The pressure nearly has your knees give out.

"I think I'll keep your panties with me," Wolffe whispers in your ear, "so I'll drip out of that pretty cunt and down your thighs for the rest of the night."

The pressure in your core snaps and you cum around him with a wail.

Wolffe clamps a hand over your mouth as his thrusts turn more into grinds. His teeth sink into your neck as he finally spills inside you.

The feeling of his cum flooding your cunt has you clenching around him even more.

"Fuck," Wolffe hisses, fucking his cum into your spent cunt with an obscene squelch. "Fuck, you're so tight, pretty girl,"

You moan faintly, thighs trembling as he finally pulls out. A gush of his cum starts to drip out. You clench weakly, trying your best to keep it in.

Wolffe presses a kiss to the back of your neck, "Step out of your panties, sweet thing," he whispers into your skin, hands on your hips to steady you as you do what he asked.

You stand on coltish legs, wobbling in your heels with the aftermath of your orgasm, as Wolffe bends down to grab your ruined panties and stuff them in his pockets.

They ruin the line of his suit, and anyone who looks at him for more than half a second will know he's got something in his pocket that shouldn't be there, but you think no one will be looking at him when you're there.

Not with your hair a mess and mascara smeared just so around your eyes. Not when you reek of sex and sweat and there are bite marks littered across your skin. Not when your dress is so obviously wrinkled due to less-than-appropriate events.

Still, you walk back into the ballroom with your arm linked with Wolffe's and his cum sliding down your thigh and soaking into your stockings.

The senatorial aide doesn't bother you for the rest of the night, but that might have something to do with the clone commander flashing him a bit of lace from his jacket pocket.

When you get back to the barracks, Wolffe fucks you with those same ruined panties in your mouth to make sure none of the boys hear you two.

“...I’ve been in the business of teaching Black history for over three decades, and every colleague I know includes Tulsa in their general survey courses. So why do we continually repeat the assertion that this history is completely unknown, a secret, or so shameful no one wants to talk about it? Because the issue has never been about not knowing; it is about a refusal to acknowledge genocidal, state-sanctioned racist violence in the United States, a refusal to recognize the existence of fascism in this country. This is not to say the violence is simply denied by the status quo. No, rather it is disavowed by the white propertied and political classes and displaced onto “ignorant” white racist workers. This narrative obscures how the violence, fomented and promoted by the press and business interests, became a pretext to take the land — an attempted land grab that continued for decades after 1921. [...]

...in telling the story, we focus solely on “Black Wall Street,” which made up just a few blocks of the 35-40 square blocks of Greenwood the mobs destroyed. All we really hear about are doctors and lawyers and entrepreneurs, Black-owned theaters and the luxurious Stradford Hotel, when, in fact, the vast majority of Black Tulsans beaten, killed and displaced were working people. [...] We live in such a materialist, celebrity culture that we measure our “success” by class mobility, by wealth accumulation, and then we fall victim to a tired narrative that white folks destroyed “our” communities out of jealousy over of our success. While there is truth to this, and white looting is clear evidence, the “jealousy” is cultivated, nurtured in the ideology of white supremacy, usually in the guise of patriotism and nationalism, or in the capitalist replacement theory — “N*****s are coming for your jobs!” The mob was largely made up of shock troops engaged in an attempted land grab from which they themselves would not directly benefit. The first spark for the mob wasn’t real estate, but another form of property rooted in patriarchy — property in women. A Black man accused of assaulting a white woman is a more effective dog whistle than Negroes with grand pianos and bank accounts. The second spark, of course, were Negroes with guns. Here we see Black solidarity and fearlessness on full display — Black World War I veterans representing all classes within Greenwood, armed and prepared to defend one of their own, their people and their property. That act of insubordination, more than anything else, convinced white folks to fuel up their planes and build an arsenal. [...]

...Some Black people got to Oklahoma by way of the forced march of the Creeks, Choctaws, Chickasaws, Cherokees and Seminoles from the Southeastern territories in the 1830s. Some came as slaves of wealthy tribal members, others as spouses and children — part African, part Indigenous. And many died along the way. Later, Black folks joined the exodus out of the South after the Civil War by taking advantage of the Homestead Act to acquire land and create all-Black towns — Oklahoma being a prime destination. But again, on whose land? ...I don’t think the issue of the Tulsa race massacre of 1921 can ever be fully resolved or “repaired” without addressing the question of both holocausts — Indigenous dispossession and African slavery. [...]

...American liberty was built on slavery and dispossession because liberty was fundamentally about property rights. ...liberals hold on to the idea that in the U.S. democracy is a creed passed down to us via these great documents — this myth, if we’re to be honest, has driven the liberal wing of the civil rights movement for decades and still drives it today. [...] I’m less concerned with paranoid right-wing white nationalists than I am with (neo)liberal multiculturalists who side-step the question of power... [...]

...while in principle I can agree that all Black people live with the possibility of being terrorized by whiteness, the possibilities are differential based on class, gender, age, disability, etc. [...] If we only remember the loss of property and wealth and the evisceration of a Black elite, then we only imagine a potential future in which someone like J.B. Stradford could have been the Black “Hilton,” where the wealthy are wealthier, and projected “reparations” payments are calculated based on accumulated property at the time of the violence. Despite recognizing that the entire community suffered, “compensation” would be differential, mirroring the very system of racial capitalism that structured enclosure (segregation), violence, deep inequality and poverty for most, and premature death. We will also forget what might be the most impactful response by the community: mutual aid, a caring culture, and the impulse toward self-defense and protecting one another. [...]

...In our Herrenvolk Republic, liberalism was founded on a definition of liberty that places property before human freedom (and human needs), and an exclusionary definition of the human that permits various forms of unfree labor, dispossession and subordination based on “race” and “gender.” And yet, we keep speaking of the Tulsa race massacre in terms of property, property rights, property destroyed. I think we need to talk about decolonization in order to advance beyond land as property toward a vision of freedom not based on ownership or possession or anthropocentrism. The land has been enslaved and needs liberation so the Earth could flourish, so people could flourish, so the historical and contemporary structures of violence might end, opening up a radically different future.”

La Cuervo - Chapter 22

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on, on Mayans M.C., are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambiguous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

22.

They didn’t speak much in the morning. For once, Angel had decided to set an alarm, and more or less jumped out of bed, the moment his phone began buzzing. His mind seemed as focused as professional soldier’s; and he made even the actual veteran – Coco – seem relaxed in comparison. It had rained during the night, and the air smelled fresh; but didn’t lighten Nina’s mood, as she sat smoking a cigarette on the porch, while the two men packed up Coco’s extra guns. EZ showed up in the van, with Letty and Gaby in the passenger seats. Angel helped Nina in to the seat Letty had previously occupied. The teenager got on her dad’s bike with him, before they all began driving down the street.

Gaby looked worriedly at Nina, as she sat between EZ and her. “Are you alright?”, she asked quietly. “Ezekiel told me what happened…”. “I’m… I don’t know”, Nina muttered. She cleared her throat, wanting to think about anything else than the pain currently surging in her leg. “Are youok? Have you gone on lockdown before?”. “No”, Gabriella said. “This is all very new to me”. “How do they do it up north?”, EZ asked Nina. “I don’t think it’s different than here”, Nina said. EZ frowned, making her question his experience with situations like this as well. “You’ve never done this before either, have you…?”. “No…”, EZ admitted. “It’s never been necessary”. “It’ll be fine”, Nina said, trying to convince herself as well as the two lockdown debutants. “We just have to keep our heads low, and the gates locked… Is your pap’ coming?”. “He says he can protect himself…”, EZ muttered. “But he’ll be by later with the meat he was bringing for the party anyway”. “I’ll try to get him to stay”, Nina said. EZ gave her a thankful smile.

When they arrived at Angel’s place – her place, as Nina reminded herself – the others waited by the vehicles, while she and Angel went inside to gather what they needed. Nina hobbled through the living room, as Angel began closing the windows, after the exterminator visit. Once in the bedroom, Nina began packing some clothes and essentials. She went to get her gun, but remembered that Camille had used it; and that the police probably had taken it for evidence. “Fuck!”, she exclaimed. “What?”, Angel asked, coming running into the bedroom. “My gun… It was the one Camille… It has my prints all over it!”. “EZ told the cops you fought her for it, so the prints shouldn’t be an issue”, Angel said, his voice relieved that he hadn’t found her in trouble. “Is it registered?”. “No, and the serial is filed off… I did grow up with SAMCRO”, Nina grunted. She sighed heavily, and sat down on the bed, to get some weight off her leg. “Is there enough first-aid stuff at the clubhouse?”. “Why?”, Angel asked. Nina shot him a hard look. “You know why”, she replied. “We’re also gonna need a couple of pre-paids in case of emergencies… We’ve got food and drinks, because we were getting ready for the party… I wish there was a proper kitchen, though… And extra guns. Anyone who can shoot should be carrying…”.

Angel crouched in front of her, and took her hands in his own. “Breathe, mami… We got this, ok? You don’t have to worry”. “Well, I am fucking worried!”, Nina growled. “If Bishop had an old lady, it would be her responsibility to keep the people in the clubhouse comfortable. Now I have to…”. “You know what you’re doing… I hear you had a good teacher”, Angel smiled. “Teller’s mom, right? She was good queen…”. “Yeah… most of the time”, Nina muttered. She still felt ambivalent about how Gemma had fulfilled her duties; mainly due to how she’d ended her reign by breaking Jax’s heart, and killing his wife. She’d also been a good friend and surrogate aunt, though; at least in the beginning. “Just do what you always do. We’ll take care of the rest”. “Yeah… You’re gonna go get fucking murdered, while I serve potato-salad to scared hangarounds…”. Angel leaned forward, and caught her lips in a warm kiss. “I’m coming back to you”, he said. “Promise me…”, Nina said. He placed her hand on his chest, just above his heart. “I swear, cuervo…”. He kissed her again, and got to his feet. “I’m gonna go get my extra hardware. Do you remember where I put the Beretta?”. “You can’t remember where you put your guns?”. “Some of them are kinda small… They get lost”, he muttered. Nina rolled her eyes. “Behind the toilet-rolls in the cabinet under the bathroom sink”, she sighed.

Angel left the room, and Nina got to her feet again; leaning against her crutches. “What the fuck?”, Angel yelled. Nina hobbled after him as quickly as she could. “What’s wrong?”, she asked, and tried to look out from behind him, as he stood in the doorway. “What the hell is that?”, Angel said, and pointed at something skinny and furry; cowering in the corner of the shower. Nina gasped, and pushed past him. “Don’t…! It’s just a poor kitty”, she said. Limping slowly forwards, she got to her knees in front of the shaking tabby. “Hey bug…”, she cooed, and stretched out her hand. The cat hissed, before leaning its head forwards to sniff her. “Get the fuck out!”, Angel growled, and took a threatening step forward. “Stop it! You’re scaring it…”, Nina said.

The cat hissed again, but Nina kept her hand out; and after a few moments, it stepped forward, and blinked slowly at her, before pushing its forehead against her hand. It was missing part of its left ear, and from the looks of its pronounced hipbones, it was clear it hadn’t had a proper meal in quite a while. The skin was sagging off it, and bellow its belly. “It’s a stray… Probably has all sorts of diseases”, Angel grunted. “It probably jumped through the window to get out of the rain”, Nina said, ignoring Angel’s displeased tone. “Do we have anything for it to eat?”. “No”, Angel said coldly, and walked over to grab the cat. “I’ll throw it outside. Close the window, so it doesn’t come back in”. Nina looked hard at him. “No!”, she said. “It needs food and care…”. “Nina…”. “You said we could get a cat!”. “Not this one!”, Angel declared. “We can go to a shelter or something. Get a kitten. I’m not taking in some old, ratched…”. His words drowned in Nina’s exclamations of aww, as the tabby once again pressed its head against her hand, and let her scratch it behind its ears. “Angel… Look at him…!”. “How do you know it’s a he?”, Angel grunted. “I’d think you’d recognize a pair of balls when you saw them”, Nina chuckled. The cat stroked its entire body against her thigh. “Such a good bug… That’s your name, isn’t it…? Bug…”.

Angel groaned loudly, and shook his head. “We gotta go”. Nina was lost in cuddling her new friend. “Mami… Nina! We gotta hit the road… Look, we’ll keep the window open. If it’s still here when we come back, we’ll talk about it”. “Please, just put out some food for him…”, Nina pleaded. “But then he’ll stay for sure!”. “Yeah…”. She shot out her lower lip in a pout, and looked pleadingly at Angel. The biker groaned again, and left the bathroom for a few moments, before returning with an open tin of tuna. He dropped it on the floor. “Here… eat, cat”, he grunted. “His name is Bug”, Nina said with a chiding tone. Angel put his arms under hers, and raised her to her feet. “Fine. Bug. Let’s go”, he muttered, and led her out of the bathroom.

At the last second, Nina grabbed Jax’s helmet. She wasn’t planning on riding on the back of any bikes any time soon, due to her leg; but she felt naked without it near her.

EZ met them by the front door, as they were on their way out. “Bro, what took so long?”. “We were adopting a cat”, Angel said. “A cat?”, EZ asked. “His name is Bug…”, Angel replied. “Don’t ask”. Nina smirked, and tugged at his cut, to get him to lean down for a kiss; before they went back to the van.

---

The yard was crowded with bikes when they finally arrived. Bishop and Hank met them on the porch; and Nina was reminded of Taza’s decision to tell the club his secret, the day before. Not seeing him next to the president, made a knot form in her stomach. “What the fuck took you so long?”, Bishop growled. “Cats… bugs…”, Angel muttered. “Don’t ask”, EZ chuckled.

Angel helped Nina up the stairs to the clubhouse. Once inside, they were greeted by the rest of the Mayans, and a few bikers from the Oakland charter. Nina recognized them from SAMCRO parties, but didn’t know any of their names, save Alvarez’s. El Padrino himself gave her a polite nod from his seat by the bar. She scanned the room for Taza, and frowned when she realized he wasn’t inside either. Angel put a hand on her hip. “Go sit down”, he muttered, and went over to talk to Gilly. Chucky pulled out a chair for her, and Nina sat down; soon joined by Letty and Gaby – the latter looking quite uncomfortable with the situation. EZ squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, before going to stand by the wall, behind Bishop. Chucky went outside, to keep an eye on the gate.

Most of the hangarounds Nina knew from around the clubhouse was spread throughout the room. There was a group of women Nina had not met before, stood around a striking middle-aged woman, who looked like Riz. Nina decided she was probably Vicky, and that the women were employees at the brothel. Vicky gave her a curious look, as if challenging her to have a bad opinion of them. Nina simply smiled friendlily; and Vicky’s expression softened, before she nodded in greeting.

Gilly came over to Nina, and handed her a small plastic bag, with white pills. “Oxys”, he muttered. “For your leg”. “Thanks…”, Nina said. Gilly winked at her, and slipped away.

“You know why we’re here”, Bishop said; lifting his voice to catch the attention of the people in the room. “We have a rival club moving in on our territory. Vatos Malditos have been coming for our business, by trying to convince a long-time partner to end our relationship with them; in return for what they claim is a better deal. They even put a rat in our midst; a rat that ended up seriously hurting a member of our family, while trying to kill her”. There was a murmur of curses. Bishop raised his hand to quiet everyone down. “We have to answer this disrespect with force… You’re all here because you’re a part of the family, and because we don’t want anyone else to get hurt. We don’t know that VM won’t send a few guys this way; but as long as you stay within the fences, you’ll be safe”. Hank stepped forward, apparently the de facto VP. “We have the Sons of Anarchy coming down from San Bernadino and Charming. Creeper will stay behind here with a few Sons, for your protection”, he said. Creeper didn’t seem happy about the fact that he wasn’t going with his brothers. He’d probably lost a draw for the post. “If you have any security questions, take it up with him”. “Anything to do with provisions or comfort, you go to our den-mother”, Bishop said, and gestured towards Nina. “Nina isn’t very mobile at the moment, but she can point you in the direction of what you need. She knows this place like her back hand”. Angel shot her a warm smile, and she felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment.

Chucky came running in to the clubhouse. “They’re here”, he grinned. A roar of bikes came from the yard, and soon after, Filip stepped inside, followed by Les Packer. Happy, Rat and Tig came in behind them, and Nina saw a group of SAMDINO Sons waiting outside by the bikes. The room was getting crowded. Foregoing custom, Filip strode over to Nina, and pulled her up into his arms. “We didn’t send you back to get shot, luv’”, he said. “I’m ok”, Nina muttered; then winced, when she accidentally put weight on her bad leg. “Fuck’s sake…”, Filip growled. Angel sprang over to support Nina as she got back to her seat. Happy and Tig stepped over to kiss her forehead and squeeze her shoulder, and Rat gave her a shy smile, before they all went to greet Bishop and Alvarez.

After the obligatory back and forth between the patches, Filip, Alvarez and Bishop went into templo, to speak in private for a few moments. Angel headed over to the bar to grab a drink for himself and Nina. While he was gone, Packer came over to greet Nina. He bent down, and gave her a gentle hug. “How are you doing, Neens?”, he asked, and sat down next to her. “I’m alive”, she shrugged with a half-smile. “This is a new setup for you, sweetcheeks”, Packer said. “You comfortable here?”. “Yeah… why?”. “I dunno… You could have been happy in Berdoo as well”, Packer teased. Angel came back with a mug of coffee for Nina, and a beer for himself. “I like the accommodations here”, she smiled, and looked at Angel. “Yeah, I heard…”, Packer said, and raised a brow at the Mayan. “You’d probably have to deal with less gun-shots though. We’re more careful with who we let in our midst”. “It was a mistake that won’t happen again”, Angel grunted, and gave Packer a hard look. “It better not. This isn’t some random croweater you’ve borrowed from Charming”, Packer said. “No. She’s not”, Angel said. “She’s a Mayan old lady”.

Nina rolled her eyes, and pulled out a cigarette. Both men whipped out a lighter, and raced to light them; before holding them in front of her face. “If you two could stop measuring dicks for a moment, you might notice you’re burning off my eyebrows”, Nina sneered. “Sorry, cuervo”, Angel muttered. Nina gave him a slight smile, and a soft kiss, before letting Packer light her smoke. “You still a crow then?”, the SAMDINO president asked, having noticed Angel’s nickname for her. “I’m still me…”, Nina said. “I’ve just got a bigger family now”. “Good for you”, Packer said, and took her hand; giving it a gentle squeeze. “Jax would be happy for you… after he kicked this guy’s ass for diddling his baby-sis”. Angel chuckled at this. “Like he threatened to do you, if you tried anything?”, Nina said. “I didn’t know you were only seventeen at the time!”, Packer laughed. “Bullshit. You arrived the day before my eighteenth birthday-party; and sat at the clubhouse the whole night, looking at your watch to wait for midnight, so I’d be legal”, Nina smirked. “Guilty”, Packer shrugged. “Didn’t do me much good, though; did it…? Teller was a hardass when it came to you. I didn’t stand a chance with him watching over you like a hawk”. They shared a knowing laugh, before Packer looked at Angel. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Reyes. I know when to back off”, he said. “And she’d probably cut my balls off, before you got a chance to, if I tried anything… You’ve got a special lady here”. Angel smiled, relaxing a bit in his seat. “I know…”, he said, and kissed Nina’s temple.

Bishop came out of templo, and nodded to the other bikers. Mayans and Sons alike got to their feet, and began moving towards the ornate door. Angel put a hand on the back of Nina’s head, and caught her lips in a warm kiss; before joining the others. Packer gave her a sly wink, and followed Angel. “Prospect. You too”, Bishop called after EZ. Gabriella gave him a worried look, and he slipped over to give her a quick peck on the cheek, before walking in to templo, and closing the door, once everyone was inside.

Nina got on her feet, and hobbled over to sit down next to the girl. Gaby was visibly shaking, and Nina took her hand. “I know this is all really scary; but we’ll be ok”, she said. Having SAMCRO, SAMDINO and the Mayans all in the same house made her believe her own words more than she had thought she would. “But, what if he gets hurt?”, Gaby asked. “I didn’t even tell him…”. “Tell him what?”, Nina said. Gabriella met her eyes, and they gave away the words she’d had trouble saying. “Oh… Well, I think he knows already; but it wouldn’t hurt his courage and desire to come back whole, if you said it…”. Gaby smiled softly. “I suppose you’re right”, she said.

Letty came over to join them, carrying a couple of cokes for her and Gaby. “Are you talking about your boyfriends?”, she smirked. “You guys could become sisters-in-law!”. “Whoa! Angel and I just got a cat. We’re not talking diamond rings yet”, Nina said. “Good. I don’t think he can afford one”, Leticia teased.

---

After about an hour, the bikers emerged from templo with somber expressions. Angel strode over to Nina, and took her hand. “We’re meeting Palo by the east tunnel”, he muttered. “What’s gonna happen?”, Nina asked nervously. Angel sighed. “We’re not giving him what he wants, so we’re prepared for a fight”. Nina shuddered. Knowing it was a lost cause, she hadn’t been able to keep from at least hoping that Filip and the others would be able to talk the Mayans out of full-on war. Their own experience with rival groups, made them well aware of the devastation something like that could bring a club. Stories of Abel’s kidnapping and Half-Sack’s death – both by the hands of a disgruntled IRA-member – and Gemma’s rape and beating by right-wing psychos, should have been enough fodder for the Mayans to decide to back down, and try to find another way out of the situation. “Shit…”, she hissed. “But what about what Taza told you? Can’t you just use that…?”. “The prez’ didn’t even mention it”, Angel muttered. “I don’t know… its like he’s pretending the conversation never took place”. “Where is Taza?”, Nina asked. “I don’t know… He went home last night. At least he said he was going home…”. Nina frowned. “It’ll be ok", Angel tried. “I gotta go clear some details with Bish…”. He squeezed her hand, and slipped away to go speak with his president.

Filip, Tig and Happy came over to take turns hugging her tightly. “We’ve been here before, muffin”, Tig said. “Walk in the park”, Happy muttered. “Rat’s staying behind with one of the SAMDINO-guys. You’ll be safe”. Filip made her sit down, and crouched in front of her. “You know the drill”, he said meaningfully. “We’re coming back. But if we don’t…”. “I know who to call, and in what order…”, Nina muttered. “Be careful“. “You just keep this clubhouse in shape, and have the beers ready for our return", Filip smiled. He pulled out a black handgun, with a dark wooden handle. The distinct SOA A was carved in to the wood, just over the initials, JT. “That .38 only seems to bring you trouble…”, Filip said, and put it in her hand. “I thought you were saving this for Abel…”, Nina croaked. “Jackie didn’t want guns in his boys’ hands… He didn’t want them in yours either, but seeing as things have turned out…”. Nina stuck the gun down the back of her waistband. “Thank you…”. Filip pressed a kiss to her forehead, and the three SAMCRO bikers headed towards the door with Packer.

Angel came back over to say goodbye. “I hate this, Angel”, Nina croaked. “I know, querida… But this is the way it’s gotta be”, Angel said. He gathered her into his arms, making her lean against him. Their lips instantly met in a frenzied kiss; hungrily devouring each other. Nina breathed Angel in, as if it was the last kiss, they’d ever share; and in all honestly, she was afraid that it might be. Brushing her tongue against Angel’s lower lip, he let it meet his own; tasting her, and letting her taste him. “I love you”, Nina whispered. “Te amo”, Angel replied. “I’m coming back”. He pressed a last kiss against her lips.

Nina saw Gaby whisper something in EZ's ear, and he smiled happily at her. After EZ had kissed his love, Angel gave the girl a warm hug. “I’ll make sure he comes back too”, he said, trying for a smile. Gaby nodded, and Nina took her hand, holding it tightly. Coco kissed Letty’s forehead, and muttered something in her ear, before handing her over to Nina; who wrapped her free arm around the teenager. The Mayan gave Nina a half hug, and followed Angel out the door. “They’ll be ok”, Nina said. “But we need to get ready”.

Once the door was closed behind the men heading out, she gave Creeper a look, and the Mayan raised his voice. “Listen up, people. Nina’s got work for you!”. Gaby handed Nina her crutches, and she hobbled into the middle of the room. “We need people to take care of food. The back room is full of provisions; do what you can with it. Felipe will be here later with meat for the grills. I wanna see him when he does…”. Creeper nodded, and a few of the women moved towards the back room. Gabriella joined them, much to Nina’s joy. “You’re free to the bar, but remember why we’re here. Getting wasted isn’t a good idea… Does anyone have medical experience?”. One of the women from Vicky’s place raised her hand. “I’m in nursing school”, she said. “Great”, Nina smiled. “I’m not saying we’ll need it, but I’d like you to set up a first-aid station, in case we do; and the guys are unable to cross the border for the doc”. “Ok… yeah!”, the woman smiled; seemingly proud that she could contribute with something important. Vicky gave Nina a warm smile. “The rest of you, chip in wherever you can. We all have a responsibility to make our stay here as comfortable and safe as possible… That means, don’t flirt with the guys on watch”. Creeper chuckled at this, and patted Rat’s shoulder. They had the first shift, and headed for the door.

Nina blew out a deep breath, and sat back down. Vicky came over with a refill for her mug. “Welcome to the family”, she smiled, and winked at her.

---

The hours dragged by. They had no word from the men in the field, and every time the door opened, Nina’s heart jumped; hoping that her loved ones would walk in.

While Nina sat on her chair, her leg throbbing in pain, making her unable to walk around, Letty paced the floor for the both of them. “If he dies, I’m gonna fucking kill him!”, she growled. “Then I’ll bury him next to Celia, in her dick-shaped hole in the desert!”. “Letty, sit down”, Nina said. “Why?”. “Because your pacing is giving me a headache”. Leticia sat down, and Nina noticed tears forming in her eyes. “We just started being a family… And now he might…”. She couldn’t finish the sentence. Nina took her hands. “Coco is a survivor, and he’s gonna do whatever he can to get back to you”, she said. “You think so?”, Letty muttered. “I know so”, Nina smiled. “Your dad loves you, Letty. He’s not gonna leave you”.

Letty wiped her eyes, just in time for Gaby to come over with two plates filled with deliciousness. “I did what I could with what’s here”, she said. “It looks amazing”, Nina said. “But I’m not really hungry”. “You have to eat, if you’re taking pain-medication”, Gaby enthused. “I’m not… I’m trying to keep a level head”. “Just take a fucking pill, Nina”, Letty sighed. “You’re in so much pain, your face is contorted”. “I’m…”, Nina began, before catching the expression on both girls’ faces. “Fine…”, she said, and dug out a pill from the plastic bag in her pocket; downing it with a sip of coffee.

Gaby gave her as bright a smile as she could manage, and pushed the plate of food towards her. Nina took a few bites, when suddenly the door opened, and Felipe stepped inside. He looked around, making it clear it was the first time he’d actually been inside the clubhouse. He frowned slightly, and walked over to Nina. “That guy you call Freak said you wanted to talk to me”, he said. “Creeper”, Nina smiled. “Sure", Felipe said. “Letty, will you help me get the meat?”, Gaby said, and the two girls went out the door. “Please sit. I can’t really stand right now", Nina said. Felipe took the chair just around the corner of the table from her. “I need to get back to the shop…”, he muttered. “You can’t take the day off?”, Nina asked. “The weekend is coming up”, Felipe grunted. “People have family coming for dinner…”. “You’re family”, Nina said. “To these people?”, Felipe asked, and looked at the people in the room. His tone wasn’t disapproving, but he did seem uncomfortable at the view of the scantily clad hangarounds setting up drinks and food; and the nursing student, who was currently preparing bandages, while wearing a barely-there tube top, and a short denim skirt. “To me…”, Nina said, and took Felipe’s hand. “To Gaby…”. They both looked towards Gabriella, who sent them a warm smile, as she came through the door with a container of what looked like steaks.

Felipe sighed deeply. “I told EZ and Angel, I can protect myself”, he said. “Then… stay here and protect us as well”, Nina said. “We don’t know what’s happening out there. It’s dangerous for all of us to be out in the open. Angel and EZ might…”. She chewed her lips and swallowed thickly, trying to suppress tears. “Please stay here with us, suegro”. A smile ghosted Felipe’s lips. “That’s where we’re at, then?”, he said. “You and Angel, I mean”. “I’m… I love him. I really do”. Felipe chuckled. “He’s lucky to have you”, he said. He shot a look at the food prepping station, and rolled his eyes. “Gabriella, lo estás tallando de la manera incorrecta! I told you; follow the bone… Never mind, I’ll show you”. The old butcher got to his feet, and went to take over the carving of the meat. Nina let out a relieved sigh. Felipe was staying.

Needing to get some air, she got to her feet, and used her crutches to move towards the door. A smiling hangaround sprang over to open it for her, and Nina thanked her quietly; before stepping outside. The sky was grey. Apparently, the rain the night before was coming back; she could smell it on the air. She sat down on one of the chairs on the porch, and dug out her cigarettes. Opening the packet, she saw that Coco must have done a reverse pickpocketing when he hugged her; as he’d left her a perfectly rolled joint. She smiled to herself, and considered lighting up; before deciding against it. The oxy was already doing its work, and her leg felt better by the minute. Lighting a cigarette instead, she took a deep huff. The yard was too quiet. The windchimes hung next to the door of the clubhouse, which were usually deafened by the usual sounds of metal screeching and bikes roaring, was all she could hear.

Pulling out Jackson’s gun, she took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. She ran her thumb over the letters he’d carved in to the handle. “I remember when you did this”, she said quietly. “Back when you were still stupid enough to think you were immortal…”.

… “What if you lose it? The police will track you down, dumbass!”, Nina said. “I’ll be fine, darlin’”, Jax said, grinning brightly. “Besides, I gotta leave my mark on this world somehow!”. Nina rolled her eyes at him, and picked her book up. “You’re gonna shoot someone, and they’ll track the gun to you”, she growled. Jax chuckled, and stuck the gun down the front of his waistband. “If you don’t shoot your dick off, first”, she muttered. He frowned, and put the gun in the back of his jeans instead. “What are you reading? Teenage-vampire shit?”, he asked. “Screw you… It’s Hamlet. For school”. “O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!”, Jax exclaimed. Nina couldn’t help but smile. “Careful with that gun, or you’ll have me saying: Goodnight, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest…”. Jax got to his feet, and headed towards the ladder going down from the roof. “We’re meeting up with some Mexican guys… They need our help with something”, he said. “Finish your homework, little sister. We gotta keep your ass out of CaraCara”. He stopped dead in his tracks, and walked back to her, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love”. “I love you too… But you’re still a dumbass”, Nina smiled…

“I wish you were here…”, she whispered. “But where ever you are – if there’s anything you can do to keep him safe… all of them… Please”.

She jolted in her seat, when Creeper appeared next to her, a phone in hand. “It’s for you”, he muttered. Nina took the phone, and put it to her ear. Creeper gave her frowning and confused look, before walking into the clubhouse, leaving her alone. “Hello?”. “Nina?”. “Taza?”. “Yeah, it’s me; sweetheart… Do you wanna help me end this war before it starts?”.

---

If you’ve followed this story this far, thank you! Also; It’s my birthday! Make it an even better one, by leaving a comment.

- no lady

tags: @cole-winchester @doloreschanal

Who was Lafayette friends with throughout his life, and were there people he wasn’t so friendly with? Thanks :)

Hello Anon,

La Fayette was the sort of person who made friends easily. He was not a grumpy person, being on good terms with somebody was his default mood so to speak – but there were also more than enough people with whom he was not on the best terms. During the French Revolution they did not call him “the most hated Man in Europe” for no reason. After all that I have read it strikes me as if you either loved or hated La Fayette and that there was little middle ground. The point that I want to make; I had to draw the line somewhere. The list I am going to present you is by no means complete. There are many names that could (and probably should) be added. Without further ado, lets get started.

Starting in America, we have George Washington. I think there is not much more that needs to be said about their relationship. It is commonly known how close they were and how much their relationship meant for both of them. Beside Washington, there was Alexander Hamilton. He and La Fayette first met early on in the War for American Independence. Hamilton was fluent in French and close in age to La Fayette. Their friendship was quickly formed and grew stronger as time progressed. Back home in France, La Fayette wrote Hamilton with a special proposal. Hamilton should send his oldest boy, Phillip, over to Paris, there to be educated under La Fayette’s guidance, while La Fayette would send his boy, Georges Washington, over to America, there to receive an education with Hamilton as a guardian. This plan never came to fruition, but when Georges Washington had to flee France for America during the French Revolution, Hamilton and his family took him in and tried to help him as good as they could. La Fayette never forgot that. After Hamilton’s untimely death in 1804 he wrote to George Washington Parke Custis that:

“Hamilton was to me, my dear Sir, more than friend, he was a brother. We were both very young, when associated with our common father; our friendship, formed in days of peril and glory, suffered no diminution from time: with Tilghman and with Laurens, I was upon terms the most affectionate; but with Hamilton, my relations were brotherly.”

This quote not only gives insight in La Layette’s with Hamilton but also perfectly sums up his relationship with John Laurens and Tench Tilghmam: most affectionate.

On to some people who are sometimes forgotten - James McHenry and James Monroe. James McHenry first met La Fayette when they both were members in George Washington staff. McHenry later transferred to La Fayette’s staff (March of 1781) and was one of his most trusted aide-de-camps. He often was chosen as La Fayette’s “liaison-officer”. I have three excerpts from letters by La Fayette, detailing his relationship to McHenry. The first one was written by La Fayette to McHenry on February 15, 1781, a few months before McHenry joined his staff:

My tender friendship and affectionate Regard for You, will Not lengthen this letter with Assurances from My Heart While the Heart itself must Be known to You. I intend to write You Again in a few days and with Every Sentiment of Attachement and Esteem Have the Honor to be Yours Lafayette

The second letter was addressed to General Greene on August 12, 1781, concerning a potential transfer McHenry’s in Greene’s staff.

McHenry is So well Acquainted with My Sentiments for Him that He knows My attachement is independant of whatever Steps He Might take on the occasion. He knows I am not of a temper that finds faults with the Measures of My friends, and that I will ever feel an obligation to the Man who obliges General Greene.

The last letter was written to McHenry on December 26, 1783. McHenry at this point had already retired from the army.

As an ardent lover of America I am glad to Hear of the influence You are said to Have in Congress. As Your most affectionate friend I shall Be glad whenever You Have an opportunity to display Your abilities. If Congress do not send me Any Commands, I shall Most Certainly embark in the spring. If they Have Commands for me, I would Be thrice Happy to Receive You along with them, and to Make with you french and European travels. You ought to Make them charge you with some political commission to Courts in Europe, and I would like going as a volonteer with you. [Manuscript torn; part a line missing] Your family and our friends. Most affectionately I am for [manuscript torn; several words missing]. Lafayette

I showed you this many letters for several reason. First, McHenry deserves more attention if you ask me. Second, they show not only their emotional relationship but also their professional relationship and illustrate how convinced La Fayette was by McHenry’s merits - and lastly, I like them all and could not decide. :-) Years later, during La Fayette’s imprisonment, McHenry was among the people who tried to help him gain his freedom.

On to James Monroe. Monroe was, just like Hamilton, close in age to La Fayette (actually, La Fayette was older then Monroe by several months) and spoke French. They both moved in the same social circle during the Revolution and had some common friends. It was also Monroe, who, with the backing of Congress, invited La Fayette to visit America once more in 1824/1825. La Fayette received the rights to some land during this visited and later gifted some of this land to Monroe so that Monroe could start paying off his mounting debts. Here is what La Fayette wrote to Monroe on December 19, 1784:

My dear Sir I Have Received your letter to mr jefferson, and shall very Carefully deliver it. Our old friend Gibbs will give you a Bundle of papers for McHenry which I Beg you will keep for Him untill He Comes to Trenton. To morrow morning, My dear Sir, I set out for Europe, and Before I go, it is pleasing for me once more to assure you of the value I Have By Your friendship, and of the affection and regard I Have the Honor to Be With My dear Sir Yours Lafayette

I may or may not have chosen this letter because McHenry also makes an appearance - but Thomas Jefferson is also mentioned, so the selection is valid, because Thomas Jefferson is the next one on our list. Jefferson’s and La Fayette’s friendship blossomed especially during Jefferson stay in Paris as ambassador to the French. La Fayette even consulted with Jefferson when writing the Déclaration des droits de l'homme et du citoyen de 1789. Later, when they met again during La Fayette’s last visit to the United States in 1824/25, they embraced each other and cried tear of joy over the fact of being able to see each other again.

With that, I would like to leave America behind and move on to England. More people could be added though. We see in La Fayette’s letter to General Greene for example, how close these two were. La Fayette had a very friendly relationship with most generals, officers and aide-de-camps in the army.

In England, we see something very interesting. Many of his friends there were actually former opponents of his during the War of Independence - when the House of Commons discussed whether the British Government should try to take actions or not, some of La Fayette’s most vocal allies were veterans of the War of Independence. Another noteworthy friend of his was the Whig politician Charles James Fox. Who really stands out among La Fayette’s English friends tough, is a young women. Her name was Francis “Fanny” Wright. I have planed to write on her separately at some near point in the future and because this post is already way too long we keep things brief. Fanny was a feminist, abolitionist and social reformer. I wager that some of her ideas and proposals would even today be considered somewhat controversial. But she and La Fayette grew quite close and she even accompanied him on his tour in America in 1824/25 (although not officially). Their friendship illustrates two things about La Fayette. He had many female friends – not just female friends, but strong and intelligent and outspoken female friends – and he was not at all faced by that. He also had friends that were considered “bad company” – and again, he was not really put off by that. With that being said, let us continue to France.

France was his native country and he had many friends there; starting with his family and his in-laws. With only a few exceptions La Fayette had close and loving relationships with his family members. There is this one lovely quote from a letter he wrote his wife Adrienne on October 29, 1777 that I simply had to quote:

“(...) for my daughter will be always, I trust, my most intimate friend; I will only be a father in affection, and parental love shall unite in my heart with friendship.”

You have to keep in mind that La Fayette was a nobleman from the 18th century. Such affection for your children, especially daughters, was common not as one would like to think. But of course he had also friends outside his family.

First in my mind there is the La Tour-Maubourg family. Three brothers with all three of whom La Fayette was close. Marie-Victor-Nicolas de Faÿ, marquis de La Tour-Maubourg was a General during the Napoleonic Wars and saw a lot of action. For a short time he was imprisoned with La Fayette but then quickly released. I would say that La Fayette was probably the least close with him. Next up is Juste-Charles de Faÿ de la Tour-Maubourg who was also captured by the Austrians but just as quickly released as his brother. He later married La Fayette’s oldest daughter Anastasie. The current King of Belgium is their descendant. The last brother was Charles César de Fay de La Tour-Maubourg and again, as if to continue a family tradition – he was captured together with La Fayette but unlike his two brothers, he was only released in 1787. I would say that La Fayette was the closest with him. After the death of his wife Adrienne, La Fayette wrote him a very, very long letter, basically laying all his grief and pain and anguish bare. Another dear friend was Bureau de Pussy, again one of La Fayette’s fellow prisoners (being in prison or fighting in a war together appear to be La Fayette’s go-to bounding-activities).

Soooo ... after we have scraped the surface of the category “friends” we can move on to the category “not-so-friendly”. Great parts of La Fayette’s live were spend on the public stage ... and as you all can  very well imagine, he was bound to make some enemies there. Beside the people with whom he had a personal misunderstanding, there were the ones he enraged with his political opinions. He was a  well known supporter of the American Revolution and therefor not too dear to many people on England and to American Loyalists. Things became really interesting though, when the French Revolution gained speed. La Fayette was a centrist, he was searching for a middle path. That actually worked quite well for some time but as soon as more radical factions began to gain influence a middle ground became harder and harder to pursue. He Royalists called him a traitor to the monarchy and a revolutionary while the Revolutionaries called him a traitor to the Republic and a Royalist – he really could not win. While he was not well liked among the leading Revolutionaries (Robespierre, Saint-Just, you name them), few disliked him as much as Doctor Jean-Paul Marat did. I am currently reading  Marat’s L’amie de peuple and there a literally complete issues of the paper dedicated solely to La Fayette and all his alleged wrongdoings.

Things were not necessarily better on the side of the Royalists. When La Fayette entered the palace of Versailles after the event that came to be known as the Women's March on Versailles, he had to pass through a crowed of courtiers in order to reach the King and confer with him. Suddenly, a voice rose from the anonymity of the crowed – “Here comes Cromwell”, a courtier shouted. That is how many people at the court saw La Fayette at this time – as a French Cromwell. The Queen Marie Antoinette was on a later occasion reassured that she did not have to worry, La Fayette would protect her and the King. To that the Queen replied: “Lafayette is here to defend us, but who is to defend us against Lafayette.”

La Fayette’s troubled relationship with the Monarchs of France continued after the Revolution. He and Napoléon hat their ups and downs in their relationship – but mostly downs as time progressed. His relationship with Louis XVIII and especially with Charles X also was strained to put it mildly.

As I have said repeatedly, this is just a brief overview of La Fayette’s different relationships. I nevertheless hope that I could help you out with your question.

I hope you have/had a wonderful day!

Do you like agonizingly slow build up to a romantic relationship between Garrus and Shepard???

He tried raising his hand to touch the wound, but someone tutted at him and said, “Doctor Chakwas said that’s still healing. Don’t touch it.”

Garrus turned his head to see who spoke. Shepard sat a desk with a desk lamp and a book opened up before her, though her eyes were now on him.

“Shepard,” Garrus said. He immediately winced from the pain of talking, but it was bearable. His eyes searched the room they were in. He was in one of several beds in what appeared to be the medical bay of the Normandy. But the Normandy had been destroyed, so that couldn’t be possible.

Then again, a woman who was supposed to be dead had stood up, turned on the rest of the lights, and approached him. She still sported the strange scars on her face that had not been there two years ago, but she was not wearing Alliance clothing. In fact, she looked like a civilian in her sweatshirt and joggers.

“Listen,” Shepard said as she reached his bedside. She spoke urgently, as though they were about to head out on a mission. “You were gravely injured on Omega and I brought you back to the Normandy to get you patched up. You’ve been sleeping on and off for a day. This is not the same Normandy you and I served on while hunting Saren, this is a new ship built by Cerberus, the same group that brought me back to life. Any questions so far?”

It was coming back to him, and a fresh wave of shame washed over him as he relived losing his team again. But Shepard was patiently waiting for him so he managed, “You’re working for Cerberus, Shepard?”

“No,” she answered immediately, her brows furrowed. “I don’t work for terrorists. This is my ship and my crew, they answer to me.” She frowned and then waved her hand about vaguely. “They are, technically, bank-rolling this operation, but I’m not drinking the kool-aid.”

Garrus nodded as though he understood the reference, winced in pain, and paused to consider. Finally he said, “You mentioned something about Collectors back on Omega.”

She gave him the short story - human colonies were disappearing and they had confirmed it was the Collectors and they needed a way to track them down and stop them. Cerberus suspected it had something to do with the Reapers. It was a dangerous mission and the odds were stacked against them.

Garrus took it in stride. It was just a little more unbelievable than a respected Spectre going rogue and working with the geth and a sentient race of ancient AI that periodically committed genocide against the species of the Milky Way.

“So what did you want with Archangel?” Garrus asked after her explanation.

“I’m putting together a crew and you were put forth as a suggestion,” Shepard responded. “I had no idea it was you, otherwise I could have reached you before that attack.”

“Then I might not have gone with you,” Garrus said. “I had a crew, a team. I would have been reluctant to leave.”

“What happened, Garrus? I saw all those bodies in the base. It looked like there had been a massacre before we even got there.”

It was still too painful to bring everything that had happened. He muttered, “Long story short, I was betrayed. I’ll tell you the rest later when I have everything figured out myself.” Shepard nodded in response, acknowledging his request. Garrus then asked, “So I assume I got hurt pretty badly?”

“Yes,” Shepard said. “You took a rocket to the face and lost quite a bit of blood. Dr. Chakwas and Mordin were working on you nonstop until you stabilized. They’re both taking breaks since I offered to keep an eye on you. How do you feel?”

“Like I took a rocket to the face,” Garrus replied. Shepard smirked in response and Garrus gestured at his face and ventured, “So how bad is it?”

Shepard narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in response to this line of questioning. “Well,” she began, clearing her expression but still looking nervous. “I’m sure if you put some face paint on, no one will be the wiser.”

“That bad, huh?” Garrus chuckled. He sat up straighter in the bed as Shepard fetched a mirror from the desk for him. She handed it over and he studied his new face in the mirror. The left side was completely intact, but the right looked like an open wound that had only just healed. A graft covered a large part of his head beneath his crest. The wounds reminded him of some of the older turians he’d met in the army, the veterans of the Relay 314 Incident with the humans. When they healed, he'd likely have these scars for the rest of his life.

Good, he thought, he deserved it.

“I do recall Wrex saying that krogan women find men with scars very attractive,” Shepard mused as Garrus handed the mirror back to her and she placed it back on the desk. “At the very least, it’ll be a great pick-up line. ‘My name is Garrus Vakarian, Codename Archangel, do you want to know how I got these scars?’”

“You might want to workshop that some more,” Garrus replied.

“We can workshop it together if you decide to stay,” she said. She looked intently at him, holding his gaze. “And if you don’t want to stay, I can drop you off wherever you want.”

Garrus shook his head, breaking the eye contact. “I took a big loss, Shepard. I’m not sure you want someone like me on your team.”

“Garrus,” she said, her tone firm but kind. He looked back at her and into her steady eyes. “I want you here.”

The rest of the fic is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31650551

The Queer Platonic Love of Aang & Zuko

Friend. What a weighty and intimate word in Avatar The Last Airbender. The series’ “found family” is iconic at this point, and is literally established as a “family” by Katara in the third episode. She pulls Aang back from the outrage of the Avatar state, saying “Monk Gyatso and the other monks may be gone, but you still have a family. Sokka and I, we’re your family now.”

 As I’ve said before, establishing this central safety net of trusted people is essential to Aang’s healing. Still, it’s interesting to me that they insist on this group as a “family” rather than something that might emphasize “friendship.” Something along the lines of ‘we’re your friends and we’re here with you.’ I can think of several animated shows that have done as much successfully. The show withholds the word “friend” for another purpose. I’ll happily admit that Aang and the others describe each other as “friends” throughout the series, but rarely is the use of the word (through pacing, repetition, or emotional context) given a sense of gravity in those moments. 

However, three scenes in the series rely heavily on the word “friend,” and each scene connects Aang more and more profoundly with Zuko, eventually revealing that the show’s entire plot hinges on the friendship between these two boys. In a series so latent with symbolism, what do we make of these star-crossed friends? The relationship between Aang and Zuko, I want to suggest, is meant to explore Platonic Love in all its depth, especially within a masculine culture that not only devalues it, but views its queer implications as inherently dangerous to the dominant power structures of an empire.

Get ready zukaang fans for a long-ass atla meta analysis...

“If we knew each other back then, do you think we could’ve been friends, too?”

The first time the word “friend” is uttered between them, Aang is perched on a branch, waiting for Zuko (who is laid out on a bed of leaves the Avatar made for him) to wake up after his blue spirit rescue. “You know what the worst part about being born over a hundred years ago is?” Aang waxes, “I miss all the friends I used to hang out with. Before the war started I used to always visit my friend Kuzon. The two of us, we'd get in and out of so much trouble together. He was one of the best friends I ever had...and he was from the Fire Nation, just like you. If we knew each other back then do you think we could have been friends too?” The scene stood out for me when I first watched it for the melancholy and stillness. We are not given a flashback like we did when Aang talked about Bumi or Gyatso in earlier episodes. We have to sit with Aang’s loss of a male friend. It echoes a veteran’s loss of a war buddy more than anything a western audience would expect in a children’s show about the power of friendship. Instead of simply mourning, Aang invites Zuko into the past with him. He invites Zuko to imagine a time before the war, a land of innocence, where they could live together. And between them there is a moment of reflection given to this invitation (...until Zuko shoots a fucking fire blast at Aang). 

The wistful mood returns when the two boys arrive back to their respective beds. Aang is asked by a loopy fevered Sokka if he made any “friends” on his trip, to which Aang sadly replies, “No, I don’t think I did” before tucking away to sleep. Aang’s mournful moments often stand out against his bubbly personality, but this moment stands out moreso because its the final moment for Aang in the episode. For the first time, he doesn’t receive comfort in his dejection. He doesn’t even confide in his peers. The solemnity and secrecy of this failed “friendship” is remarkable. 

It’s in the next symbolic gesture that I think Avatar reveals what’s at stake in the concept of “friendship.” Zuko, in the next scene, lays down to rest after his adventurous night, looks pensively at the fire nation flag in his room, and then turns his back on it. We realize, especially after the previous revelations in “The Storm,” that Aang’s gestures of “friendship” have caused Zuko to doubt the authority of the Fire Nation.

Now all three remaining nations have misogynistic tendencies, but the Fire Nation celebrates a specific brand of toxic masculinity, and Zuko longs to emulate it even after it has rejected and scarred him. In the episode, “The Storm,” which directly precedes “The Blue Spirit,” we see how Zuko failed to replicate masculinity’s demands. In a room of men, he disregards honorifics to speak out in the name of care and concern for people’s well-being over strategy. Though the war room was all men, we later see that The Fire Nation does not exclude women from participating in this form of toxic masculinity. (Shoutout to Azula, one of the best tragic villains of all time!) This gender parity prevents disgraced men, like Zuko, from retaining pride of place above women. So Zuko’s loving act and refusal to fight his father puts him at the lowest of the low in the social hierarchy of the Fire Nation, completely emasculated and unworthy of respect.

Since then, Zuko has been seeking to restore himself by imitating the unfeeling men of the war room and his unfeeling sister, barking orders and demands at his crew. The final redemptive act for this purpose, of course, is to capture the Avatar, who’s very being seems to counteract the violent masculinity at the heart of the Fire Nation. In most contemporary Euro-American understandings, Aang is by no means masculine. He’s openly affectionate, emotional, giggly, and supportive of everyone in his life, regardless of gender. He practices pacifism and vegetarianism, and his hobbies include dancing and jewelry-making. And, foremost, he has no interest in wielding power. (@rickthaniel has an awesome piece about Aang’s relationship to gender norms and feminism). 

In addition to the perceived femininity of Aang’s behavior, he’s equally aligned with immaturity. Aang’s childishness is emphasized in the title of the first episode, “The Boy in the Iceberg,” and then in the second episode when Zuko remarks, “you’re just a kid.” Aang, as a flying boy literally preserved against adulthood, also draws a comparison to another eternally boyish imp in the western canon: Peter Pan. This comparison becomes more explicit in “The Ember Island Players.” His theatrical parallel is a self-described “incurable trickster” played by a woman hoisted on wires mimicking theatrical productions of Peter Pan. The comparison draws together the conjunction of femininity and immaturity Aang represents to the Fire Nation.

When Zuko is offered friendship and affection by Aang, then, he faces a paradigm-shifting internal conflict. To choose this person, regardless of his spiritual status, as a “friend,” Zuko must relate himself to what he perceives as Aang’s femininity and immaturity, further demeaning himself in the eyes of his father and Fire Nation culture. The banished prince would need to submit to the softness for which he’s been abused and banished. This narrative of abuse and banishment for perceived effeminate qualities lends itself easily enough to parallels with a specific queer narrative, that of a young person kicked out of their house for their sexuality and/or gender deviance. 

I want to point out that Aang’s backstory, too, can be read through a queer lens. Although the genocide of the air nomads more explicitly parallels the experiences of victims to imperial and colonial violence, I can also see how the loss of culture, history, friends, and mentors for a young effiminate boy can evoke the experience of queer men after the AIDs pandemic and the government’s damning indifference. In fact, colonial violence and the enforcement of rigid gender roles have historically travelled hand-in-hand. Power structures at home echo the power structures of a government. Deviance from the dominant norms disrupt the rigid structures of the empire. Aang’s background highlights how cultures based in something besides hierarchy and dominance, whether they be queer cultures or indigenous societies, threaten the logic of imperialism, and thus become targets of reform, neglect, and aggression by the expanding empire and its citizens. Survivors are left, as Aang was, shuffling through the remnants, searching for some ravaged piece of history to cling to.

We begin the series, then, with two queer-coded boys, one a survivor of broad political violence, the other a survivor of more intimate domestic abuse, and both reeling from the ways the Fire Nation has stigmatized sensitivity. But the queer narrative extends beyond the tragic backstories toward possibility and hope. The concept of platonic love proposed here, though it does not manifest until later, is a prospect that will bring peace to the two boys' grief-stricken hearts and to the whole world.

“Do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?”

“Do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?” Toph asks before the four members of the group hold hands. Since Toph previously mourned her friendless childhood, it’s easy to appreciate this line for its hopefulness regarding the four central members of the Gaang. They long to appreciate that they’re all connected. As touching as this is, the soul-mated ‘friendship’ concept is actually uniquely applicable to Aang and Zuko.

When does Toph ask the question specifically? It’s after hearing the story of Avatar Roku and Firelord Sozin: how their once intimate friendship fell apart; how Fire Lord Sozin began, undaunted, the genocidal attack on Airbenders. After recounting the tale, Aang, the reincarnation of Avatar Roku, excitedly explains to the group the moral that every person is capable of great good and evil. While that moral could easily be ascribed to many people in the series, the connective tissue is stretched directly to Zuko in a parallel storyline. Reading a secret history composed by his grandfather Sozin, Zuko discovers that he is not only the grandson of the empirical firelord but of Avatar Roku, as well. We see how the rift between the Sozin and Roku echoed down across history to separate the airbending culture from the fire nation, and, on a more human level, to separate Aang from Zuko. The two boys find themselves divided by their ancestors’ choices— and connected by Avatar Roku’s legacy. 

This is what takes their “friendship” from simply a matter of the character’s preferences to something fated, something unique from the other friendships. The rest of the found family is positioned as circumstantial in their relationship to Aang and one another. Yeah, it’d be cool if they were all connected in past and future lives, but the audience receives no indicators in the series that it’s necessarily true. Only faith holds them together, which allows room for an appreciation that your “found family” friendships might simply be the trusted people you discovered along the way. 

Zuko’s friendship is characterized differently. Both his struggle to befriend Aang and his eventual “friendship” are explicitly destined by the story of Roku and Sozin. After this episode, the series depends upon Zuko’s ability to mend the divide inside himself, which can only be done by mending the divide between him and Aang. Their inheritance symbolizes this dynamic exactly. As the reincarnation of Avatar Roku, Aang can be understood as the beneficiary of Avatar Roku’s wisdom (he should not, as many jokingly suggest, be considered as any kind of biological relation of Roku or Zuko).  Zuko, on the other hand, has inherited Roku’s genealogy in the Fire Nation. These two pieces of Roku must be brought together in order to revive Roku’s legacy of firebending founded on something besides aggression. 

In addition to making the ideals of Roku whole again, the two boys must tend to the broken “friendship” between the two men. As the Avatar and the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, Aang and Zuko parallel Avatar Roku and Firelord Sozin precisely. The narrative of the latter pair places destiny precisely in the hands of the former. And since both Aang and Roku expressed the desire for “friendship,” it falls in the lap of the corresponding royal to give up their imperial dreams so they can gain something more peaceful and intimate. For Zuko, this now can only be accomplished when he heals the rift within himself. 

Importantly, both the previous friendship and the destined friendship between Zuko and Aang are between two men. The coming-of-age genre has proliferated the trope of homosociality (friendship between individuals of the same sex) and its eventual decline brought on by maturity and heterosexual romance. (Check out the beautiful and quick rundown of classic examples, from Anne of Green Gables to Dead Poet’s Society, made by @greetingsprophet ). The story of Avatar Roku and Firelord Sozin replicates this established narrative. 

We see them playing, sparring, and joking intimately with one another. The two as young adults were intimately connected, the series explains, “sharing many things including a birthday.” Eventually their intimacy is interrupted by their worldly responsibilities and the spectre of heterosexual romance on Roku’s part.

Now, It’s not a huge leap for one to wonder if Sozin longed for something stronger in their “friendship.” We see no female romantic interests for Sozin. Instead, he continues to demonstrate his platonic allegiance to Roku. When Roku prepares to leave for his Avatar training, Sozin walks into his room and gives him his crown prince headpiece, a gesture of unique devotion that positions his friendship above his politics (which harkens to Plato and EM Forster’s ideas about platonic love that I’ll discuss in Part 3). 

One might note, too, how the wedding between Roku and his childhood sweetheart provides the setting for the escalation of Sozin’s violence. “On wedding days,” Sozin writes, “we look to the future with optimism and joy. I had my own vision for a brighter future...” He then pulls Roku away from his bride for a personal conversation, briefly recapturing the earlier homosocial dynamic with his friend. Sozin describes his affection for their intertwined lives. Then he links their shared happiness to the current prosperity of the Fire Nation. He imagines the expansion of the Fire Nation, which would also expand on the relationship between him and Roku. But the Avatar refuses the offer and returns to his wife, insisting on the value of traditional boundaries (both the pact of marriage and the strict division of the four nations). The abandonment of the homosocial relationship by Roku sets the site for the unmitigated empirical ambitions of Sozin. One wonders how history might’ve been altered had the two men’s relationship been sanctified and upheld. How might’ve Roku persuaded Sozin in his empirical ambitions if he had remained in a closer relationship to his friend? In their final encounter, Sozin reacts vengefully to his former platonic love: he lets Roku die protecting the home the Avatar shared with his wife. Sozin’s choice solidifies the divide between them, and makes the grief he’s experienced since Roku left him into actual death.

Instead of Avatar Roku and Firelord Sozin finding a resolution, Aang and Zuko are ordained to reverse their friendship’s disintegration. Yes, they must heal the rift in the world created by the Fire Nation’s aggression, but Aang and Zuko must also reverse the tradition of lost homosociality within a culture of unrelenting machismo. Despite Avatar: the Last Airbender’s ties to the coming-of-age genre, the arc of Aang and Zuko’s “friendship” counters one of its most prominent tropes. “Some friendships are so strong they can transcend lifetimes,” Roku says, and it’s precisely this platonic ideal that draws Zuko and Aang towards one another in ways that are revolutionary both in their world and in the traditions of our’s. To come together, as two matured boys, to form an adult platonic love that can persist into adulthood.

“And now we’re friends.”

Which brings us to the consummation of Aang and Zuko’s “friendship.” Having resolved their previous hostilities and having neutralized the outside forces that would rather them dead than together, Aang and Zuko can finally embrace and define their relationship as “friendship.” Now, if we look closely at Zuko’s expression, we’ll notice a pause, before he smiles and reiterates Aang’s comment. My initial response, with my zukaang shipping goggles on extra tightly, was that Zuko just got friend-zoned and was a little disappointed before accepting Aang’s friendship. When I took a step back, I considered that we are given this moment of reflection to recognize Zuko’s journey, his initial belligerent response to the idea of befriending the Avatar. When he accepts the term of ‘friend,’ he reveals the growth he’s undergone that’s brought peace to the world. With these two possibilities laid out, I want to offer that they might coexist. That the word ‘friend’ might feel to Zuko and the audience so small and limited and yet simultaneously powerful. The pause can hint at the importance of “friendship” and signal something more. This reading emboldens the queer concept of “friendship” that undergirds their relationship. That the hug that follows might be meant to define the depth of the platonic love that is at the very heart of the series.

Saving a hugging declaration of “friendship” for the announcement of peace in the series is quietly revolutionary. In the twentieth century, male characters could connect in battle, on competitive teams, and through crime. “In the war film, a soldier can hold his buddy — as long as his buddy is dying on the battlefield. In the western, Butch Cassidy can wash the Sundance Kid’s naked flesh — as long as it is wounded. In the boxing film, a trainer can rub the well-developed torso and sinewy back of his protege — as long as it is bruised. In the crime film, a mob lieutenant can embrace his boss like a lover — as long as he is riddled with bullets,” writes Kent Brintnall. Aang and Zuko’s hug starkly contrasts this kind of masculine intimacy. The show suggests that environments shaped by dominance, conflict, coercion, or harm, though seemingly productive in drawing people and especially men together, actually desecrate “friendships.” Only in a climate of humility, diplomacy, and peace can one make a true ‘friend.’

In situating the’ “friendship” between two matured males in a time of peace, the writers hearken back to older concepts of homosocial relationships in our fiction. As Hanya Yanagihara has described the Romantic concepts of friendship that pervaded fiction before the 1900s. In her book, A Little Life, Yanagihara renews this concept for the twenty-first century with a special appreciation for the queerness that one must accept in order for platonic love to thrive into adulthood. She writes, “Why wasn’t friendship as good as a relationship? Why wasn’t it even better? It was two people who remained together day after day bound not by sex or physical attraction or money or children or property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, the mutual dedication to a union that could never be codified.” Aang and Zuko’s relationship, despite a history that would keep them apart, reclaims this kind of friendship. Their hearts, bound together by an empyrean platonic love, are protected from the political and familial loyalties that would otherwise embroil them. 

In addition to Yanagihara, another author that coats the word ‘friend’ with similar gravity and longing to Avatar is E.M. Forster, who braids platonic friendship in his writing with homoeroticism and political revolution. In Forster’s novel Maurice (originally written in 1914 but published posthumously in 1971 due to Britain’s criminalization of male homsexuality), the titular character asks a lower class male lover lying in bed with him,  “Did you ever dream you had a friend, Alec? Someone to last your whole life and you his? I suppose such a thing can’t happen outside of sleep.” The confession, tinged with grief and providence as it is, could easily reside in Aang’s first monologue to Zuko in “The Blue Spirit.”

 Platonic love as a topic is at the heart of Maurice. Plato’s “Symposium,” from which the term platonic love derives, is even directly referenced in the book and connected with “the unspeakable vice of the Greeks”— slang for homosexual acts. For Forster, the sanction of platonic love, both the homosocial aspect and the latent homosexuality, reveals a culture’s liberation. “If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend,” Forster wrote in his essay “What I Believe,”, “I hope I should have the guts to betray my country.” This echoes a sentiment of philial love described by Plato. 

Rather than revolutionary ideals, for Forster friendships, and specifically friendships that disregard homophobia, provide the foundation for peace, equality, and democratic proliferation. When Aang and Zuko embrace, they are embodying this ideal.  Platonic love and the word “friend” have a history intertwined with queer romantic love, and, while I won’t argue that Avatar attempts to directly evoke this, I will suggest that the series consciously leaves room for this association. Now, the show certainly makes no attempt to imply anything romantic between Zuko and Aang within the timeline we witness (nor any same sex characters, which reflects cultural expectations in the 2000s). And for good reason, the age gap would be notably icky, to use the technical term. (You might note, however, that the show actually allows for crushes to extend upwardly across the same age gap, when Toph accidentally reveals her affection for Sokka to Suki in “The Serpent’s Pass.”) Despite connecting queer friendships to the history of ‘platonic love,’ Avatar provides two critiques to platonic love for audiences to absorb. One is the pederasty with which Plato defined his ultimate form of love in his Symposium. Fans rightfully comment on the age gap between Aang and Zuko as something preventative to shipping them together. And beyond the fact of their ages, Aang’s youthfulness is emphatic, as I remarked earlier. Aang and Zuko are prevented from consummating their platonic love until both are deemed mature in the last moments of the series. And even then, their relationship is directed toward future development rather than conclusion. Instead of cutting away, they are allowed to exit their scene together toward a speech about hope and peace. This stands in stark opposition to the permanence of Aang and Katara’s kiss. The platonic love in Avatar, the kind EM Forster cherishes, is relegated to adulthood as opposed to other kinds of boyish friendships. The conclusion of Avatar, at least for me, actually feels especially satisfying because it settles our characters in the “new era of love and peace.” It is a beginning, and it feels more expansive than the actions the characters choose to take in the episode. Even as our characters conclude three seasons of narrative tension as the sun sets and “The End” appears on the screen, it feels instead as if their stories can finally begin. The characters are allowed to simply exist for the first time. Yes, Aang and Katara or Zuko and Mai are allowed to embrace and kiss, but it’s because the pressures of empiricism have finally been banished. They are now allowed to try things and fail and make mistakes and explore. Things don’t feel rigid or permanent, whether that be one’s identity or one’s relationships.

Ideally, within the morality of the series (at least as it appears to us with no regard for whatever limits or self-censorship occurred due to its era of production and child-friendly requirements), “friends'' are maintained alongside romantic partnerships. Both Zuko and Aang’s separate romantic relationships blossom within the same episode that they declare their “friendship.” In fact, a vital plotline is the development of Zuko’s relationship with Aang’s romantic interest. While anyone in the fandom is well aware of the popular interpretation of romantic affection between Zuko and Katara because of their shared narrative, I have to point out that romantic feelings across the series are made extremely explicit through statements, blushes, and kisses. Zuko’s relationship with Katara can be better understood in the light of the coming-of-age counternarrative. While the love interest often serves as a catalyst for separation for a homosocial relationship, the friendly relationship with Aang’s love interest—seeking her forgiveness, respecting her power, calling on her support, etc—is vital for Zuko to ultimately create an environment of peace in which he and Aang can fulfill their destined “friendship.” In fact, we can look at Katara’s femininity as the most important device for manifesting Aang and Zuko’s eventual union. It’s her rage against misogyny that frees Aang from his iceberg, midwifing him into the world again after his arrested development, the complete opposite of a Wendy figure. It’s her arms that hold Aang in the pieta after his death in the Crossroads of Destiny, positioning her as a divine God-bearer. Afterwards, its her hands that resurrect Aang so that they together can fulfill his destiny. It will be these same hands with this same holy water that resurrect Zuko in the finale. Only through Katara’s decided blessing could Aang and Zuko proceed toward the fated reunion of their souls.

The importance of this critical relationship to femininity becomes relevant to a scene in “Emerald Island Players” that one might note as an outstanding moment of gay panic. Zuko and Aang, watching their counterparts on stage, cringe and shrink when, upon being saved by The Blue Spirit character in the play, Aang’s performer declares “My hero!” Instead of the assumption of homophobia, I wonder whether we might read Aang and Zuko’s responses as discomfort with the misogynistic heterosexual dynamics the declaration represents. Across the board, Avatar subverted the damsel in distress trope. There’s a-whole-nother essay to be written on all the ways it goes about this work, but the events in “The Blue Spirit” certainly speak to this subversion. It’s quite explicit that Zuko, after breaking Aang’s chains, is equally dependent on Aang for their escape. And, by the end of the actual episode, the savior role is reversed as Aang drags an unconscious Zuko away from certain death. To depict these events within the simplistic “damsel in distress” scenario, as The Ember Island Players do, positions Aang as a subordinately feminized colonial subject, denies him his agency, and depicts the relationship as something merely romantic, devoid of the equalizing platonic force that actually empowers them. The moment in the play is uncomfortable for Aang and Zuko because it makes Zuko the hero and Aang the helpless object. Aang is explicit about his embarrassment over his feminized and infantilized depiction in the play. And Zuko, newly reformed, is embarrassed to see, on one hand, his villainy throughout the play and, on the other hand, see how his character is positioned as made out as a savior to the person who has actually saved him.

At the heart of the series is not the idea of a chosen one or savior. Instead, we are saved by the ability for one person to see themselves in another person and to feel that same person equally understands their own soul. This is the ideal of platonic love. Platonic love between two matured boys—two boys with whose memories and bodies bare the scars of their queer sensitivities—is an essential part of the future of peace. Many fans have a sense of this, labeling the relationship as “brotp” and “platonic soulmates.” I simply encourage people to acknowledge that platonic love, especially in this context, is not a limit. There is no “no homo” joke here. When we remark on the platonic love between Zuko and Aang (and across media more generally) we are precisely making room for friendship, romance, and whatever else it could mean, whatever else it might become. While I find Legend of Korra lacking and in some ways detrimental to appreciating the original series, it’s finale interestingly parallels and extends this reading of platonic love in a sapphic vein. And most recently, She ra Princess of Power was able to even more explicitly realize these dynamics in the relationship between Adora and Catra. Let’s simply acknowledge that Aang and Zuko’s relationship blazed the trail: that peace, happiness, hope, and freedom could all hinge on a “friendship,” because a “friend” was never supposed to be set apart from or less than other kinds of relationships. For the ways it disregards gender, disregards individualism, disregards dominion, platonic love is the foundation of any meaningful relationship. And a meaningful relationship is the foundation for a more peaceful world.  *Author’s note: I’m just tired of sitting on this and trying to edit it. It’s not perfect. I don’t touch on all the symbolism and nuances in the show and in the character’s relationships. And this is not meant to negate any ships. It’s actually, quite the opposite. This is a show about growth and change and mistakes and complexity. Hopefully you can at least appreciate this angle even if you don’t vibe with every piece of analysis here. I just have no chill and need to put this out there so I can let my obsession cool down a bit. Enjoy <3

The Choice Bit of Calico (Chapter One)

Ship: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Characters: Thomas Shelby, Billy Kimber, Ada Shelby, Polly Shelby, Finn Shelby, Arthur Shelby, John Shelby, mentions of Freddie Thorne

Warning(s): mentions of blood, war, and violence (obviously), maybe a slow burn?, forbidden romance, inner conflict, heartache, rebellion. Intended smut. In this chapter there is a bit of time skipping; only 3 times I believe.

A/N: Choice Bit of Calico was slang in the 1920s for a desirable woman. The prologue to this series can be found HERE. HAHA two chapters in one sitting AND posting it before the original post dates? WOAAHHH. Also this one’s a long one so buckle up.

Synopsis: You are the sibling of Billy Kimber. Living with him in London, you heard of nursing classes offered at a church in Birmingham near where you and your older brother were born. It was during World War I and you wanted to do something to help the soldiers from your country as well as the allied countries. Living in your childhood home until you were sent back to London to work at the Veteran’s Hospital, you never forgot about the firey brunette who wanted to do the same as you. Keeping in touch, you both wrote letters back and forth until one fateful day you find yourself back in Birmingham, bags in hand, to take care of an ailing family member. Who knew the moment you got off the train your whole life would change?

Words: 2594

MASTERLIST

A month had passed since you arrived in Birmingham, three weeks since you started the nursing classes at the church, and two weeks since you bonded with the witty yet quick thinking brunette in the class whom you found out was named Ada. You had been partnered to evaluate one another’s quick first aid techniques when it all sparked. Taking suggestions from one another at a pub on the side of town your brother warned you to stay away from turned into meeting her younger brother Finn and Aunt Polly who lived on Watery Lane which evolved into having dinners with the three of them every Wednesday, drinks every Saturday, and breakfast every Sunday.

Ada’s family soon became your own, learning of her three brothers who were over in Europe; the oldest in the Ottoman Empire, the second oldest in France, and the last stationed in a location that was to be kept top secret. When no letters arrived in the post, you were there for the distressed duo. Whether it was help around the house as they try to find out from people in their inner circles if there were any reports of the three men to infirmaries or morgues or even keep the news away from little Finn who was only seven years of age. You found that he enjoyed helping you around in the gardens on nice days and telling you about his favorite types of horses. Though you knew nothing of the animal other than the fact they can be used in racing and that they were being overworked in London for carriage rides though cars were becoming more readily available, you listened to him jammer on and on until he became too hungry or tired to continue.

You hoped for the three of them that the three men over at war would come home safely. For the first time in ages, you prayed.

Two more months passed, and you were three months into the nursing class. Nearing the ending of the courses, it had been decided by the instructor, a nurse at one of the largest hospitals in the south, that you and Ada were both not fit for in field work but, due to both of your wonderful communication skills, that working with veterans that were in rehabilitation or facing treatments for their injuries was the best choice. Seeing that the closest veteran’s hospital was back in London, you faced conflict. Continue living in Birmingham and risk Billy finding out you aren’t finding any work in the medical field but rather conversing and being social with those you grew close to, which would result in him dragging you back to London under his supervision, or take the job that was offered to you at Imperial Order Of the Daughters Of The Empire Hospital and live on your own until the war was over and see what the future held. 

Choosing to go back to London on your own accord was heartbreaking to you, it was like the last day of primary school before you were homeschooled by the tutor your brother hired. You felt as if you would never see Ada or her family again as well as the other friends you had made. On the last night before your departure, Polly had invited you over for drinks with her and Ada. Finn was at a friend’s house for the night which left the lot of you free to drink without worrying about being too loud or filtering your stories in case Finn decided to play spy in the middle of the night. With your trunk sitting by the front entrance as well as the suitcase you had brought with you, you sat around the round table with the two other women you had become so close to. They had already given you a present for good luck. A pristine nurse uniform that Polly had seen a usual at the pub’s wife wear one day as they crossed paths on the street laid unfolded on the table as the three of them admired the soon-to-be-fleeting cleanliness of it. Ada, on the other hand, had gifted you a golden locket with a photo of the two of you that a man had taken while testing out the newest camera to come out. That day you and Ada, drunk off your asses, tried to sit as still as you could as the camera process as slow as a snail. “I remember we went from The Garrison into that damned parlor. It was a fuckin’ shame we went there first. Imagine all of the drunken shopping we would’ve done.” Ada jabbed, causing you to laugh so hard you spilt your drink all over you robe.

That night, words of advice, stories of family and friends, and songs were sung until your eyes couldn’t stay open anymore. The next thing you could remember was Polly waking you up, Finn on her side with tears in his eyes. “This one was picked up this morning and wants to go with ya’ to London.” Polly smiled sullenly, your eyes softening from the groggy, hungover state they were into something more awake and less irritated. Your heart broke as you saw tears on the boy’s cheeks.

“Oh Finn, you know I’d love to take you and Pol and Ada to London with me,” You began, thumb brushing off the tears that rested on his cheeks, “But I can’t take you three, which breaks my heart. But, with you here with them, I know you’re going to protect them, right?” With a sad nod, Finn fell into your chest as he cuddles up into you one last time. It was hard saying goodbye to them, but Finn’s sadness really made the decision settle in. Pressing a kiss to the boy who you considered your little brother’s forehead, you pick him up and begin to say goodbye to Polly and Ada, sad smiles all around as you grab your trunk and suitcase. A honk sounded which signaled your exit, a final wave as you loaded your items into the car’s backseat before joining the driver in the front. “To the trains please.” You spoke, settling into the seat though it was a short ride.

4 years passed, many patients that you had helped were back finding their ways through their daily life once again. Within those four years you had always kept in touch with Ada and Polly, writing letters back and forth about what has gone on in each other’s lives. One day, a letter came for you, Ada’s flourish on the envelope. The note read:

“(Y/N),

Obviously, you’ve heard that the war’s over, thank fucking God (I don’t think I would have lasted if it went on for any longer). With that, all three brothers are home and the chaos has picked up right where it was left off. Arthur is being a dumbass, Thomas is being a hard-ass, and John is being a jackass.

I miss having you here, you’re my last hope of sanity in all honesty. I think you were Polly’s as well, having seen that I’ve been sneaking out to visit Freddie Thorne. Oh, (Y/N), I have so much I need to tell you but so little I can write without having Thomas go through my shit. Let’s hope this gets to you soon, I don’t think I’ll last in this god forsaken house one last minute with the way the ass trio continues to act.

Will you come visit soon? Did they offer you a job?

Please write back soon, it’s the only thing I look forward to now,

Ada”

Laughing at the thought of stubborn Ada dealing with her brothers, you looked around your London apartment and sighed. You had notified your brother that you were moving back to Birmingham to help with the veterans down in Small Heath. Under the guise of the hospital having a volunteer program being funded, Billy handed you over the keys before sending you out of his office. “Anything else? The races are starting soon, and this damn horse keeps fucking winning.” He had grumbled causing you to roll your eyes and head back to your own apartment to pack. Now, with the letter in your hand and the key in your jacket pocket as well as a train ticket, you grinned widely. Ada always found joy in surprises, though they were always small ones like when you sent her imported cigarettes for her birthday.

In the matter of twenty-four hours you went from living in London with a well-paying job and new experiences to living in Small Heath, Birmingham with no job, a house, and one family who cared for you. Gazing out the window of the cab you caught, you pay him the pounds before stepping out. “How much for you to help me bring the trunks inside?” You inquire, the man letting out a solid laugh, much to your misery. “Oi, I drive a cab, not own a fuckin’ moving company. Should have thought of getting one.” He spat, helping you take out the trunks you packed before speeding off. Cursing him under your breath, you used all the strength you could muster to drag the heavy trunks into the foyer and leaving them there. No way were you getting those things upstairs. Not tonight, at least. You had more important things to tend to, anyways. Like visiting Polly and Ada, hopefully. You prayed that they were at the house in Watery Lane and not out dealing with some ‘family matters’ as Ada would explain.

Finding the trunk that you had packed with clothes and shoes, you pulled out the outfit you had planned for surprising the duo. Pulling out the cornflower blue silk chiffon dress, you paired them with the white button up shoes that a soldier’s wife had gifted you for saving his life when he randomly fell ill. Tucking the locket Ada had gifted you all those years ago into the top of your dress, you quickly fixed the pattern curls of your hair before grabbing the golden compact you had carried always and key to your house. Setting down the roads as the sun was beginning to set, you noticed the abundance of men who bore flat caps that had tip’s that, when the light caught it correctly, gleamed in the light whose appearances multiplied in number the closer you drew to the house of Polly. Worry settled in but you didn’t let it phase your emotions physically.

The nerves in your stomach seemed to spread as you felt eyes on you when you walked up the steps to the house you frequented not so long ago. Either way, you knocked at the door hard enough it was heard and took a step back. Rolling on the balls of your feet, you waited for the door to open and when it did? You were met with a man who was slightly taller than you with a freckled face and striking blue eyes. Before either of you could even speak, you heard the sound of running feet across the wooden floors before seeing a taller, spritelier, Finn.

“(Y/N)! You’re back! When did you come back!?” The now eleven-year-old inquired, a grin on your face. The man in front of you seemed confused, but still never took his calculating gaze off of you. “I came in this afternoon! I’m movin’ back down to my house, remember when you and Ada came over and had a picnic in the parlor?” You grinned, the boy nodding furiously before turning to the group that had formed at the door.

“Arthur, Tommy, John! This is (Y/N), Ada’s friend! They met at those nursing classes Ada took four years ago!” Finn informed the brothers, realization coming across their face.

“(Y/N), nice to meet ya’. ‘m John, that tall, lanky one is Arthur, and the statue here is Thomas, call ‘im Tommy though. Thomas is too formal for ‘im.” The youngest out of the three, John, spoke with a smirk on his face. Moving aside, the men let you in before the eldest, Arthur, spoke up.

“So what brings ya’ back to Small Heath? Can’t be better from where you’re comin’ from.” A chuckle left his lips as you sat down at the kitchen table comfortably, too comfortable for the middle brother, Tommy’s, liking. “You know you should wait for Polly before you sit. It’s a bit rude.” His gravelly voice rang in your head and his piercing blue eyes stared into yours. You could tell he was waiting for you to submit. That wasn’t going to happen, that’s for sure.

“Oh, I’m moving back from London. Worked at Imperial Order Of the Daughters Of The Empire Hospital until about three days ago. Decided to move back here since I feel more at home here. Like seeing the horses on the street being taken care of rather than being beat down for not being fast enough at the carriage rides, you know?” You start out, focusing your gaze on Arthur who settled in his seat across from you before turning to Tommy.

“Would you like to see my correspondence with Pol, as well, Tommy? I don’t carry her notes on me but I do have them back at my house here in Small Heath. If you’d want to take a stroll with a lowly Londoner, then let it happen. Just know the days the two of them hadn’t heard anything from you lot I was here, helping around the house and with Finn,” pausing, you look between the three who seem taken aback that you didn’t crush under the gaze of Tommy who was now glaring daggers at you, “Not to say your lack or correspondence is directly your fault, but they worried. They were scared you had died and didn’t want Finn to hear the discussions of phoning local morgues that received army men’s bodies.”

Before Tommy could retort, a gasp from the front door was heard. Polly. Grinning wide, you instantly shot up from the chair you relaxed in and made your way to engulf the woman in a tight hug. With tears in your eyes, you pulled back to look over the woman with a smile. “(Y/N), what are you doing here!? I…I’m fuckin’ speechless. Does Ada know you’re here? Are you just visiting?” Her questions continued on just as Finn’s did in which you answered them all with the brightest, happiest tone in your voice. It wasn’t until her eyes locked with an annoyed Thomas that she realized she wasn’t there to greet her and neither was Ada.

“Hope they didn’t give you a hard time,” she whispered before steeling up and turning to the three men, “This is Miss (Y/N). She’s a family friend, if I hear anything about any of you thinking with your cocks and not your brains, I’ll fuckin’ beat ‘ya. She doesn’t deserve the crock of shit you three stew. Now, (Y/N), come with me. I have a lot to catch you up on.”

With that, you were guided into the parlor, unknowing to the booming business behind the curtain in the kitchen. You were also unaware of the burning blue eyes that scanned you from head to toe as you left. Another thing you were unaware of? The fact you just walked into the den of the Peaky Blinders and that you, Billy Kimber’s kid sister, were an unknown enemy by fault. This was going to become the beginning of the most trivial times.

I’d Take A Bullet For You (Kellex x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Love ur USWNT writings, how about one when the team is like walking back to the hotel after dinner one night and a man tries to mug mamas Kellex and pulls a gun on them and shoots one of them but baby r jumps in front of the bullet?

T.W: violence and blood

It happened so fast, so fast in fact that you weren’t entirely sure what was happening at first, you only knew that the man before you was intent on hurting one of you in an effort to get what he wanted.  

“Give me your fucking money, don’t make me ask you again.” He snarls, pointing his gun at Alex’s chest the taller woman holding her trembling hands in the air, Kelley doing the same at her side, her brown orbs darting to you.  

The sheer shock of the scene before you made every one of you freeze, which, unfortunately for you, made the man’s ire only grow, so much so that he squeezed the trigger.  

You know there’s no going back when you shove Alex and Kelley out of the way, the two women landing roughly on the sidewalk, but you didn’t care, all that mattered was getting them out of the line of fire... But doing so put you IN to it.

You glance down, eyes wide as you stare at the bleeding hole in your stomach, a hole that was immediately covered by a pale hand.  

“Hold on, it’s okay, you’re okay.” You hear Alex coo in your ear and you swallow hard, dropping to your knees.  

The man with the gun had sprinted off, but he was the least of your and the USWNT veteran’s worries, the two women more concerned with the gaping hole in your chest.  

Your breath shudders when a blood covered hand settles on your cheek.  

“It’s okay, we got you. We’ve got you Y/N.” Kelley whispers, tears running down her cheeks.  

You briefly realize that Alex must have called the police because you can hear her screaming, begging for help that you so desperately need.  

Alex pulls your head into her lap and your brow furrows.  

“I couldn’t let him hurt you.” You rasp, your eyelids drooping tiredly.  

Alex shakes her head, tears leaking from her blue orbs and dropping down onto you as she leans her head down her lips against your forehead.  

“I’m going to fix this, we’ll fix this, you’re going to be okay. I promise.” Alex rocks back and forth.  

“This is going to hurt, but it’ll help, I promise.” Kelley whispers pressing something hard against your chest, causing you to cry out in pain.  

“Shhh.” Alex kisses your forehead, her bottom lip trembling.  

The distinct sound of sirens pierces your ears and it’s then you realize just how tired you are, black spots dotting your vision.  

“I’m sorry...” You whisper, voice slurring and Alex shakes her head, Kelley ducking down to lean her head against Alex’s.  

“Don’t be sorry, just hold on okay?” Kelley sniffs sadly.  

“Please.” Alex begs, but inevitably your eyes flutter shut, the last thing you hear being the hoarse, watery voices of the two women above you.  

                                                            ***

Alex and Kelley were silent, tears streaming down their faces as they stared at the wall in front of them, their shirts covered in blood, your blood.  

“Oh my god.”  

The door to the waiting room flies open, the women’s USWNT teammates rushing inside and surrounding the two women.  

"Look at me.”  

Through Alex’s blurred vision she sees Tobin Heath, knelt before her, her hands on her cheeks.  

“It’s okay.” She nods, brown orbs shining with tears and Alex shakes her head.  

“No, it’s not... We were supposed to protect her and we...”

Alex lets out an inhuman cry, the sound breaking Kelley from her trance, the defender throwing her arms around her girlfriend as the two of them sob, their teammates in tears as well.  

“Where’s Y/N...? What happened...?” Christen asks and Alex swallows hard.  

“Surgery... We... We were headed back from dinner... He wanted money...” Alex mumbles sadly, hiding her nose in Kelley’s neck.  

The defender cups her cheek turning to rest her forehead against the forwards.  

“She’ll be okay she has to be... I mean she has to be. She has to be okay. She has to be.” Kelley rambles, sniffling as she rocks back and forth, her arms wrapped around her girlfriend.  

The room is dead silent, teammates huddled around in groups as they sob, the veterans off the team huddled together.  

You were the baby of the team, and when someone hurt you, it hurt them...  

But this wasn’t an injury on the field, this wasn’t an injury a bag of ice could fix... This was something that could kill you, something they couldn’t fix.  

Ashlyn closes her eyes tight, her wife sitting between her legs on the floor, sobbing into the goalie’s shirt.  

Christen and Tobin are a few feet away along with the other veterans, their arms wrapped around a number of the younger players, players who had quickly become your best friends.  

It’s when the door opens that the room goes silent, everyone turning to look at the foreign invader, who happens to be a doctor in blue scrubs.  

“Y/N?” He asks, eyes darting to the two women whose shirts are still covered in blood.  

Alex and Kelley jump to their feet, rushing the man.  

“Is she okay?” Kelley asks, taking Alex’s hand, not caring that the woman’s hand is still covered in your dried blood.  

“She’s in stable condition... She isn’t out of the woods, but the prognosis looks good.” He smiles and Kelley turns, burying her face in Alex’s chest.  

“Can we see her...? Please?” Alex begs as she tightens her hold on the defender.

Vlatko slips into the room passed the doctor, his arm slipping around Kelley and Alex.  

“Please.” He asks, his eyes locked with the doctor’s, it’s only moments before he relents, nodding.  

“Follow me.”  

                                                            ***

The room is silent, except for the beeping machine beside you and the sound of the ventilator that’s shoved down your throat, aiding in your breathing.  

Alex drops to her knees beside the bed, her forehead resting against the scratchy blanket covering you.  

“Why you...?” She whispers under her breath, Kelley moving to kneel down beside her a hand resting on her back, she too resting her head on the bed beside Alex’s.  

“We’re not leaving her.” Alex glares over her shoulder at the doctor, tears streaming down her cheeks.  

The doctor opens his mouth to deny her request, but one look into her blue, tear filled eyes he knows she’s not leave, a number of the other player in the group are quick to agree.  

He gives them a nod.  

“Okay, okay some of you can stay.”  

In less than 5 minutes the group talks the doctor into allowing each and every one of them to stay, going so far as to bring in a number of couches for them to sleep on, while of course, keeping a path to your bed clear.  

Everyone who will be coming to your room is informed of who those in the room are and that no one is to complain about the number of individuals in the room, most are honestly fearful considering there are a number of women in the room who could literally snap them in half.  

The veterans surround the bed, the other members of the team spread out around the room, younger members as close to the bed as they can be.  

Alex and Kelley have yet to at all leave the room, besides going to the bathroom to eventually rid their skin of your dried blood and change their blood covered clothes, but literally minutes after they were back beside your bed, their hands covering your own.

“She has to wake up.” Sonnett whispers, her arms wrapped around Lindsey who nods.  

“She has to.”  

Rose smiles.  

“Who else would we scare?” She lets out a watery laugh, Sam and Mallory grinning.  

“Remember when we hid in the shower? Scared her so bad.” Mallory giggles, the veterans even getting a small laugh.  

Alex laughs, a tear rolling down her cheek. She cups your cheek, running the pad of her thumb along your skin.  

“You have to be around to make more memories like that...” She whispers, the other players turning towards her.  

“So, you have to wake up, okay?” She whispers, more tears rolling down her cheeks.  

On the other side of the bed, Christen, Tobin, Ali and Ashlyn are looking down at you sadly, their hands resting on the flesh of your arm.  

“She will.” Christen whispers, gently stroking your arm.  

“She has to.” Ali nods, her bottom lip trembling.  

Meanwhile, you’re still unmoving in bed, fast asleep, but soon you’d be awake and reunited with not only your family, but your team.  

                                                            ***

Somehow, the entire team drifts to sleep from exhaustion more than anything, but hours later they wake to an insistent beeping.  

Alex and Kelley spring to their feet, eyes wide when they realize that a number of doctors and nurses have rushed in, pushing your teammates back to surround the bed.  

“Can you hear me Y/N?” The doctor asks, it’s then with wide eyes that Alex realizes, you nod.  

“Y/N?” She whispers and you glance around, mumbling, though you can’t really be understood thanks to the tube in your throat.  

“Let’s get that out honey.” One of the nurses whispers, as the doctor removes the tube from your throat causing you to cough softly, face scrunching up in pain.  

The second even a sliver of space is made, Alex and Kelley push their way towards the bed, the nurses stepping back to allow them to see their fallen comrade.  

“There she is.” Kelley whispers, gently cupping your cheek and you smile tiredly. 

“You’re alright.” You whisper and Alex grins, ducking her head to kiss your forehead.  

“Of course, we are...” She whispers against your forehead, kissing it again.  

“I didn’t know if I stopped him.” You mumble tiredly and Kelley shakes her head, placing her hand on your chest, over your heart.  

“You did. You did.” She whispers and you smile tiredly.  

“I would’ve done anything to keep you safe.” You whisper and Alex shakes her head.  

“We’re the ones who’re supposed to protect you.” She strokes your cheek and you smile, your body heating up from the medicine you hadn’t realize the doctor had increased.  

“You’re the baby after all.” Kelley whispers and your tired eyes crack open, just enough that they can see you rolling them.  

“I’m not the baby.” You mumble and everyone scoffs, you glaring around the room.

“Oh, you’re the baby sweetheart.” Ashlyn laughs and you growl, turning towards her.  

“Shut up.” You grumble, smiling when Sonnett, Mallory, Sam, Rose and Lindsey push their way passed the veterans, grinning.  

“There’s the Saucy Y/N we love.” Sonnett grins, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze.  

“A compliment from Saucy Sonnett herself.” Your eye lids flutter.  

“You need to sleep.” Mallory caresses your forearm, as do the other babies of the team.

“Not yet, I need to see you all...” You mumble sleepily, the babies of the team moving so your other teammates can see you.  

Julie and Alyssa dote on you, the goalie kneeling down to kiss the top of your head while Julie gently hugs your hand to her chest.  

The rest of your teammates are much the same, Carli leaning down to whisper in your ear to tell much how much she loves you and how much she’s going to be on your ass on your road to recovery, the woman giving your temple a kiss before moving so your other teammates can fill the gaps.  

The lovefest eventually ends, the veterans who were at first, surrounding the bed back to their original places.  

Christen leans down, kissing your forehead, Tobin following suit.  

“We’re just so happy you’re alright.” She whispers Tobin nodding as she gives your hand a squeeze.  

Ashlyn gently strokes your hair, smiling softly and lovingly down at you as your eyelids flutter.  

“You need to sleep now honey.” Ali cups your cheek and you grumble, leaning into her touch.  

“No...” You grumble and Megan rolls her eyes.  

“Stop being so stubborn.” She pokes the top of your nose and you giggle softly.  

“I’m not stubborn.” You mumble under your breath, turning towards Alex and Kelley who are both giving you a pointed look.  

“Please Y/N, you need to sleep.” Alex frowns and you sigh, eyelids fluttering.  

The forward surprises you by ever so gently placing a hand over the hole in your chest, Kelley quickly following suit.  

You smile softly, placing your hand on top of theirs.  

“Okay...” You yawn, your eyelids fluttering.  

“I love you guys.” You mumble, turning from them and glancing around the room. “All of you.”  

“We love you too.” Carli smiles and Sonnett jumps up from behind Tobin and Christen.  

“We all do.”  

You grin turning back to Kelley and Alex.  

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” You whisper softly and they both nod.  

“Of course.” Kelley smiles and Alex grins.  

“We could never leave you.” She leans down, kissing your temple and you smile, your eyes fluttering shut.  

The night had ended in a way none of you could ever expect, but you knew with Alex, Kelley and your teammates by your side, your family, you knew you would get through this.  

Once Royal Wolf - Chapter 1: The Perils of Mishandling Superheated Flour

Story Summary: Vesemir had been alive for a long time, he purposefully tried to forget his past. His life before being picked up by Barmin when he was 8 years old and his easy-going and promiscuous ways after start on The Path were times he tried to bury for various reasons.

With the recent changes in Kaer Morhen brought about by Geralt becoming Warlord of the North, he had been focusing on the present and the improvement of the Witchers within the Keep.

With the upcoming Progress to review the Wolf lands and building diplomatic ties having brought up the uncomfortable topic of Rivia. A place he had not been to for centuries.

He hadn’t counted on Ciri digging into his hesitancy and accidentally pulling someone from the past and into Kaer Morhen. Vesemir now has no choice but to face his past and deal with the person he has longed to see for so long.

Chapter Summary: There are downsides to not handling flour correctly

Notes: This story was inspired by my lovely Beta and co-author Randi and I chatting about Vesemir's past and about the things he got up to when he was younger.

This is the original prompt:

Randi: so even though he slept around in his youth and couldn't have gotten women pregnant everyone who kind of looks like him gets accused of being his because his brother had mistresses and bastard children

Me: It would be even better if they were identical with the only difference being a slight difference in eye colour

Randi: In my head the twins were identical

It sort of snowballed from there.

30/08/21: I finally decided to post this story on here. I have been meaning to but haven't gotten around to it until now.

Length: 3,651 words (7 pages)

Link to Ao3:

Date: 05/06/21 - 06/06/21 Time: 1:55 pm - 1:56 am

Today wasn't going well for Vesemir. He had a low-grade headache for the better part of the day that was very quickly turning into a migraine. It was originally caused by a lack of sleep and a series of strange dreams that didn’t quite feel like dreams.

He couldn’t fully remember them once he had woken. Remembering only bits and pieces instead.

Every time he closed his eyes he would see the inside of an expensive carriage. He decided to give up at that point. He wasn’t getting back to sleep. The migraine had gotten worse as the day progressed, small things that usually wouldn’t bother him were irritating him more than usual.

A young pup who had been struggling with the same flaw in his sword forms despite constant correction and hard work. The loud noises of his fellow Witchers as they went about their own training.

The Cranes had started a section on bomb-making with their chicks which resulted in somewhat frequent explosions that felt like they were rattling his skull.

The hustle and bustle of the various servants and inhabitants of Kaer Morhen as they prepared the Keep for the start of the Progress set to begin in a few weeks once the passes and The Killer had fully thawed out. All added to the relentless pounding in his head.

His back and knees were aching due to the lingering cold of the early Spring weather.

He sat down in the office above the Kitchen, resting his tired body and began to work on the mound of paperwork that went with ensuring newly medallion owning Witchers would have what they needed for their first years on the Path and reorganizing pack groups to include rookie Witchers among the Veterans.

Just as he had started to really make a dent, and his headache had started to go away, the rest of the council appeared at his door, bringing their own issues and needs. They still needed to work out who was going with Geralt, Ciri, Eskel, Jaskier and Yennefer on the Progress.

In no time, he was entrenched in discussing and mediating between the various parties and his headache was back with a vengeance. Jan needed input on the number of staff and the Witchers to remain in Kaer Morhen so he could meet the needs of those that remained while everyone was on the Path with the Progress.

At the same time, the same information would be needed to calculate the supplies needed for the Progress.

Livi needed to know how much coin would be needed for each person as well as who exactly would be staying and who would be going so no one would run out of coin and the staff would be where they were most needed.

In addition, she needed to know how often and where the Progress would stop so she could make plans to coordinate with sympathetic Lords and Ladies to ensure the Progress would be supplied as well as giving hosts warning as to when they could expect the Progress to enter their lands.

This would ensure the Hosts were at their best to meet their current and future leaders. Mouse also needed this information so she could place her spies and gather intelligence of the state of the Wolf Lands and the Kingdoms beyond.

Jaskier and Yennefer were trying to convince Geralt that stops outside the Wolf Lands would be equally important to Ciri’s future leadership and diplomatic efforts.

“She needs to be seen, Geralt. Not only as your Heir but a future leader of her people.” Yennefer insisted. Geralt glared at her, not willing to budge, not caring that he was being stubborn. He wasn't going to put his daughter in danger.

“Taking her outside our lands puts her at risk and potentially exposes her to the ongoing tensions and threats in the South. Nilfgaard is pushing towards Sodden and threatening to invade the North.” Geralt snapped.

“It’s bad enough I agreed to this endless nightmare of parties and diplomacy within our own lands; as you have repeatedly insisted it will help us get a better grip on the state of the people and their needs.

In addition, it will help unify the various countries and peoples but we don’t need to be going to other sovereign countries. That is just asking for trouble”

“You already agreed to Aedirn, Wolf” Eskel stated before Yennefer could say anything else.

“That was out of necessity. The only way to keep somewhat peaceful relations with Demavend,” Geralt glanced at Yen and Jaskier.

“As everyone has pointed out, has been to make a diplomatic visit with myself and Ciri present in his capital. I don’t have to like it, but I can tolerate it. However, I draw the line at Aedern.”

“But if we visit the capital of Aedern and don’t don’t go visit Lyria and Rivia, it will be a slap in the face for Queen Maev who has always been supportive of Witchers,” Jaskier added, staring at his husband with a raised eyebrow.

Vesemir’s headache was approaching full-on migraine territory. He paled slightly when Jaskier mentioned Rivia, not enough to be immediately noticeable.

Feeling his heart rate pick up, he thought for sure the other Witchers in the room could hear and scent his distress but so far it had gone unnoticed save for the very observant silent shadow of Ciri.

He smiled wanly at Ciri, hoping it would distract her from his distress.

Vesemir wasn’t… looking forward to visiting Rivia. It had been a long time since he had stepped foot in those lands. He left for good reason and tried to leave the past behind him.

The Progress would be leaving in a few weeks and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that, let alone a trip to the place of his birth.

If improving relations between their neighbour's and aid abroad for Witchers was the benefit and mission of this trip then he wouldn’t stop it.

However, it was something he was hoping to avoid himself as he hadn’t been home in 300 years.

“Vesemir what’s the matter?” Ciri asked. She had indeed noticed how distracted Vesemir had become since he had heard they would be stopped in Rivia for several days.

The others paused in their debate when they heard Ciri’s question. Now aware of Vesemir’s distress, Jaskier, Yen and Eskel became equally concerned.

Vesemir was never this distracted during council meetings and had been fine until this point as far as they could tell.

“Hmm… ah, just concerned as Rivia is very close to Sodden and the trouble with Nilfgaard potentially preparing to invade is all,” Vesemir replied, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice and scent.

He knew there was a very high chance they wouldn’t believe him. It was a valid concern but not the reason he was actually nervous.

He tried not to wince when he saw the looks the rest of the council were giving him.

“Vesemir, the Mahakam Mountains are to the west and the Desert to the South of Rivia. Poor conditions for the troops of Nilfgaard to march through and cause problems for us. Now, what are you actually worried about?” Eskel questioned, staring at his mentor. It was a very poor lie and the man clearly knew it.

Vesemir sighed, he looked like he was about to say something when there was a loud explosion from below, the force was enough to make the floor shake.

Vesemir grabbed his wine goblet and inkpot before wine and ink could end up on his paperwork, that was a mess he didn’t want to have to clean up.

“What the hell? The Cranes know better than to practice inside or near the Keep itself!” Vesemir snapped, getting up, using the explosion as a distraction from the inquiry he was suddenly facing.

“I’m going to have words with Einri and Byrtel.” He marched towards the door, having to back away when the door suddenly opened.

Letho stalked into the room dragging the completely flour-covered Crane Trainees Konrad and Rafal followed by a somewhat messier than usual Julita.

The three Witchers were coated from head to toe in flour. Letho’s scowl showed he was clearly not pleased with the two boys. Julita looked like she wanted to strangle Konrad and Rafal as well but was also struggling to hold back laughter at the same time.

Seeing the scowl on not only Letho’s face but Vesemir’s as well, the boys immediately tried to speak in their defence, only succeeding in talking over each other.

“We didn’t mean for it to go off in the kitchen. Please don’t punish us” Rafal pleaded.

“We meant to take it outside. I don’t understand why it went off in the kitchen,” Konrad added at the same time.

“Shut up” Letho growled glaring down at the two trainees. The boys' mouths quickly snapped closed. He had just stepped foot into the kitchen on his way to the hot springs to get a quick bite to eat and to see how Julita’s newest creation was coming along.

He had wanted to see if she had figured out the solution yet when Konrad and Rafal started to drag the very clearly overfilled bag of flour from the pantry and across the kitchen.

They obviously weren’t going as quickly as they would have liked. Julita had been on the way to the door to greet him when the bag of flour exploded from the friction.

Letho’s quick reflexes were the only reason he managed to get between Julita and the fireball caused by the superheated flour.

“What the hell happened?” Jan demanded, staring at the flour-covered trainees. They were burned in a few places and appeared to be bleeding a little from where their skin had cracked open from the heat of the explosion.

Letho was also a little singed but Julita, thankfully, looked perfectly fine though clearly very amused by how scared the two trainees were of her Uncle.

“These two idiots were dragging an overfilled sack of flour through the kitchen and it blew up. The flour somehow caught on fire. You're very lucky no one else was injured given the size of the fireball,” Letho growled in answer for the boys, now cowering not only from Letho’s anger but a very stern Jan as well.

Every Witcher, fully trained or not, knew to never mess with the human staff whether directly or indirectly. Just then, two older Cranes burst through the open door of Vesemir’s now very crowded office.

“Is everyone alright?” They immediately queried.

“We heard the explosion near the kitchens and just wanted to make sure everyone was unharmed.

“Ah, Einri, Byrtel so nice you could join us,” Letho growled when the two Cranes appeared. They looked a little concerned when they saw the state of the two boys and paled slightly at Letho’s words. Bad things happened when Letho was pissed.

“What on earth were you two doing, overfilling and dragging 50lbs of flour across the kitchen?” Byrtel questioned. He and Einri had told the boys to fill two five-pound containers they had been given with flour. Using what would commonly be on hand, they had to find a way to create bombs just using flour, cloth and string soaked in oil as these were items they would often have on the Path.

“This, boys, is why we told you to be careful in the kitchen and exactly why you shouldn’t overfill the bags of flour. The friction from the bag being dragged across the stone floor and it being pressurized from being overfilled caused it to explode.

The force of the explosion was likely the cause of the fireball. We’ve talked about the importance of keeping substances under pressure from exploding.

Next time pick the bag up,” Byrtel explained, not once taking his eyes off Letho who looked like he was contemplating strangling not only him but any Crane who stepped across his path.

While it was true Letho had mellowed out a little since he had rescued Julita he was still dangerous. Every Witcher and Human in Kaer Morhen knew Letho was very protective of his niece.

Anyone who hurt Julita had to face Letho and if they did hurt her they knew what was going to happen to them once Letho found out.

With his pounding migraine and the inquisition he was surely going to face from the Council for his previous distress prior, Vesemir decided to use this argument as a distraction and beat a hasty retreat from the room.

Now would be the perfect time to head to his quarters, make the room as dark as possible and lay down to wait for his migraine to go away.

He might even be able to catch up on the sleep he had missed the night before. Surely his anxiety around visiting Rivia was an overreaction to not getting enough sleep.

300 years was a long time and nothing was the same as it once was. Right?

End Note: Yes, I know this isn't the entire chapter. This chapter is almost 7 pages long. If you would like to read the rest of the chapter you can find it on Ao3 via the link at the top of the post.

Letting Go...

Tagged by @mrspaigeomega

I'm not tagging anyone because I'm taking too long to get these out and I feel like I'm bothering y'all. But mostly, I feel like I'm bothering everyone.

(Note: recently edited, 18+. Language, comfort, physical(may cause triggers), angsty. Normally, I don't write like this but the story got away with me. And new FC5 OC Penelope Thompson)

______________________

The evening set in, Jacob felt it, he didn't have to see a sunset to know evening was there. Jacob sat at his desk, blank stare at the paper work on his desk, it was another episode where he felt overtly anxious with his crowded mind. And some people of his past sat in the shadows, too bad they didn't stay in the past. Jacob especially didn't want to see remnants of Miller, and his parents as he stayed up too late. Or have them popping up like his chosen in the halls, or like her.

Deputy Penelope "Nelly" Thompson, who Jacob unfortunately was practically pried off of in a isolated incident, she struggled to breathe and failed to break his hold around her neck. After, Jacob couldn't really look at Nelly, he remembered why he did what he did. Matters were worse since he left a highly visible bruise on Penelopes neck, resistance members kept her away from Jacob. And he thought it best, Jacob wanted to block out everything as he walked away. He left quickly so as Nelly wasn't trying to follow him, or anyone else as he looked upon his hands.

It's not like Jacob would go back to choking the light from her, the incident was a giant sign no matter what, the things from his past would haunt and torture him. That he would finally let himself sink low, constantly the villain. Maybe the sinners were right, and he was just like what they painted him as, no matter what he affiliated. Regardless of what Joseph said, Jacob knew that this may be how he does himself in. Then wondering if he would snap again but who would be the unfortunate soul in his grasp next. The tormentors of his past won't stop popping up around him, and how he hated them. He was sorry, and regretted everything wrong he'd done, but it wasn't ever enough suffering, ever. These walls now felt smaller.

He didn't mean to do that, not to her, especially after the truce of peace in his bunker with the resistance members and civilians. On top of that Jacob appointed Nelly as their leader, she's supposed to be a Lieutenant. Here he almost snuffed her out unintentionally, somehow the peace was still here. More than likely everyone was afraid of him, really afraid.

Jacob obsessed, the Miller in his mind just wouldn't leave him alone, then when Miller touched him, Jacob lunged at the his former brother in arms who taunted him. If Miller wouldn't understand that Jacob wanted nothing to do with him, Jacob was going to have to deal with him. The Miller that haunted him did this a lot when it seemed like Jacob was doing good. He'd push and push til Jacob finally pushed back. This time Jacob had Miller tight in his hands as he tried to get away, soon Jacob's parents were trying to free Miller from Jacob's hold. It almost always played out the same way, Jacob attacks but Miller, then Miller is gone, long gone. And Jacob was left with the mess and try to explain himself, how was he to know.

The voices yelling didn't match his parents, Jacob didn't care as he threw a fist at them, but more of his father tried restraining him. Before Jacob knew it, a hand grabbed a fist full of his shirt then his father hit him. Bringing him back to reality. In the silence Jacob's chosen created space between him and Nelly, Jacob looked over at her as some of the resistance came rushing to her aid. Jacob was about to go to her as well, but one of his men prevented him. The feeling in his hands had Jacob realize it wasn't Miller but Penelope, he couldn't stay there, so he left to exercise himself to exhaustion. The hallway felt small before, but now it was almost claustrophobic, he was going to need space.

No one bothered him too much in the following weeks, though they still checked on both Jacob and Penelope. Jacob being monitored for any hallucinations, orders from the only doctor they had, wasn't much but the doctor did his best. Though, enough of the mental health stuff came from the Veterans Center, and tips from Veterans that joined Eden's Gate came in handy. The resistance kept Nelly away from Jacob, he wasn't ready to face her yet. Jacob made that a direct order. One of the women of his Gate informed Jacob that Nelly was fine, but that she still wanted to see him. Jacob said "out of the question", but that he was sorry for what happened, he didn't mean for it to happen. That was the only reply, even though Nelly asked every time she was around the Peggies that came to check on her.

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

'Nelly asked for me many times, I knew it was a matter of time till she would come. But the pictures in her medical report, I couldn't make it possible, I can't help what's wrong with me. All the scarred are left with is coping, and sometimes I'm not sure what is going on there. I can only push on, lead as best I can, and hope that at the end of this I'll see my brothers.

Penelope Thompson, Penelope was the only one I wasn't prepared for'.

Before her was Deputy Lyric Cain Haig, a problematic figure in my recent past and now, and now I have Deputy Penelope Thompson, I martyred me. I was gone, and explaining it to Penelope, would she see this mess I hide within myself. I'm constantly fighting me, that is something she didn't need to see, nobody needed to see it. But, would I start to see her here in my hallucinations as well, after a long while maybe I would. I had a few random people come to me in my head, I anticipated this, the most I could ever do is to ride it out. Some brought out the worst in me, my one regret is Penelope suffered one with me, and she's so damn insistent about seeing me.

"Does she just go for shit that is not good for her? Considering she came here, I suppose so", 'Penelope is like that disruptive, incessant Deputy Haig deep down. Though, I think back on those nights when Penelope was in here with me, holding me in her arms, or me holding her in my arms'.

"I can't fucking focus tonight", I get up from my desk to go sit on my bed, 'maybe I'll go to bed or something'. I look at my bed envisioning Penelope and myself, I sigh, because that's not making things better. 'Forget going to bed, I'll head to the gymnasium and work out, but who am I kidding, that wouldn't help. I'm feeling something I don't want to feel, I think I'll get to the gym, fuck waiting for these apparitions to fuck off. I swear this bunker has intensified something's, or maybe it was the bliss. Whatever it's bullshit, that's what it is'.

I change into my sweats, and grab some trainers before heading out. Walking the bunkers halls I hear everyone enjoying the close quarters and each other's company. The single men's and women's quarters are full of laughter. Then some of the married couples are kinda the same, an argument here and there, nothing serious. I started to wonder how Nelly was, from everyone in the bunker, I could only imagine she is well.

'Her soft smile with a bit of a dreamy look as she giggles, her dark brown eyes smiling. That stern look her eyes make when she's confused, concentrating or training. Her full lips, and that face she makes, the one that pokes her lips out even more-'. I quickly approached the gym so as not to keep thinking about Nelly.

Once I enter the gymnasium I go run laps, do a bit weightlifting after laps, push ups, sit ups, and a little circuit training to finish. I'd stay longer but I feel an audience peering at me, and I just didn't want to be someone's form of entertainment or judgment. Being under a human's gaze is different than an apparition, I know mostly what the apparitions are thinking. Human gazes made me uncomfortable now.

I never understood how Lyric could just go with the flow with that sort of thing, but maybe she was used to it. She was one of the top soliders in Marine Corps., I made it back to my room thinking of sister Lyric. I don't know why, 'the little sister I never wanted', much like Faith but I think she's deadlier. Then I wonder if I'd need all of these files after it all, I imagine not if we're all to build on a new world. I walk around my room reading all the files, but the sweat on my clothes was starting to bother me. I undress, tossing my soiled clothing into the laundry basket, leaving my sweat pants on.

At some point of reading files, I fell asleep. I woke hours later, I didn't dream which is great, my dreams only seemed to turn into nightmares. Or take me back to an old reality, but before I could left myself sink, I get off my bed to shower. Refreshing as ever, I welcome the hot water and scrub myself clean, afterwards I looked myself in the mirror thinking about getting rid of the beard. 'Nah, I still like it'. Towel around my waist comes off as I dress, I look at the time and I'm up super early, again. 'And it's fucking Sunday, so nothing is happening, or- fuck'. My door opened and quickly closed as I looked at the calendar, I turn to see Penelope, still by the door.

"Jacob, we need to talk" she stood there looking anywhere that wasn't my face, something was on her mind and she wasn't going to let it go. I wanted to go to her and touch her, have her wrapped in my arms once more but I don't dare. The look on my face fades, knowing that I really fucked up what could have been. Shes afraid and I'm the reason why, and I can't help her.

"Yeah, we should, Penelope. You want to sit down?" I ask, unsure if I should have asked that, but she sits on my bed. I register where she sat but wondered if she's ok with me next to her. I take a shot at sitting next to her and she's stayed, so I assume it's fine enough. She doesn't flinch or move away, but then she looks at me and we just look at each other.

"Jacob, are you ok?" I'm surprised, I couldn't respond to that, 'I suppose, I shouldn't be surprised, she's always been that was since we've been in the bunker'.

"Me? I know I'm not, but you-" I reach out to point at "it", my marks on her neck. She makes a face like what the hell then she sits up unzipping her hoodie to let me see. Not what I wanted but she seems ok, I'm not trusting that facade though. I gently touch, feeling the bruises, my eyes tracing as my hands are.

"Fuck, Penelope. How are you here? I'm surprised that you decided to come near me at all, babe.. Maybe this isn't good, may-" she pulled away before I could finish that sentence, she's gonna be a horses ass now. I exasperated this, or I'm yet to do so.

"Jacob! You've been through the wringer and each time we've been sleeping together you-" Penelope stopped and sat better and took a breath, she had point. 'Though, I didn't know I talked about others in my sleep'.

"You mentioned Miller, and during the incident you mentioned him, again. I just-" I couldn't help but stop her, I didn't want this to consume her.

"I know we talked about your boys, your family and I've been enamored with you, and especially that new years kiss. But Miller is my problem and I don't want that part of me consuming you, because it's only going to end badly. I care about you too much to let it get you like it's got me" I felt like I broke my heart, I'd rather not kid myself and cut her loose before things get worse. I felt like I did when I was homeless but worse because I wanted her, and a future with her and her family.

"Jacob" she said pulling me to her, I was weak and went to her, just once more I wanted to feel her kiss, once more feel her in my hands. And feel her holding me before I severed our bond.

Inside Duchess Meghan’s Emotional Farewell to Royal Life at a Private Engagement

It was supposed to be a quiet day off in the countryside until my phone went berserk—the staccato buzz I set for palace correspondence almost sending it off the table. “His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is delighted to announce the engagement of Prince Harry to Ms. Meghan Markle,” the November 27, 2017, email read, followed by a note inviting royal correspondents to join the couple for a special photo call to mark the occasion. A few road rules may have been bent to make the 80-ish mile drive from Oxfordshire to Kensington Palace—in traffic—but it was worth it. Standing by the lily-covered Sunken Pond as Harry shared his joy at finally finding his teammate, it was the perfect start to a chapter that would finally bring the royal family into the 21st century. Over the months and years that followed, I closely shadowed the work of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, getting to know the couple better through their humanitarian endeavors, engagements, and overseas visits. Their high-energy work ethic and passion for social justice attracted a new, more diverse demographic of royal watcher to the scene. As a young(ish), biracial royal correspondent, the change was exciting. And as their popularity grew around the world, so did a new golden era for the House of Windsor. Never did I expect that less than two and half years later I would be standing in one of the State Rooms at Buckingham Palace as the Duchess of Sussex emotionally bids much-loved aides farewell, with her flight “home” to Canada leaving in a matter of hours. But then, neither did the couple. After starting the year with a formal proposal to move into part-time working royal roles, and bring some much-needed privacy and safety to their family life, Harry and Meghan’s hopes were quickly dashed by an institution seemingly unable to accept change as a viable option (even though some royals across Europe—and even other members of the British royal family—have succeeded in balancing duties to the crown and individual careers). To say they were crushed is an understatement. It’s a decision that the couple still feel wasn’t necessary, but also wasn’t a surprise, given the lack of support they received as they were relentlessly attacked by sections of the British press with almost daily mistruths and hateful commentary. While recent tabloid coverage has made it seem like the Sussexes’ half-in-half-out bid was about wanting it all, the reality was a couple who were left with no other choice but to create their own change after being left to fend for themselves against impossible circumstances—even during her pregnancy. They knew something had to change, but they also didn’t want to stop supporting the queen. One can’t help but wonder if things might have been different if a family member or two had stood up for them during the darkest times. Despite the pain and difficulties behind the scenes, work has continued to be a priority for the duchess, who is excited to be carrying over her four royal patronages into the Sussexes’ new chapter. It’s also the reason why I was at Buckingham Palace's 1844 Room on Monday, having been invited alongside two other journalists to cover Meghan’s final engagement as a senior working royal: meeting 22 students who have received scholarships from the Association of Commonwealth Universities (ACU). As their royal patron—a role she took over from the queen in 2019—Meghan will continue to prioritize the organization even after officially stepping back on March 31, especially given her position as the vice president of the Queen’s Commonwealth Trust and a former scholarship student herself. In fact, Meghan’s time at Illinois’s prestigious Northwestern University, where she majored in international relations and theater, is what drew her to the ACU in the first place. “The value and importance of higher education is why it should be accessible to everyone, no matter your background,” she says. For Commonwealth Day, March 9, the ACU brought together some of their brightest minds for a private meeting with the duchess, ahead of their attendance at Westminster Abbey’s Commonwealth Service, where some would bear the flags of their countries. The students are all studying masters or PhDs in the U.K. after receiving scholarships from the ACU’s three programs—Commonwealth Scholars, Chevening Scholars, and the ACU Blue Charter Fellow. “That’s what so powerful,” says Meghan, a long-time champion of the importance of universal access to higher education. “This incredible union and the ability to gain so much knowledge and to be able to take that back home.” Chatting with the scholars, the duchess is eager to hear more about how their studies will contribute to tackling the many challenges our world faces today. As she talks with the students, it becomes clear that she’s already done her research on why each guest was invited. It’s inspiring to seeing someone so prepared for these types of engagements, as opposed to just showing up for the photographs. But Meghan doesn’t know any other way of doing it. “I think it’s so important to actually engage with people,”she explains.“I care about these things!” The ACU has seen over 90,000 scholars come through their administered programs, and those invited to Monday’s meeting represent 11 Commonwealth countries in total. Halima Ali, a lawyer from Kenya who is currently studying for her masters in energy and natural resources law at London’s Queen Mary University, says Meghan’s role as patron is hugely important. “For Commonwealth and also Africa countries,” she says,“to see her, her interest, her participation, means a lot to us.” Meghan seems particularly impressed as she chats with Archana Kaliyaraj Selva Kumar, a chemistry student at Oxford University, who has devoted much of her time to using her research to create a new sustainable energy-storing battery that can help communities back in India without wired power. She is also an advocate for helping more women get into science. “What an incredible role model you are,” Meghan tells her. “And seeing is believing. Others see you and ... seeing someone in that space is so inspiring.” During a conversation with a female PhD student from Kenya, Meghan’s eyes light up when the subject of sustainable travel comes up. “That’s something my husband is incredibly passionate about,” she tells the Sheffield Hallam University student. “During our travels to Botswana and different parts of Africa, we’ve seen the link between tourism and how much money is going outside of the country instead of back to communities. There has to be a symbiotic relationship.” For her own travels with Harry, Meghan prefers to move around in a way that allows them to integrate with the locals. “When we go to Botswana, we grab a backpack and pitch a tent!” Meghan laughs. “It’s not much, but that’s how we like it!” Standing at the side of the room, I spot Secretary General of the ACU Joanna Newman looking on proudly. She came to know the duchess well from their numerous ACU engagements and meetings together, and is excited about their relationship continuing long into the future. “She has been a fantastic amplifier of ACU messages to much broader audiences for us,” she tells me, adding that her patronage has given the ACU coverage in places they could have never reached before, including Harper's BAZAAR. She calls Meghan a powerful spokesperson, recalling how she started public conversations about the lack of Black professors and even period poverty.>“The headlines haven’t been about what our patron is wearing or the official engagement started at this time and ended at that time and there was a cup of tea in the middle, it’s about why we are doing what we do and why ACU exists. She’s been a real champion of the work that universities do.” The ACU meeting came at the end of what Sussex aides have nicknamed a “farewell tour” for Harry and Meghan—a chance to tie up loose ends at the palace while taking on a slew of final royal engagements. The itinerary has been packed, starting when I joined the Duke of Sussex in Edinburgh, Scotland, on February 26 as his sustainable travel initiative, Travalyst, entered its next development phase. The ambitious project will be a key component of the Sussexes’ philanthropic portfolio, and it’s become extremely clear just how important the cause is to Harry, who regularly takes part in meetings behind the scenes. Chatting with him one-on-one recently, I was struck by how knowledgeable he has become in this field; his many trips to Botswana inspired the beginnings of the initiative more than a year ago. As one of the attendees at the Edinburgh work summit whispered to me after his speech, “He’s about to change the game for good.” Reuniting after five days apart, Harry and Meghan’s showstopping arrival at the Endeavour Fund Awards served as a reminder of their ability to command the world’s attention. “Nothing to see here, just Meghan Markle showing the fuck out during her final round of royal duties,” wrote a Twitter user, as the pictures of the couple beaming under their umbrella went viral around the world. Inside the ceremony, the focus was firmly on the veterans being honored, all speaking highly of the duke, or Captain Wales, as he’s better known in the veteran community. It’s that mission to support servicemen and servicewomen that has seen Harry pledge to continue to support the community in his new non-working royal life, not just in the United Kingdom but also in North America too. The first task? Bringing the work of the Endeavour Fund and Invictus Games, both of which he helped establish, closer together. Harry’s lifelong commitment is why Saturday’s Mountbatten Festival of Music was a particularly difficult moment, wearing his Captain General of the Royal Marines uniform for the last time. Giving up his royal duties has resulted in his military honors coming to an end—a particularly tough pill to swallow and something that has been just as difficult for his wife to witness. It is, a source close to the couple tells me, a wound that will take time to heal for Harry. Meghan’s surprise appearance at an East London school for International Women’s Day and more traditional royal engagements such as Harry opening an immersive British motorsport museum alongside Lewis Hamilton (“There's nothing better than officially opening a building that is very much open,” the duke joked about the Silverstone Experience, which first opened its doors in October 2019) that rounded out what has been a roller coaster of a farewell visit for the Sussexes. Getting on with the work has always been what it’s been about for Harry and Meghan, but behind the smiles of the photos has been a vulnerable couple who are still very much hurting. Back at Buckingham Palace, the ACU students now en route to Westminster Abbey and Harry quietly slipping through the door to say hello, the reality—and the emotions—finally set in as I give Meghan a goodbye hug. She’s flying back to Canada on the last commercial flight of the day, eager to be back in Vancouver Island to be there when Archie wakes up. For a couple who only ever wanted to focus on their work and bring good to the world, it seems like an unnecessarily cruel ending to their royal lives. Forced to give up roles they’re incredibly proud of after sacrificing so much to get there. At this point, the grand Drawing Room is almost empty and tears that the duchess had been bravely holding back are free to flow among familiar faces. As she embraces some of the loyal staff she will most likely not see again, I can’t help but feel sad for the dedicated team members whose tireless efforts—to promote the couple’s work, launch landmark projects, and deal with the near-daily crises brought on by tabloid lies—have come to an abrupt end. Compared to other royal households, it was a smaller operation, with less resources than the more sophisticated offices at Clarence House and Kensington Palace, but in the short space of a year since setting up, Team Sussex had become like a family, looking out for the couple as much as they could. While the weeks and months ahead will no doubt present new challenges for the Sussexes, the couple genuinely feel a sense of excitement about what’s to come, which includes the freedom to work at a pace that suits them, no longer weighed down by protocol or threatened by toxic agendas. And while much has been (incorrectly) speculated about specific commercial endeavors they might be taking on, both Harry and Meghan are eager to get stuck into their work, which will still revolve around their humanitarian efforts and helping amplify the voices of young people around the world on a wide gamut of issues. “The terrain may be a little different but their priorities are exactly the same as before,” a well-placed source tells me. “Keeping the family, most importantly Archie, safe is what will make all of this worth it.” (x)

Calming my post-election anxiety with sweet sweet logic

So Trump is a wannabe dictator with crazy screaming fans who are headed toward violent armed meltdowns. What’s to stop him from going full dictator and refusing to leave office?

I’m glad you asked!

You see, the major difference between wannabe dictators and actual dictators is ALLIES. Dictators are surrounded with tight security, aided by the military, cheered on by media that they control, and are either helped, encouraged, or just ignored by other countries with the power to stop them.

Trump has charged the Secret Service money for the privilege of protecting him and his family since day one. You remember the first year, when his wife and son refused to move to the White House so the Secret Service had to RENT FLOORS in TRUMP’S BUILDING to be close to them? And how his extended family went globetrotting and the Secret Service had to accompany them? And when Trump himself insisted on hosting people at his golf club, he made the Secret Service RENT GOLF CARTS from TRUMP’S CLUB to follow him while he went golfing?

The end result was that halfway through the first year of his presidency, the Secret Service could not pay their own wages. Because half their yearly budget had gone straight to Trump’s pockets. And that’s just financially. I think we all remember how the White House came down with Covid and Trump still insisted on Secret Service agents driving him around to wave at people. He has not been kind to the people who are sworn to protect him. These people have had a front-row seat to his circus since 2016. When the time comes from Trump to leave the White House and Biden to take over, I doubt they’ll betray the country out of loyalty to Trump. If anything, they’ll be the ones to drag him out.

As for the military, Trump insulted and fired four generals from his administration staff. He said on multiple occasions that soldiers who get captured or killed are suckers and losers. He refused to visit a cemetery to honor the dead because it was raining. He tries to pander to the military by massive increases in defense spending, but that money goes to capitalists who make weapons and war technology, not the soldiers or veterans. (He also hypocritically accused military officials of being in bed with those same companies.) In a poll of 1000 service members 50% said they disliked Trump. Overall, he doesn’t act like a leader, and the way he skirts responsibility (like taking charge during the pandemic) doesn’t appeal to a group that functions on trust in their leadership.

A proper dictator would have spent the last four years cozying up to his generals and making sure they knew the financial and social benefits of answering to him personally, not the office of the President. And while Trump did adhere to the adage “find a foreign foe” to unite people against, he badly misjudged what most US citizens consider “foreign.” He hasn’t found a villain that we would root for the military taking down, and the people he targets (Latinx, Blacks, immigrants, and people in countries our military has already devastated) are not a minority he can turn the majority of the country against, especially with how many of the former two serve in the military themselves. When the time comes for him to leave office, the military might be the first to cut ties with the wannabe Dictator-in-Chief.

Now, the media. They’ve been treating him like a joke candidate since day one, but after he was actually elected and took office they’ve started to take him more seriously. He’s gotten his catchphrase “fake news!” to catch on, but that doesn’t change the fact that under his administration news reporters have been harassed, illegally arrested, and generally poorly treated by Trump, especially if they’re women. He’s trashed talked everyone, with Fox News being the last bastion of semi-legitimate news that openly supports him (and their credibility has taken a big hit over it.)

Despite this support, in recently months Trump has been increasingly dumping on Fox, even throwing the mediator they provided for the debate under the bus, and risking alienating them in the process. If his supporters listen to him and start considering Fox part of Big Fake News, it might possibly be the death of Fox, leaving most of his supporters adrift and isolated from their source of right-wing news, and sending the more extreme fringes into the arms of conspiracy theory websites. (I’m not saying this is bad, being cut off from Fox and its toxic stream of “information” can actually help rehabilitate the right.)

Honestly, I don’t think Trump ever had a shot at controlling the media like a dictator would, mainly because of social media. He’s in love with attention, and Twitter has provided him a nonstop stream of it. No other President has threatened, insulted, promoted, or hinted at war over social media the way Trump has, and he gets so much direct feedback and interaction with the public and the world as a result. He could have leveraged that by buying the company (through a shell corporation, obviously) and setting it up as The One True Source of Information, manipulating public perception of him and his administration by keeping a tight grip on what information he let out.

But he’s just. Not. That. Clever. He blurts out everything that crosses his mind, leaving his administration to play clean-up on his messes, put out fires he keeps pouring gasoline on, and claim he’s joking when everyone knows he’s testing the limits on what he can get away with saying. He took advantage of the direct communication with legions of supporters, but seemed to forget that his detractors had equal access and would absolutely call him out on things he definitely said, it’s right there on his Twitter account, they have the Tweet pulled up on their phone right now. Instead of operating a single state-run media outlet while crushing all free press and limiting internet access like other dictators, he’s mooned the world’s cameras and acted surprised when they put his saggy butt on tv. “Fake news! That’s not my butt! THIS is my butt! [image attached]” he tweets. “Twitter is so biased, they haven’t censored any of Sleepy Joe’s photos!” he later tweets.

And lastly. The key to a dictatorship’s success. To prevent outside intervention, the country a dictator runs must be unimportant and ignored, wealthy and well-connected, or scary and well-armed. Minor warlords are the former, Putin is the latter, Trump might have weaseled his way into being the middle. But at the end of the day, America’s whole thing is new leadership every four years. It was revolutionary to replace a lineage of kings and queens stretching generations with a non-royal elected leader who only held office for four to eight years, but we’ve stuck to that for 200 years and everyone’s used to it by now. It would take a charismatic and powerful person to move the American people towards abolishing such a basic tenant of our democracy, and despite the mob mentality that lead a small portion of his supporters to chant “sixteen more years!” in the heat of the moment, Trump is not that charismatic. He’s not that smart. He’s not that well-connected. He’s not that savvy. He’s not that good at politics. And he’s not that powerful.

(I was going to say something here about him being the laughingstock of the world’s leaders and shouldn’t expect any outsiders to help him stay in power, especially since his tax returns came out and showed he owes people a ton of money that he doesn’t have, but this post is long enough so let’s cut to the chase.)

Trump is a greedy, small-minded man that has clung to power by appealing to the worst in humanity and scraping away at the best. But he hasn’t succeeded. He’s a sad old man who will say anything to be loved, and I don’t think he even knows what love is, so he’ll settle for attention. He doesn’t have money, he doesn’t have an army, and the only allies he has are using him as a political pawn to further their own interests. They will cut him loose the minute he stops being useful.

Now, the bad part: crazy screaming fans. Fringe groups on the internet. Mobs chanting “sixteen more years!” Men with guns and bombs and kidnapping plots, men trying to get into voting centers to destroy the election, men driving trucks with black flags that say FUCK YOUR FEELINGS, TRUMP 2020 (available on Amazon for $11.99, I wish I was joking.) I have no idea how many people in this country genuinely love Trump. It is hopefully significantly less than voted for him. There are some big issues in this country that are make-or-break, and unfortunately by reason of running Republican Trump has aligned himself with some of them.

There are people who hate everything about Trump, but he put a pro-life judge on the Supreme Court so they’re voting for him. There are people who are uncomfortable with Trump, but they’ve forgiven their grandpa for saying worse at Thanksgiving dinner, so they’ll vote for him. There are people who don’t know a single thing about Donald Trump, but they see (Republican) next to his name on the ballot, so they vote for him. None of that means those people will side with him if he tries to make a move towards dictatorship.

Now there are people who love Trump. They’ve heard and seen the vile things he’s said and done, and are genuinely okay with it, because they are full of hate and rage and want to change the world to put themselves on top. I do not know how many of these people there are. I know they exist all over the country, not just in red states. I know some of them have guns and want a reason to use them, because they’ve been talking about it for decades. I don’t know if we can trust the police to side with us over them if fights start breaking out. (And I pray pray PRAY people de-escalate any fights, because monkey see monkey do, and one news report of a MAGA extremist shooting someone can inspire a hundred copycats can lead to full-on civil war like we've never seen.) I know we need to be careful the next few months, to take care of ourselves and watch out for the more vulnerable in our communities.

And above all, I know this: Trump is not going to keep this country. He got it through trickery and deceit and foreign influence and national indifference and people not taking him seriously. We’ve learned. We’ve grown. We’re taking him seriously now, and we will not let him take what we’ve already told him he can’t have. The election is over. He’s a loser. He’d better start packing his bags. Because he’s not staying in office.