#the vice president of the united states shot his friend in the face with a shotgun. and he was still vice president for two more years

[kenzie-ann27]

my favorite thing about the succession fandom is that kendall absolutely wasn't at fault for doddy's death, yet we all discuss it as though kendall meticulously planned his murder for years

#like. it really really only became a problem once logan covered it up #also like. there are tons of famous celebrities that have killed people and they're still rich and famous #the vice president of the united states shot his friend in the face with a shotgun. and he was still vice president for two more years #succession #kendall roy

[nehswritesstuffs]

Whouffaldi AU: Where Clara is an older school teacher nearing retirement. Her and 12 are still just as in love except that they both are silver haired now

1149words; idk about you, but the idea that these two could just keep going is a bit mindblowing just because it would require a lot of people to either ignore the fact that Twelve looks exactly the same or accept it; now I wish the middle-aged married couple that had been in my middle school was this cute

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The class filled as a couple dozen smallish humans rushed into the room, not wanting to be late. They all grinned as they sat down; it wasn’t their teacher sitting down at the desk, but the interim caretaker who had been there so long they surmised that “interim” was more of a joke than anything. He was sitting with his feet up on the corner of the desk, in a spot that was carefully chosen to not be covered in papers, and sunglasses sat high on the bridge of his nose.

“What’s all this, then?” he asked, motioning towards the room. “I didn’t think you all came in here for another few hours.”

“It’s time for class,” a boy in the front said.

“You must be all hell-bent on learning,” he replied. The caretaker took his feet off the desk and stood, moving so that he could sit on the front of the desk while looking out over the students. He moved his sunglasses to his brow and grinned. “What do you want to learn about today?” A tiny hand in the back shot up and he pointed towards the owner.

“Mum told me that you and Mrs. Oswald took care of her when the world got covered in plants! Was that true?”

“Mostly—there were some other involved, but yes, it was mostly us.”

“Is it true that you know the Vice-President of the United States?!”

“One of the women who is running for President, yes,” answered a voice. The caretaker and the students all glanced towards the door and saw the actual teacher—Mrs. Clara Oswald, a legend in the East End school—walk in, a stack of papers in her arms and amusement on her face. “She sat in this very room, even.”

As the children grew starry-eyed, the two adults pecked their lips together. Clara set the papers down on a table and walked over towards the whiteboard, pulling back some of her greying hair behind her ear.

“Now,” she started, “who is going to prove to me that they actually did the reading assignment? Show of hands?” All the students raised a hand. “Good; now, let’s start off strong. Tell me why Anne was in love with Diana. Anyone?” A tiny hand shot up and she pointed to it.

“Diana was the first person her age who she really connected with,” the hand’s owner claimed. “Before, she was always taking care of younger kids, but when she got to be with Diana, she instead had a friend, and she had to figure out what that was.”

“Did it feel like that when you and Mr.Oswald first started talking?” another student asked. Clara chuckled and shook her head.

“No, it felt very different,” she said. “We were both younger back then—brown hair, a knack for trouble, a bit too much flirt in our step—and it took a very insistent matchmaker for it to happen.”

“I almost lost her,” he claimed, “because I thought she was merely the only mystery worth solving. Turns out, there was nothing to solve, and before I knew it, we were the Doctor and Clara, here at Coal Hill, making sure generations of Shoreditchers don’t end up with pudding for brains.”

“I thought Mrs. Oswald said you didn’t have a doctorate,” a student snickered.

“It’s just not valid in England,” he bristled. The tweens all snickered as the caretaker began to pout.

“My auntie is still called ‘Doctor’,” a student towards the back offered, “and she went to school in Aberdeen. Just because you went to school in Scotland shouldn’t mean anything.”

“That is quite enough, class,” Mrs. Oswald chided gently, effectively ending the conversation. “Now let’s allow Doctor Oswald to get going on his own work. There is plenty he needs to do before the final bell.” She gave the caretaker a another quick peck on the lips and a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll see you after school.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. The caretaker made a comically-rude gesture to the children before leaving the room—now erupted into giggles—after which he was almost immediately confronted by the headmaster in the corridor.

“I’ve been trying to find you for nearly an hour,” the headmaster frowned. “There’s a toilet in two-west that’s acting up again.”

“That sounds like a terrible state,” the caretaker said. “I’ll see if I can get to it.”

“...by the end of the day,” the headmaster insisted. The caretaker shrugged and walked away, not confirming whether that would be the case or not.

In the end, the toilet fixed itself (“I’ve told him to just wait a moment”), there was a sweep of the grounds for unsanctioned extraterrestrial life (the Trion Twins in Fifth Form were exempt; they were Lethbridge-Stewart’s problem), and there was even a rewiring of the outdoor floodlights accomplished before the final bell rung for the day. Tweens, teens, and adults alike all left the building with varying levels of excitement and weariness, with eventually only Mrs. Oswald and the caretaker in the campus. She stepped into his office once she was all done with her marking for the afternoon to find him perched on a stool while he finished the soldering of a circuit board for the automatic overnight sweeping system.

“Adrian told me you were avoiding him today,” she tutted. He shrugged at that.

“He was being annoying.”

“He’s the headmaster, Doctor,” she scolded. “Part of his job is to make sure that the rest of us do our jobs. That’s what we do here, you know.”

“He should know by now that I’m not exactly your run-of-the-mill caretaker.”

“Considering you haven’t aged a day since first stepping though the doors, I think he’s figured it out by now.” She hugged him from behind and leaned against his back as he continued his work. “When I said that I wanted to have a normal life too, I didn’t think you’d stick around all this time.”

“What’s three years?”

“Doctor, it’s been thirty,” Clara reminded him. He put down the soldering pen and shifted in his seat so he could turn around, a grin on his face.

“Thirty? It can’t be.”

“It has, you rascal,” she laughed. Her arms draped around his neck and his hands rested on her waist. “We’ve been doing this for over thirty years. How can you not tell?”

“Not tell what?”

“That it’s been thirty years.”

“How can I ever tell if time’s passed if you look the same as when we started travelling together?” he openly pondered. She chuckled slightly before leaning in to kiss him, both of them holding on by the other’s silver hair.

“Doctor…?” she breathed against his mouth.

“Yes, Clara…?” He stared at her as she snapped her fingers, the TARDIS materializing in the middle of the room for them.

“Let’s go see some planets.”

“Whatever the lady wants.”

#Whouffaldi #Whouffle #Clara Oswald #Twelfth Doctor #Doctor Who #fan fiction #replies #Greyface replies #you just know that by this point they'd be Mr. and Mrs. Oswald even if it just started due to a misunderstanding #I feel bad for whatever poor Lethbridge Stewart inherits this mess lol

[96thdayofrage]

The Moment King was Slain: How Opposition to Capital and Unification of the Poor Sealed his Fate

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., civil rights legend and leader of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, is murdered, the evening of April 4, 1968 at 6:01pm by an assassin’s bullet outside his room, #306, on the 2nd floor balcony of the Lorrain Motel in Memphis Tennessee. This brutal act shocks the conscience of the nation and the world. If a picture is worth a thousand words, this photo by Joseph Louw, the only photographer on the scene that day, is taken just minutes after the infamous shot rang loud.

King’s body lies in a puddle of blood caused by a-single-kill-shot to the head, which struck him on the right side of his face splintering his jawbone and severing his carotid artery. Reverend Ralph Abernathy, Vice President at Large for the SCLC, and close friend of King, is standing to the right of a Memphis police officer, having just placed white cloths over King’s wounds in a futile attempt to slow the bleeding. Abernathy is flanked by a panicked group of concerned associates and staff members including the renowned Rev. Andrew Young, Executive V.P. of the SCLC; and, Jesse Jackson. The young woman in the photo is turned back toward Louw with an expression of shock, fear and bewilderment, which encapsulates the horrors of this historic moment frozen in time.

In March 1968, after months of traveling the country gathering support for his Poor People’s Campaign, MLK arrives at the behest of his friend and fellow civil rights activist, Rev. James Morris Lawson, pastor of The Centenary United Methodist Church, in Memphis Tennessee. King then leaves Memphis to address the concerns of poor people in Mississippi. By this point, MLK had dedicated years of his life to the struggle for civil rights in the United States: From the 1956 marches in Montgomery Alabama to desegregate city-buses; to the 1965 marches in Selma for the right to vote.

On April 3, the day before his murder, King returns to Memphis to deliver the now famous I’ve Been To The Mountain Top speech, arguably one of the most profound and prophetic sermons of his life. In the speech, King seemingly prophesizes his own death: “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned with that now.” King had spent months of exhaustive travel, crisscrossing America, fighting for the rights and dignity of poor people of all colors. This issue, the defense of the poor and their dignity, has always been problematic: the unification of the poor and demands for social-justice have historically stood as a threat to the establishment in the United States.

MLK and his movement of non-violent-civil-disobedience had come to symbolize that very threat. In fact, the movement demanded that Pres. Lyndon Baines Johnson end the Vietnam War and use the money domestically, by giving it to those that need it the most: America’s poor. MLK quickly becomes, in the eyes of America’s power elite, i.e., government officials and American business interests, a very dangerous man. In 1964, LBJ, under pressure from MLK and his movement, ends segregation with the Civil Rights Act and institutes a Voting Rights Act in 1965. That said, under both the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI tracks King’s every movement for years, up until the moment of his death.

By the time King delivers his address in Memphis, on March 18, at the Bishop Charles Mason Temple, more than a thousand African-American sanitation workers walk off the job – after being savagely underpaid, brutally mistreated and forced to work in filthy conditions. To a rousing crowd, MLK calls for a general work-stoppage using non-violent-civil-disobedience. King states: “Don’t go back on the job until the demands are met.” On March 28, Memphis sanitation workers strike and thousands march alongside them bearing the slogan: “I Am A Man!” After The National Guard is brought in, and brutal and aggressive tactics by police are unleashed on demonstrators, Mayor Henry Loeb dismisses the workers’ demands and refuses to recognize their union. Fifty-seven-days after the strike began; Loeb is finally willing to talk. On April 16, just weeks after King’s murder, the workers’ demands are ultimately met.

This photo of MLK dead on the ground represents the loss of one of the greatest proponents of human rights in world history – not only for his people, but for all people of conscience. The SCLC was like an aggrieved family that had lost its father. Rev. Ralph Abernathy poignantly states: “I’m not concerned with who killed MLK, I’m concerned with what killed MLK,” referring to America’s long and brutal history of violence and racism. On April 8, 1968, a symbolic march takes place in Memphis, a profound gathering of resilience, homage to King’s life and struggle, led by his widow Coretta Scott King and their children. That struggle continues to this day.

[hey-there-love]

Foolish

Summary: Being the new kid is tough right? Try moving across the world to attend the elite hero course at U.A. Unfortunately, following the path of the straight and narrow is difficult when you have a first ball of death throwing twists in it. Nobody said it was going to be easy. New experiences, new interests, new friends...what could go wrong...right? (It’s all cute at first until the smut shatters it...not right now though ;) )

Chapter 1: Welcome, Y/N

Content warning: adult language, cringy situations

Word Count: 1.6K

You let out a sigh as you stood infront of your new dorm, Heights Alliance. U.A high school was Japan’s best school for up and coming pro hero’s and you were chosen to attend. You never thought you’d see the day where you’d finally walk the halls of the prestigious school.

Being a native from the United States, it had always been your dream to attend U.A ever since you watched a sports festival two years ago, unfortunately you never peaked the interest of anyone with your admissions. That was until an earthquake caused by a villains powerful quirk had changed your life.

Long story short it was a normal day at your respective internship with America’s number 3 pro hero, Hopewing, on patrol. A devastating earthquake began and you single handly rescued civilians from a restaurant that caught on fire with no casualties. The villain was apprehended quickly, but an extensive search and rescue mission was done to recover victims of the earthquake. You didn’t think it was a big deal, you were just doing your job, but news outlets picked up on your heroic act and it spread like wild fire.

Countless offers began to stream in for different agencies and schools all across the country. With multiple letters of recommendation, a distinct offer from your dream school rolled in with a promise to be taught in the central . Even if you hadn’t fantasized about attending U.A, you would have been insane to not take the offer.

So, after finishing out your first year at Elite High School you uprooted, packed up your life, and traveled across the world . Classes started next week and nervous was an understatement. You had anxiety as soon as you touched down in Japan. Things here were different. On top of you being a new student in a foreign country you were living in dorms with your classmates.

You always lived at home with your mother and father , never sharing a space with someone else let alone 20 new people who all shared different quirks and attributes. It was nerve wracking, some were going better than you, who knows what level everyone is on. Your anxiety was making it hard for you to breathe. What if-

“Y/N. Did you hear me?” Mr. Aizawa interjected.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir, I kinda zoned out.” You squeaked. Never in a million years you would have thought that when you were told that your home room teacher was picking you up from the airport and taking you to your dorms that it would be the pro hero Eraser Head. You jaw had hit the floor.

“You know Y/N,” he began, “It’s okay to have anxiety about your situation, but I assure you this is the group of kids to share classes with. They are the best this school has to offer. They can teach you a lot.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded.

“Come on, let’s go. Iida and Yaoyorozu are waiting to help you settle in.” He said grasping, one of your suitcases. You took a deep breath and followed your home room teacher up the front stairs. As you walked into the doors, you were greeted by two people. One was a tall man with black hair, glasses, and crazy huge calves and the other was lean woman with a luscious black ponytail and the sweetest smile.

“Ah! There you two are! Welcome to U.A! My name is Tenya Iida, Class 2-A representative and this is Vice President Momo Yaoyorozu.” The man in the glasses announced, smiling widely. He spoke rigidly and bowed.

He threw you off at tad bit with the formality. He talked like he was a politician running for office. “Hey, I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you both.” You extended your hand awkwardly since you were holding your carry on and a box. He gave you a firm handshake.

Yaoyorozu smiled and shook her head, “Iida, our classmate looks like her hands are full. Take her box big guy.”

“Oh, right! Sorry about that!” Iida took the box and your suitcase from Mr. Aizawa. You were grateful because it was getting a little heavy in your arms.

“Well Y/N, you’re in capable hands with these two. I’ll leave you to it.” Mr. Aizawa turned on his heel to leave. “Come to my office 30 minutes before class on Monday and we’ll go through your schedule and get you a map of campus.” He called over his shoulder.

Just like that Aizawa the security blanket was gone and you were left alone with the two. They seemed nice, so hopefully the rest were the same. “Alrighty let’s head on up.” Yaoyorozu suggested. Your trio approached the elevator. “So, this is Class 2-A’s dormitory. There are 5 floors in total. The first floor are where the common rooms are located. Including the kitchen, study area, and the gym. Floors 2, 3, 4, and 5 are dorms. Our bathrooms are communal pertaining to who lives on each floor.” She explained.

Holy crap, this place was huge to say the least. You were excited to explore everything, especially the gym but that would have to wait until the jet lag wore off.

“I’ll tell you ahead of time Y/N, everyone is excited to meet our new classmate. If you ever get overwhelmed then instruct them to give you some space. They all can be quite a lot sometimes.” Iida warned, pushing his glasses up on his face.

“I’m sure I will be okay! I’m just happy to finally be here.”

Yaoyorozu gave you an award winning grin. “I’m happy for you too. Someone as talented as you belongs at U.A.” You felt a blush creeping on to your neck.

“Please stop, you’re being too kind. I’ve actually researched the both of you. You guys are so amazing and your quirks are insane!” You replied.

“Well, we appreciate it. So, we’ll bring your things up to your room, give you some time to freshen up, and then head down stairs to meet the others in an hour?” Iida said as the elevator reached the 4th floor.

You agreed as you stepped out and had a look around. The floor was in the U shaped. Next to the elevators was the bathrooms and the entrance branched out into two hallways.

“For obvious reasons the boys are on the right hall and the girls are on the left hall. Your neighbors on this side are Uraraka and Ashido, while the boys are Shouji, Kirishima, and Bakugo.” Yaoyorozu said and lead you to the third door down. She unlocked your door and handed you the gold key.

Iida opened the door and allowed you two to walk in before him. You were sure the big grin on your face was visible miles away.

“Now, I know it’s not much right now, but I wouldn’t stress about unpacking just yet. I’m sure you’ll recruit some help after dinner.” Iida said and sat down your things.

“Thanks guys, I’m going to go wash off this traveling and I’ll see you then.” You smiled. Iida bowed and Yaoyorzo waved before exiting. You quickly made your way to the bed and plopped down, absolutely beat. You began to take in your new home. The white bed frame was against the right wall, matching colored desk was placed against the left wall. There was a giant window on the back wall facing your door and in the corner was a small closet with low dresser inside

You looked around at all the boxes wondering if all your things would fit in this room. Maybe a little unpacking wouldn’t hurt. You opened your two suit cases and began hanging up clothes, organizing sleep clothes, undergarments, and socks in the drawers. Once that was done you began to search for your travel sizes hygiene products, making a mental note to go out for the essentials tomorrow.

Once that was located, you decided to pick out an outfit to wear. Since you arrived in sweat pants and an old t-shirt of your moms; you wanted to look semi decent when you met the others. You went for a simple pair of black jeans and your previous alma mater’s sweat shirt.

You grabbed your phone planning to text your parents that you’ve settled in and made your way to the bathroom. You began to type out a message as you neared the threshold.

Not paying attention as you rounded the corner you crashed into something hard...someone hard.

“Oi, pay attention!” He yelled as everything you were carrying flew onto the floor around you.

“Oh shoot, I am so sorry!”

You both simultaneously began to reach down to pick up your things and bumped heads.

“Fuck. Are you a clutz or something?” He growled holding his forehead. The impact caused you to see two pairs of red eyes glaring at you.

“Look, that was definitely my mistake. I apologize.” Your vision began to come back together and you started to get your things. He reached for the jeans and handed them to you.

You both stood up and then you realized how handsome he was. Spiked ash hair covered his head like a crown, crimson eyes, full lips, and a strong jaw line.

Wow...they definitely make them different in this country.

“Tch, you got a staring problem or did you knock something loose, dumbass?”

“My name’s Y/N, not dumbass.” You shot back, annoyed. He stood silently, shaking his head, and began to chuckle. “What’s so funny?” You questioned.

“Um...you’ve got...” was all he said before pulling the black thong with a cherry print from your shoulder and holding it infront of you with one finger.

“Oh my god.” You squealed and ripped it from his hand. He continued to laugh and walked out of the bathroom. You ran straight to the shower and locked the door. You sank to the floor with your hands covering your face.

Great. I’ve been in Japan for an hour and I’ve already embarrassed myself.

#bnha #bnha x reader #mha #my hero academia #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou

[deadpresidents]

“I know Joe. He is a profoundly decent man, guided by faith. He was a terrific Vice President. He knows what it takes to rescue an economy, beat back a pandemic, and lead our country. And he listens. He will tell the truth and trust science. He will make smart plans and manage a good team. And he will govern as someone who’s lived a life that the rest of us can recognize.

When he was a kid, Joe’s father lost his job. When he was a young Senator, Joe lost his wife and his baby daughter. And when he was Vice President, he lost his beloved son. So Joe knows the anguish of sitting at a table with an empty chair, which is why he gives his time so freely to grieving parents. Joe knows what it’s like to struggle, which is why he gives his personal phone number to kids overcoming a stutter of their own.

His life is a testament to getting back up, and he is going to channel that same grit and passion to pick us all up, to help us heal and guide us forward.

Now, Joe is not perfect. And he’d be the first to tell you that. But there is no perfect candidate, no perfect President. And his ability to learn and grow -- we find in that the kind of humility and maturity that so many of us yearn for right now. Because Joe Biden has served this nation his entire life without ever losing sight of who he is; but more than that, he has never lost sight of who we are, all of us.

Joe Biden wants all of our kids to go to a good school, see a doctor when they’re sick, live on a healthy planet. And he’s got plans to make all of that happen. Joe Biden wants all of our kids, no matter what they look like, to be able to walk out the door without worrying about being harassed or arrested or killed. He wants all of our kids to be able to go to a movie or a math class without being afraid of getting shot. He wants all our kids to grow up with leaders who won’t just serve themselves and their wealthy peers but will provide a safety net for people facing hard times.

And if we want a chance to pursue any of these goals, any of these most basic requirements for a functioning society, we have to vote for Joe Biden in numbers that cannot be ignored. Because right now, folks who know they cannot win fair and square at the ballot box are doing everything they can to stop us from voting. They’re closing down polling places in minority neighborhoods. They’re purging voter rolls. They’re sending people out to intimidate voters, and they’re lying about the security of our ballots. These tactics are not new.

But this is not the time to withhold our votes in protest or play games with candidates who have no chance of winning. We have got to vote like we did in 2008 and 2012. We’ve got to vote early, in person if we can. We’ve got to request our mail-in ballots right now, tonight, and send them back immediately and follow-up to make sure they’re received. And then, make sure our friends and families do the same.

We have got to grab our comfortable shoes, put on masks, pack a brown bag dinner and maybe breakfast too, because we’ve got to be willing to stand in line all night if we have to.

Look, we have already sacrificed so much this year. So many of you are already going that extra mile. Even when you’re exhausted, you’re mustering up unimaginable courage to put on those scrubs and give our loved ones a fighting chance. Even when you’re anxious, you’re delivering those packages, stocking those shelves, and doing all that essential work so that all of us can keep moving forward.

Even when it all feels so overwhelming, working parents are somehow piecing it all together without child care. Teachers are getting creative so that our kids can still learn and grow. Our young people are desperately fighting to pursue their dreams. And when the horrors of systemic racism shook our country and our consciences, millions of Americans of every age, every background rose up to march for each other, crying out for justice and progress.

This is who we still are: compassionate, resilient, decent people whose fortunes are bound up with one another. And it is well past time for our leaders to once again reflect our truth. So, it is up to us to add our voices and our votes to the course of history, echoing heroes like John Lewis who said, “When you see something that is not right, you must say something. You must do something.” That is the truest form of empathy: not just feeling, but doing; not just for ourselves or our kids, but for everyone, for all our kids.

And if we want to keep the possibility of progress alive in our time, if we want to be able to look our children in the eye after this election, we have got to reassert our place in American history. And we have got to do everything we can to elect my friend, Joe Biden, as the next President of the United States.” -- Michelle Obama, 2020 Democratic National Convention, August 17, 2020.

#Michelle Obama #2020 Election #Presidential Election #Politics #ELECTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES #Joe Biden #Biden 2020 #Biden/Harris 2020

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

SHOOT HIM DOWN.

Obispo “Bishop” Losa x Reader

Anon asked: heello, i would like to request an imagine with bishop losa in which he comforts you after having a nightmare of losing him (you two aren’t dating yet).

Word Count: 1.6k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. The gif isn’t mine.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @arved 💥 (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

The vibrant sound of two shoots wakes you up in tears. You feel like you're drowning with no air in your lungs, while the anxiety is making your body a prey. Everything happens so fast that you can't react, placing your knees against your chest and surrounding them with your arms.

“Hey, hey! What's up, querida?” Bishop asks desperate and sleepy, holding you into him, leaving some kisses on your head. But your vocal chords don't work.

He hugs you warm and tightly, in silence, listening to your cries knowing that you had a nightmare. You're trembling under his arms, with your tears wetting your shirt. You can't remember when was the last time you had a bad dream, but this has been the worst by far.

The mexican forces you to lie in bed, resting your head on his chest, while he leaves some caresses on your hair. You don't fall asleep again, trying to calm yourself with his peaceful breath and making sure his heart continue beating.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

His hand placing on top of your makes you raise your eyes to his. Bishop is worried, holding your fingers with his own, to make you drop the spoon inside the mug. He knows you're not gonna tell him what happened last night, and that you're not gonna accept a day off of the Romero Bros. You need to go out of your house and keep busy your mind. But he's worried and you can see it on his face. He leans on the table to give you a soft kiss, taking his time with his lips on yours. You're containing a tear, so as not to make him feel guilty.

“I'll see you at the club, ok?” He says getting up before leaving a last caress on your chin. You nod in silence having a drink of your coffee.

You see him wearing the vest, taking his helmet and the motorbike' keys, to leave your house. Waiting till he sounds far enough, your crying appears again lying against the chair. Dreaming about Bishop being shot it's not something you can handle well, and it's more painful 'cause you know that this really could happen. You feel your heart being oppressed again, with your chest going up and down so fast that you're short of breath.

Sometimes you wish you didn't feel anything for him, because he's more into your bed than into your life. And yes, maybe he's your friend but what you want it's no something that it's gonna happen. So you're taking a decision, even if it's selfish. But you need it.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

Parking your car at the entrance, you walk towards the yard, crossing the opened door of the clubhouse. Creeper goes out of the bar, intercepting you between his strong arms with a soft smile. Because of that, you know that Bishop talked to him. Whenever you have a problem, Neron hears you and advises you. But not this time. Pulling him away, you continue your way to the Templo. The president and the vice are there. They look at you confused, while you close the door in silence.

You place your hands on the headrest of the first chair in front of them, lying your head down for some seconds, till you find the strength to talk.

“I'm gonna leave Santo Padre”.

The men leaning on the table, with their arms against the edge of it, stare at you with a raised eyebrow waiting for an explanation.

“I'm gonna wait till you find someone to do my job, then I'll leave”.

“Why?” Taza asks, knowing that Bishop can't talk right now without destroying everything in his path.

“I need it”.

“Someone has bothered you?”

“I need it”. You reply without more words than those one.

“Fine”. Bishop talks hiding his fury under a calm facade. “You can leave now, Letti can help Chuckie”.

“I can st...”

“You need it”. He had a smoke of his cigar looking away.

Nodding in silence with pursed lips, you take out of your bag the green shirt, leaving it on the table before going out of the Templo. The guys have listened, and you know it by the upset gesture on their faces. But nobody says anything 'cause you made your choice and you're not gonna change your mind. They hug you, and kiss you, and ask you to call and text every day. Yes, you're gonna do it. And probably you will come back to visit them, even if you don't know what you are going to do, or where are you going to live.

Creeper tries to stop you, grabbing your hand with reddened eyes, shaking his head and refusing to let you go. Your trembling lips leaves a dearly kiss on his cheek, swallowing hard before releasing you from his grasp. Then, you walk to your car containing the tears, driving to your house.

There are a lot of open wounds inside you, bleeding and making you cry, while you're stuff is being packed on cardboard boxes. But, how can you keep ten years of your life in the trunk of a car, in less than two hours? Leaving a heavy sigh floods the main room, you pack some Bishop's things in a bag, having a last breath of his smell on a black shirt. You're being selfish, and you can't help but think in the first time he came to your house, after a long ride from Tacoma. He took off his clothes and slept with you for more than twelve hours, with him surrounding your body tightly.

Some angry knocks on the front door push you out to reality, shaking your head for a moment. Then, stop. But some seconds after, it happens again. You don't know how the fuck you're gonna explain to Creeper why are you leaving, but when you open the door and find Bishop there, you feel that your world starts to fall down again.

“'You fucking serious?” He demands walking inside without asking.

Closing the door, you rest your forehead against it.

“It's 'cause what happened last night, ah?”

“I'm busy”. You say turning at him.

“No, you're not!” He kicks the small table, breaking one of the legs with all the anger he has inside him. You jump slightly for a second. “'The fuck you think you're goin'? 'You really think that you can simply leave me?”

You've never seen him so furious and desperate. But his words confuse you, making you laugh bitterly.

“I'm leaving Santo Padre, not you. 'Cause we don't have anything. You just... come here to fuck me. And with some luck, you stay to sleep”.

“That's what you think? That you're like... one of Vicki's bitches?”

“I didn't say that, don' misrepresent my words”.

“You're not gonna leave me”. Bishop points at you with his forefinger, taking some steps closer to you, the same as you back off.

“Who the fuck do you think I am? One of your men? I'm not a fuckin' Mayan, Obispo. You don' decide on...”

“You're mine!” He yells at you furious opening his arms highlighting his words.

Even if you don't want, you shake your head starting to cry. He sighs walking towards you to wrap your body, lifting up his chin to resting it on your head. You let go everything you were carrying inside your chest, unable to move a single inch till you feel needy of having him closer.

“Tel'me what happened, please. Tel'me what 'am doin' wrong”. He begs you.

“I can't lose you”.

Bishop snort pulling you away looking for your eyes. He seems confused, but it takes him some seconds to know what's happening. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he crosses his arms.

“You're not goin' anywhere, you're stayin' in Santo Padre, 'cause you promised me. And I swear I'll be safe, and I'll call you when I'm out”.

It sounds like you don't have any choice, hearing how he clicks his tongue.

“You're not a hot pussy where I put my cock in, when I need it. You're not one of my men. You're not one of my workers. You're that... shit the crew call ‘Old Lady’, as if I were the fucking president of the United States”. He says then, holding your hands with his. “And, fuck! I need you, querida”.

Yes, you know about Bishop' past. And you told him you were gonna stay by his side, when he came in the middle of the night, two years ago, after lost one of his best friends.

“Please, don' go, (Y/N)”.

You nod, cleaning the trail that your tears left with the back of your hands, with him leaving a kiss on your forehead, and a hand on your nape.

“What if you rest a little? I'll help you this evening to unpack your stuff”. Bishop asks with caressing your left cheek. “I'll take your keys, so I can make a copy. And when I come back, I wanna find you wearing one of my shirts, okay?”

You nod again, before he presses his lips on yours in a dearly kiss having some seconds to enjoy it.

“I gotta' go, but I'll be back in a couple hours, mi amor. Go to sleep”.

#mayans mc #mayans mc x reader #mayans x reader #mayans mc imagine #bishop losa imagine #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa

[hookedonapirate]

Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States. 

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again. 

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​ for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld​ for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon​ for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?” 

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right? 

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase. 

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender. 

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table. 

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.  

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league. 

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman. 

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists. 

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?” 

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does. 

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away. 

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him. 

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior. 

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter. 

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell. 

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape. 

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner. 

“Hey, babe, ready to go?” 

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips. 

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat. 

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart. 

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups. 

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes. 

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust. 

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning. 

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words. 

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.” 

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem. 

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing. 

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, ���Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.” 

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.” 

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.” 

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this. 

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments. 

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.” 

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.” 

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum. 

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties. 

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress. 

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile. 

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship. 

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away. 

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other. 

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually. 

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”  

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years. 

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke. 

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd. 

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.” 

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her. 

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss. 

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television. 

#cs ff #long shot au #captain swan

[themfchase]

raven unit I (m) jjk

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

‒ raven unit. (m) chapter one: gallaticus. ✎  [13k words]

genre: political!Au, taskforce!Au, warcrime!Au

warnings: eventual smut, angst, gore, violence, drug mentions, alcohol mention, graphic description of violence, death.  With your life at risk and several people around you dead, your loyal head of security makes sure your safety is taken care of when he’s out of the picture. Three ruthless, dangerous and deadly men take on the task to protect and hide you, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and the one in command, Jeon Jungkook.  masterlist. chapter two. So, I would just like to mention I neglected my duties to write the requests sent my way because my good friend @diofulin​ had me thinking of this idea and when I knew it I had written 25k words and was looking at a small series. For what it’s worth, I hope you like it. Comment, reblog and I’ll be posting the nest chapter around Wednesday. 

The first thing you heard was the loud noise of something exploding, the walls and floor shook as the lights of your room flickered. At first, your heart sped up, eyes alarmed as you held onto your desk and chair, looking around. Several things could happen next, and you were way under-prepared for any of the possibilities.  The first being a second explosion, closer even, targeted towards you and you had few possibilities of escaping without injuries.  Second, your room would be stormed with your security team and you’d be rushed out while attacked.  And third, you die.  The diplomatic daughter of the U.S president killed in a matter of seconds while overseas.  All three options had their fair chances of happening, and although you were relieved, it was the second as they barged your door. Inside came a team of seven armed men. You could barely process the shouting and information being given to you while they shoved you out of your chair and into the hallway by the neck.  Although your feet were perfectly fine and you had no injuries, they could barely move as your head of security, Thomas walked crouched down while he pulled you along. You were still in a state of shock, not fully understanding what was happening. The men formed a barricade around you while you ran, all of them with their guns in their hands.  “What’s...” You began, but your voice was too low and not a few seconds after a second explosion came. This time, closer.  The intensity of the blow was enough to make you fall back, the structure of the house you were living shook to the core as if the cement was made out of jelly. Smoke and dust whooshed right after, making the air thick and hard to breathe.  “Miss, can you move?” Thomas yelled, you only then noticed how muffled he sounded, when your eyes found him, alarmed and bulged, you nodded.  Shouts and gunfire all around erupted as you started moving. You could barely make a sound, your brain still unable to process what was happening, although you had an idea. Your body shook, flinching each time someone shot from around your barricade.  You eyed Thomas, you could see the blood trickling down his forehead, into his ear. His face covered in dust as he gripped his gun in his hand.  “T-Thomas...” you whispered, but yet again, unheard. And as if your voice brought doom, the shooting only increased, the man barricaded all around you suddenly falling, one after the other, shot down, dead.  Thomas looked as alarmed as you, bringing his fist close to his mouth to speak into the microphone.  “Blue Jay has been compromised, I repeat, Blue Jay has been compromised!” He shouted, still moving, still trying to get you out.  Your eyes wandered, looking back as you saw the men who made an oath to protect you lifeless. Blood, the crimson red of blood painted all over the off-white walls and porcelain floor. Your head spun back to Thomas when you heard him speak.  “Extraction executed in 0005, all men in their positions!” You knew what that meant. Five minutes for you to leave the premises, it meant that outside, men were waiting to usher you out of here, to save you.  But the gunfire went on raging, the few men still standing shooting back into the smoke. The buzzing that kept on ringing in your head was loud, your heart beating as if it would stop functioning at any given moment and your pants were wet. Your pants were wet. You... Oh. You couldn’t even feel embarrassed, you didn’t even give it a second thought as you were finally met with the cold air of the outside. The screaming, crying, explosions and gunfire was all you could hear before you felt a warm shock go through your body. It hit right below your hips, on your thigh, and extended to the rest of your body. You didn’t give it any attention as you kept moving with Thomas to the black cars that parked extensively around the back of the house. The house was burning. You saw as you finally stopped in front of the door, eyes filling with water in horror. The house was burning.  You had no time to mourn as they shoved you into the back seat, face hitting the leather as the warm feeling on the back of your thigh now turned into a raging ache, making a scream erupted from the dept of your lungs.  Thomas looked at you as your hands reached back to stop the pain.  “Blue Jay has been hit, evacuate immediately!” He screamed to the driver before jumping into the back seat with you, but as he closed the door his body flinched, a groan leaving his lips as he lifted his suit jacket and saw the red flow around the fabric. The gunfire started hitting the car again and again.  “Go, Go, Go!” He yelled, regardless.  And the car was rushing off, tires screaming into the asphalt as you were finally evacuated from the war zone. Or so you thought.  You were screaming in agonizing pain as Thomas clenched the side of his body. He shook, but never let go of his gun.  “Miss, listen to me.” He started speaking, but you couldn’t think of anything else but the pain that took over you, head to toe.  “Miss, fucking listen!” He screamed, and you opened your eyes, looking back at him, breathing as if you were having a panic attack. Maybe you were having a panic attack.  “You have to stay awake, you have to pay attention to what I’m about to say to you because if you don’t you will die, do you understand?” Thomas scolded as he cringed in pain. You nodded, trying to focus but already feeling your mind hazy.  “You’ve been shot. We will only be able to receive medical attention when we get to the military base on the border, so you have to fight to stay awake.” He spoke to you, but also to himself. “When we get there, we will have little time to access your wound before they find out where our extraction point is.” Thomas’ words felt groggy, he was struggling to stay awake. “You will have to go under, they have to think you’re dead, otherwise they will not stop coming for you.” You shook your head, not understanding why this all was happening.  “What’s happening Thomas, wh-what’s happening?” You didn’t notice you were crying, your face dirty and wet as you clenched your own wound as your life depended on it, and it did.  “Eagle has fallen.” Was all he said and the ringing in your ears grew louder. You knew what that meant too and soon your entire body shook as sobs of desperation filled your body. “Miss... Please, p-pay attention, I understand you’re in pain, but you need to listen to me.” You could hear the knot in Thomas’ throat as he spoke. He had been working for your family for so many years now, three months from now it would become eight years. “We’re going rouge now, Miss, you have to stay hidden, I contacted a colleague, he promised to help under the radar, so you have to live Miss, you’re all we have left.” Although he was the one meant to protect you, you could see the plea in his eyes, you were his only hope. You were the country’s only hope. You nodded, a sob choking you up as tears streamed furiously down your cheeks. You tried sitting up, back against the door as you looked at Thomas. His head laid back on the seat and the gun still firm in his hand, you extended your shaking hand, he looked down and took yours, bloody hand gripping your fragile fingers tightly in reassurance.  Then it was silent.  The silence must have lasted about thirty minutes, at least that’s what you thought, gripping Thomas’ hand all the way to your destination while you struggled to stay awake, blood loss causing you to shake and feel cold. As your eyes fluttered shut, you always forced your mind to stay awake, jumping in your seat and looking at the dark road ahead, the driver silent as he drove as fast as it was physically possible. Soon you could see light, a flickering light on the horizon. It was the military camp, your eyes bulging open as you felt like your nightmare was now going to end.  As the car got closer and closer you started shaking Thomas’ hand.  “We’re here...” You looked ahead, your head turning to the man beside you. “Thomas, we’re here!” But he was silent. You looked at him, eyes closed and head resting back. Your eyes came down to your held hands, his grip loose while yours remained firm on his. His grip on his gun that was once like a vice was now gone, the object resting on his lap. You had little time to access what it all meant before the car was stopping and the door swung open before your body was pulled out by force, screams, and shouts of your name echoed in your head but your eyes were trained on the man that had known you since you were 14, the man that had taken care of you, that had risked his family, his life for you, that man that had now died for you. You made no sound as you were put on the stretcher, an oxygen mask being put over your mouth, flashlight coming in contact with your iris You knew you barely reacted, eyes welling up in tears as you were rushed into a secluded tent, between shouts and people rushing around, your body couldn’t handle it anymore, you remembered what Thomas had said; you had to stay awake and no matter how much you tried to fight it you knew that now you could, and your eyes shut as it was once again quiet. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and you saw a bright white light, the air was brushing your hair and you still had the oxygen mask on. Your brows furrowed as your ears functioned, the loud noise of a propeller getting closer as you now understood you were in the air, being brought onto a helicopter. Your eyes shifted to the side. All you saw was the night, and you turned your head, leaving it on the edge of the stretcher looking down at the camp. Your eyes moved a little further as you saw cars and trucks racing towards the camp the sound of gunshots made your body jump, regardless of it being restrained on the stretcher that was being pulled into the air. Soon, you were in the helicopter, your head spun around as you watched the camp be attacked below you and not a second later the helicopter was off into the night and you watched as the fainting lights became red with fire.  Your body remained restrained, a dull ache flowing all over as you not yet had processed all that had happened. Your eyes streamed without your knowledge, looking back up at the pitch-black ceiling of the aircraft. You shook as you cried, whoever was in that aircraft with you was silent, and even if they spoke you couldn’t hear them. They allowed you to feel the ramifications of all that has happened in a matter of hours, and you silently thanked them for it.  An hour went by before you noticed your body was no longer restrained and you tried to sit up, body weak and broken as two hands helped you sit on your good side. You looked at the stranger but couldn’t see his face; a mask and helmet covered it. And you looked ahead at the pilot, same thing. You sat quietly all throughout your trip to wherever it was Thomas had arranged you to go. Your chest constricted. Thomas...  The tears continued to flow like it was a never-ending waterfall, and even if you tried to rationalize everything, you were gone, in a state of shock. The sun rose on the horizon and somehow that made you feel calmer, the anesthetic they had used wearing off as the pain of your gun wound started to hurt.  You looked ahead at the only window the helicopter had, you could see the desert and abandoned buildings here and there. A war zone.  Soon, you were landing in one of them, the aircraft stopping only a few seconds before the door was being pulled open and you saw a man in a suit, thick black glasses and a file in his hand. His hair was going wild with the wind the propeller made.  “Miss Y/L/N?” The man shouted over the noise. You nodded at him and he extended his hand. You took it, being helped by the stranger inside the helicopter on your way down.  Hand coming to the back of your neck and making you crouch down, the suited man guided you into one of the abandoned buildings. As you made your way in the helicopter made its way out. The noise was now gone, only the sound of the desert wind blowing between the abandoned buildings. The mand stopped in a room, a chair, and a table were the only things there. He pointed for you to sit and you did so, hissing at the pain on the back of your legs.  The man sat down on the table, letting the file rest beside him before he sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, stressed. He was older, maybe in his mid-fifties. It was quiet for a while before he finally looked at you.  “Miss, I can only imagine what you have been through in the past ten hours.” He started. He was American, you looked away, flashes of the horrors you had lived coming like a rush into your head. “I assume Thomas explained a little of the situation before...” He pursed his lips and you looked at him, swallowing hard as you knew what he would say. “My name is Phillip Jackson, I served with Thomas a while back for the CIA and on the field. It seems that we have to make you disappear for a while.” You looked down at your hands. Dirty, bloody, shaking. You opened your mouth to speak.  “What happened?” You questioned and heard your voice come out weak, hoarse.  The man sighed again.  “There was an attack on the Whitehouse, an organized attack all over the country, and we have little information about who it’s from and why. The only information is that there were no survivors.” He said. “Miss as much of a patriot as I am, I have a hunch that this was an inside job and you are an asset, so we gotta keep you alive. Thomas was a dear friend of mine and I will put my best men to protect and hide you.” You swallowed and nodded, unable to even access the fact that your family was gone.  “Are you CIA?” You questioned. After all, if this was an inside job, what made you so sure this man was working for the right side of the government.  “No, Miss, I am a private contractor. All my men are former Special Forces, SEAL, Marine, CIA, White Tiger, BOPE, we work with several specialized soldiers from around the world.” He said.  “That means you make money off war.” You argued, eyes roaming your ripped pants.  “Well, Miss, yes, but I in no way enjoy watching innocent people lose their lives.” He argued back, and you looked up again, eyes meeting his. You sighed, this was no time to argue over politics, your life was at risk and if Thomas trusted this man, you would have to take a leap of faith.  “Where am I going to?” You questioned, face scrunching up in pain as the sharp sting from your wound overcame your body.  “I don’t know.” He said and pursed his lips, grabbing the file and handing it to you. You furrowed your brows, extending your hand and taking it.  “I assigned three men, the one in charge is my most trusted agent. The other two are his most trusted agents. For security reasons, I told him not to disclose any information as of where you’re headed and for how long.” You said nothing while you opened the file. Three papers inside, no pictures, just names. None of them American. You looked back up, Philip already understanding your confusion.  “Miss, my men work for money and given that this might be an inside job, I figured it was wiser if I recruited non-Americans for this job in particular. Ones that wouldn’t be easily persuaded into handing you over.” It was your turn to sigh.  “And how are these men being paid to protect and hide me, Mr. Jackson?” You looked back up at him. His brow lifted, side of his lips lopsided in a smirk.  “They owe me.” Was all he said.  You decided not to argue, after all, this was in your best interest. Or so you hoped.  “There is a mattress in the other room, try to get some rest, they will be here by the hour,” Phillip said before he got down from the table and leaned in, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Thomas was very dear to many people and his life’s mission was to protect you, I have no intention of letting him down anytime soon.” He said, and you once again looked down at the open folder on your lap. Three papers, three names. Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, and Jeon Jungkook. You looked back up at him and nodded before you got up in a struggle and tried to walk. It was hard. You held the folder in your hand as you limped your way to the other room. Everything was dirty, dust all over, but you couldn’t complain, you slowly made your way to the dusty mattress and slowly got on it. Laying down finally, you tried to ignore the pain, bringing the file up and reading.  The one in command was the youngest for what you could tell. White Tiger agent, an anti-terrorism unit. After that, he served three times as a special forces soldier for the U.S. before he became a mercenary, going rough. He was charged for war crimes and pardoned by his own government a few years later, then joined Phillip Jackson’s private Operation Unit. Unites build for maximum execution. The other two weren’t far behind, charged with similar crimes but pardoned before joining Phillip. They were all young but seemed highly experienced in the field. Soon your eyes fluttered, resting the file on your chest, you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, the flashes of the horror you have lived playing underneath your eyelids. It felt like you had slept for two minutes.

“Wake up!” Someone said loud and your eyes shot open, a loud gasp being pulled out of you as your body jerked up, resting on your hands. You blinked twice before you could make out the figure standing in front of you. Dark eyes, dark brown hair and a jawline so defined that it could slice you in half. He was young and oh so very attractive. He had no emotion on his face, eyes void of anything, but that seemed so dark that it held nothing but rage and pain. He threw something at you, making you flinch. You looked down at your lap, clothes. “Put these on, we leave in fifteen.” His voice was cold and sharp, and you barely had time to process before he was out of the room.  You looked back down at the clothes, camo. You struggled to get up but did so before you peeled off your ruined clothes. The wraps around your wound were red with blood and you knew you had to change it soon. But you went on, putting on the cargo pants that fit you perfectly and the tight brown tank top. You heard a whistle behind you and you turned around to see another face, different from the one that woke you up. His hair was white, so white that it looked like snow, and his eyes were just as dark as the one from before.  He raised an eyebrow at you, and you pursed your lips. You knew he had probably seen something, but you couldn’t scold him.  “Boots.” Was all he said before he left a pair of black boots at the door and walked out. “Ten minutes!” You heard him shout from the other room. You quickly finished getting dressed, leaving your clothes folded on top of the filthy mattress. You looked at your blouse, it was a rose color, well, now it was dirty, bloody and ripped. You remembered when you and your mother had gone to buy it in Paris in one of your father’s diplomatic trips a few years back, a few years before you had taken on a diplomatic journey yourself, studied political science and represented your country in small discussions here and there in your father’s place. You felt your eyes water again. Your life would never be the same, never go back to what it was. There would be no more Sunday breakfast with your parents or a late-night call from your father to tell you he’s proud of you. You swallowed the lump in your throat, rubbing your hands on your face before you walked out of the room. There stood five men. Philip was talking to the one that had woken you up, a quiet conversation, and when you walked into the other room, eyes lifted in your direction. The man ignored you, going back to speak to Phillip as the blond surveyed your appearance and the other beside him lifted an eyebrow, a knife digging into an apple as he looked back at the blond beside him.  “She looks like shit.” He said a twitch on his lower lip. You bit your lower lip, unphased by his comment. You had no expectations that these men would act civil around you. Sighing, you remained silent, approaching the men. Phillip lifted his hand at the man speaking to him.  “Miss Y/L/N...” He started, and you interrupted.  “Please, just Y/N.” You stated.  “Y/N, this is your unit, they’ll be in charge of your security and in charge of keeping you hidden. Yoongi..” He introduced and the white-haired man lifted his hand, unamused. “... Hoseok...” The one with the apple nodded in your direction, without making eye contact. “and Jungkook.” He looked at the man beside him, the one that had woken you up. He looked at you. Even if you didn’t know that this man was highly skilled to kill, he’d intimidate you. It was as if he was looking deep into your soul.  “This is where I say my goodbyes,” Phillip said, and you gulped. You took a few steps and closed the space between you, extending your hand. He took it, a worried and pitted look on his face. “Godspeed, Y/N.” And you knew that from this moment on, the three men in the room were in charge of you.  You looked back at the one called Jungkook, waiting for instructions, he sighed.  “Are you injured?” He questioned, and you nodded. “Where?” He asked impatiently.  “U-Uhm, back of my left thigh.” You answered nervously.  “What’s the source of the wound?” He questioned again, taking a few steps towards you.  “I was shot.” You said in a small voice.  All three heads turned in your direction.  The one named Hoseok furrowed his brows.  “Aren’t you in pain?” He questioned.  You took in a deep breath, the ache still raging through your body.  “Yes.” Was all you answered.  Everyone was silent, even Phillip. You forgot to acknowledge the other suited man right behind him.  “So, she can’t walk for much, run for much, we’ll have to make camp every ten hours to clean out her wound, how he fuck do you expect me to keep her alive if she’s her own liability?” Jungkook looked at Phillip with annoyance in his tone. You felt as if you weren’t in the room, as if you were just some pathetic, worthless thing and not a human being.  Phillip seemed unphased by his comment, shrugging.  The man looked back at you and once again threw something in your direction. Your reflexes were terrible and of course, the heavy object landed at your feet. It was a backpack, a heavy backpack. You lifted it and put it onto your back.  “We’re moving out. Hoseok, ground rules.” He announced before he was heading out of the building. All men followed suit, except for Hoseok, that walked beside you.  “You keep up, you make no noise, you follow every order. If we say duck, you duck if we say run you run. No hesitation, no second thought. We know who you are and we don’t care, our only job is to make sure you stay alive and well-hidden until this is over. We won’t hesitate in taking violent measures to make you understand.” Hoseok said without looking at you, you limped your way outside, nodding at his words. As you made your way out, there were two military cars waiting. Phillip and the other suited man got in on and Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok in the other. You looked at Phillip once last time and he gave you a soft smile before he was off.  “Come on Miss President, we got no time to lose.” Said Hoseok once again and you made your way into the car. Jungkook was in the driver’s seat, Yoongi beside him and Hoseok in the back with you. As you drove off, sand lifted and blurred your vision, you covered your eyes and coughed a few times before the view was cleared.  It was silent in the car as you drove off into the desert. You just then realized you had no idea where you were. You were lost and your life in the hand of three strangers. You looked out the window, all you could see for miles was sand, and after what seemed like forty minutes of silence, Jungkook looked in the review mirror, taking in your appearance.  “She does look like shit.” He said and the man beside you chuckled. You side-eyed him and scoffed. “I’m right here.” You clapped back.  “Fine, you look like shit,” Jungkook said again, eyes back on the path before him.  “Oh, do I? I haven’t noticed.” You said sarcastically, looking back at him. It was Yoongi’s turn to chuckle.  “She’s got an attitude.” He said and Jungkook hummed in response.  You noticed that they all had a deceived perspective of who you were. For all they knew, you were the president’s daughter. They knew nothing of your life and your struggles, your ideology and what you’ve fought for. You rolled your eyes and looked back out the window. “Where are we going?” You questioned when the car fell silent again. Jungkook didn’t answer, instead, he looked at Yoongi in a silent command. Yoongi turned to face you.  “We have three destinations before the safe house, the first destination is code name, Red Hawk. We have a friend there that can give us shelter for the night, food, water... And a place where you can look like a human again.” Hoseok once again chuckled, and you breathed in. If you had known you would be stuck with three annoying assholes, you might have asked Phillip for his second most trusted agents. “The second destination is code name Seamore, they’ll provide us with a border entrance into Morrocco under the radar, we will have only a few hours to cross without being noticed.” Yoongi looked back to the front. “The third destination is code name, Armstrong. Last resting point before the safe house. I’ll refrain from giving you the exact coordinates in case we’re compromised.” He said, and you nodded. “We’ll have to ditch the car tomorrow and then we have a two-day walk to Red Hawk. Resting periods will be two hours only.” You sighed. You didn’t know if your body was well prepared for something like this, but you had to stay alive no matter what.  You had a long journey ahead of you, a journey you had no idea how long would last.  Soon, it was silent again. You don’t know for how long you’d have been driving, all you could see was sand ahead of you. Eventually, you looked into the backpack they had handed you, Hoseok’s eyes trained on your every movement. There were clothes, the same ones you were wearing, a jacket, two big canteens of water, something that looked like food bars, several. Gauze and antiseptic. You haven’t even noticed you were hungry until you saw the food bars. The loud noise that erupted from your stomach was enough to get the attention of Hoseok.  “Eat one.” He said simply and you shook your head.  “No, we should save these.” You said not looking his way. He scoffed.  “Listen, you need energy for tomorrow, if you’re drained of it today you’ll collapse after a few miles.” He argued, and you looked at him, meeting his eyes. They seemed just as dark as the two other men in the front, yet there was a kindness to them. He seemed almost worried about you.  You put your hand in and took one out, closing the backpack and leaning back again with a wince of pain.  “When was the last time you changed your bandages?” He asked, voice low as the wind hit the car with its high speed.  You shook your head, too many memories invading your thoughts at once before you opened your mouth to answer.  “I haven’t, I fainted before they took care of the wound and I woke up while I was being pulled into the helicopter, right before they attacked the camp.” You said, voice becoming low again. Hoseok looked at the back of Yoong’s seat, pursing his lips.  “12 hours.” You heard Jungkook’s voice. Your eyes lifted to the review mirror. He wasn’t looking back at you. “You have to change them or else it’ll get infected.” He said, and you nodded again.  “Will we stop?” You asked and Yoongi chuckled. “What?” You questioned, brows furrowed.  “You want us to stop the car in the middle of nowhere so you can change your bandages?” Yoongi questioned, turning to you.  You were quiet, looking around as you gather your thoughts.  “Well, I’ll be naked.” You stated and Yoongi shrugged.  “And?” He questioned.  You looked from him to Hoseok and to the review mirror where Jungkook didn’t look back.  Your mouth opened and closed several times, not because you were outraged, but because you knew that you had no other choice. Of course, they weren’t going to pull over so you could have some privacy while cleaning your wound. You shook your head.  “Fine.” You scoffed, opening the food bar and taking a big bite.  It tasted terrible. Bitter and sandy in your mouth. You made a face and Hoseok laughed.  “Don’t worry, princess, we won’t look,” Hoseok said with a teasing voice.  After you finished eating your food bar reluctantly you stuffed the wrapper into the bag and took out the gauze and antiseptic. Your eyes lifted to Hoseok, he had one brow lifted as he looked at you. You squinted at him, lips twisting.  Taking the hint, he rolled his eyes before he was turning his body and looking away. Slowly, you lifted your body off the seat, pushing your pants down. The hiss you gave didn’t go by unnoticed by the three. Yoongi eyed Jungkook, and he looked through the review mirror.  “Did they remove the bullet?” He questioned.  You stopped your movements, your pants rested at the edge of your knees, your once white lace lingerie soaked in blood still on your body. You looked back at him, resuming.  “I don’t know.” You answered him.  “Hoseok.” Was all he said before the man that had his back to you turned, your eyes slightly bulged as he took out a knife and approached you.  “Wait, wait, what are you doing?!” You pushed him away.  “I need to check if the bullet is still there.” He said as if it were obvious.  “What are you going to do with the knife?” You questioned.  “Cute your bandages off.” He said once again as if it were obvious.  You looked back at Jungkook; he looked annoyed. But you didn’t argue, shifting your weight so that you had your ass lifted to the side, where Hoseok could to what he needed to do.  “Nice ass, Miss President.” He teased, and you shot him a murderous look. Looking back at the review mirror to see if you were being put on full display for everyone, you saw that Jungkook had his eyes back on the road, same with Yoongi.  You rested your head on the side of the car before you felt Hoseok grip the edge of the bandages and start cutting through it. Soon, the bloody material was pulled away.  “Ah, this looks bad,” Hoseok said, and you looked back at him. He had a pained look on his face. “I can’t tell if they took out the bullet, but they didn’t sow her up, just staples, I’m guessing that they didn’t take it out,” Hoseok said a Jungkook hummed. “How much does it hurt?” Hoseok looked up at you, fingers gently resting on your thigh and pulling at the skin slightly. That sent a sharp pain through your body and you groaned, hands balling into fists before you were biting on your lower lip.  “Fuck!” You cursed out.  “Shit, I’m sorry.” He extended his hand and grabbed the materials.  “I-I can do it myself.” You said feeling your body hot and your breath quicken, but Hoseok laughed, opening the gauze. “Don’t take this the wrong way but, you can’t. If you’re in this much pain from just that, you won’t be able to do it yourself.” He leaned back, taking off his belt, and you just watched. “Bite on this, it will help” And he leaned forward, hovering the leather over your mouth. You hesitated for a while, before opening your lips and taking it. Your eyes shifted to the review mirror where you saw the dark eyes look straight into yours, you didn’t look away, breathe picking up as you knew the pain you were about to feel would be a lot worse than what you had felt before. And soon, you bit down hard onto the leather, a throated scream leaving you as your eyes shut closed and a shock of pain went through your body. It was so intense you felt your stomach turn, your muscles twitch uncontrollably and that had been just one swipe. At the second swipe, your vision blurred, everything around you turning black.  “I think she’s fainted.” You heard Hoseok’s muffled voice. “She’s out.” And everything was silent again.  “Nah, I don’t think Jimin is that stupid.” You heard Hoseok’s voice, but it was no longer by your side.  “Fine, we’ll bet on it, a thousand bucks,” Yoongi spoke, only he was still where he was before. You slowly opened your eyes, brows furrowing as you noticed you were in the same position as you had fainted into. Head resting on the glass, your pants were still down yo your knees, but now your wound was wrapped in fresh bandages. Your head lolled back noticing that Hoseok was the one driving now, Yoongi still in the passenger seat. That meant that the body beside you was Jungkook and you tuned your head in his direction. He was looking down into a small black notebook with no cover, face serious. You noticed the small scar he had on his cheek, wondering how he got it and if it was in battle. You felt your mouth dry as you swallowed.  “I suggest you pull up your pants.” He said in a low voice without looking at you.  You blinked a few times before shifting.  “Oh, hey, you woke up,” Hoseok said looking at you. “Jungkook told us your code name was Blue Jay.” You looked back at Jungkook. He was closing the small notebook and shoving it into his pocket. You pulled up your pants with a bit of difficulty.  It took you a few seconds before you answered.  “Uh, yeah, Blue Jay.” You said voice hoarse and Hoseok hummed.  “Why Blue Jay?” Yoongi questioned, his head turning in your direction.  You rested your head back, feeling it ache.  “All my family had bird code names, my mother was Cardinal.” You said looking out the window and noticing the sun setting on the horizon. She was Cardinal. She was. “And your father?” Yoongi asked.  You looked back at him, a deep sorrow taking over you.  “Eagle.” You said low.  Yoongi looked back ahead.  “Cliche.” Was all he said.  And you shook your head, your family was all dead. It finally settled in and your eyes welled up, silent tears flowing down your face.  The car went silent as they noticed your silent sobs.  “We’re sorry for your loss, Y/N,” Hoseok mumbled. You said nothing, did nothing, just allowed yourself to mourn your family in silence as the sun was setting.  Your father had always been a respected man, loyal, intelligent and kind. The people loved him deeply. But, he pissed off a lot of big people when he would vet congress decisions that helped the rich when he gave more attention to minorities than to the lobby men and everything good came with a price; you assumed. And your father’s price was his life.  “Why birds?” Yoongi asked quietly in an effort to distract you.  You sniffed, looking at him.  “I... I don’t even know, I was given that code name when I was 14, Thomas never said why.” You answered  “Hm, did you like it?” His voice was calm.  Slowly you stopped crying.  “I never even gave it a thought.” You shook your head.  The small talk was helping, of course, but you couldn’t ignore the silent man beside you.  “I think Blue Jay is nice, but I don’t think it fits you,” Yoongi said.  You raised your eyebrows. “Chose a new one.” You heard the man beside you speak.  Your head turned in his direction, he was looking out the window before he also turned to face you.  “What?” You asked.  “Chose a new one. We can’t call you Blue Jay, we can’t call you by your name either.” He stated.  “And we definitely can’t call you Miss President,” Hoseok said in the front seat. You looked down at your fingers.  You thought about everything that had happened to you so far. You watched your most loyal friend and security die; you watched people all around you die in order to protect you. You were weak, slow, a liability to yourself just as Jungkook has said. You were worthless at this point. Something that brought death and despair.  “Raven.” You said and everyone looked at you.  “Another bird?” Yoongi questioned, and you nodded.  They went silent for a while.  “It fits you,” Jungkook said, looking ahead. You didn’t know if that meant he agreed with your own thoughts as to why you chose the name or if he thought it fitted your aura more, regardless, it hurt.  As you stopped speaking, Hoseok and Yoongi went back to their conversation.  Something about a man named Jimin accepting a job offer that was very underpaid. They argued over his intelligence and eventually settled on a thousand dollars in a bet.  Jungkook remained quiet the whole trip, never sparing you a glance.  At some point, the car stopped so Hoseok could switch places with Jungkook. As the night rolled in, Hoseok slept beside you and Yoongi slept in the passenger seat.  You remained awake, looking at the clear sky, there were so many stars, something you’ve never seen before and you couldn’t help but feel calm. You glanced at the review mirror a few times, Jungkook always focused ahead, you noticed just how attractive he was, not just him, but the other two men too. Deciding to look again, you saw his eyes on you and you looked away quickly. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.” He said in a stern voice.  You rolled your eyes.  “Is being a royal dick a requirement to be part of your unit?” You questioned.  “Oh, I’m sorry, am I being mean?” He said in a sarcastic voice. “My job isn’t to be nice to you, Miss, it’s making sure you remain alive.” He clapped back. “If you’re not satisfied, you can request a new unit when we get to Red Hawk.” At this, you sat up.  “Regardless of who you think I am, you have no fucking right to speak to me that way. If you didn’t want the fucking job, you shouldn’t have taken it.” You argued. “I bet you think I’m just a spoiled rich girl.” At this, he hummed in agreement. “You don’t know shit about me, Jungkook.”  “I know a lot more than you think.” He said, and you went quiet. “You, on the other hand, know absolutely nothing about me.”  “I know more than you think.” You mused.  “Cause you read my file?” He ironized.  “Is this where you tell me your sad childhood story of why you became a special op and I feel sorry for you and tell you your trauma isn’t what defines you?” He pursed his lips.  “Most definitely not, and even if I had a sad childhood story, you would be the last person I open up to.” “Good.” You said, and he chuckled. “What?”  Jungkook lifted his eyes to the review mirror to look at you before he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes changed, going dark as his mouth closed and lips turned into a straight line. You furrowed your brows, noticing the change in his demeanor.  “We’re being followed.” He said in a low voice and a shiver went through your body. You turned around looking through the back glass, but you saw nothing. Yoongi and Hoseok were awake by the time Jungkook had finished his sentence. It was as if they weren’t even asleep. You looked back again, but couldn’t see anything.  “Hoseok?” Jungkook questioned, and the man took his gun, the sound clicking in your head as he looked back to where you were looking.  “Two vehicles, military.” He said and you still couldn’t spot them in the dark.  “Cut the lights,” Yoongi said, and suddenly the car lights where gone.  Your body started to shake, you couldn’t believe you were going through this again.  “What are our exit possibilities?” Yoongi questioned, his own gun shining in the moonlight.  “West is Thunderstorm, East is Gallaticus, we can’t go north now, they know where we’re going,” Hoseok answered.  “Thunderstorm isn’t reliable,” Jungkook answered.  “Fuck, not Gallaticus.” Yoongi cursed.  You had no idea what they were talking about, but you were still shaking in your seat.  “They’re coming in fast, Jungkook, we gotta make a choice.” Hoseok urged.  “Fuck...” He cursed. “We won’t have time to access, we’re going to have to engage,” Jungkook said, Hoseok and Yoongi both looked at him. And you swallowed. Suddenly, Jungkook stopped the car. “Yoongi, you know what to do, Hoseok, get Raven into safety, then come back and cover us.” Suddenly the car doors were opening, and they were all getting out, Jungkook and Yoongi walked to the car trunk pulling out whatever they needed. You pulled your bag with you as Hoseok pulled you further into the night desert. He hid you under a dune of sang, opening your backpack and covering your body with the camo jacket that was inside.  “You stay down, you don’t get up under any circumstances, you are going to hear shooting, don’t make a sound, don’t flinch, don’t cry, I’ll come back to get you when it’s over.” From where you laid on the sand you could see Hoseok run back to them, it a matter of seconds they disappeared and silence took over. All you could hear was the harsh desert wind. Your eyes bulged, you had no idea where they were going to come from; you hadn’t seen anything when you were in the car. Suddenly you saw them, three men all dressed in camo, face covered by a mask and night vision goggles. Approaching the car, they each went to one side. You tried your best to keep quiet as they approached the vehicle, heavy rifles in their hands. You saw everything happen, the man in the back silently shot in the head, body falling down on his knees before his face was in the sand, lifeless, the other two pivoted rushing towards him and the further one groaned before he fell to his knees, Yoongi coming from under the car and stabbing a knife in his head, the lasting man turned to Yoongi faster than you expected rifle lifted into the air, and you saw as a dark shadow came behind him and pulled his boy back, the rifle shooting up to the sky. The sound was loud, the flashes of light beaming into the air. You gasped, but it was over as fast as it had started. Three lifeless bodies laid beside the car, Jungkook was the one that had pulled the man back, his knife slicing through the man’s throat like it was a piece of paper. Suddenly, the bodies were being pulled to rest in front of the car. It wasn’t over yet. They all disappeared again. You remained to shiver in your spot as you watched.  Once again, three men appeared, this time more alert. They quickly found Yoongi, a series of shooting and fighting erupted, Hoseok coming to help as they were unable to use their weapons. The three men that were in charge of keeping you safe fought against the men sent to kill you. Your eyes welled up again. No... No, Hoseok told you not to cry. You tried your best to silence your whimpers, as you watched them fight in the darkness.  Once one man was down, Hoseok ran to help Yoongi. You watched as a sudden relief started washing over you. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky. Two more men approached, and now your unit was outnumbered. The gunshots were deafening. You hid your head, not wanting to watch any longer.  A hand came to rest on your shoulder and you looked up, but you were met with no eyes, just a man in a mask and night vision goggles.  Your eyes bulged, and he aimed the gun at you.  “Jungkook!” You screamed, and you heard a loud gunshot. Shutting your eyes closed you waited to feel the pain, the warmth, whatever was going to take over you, but instead, you felt the wet splatters of liquid hit your face, a body falling before you. It was all quiet again for a few seconds before you felt a hand on you, you jumped back, crawling away and shooting your eyes open, it was Jungkook, he looked back at you with both hands up, his gun in one of them.  “We have to go, come on.” He said and helped you up, you took your things and stumbled back into the car.  “Don’t look,” he said, his grip tight on your arm as he pushed you into the backseat, getting in and hitting the car twice. That was the signal to drive and even if you didn’t know who was driving, either Hoseok or Yoongi you didn’t have the courage to look, Jungkook holding your head down onto his lap with a vice grip on your neck. It took about twenty minutes before someone spoke.  “How did they find us?” Is was Yoongi, he was driving, he was alive.  “Satellite,” Jungkook answered, and you noticed the way his voice vibrated through his body. Your head remained rested on his lap, his hand never moving from your neck.  “We should drive in the dark for a while.” You heard Hoseok’s voice. They were all alive. A relieved sigh left you and Jungkook’s grip loosened, but his hand remained on you. You felt how rough his fingers felt on your skin, his hands were warm and somehow that made you stop shaking. Soon, you were drifting off to sleep without noticing. In your light sleep, you could hear them talking from time to time.  “Jungkook, do you want to drive?” Hoseok questioned.  “No, you two can trade, I don’t want to wake her up.” His voice was soothing. And if it weren’t for your sleeping state, you would have sworn you felt his fingers gently caress your neck, but once again, never leave your skin. 

You woke up with the sun rising, your eyes fluttering open as you noticed you were still nested in Jungkook’s lap. You slowly shuffled, looking up. Jungkook rested his head back against the seat, eyes shut. One hand was still on your neck, the other around your body, resting on your hips. You blushed unwillingly before you felt the pain on your side. You needed to sit. Trying to amble so you wouldn’t wake him proved to be useless because when you looked back up at him, his eyes were open, staring back at you as dark as the night.  “H-hi.” You whispered, throat dry and lips chapped.  He said nothing back. Instead, withdrawing his hands and reaching in front of him into your bag. He pulled out the water, opening the flask and nodding for you to sit up.  You did so, struggling to sit up, and he handed to the bottle.  “Small sips.” He said, and you obeyed.  It was painful, actually. To drink liquid after so long, your mouth ached as you took small sips until the entire bottle was empty. When you were done, he took it from you, putting it back in the bag.  You settled back, looking ahead at Hoseok and Yoongi.  Something had changed after the attack during the night. Further ahead you saw a town come into view and your brows furrowed.  “Is this Red Hawk?” You inquired.  “No, we had to take a detour. This is Gallaticus, we’re taking cover here for a while before we head to Red Hawk,” Hoseok answered.  As the car approached the city, you noticed it was full of people. It was a humble place, but colorful.  There were a few men dressed in black with rifles in their hands, and a feeling of dread took over you.  “Stay down, we don’t want anyone to see you,” Jungkook said, and you laid back down, this time next to his lap and not on it. As the car slowed down into the city, you drove for another fifteen minutes before the car stopped.  “Ok, we’re here, grab your things, let’s go, and keep your head down,” Jungkook said and got out of the car. You followed, looking at the floor. Walking was hard, so you struggled to keep up. Impulsively you extended your hand and grabbed onto Jungkook’s shirt. He didn’t seem to care as he walked into the building. As soon as you were hidden from the city you let go, Jungkook stopped in his tracks, making you almost bump into him.  When you looked back up you were in what looked to be a warehouse, an enormous warehouse. There were the same men dressed in black and armed all around, some curious eyes looking at you and the group of men that had just walked in.  “Ah! You made it!” A deep voice was heard through the area and when your eyes found the owner of the voice, you blinked a couple of times. He was dressed in all black. Black shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. His hair was grayish blond that was held back by a black hairband.  “Taehyung,” Jungkook said, walking towards the man. You thought they were going to shake hands, but instead, they hugged. It was odd, seeing someone like Jungkook show affection, but it was also nice. It made you smile to see their closeness. Taehyung’s eyes roamed to the other two men.  “Yoongi, Hoseok, long time no see.” He said with a large boxy smile on his face and Hoseok smiled back, going in for a hug just like Jungkook, Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Yoongs, I know you missed me,” Taehyung said, pulling the white-haired man into an unwilling hug.  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Yoongi said and pushed the man away gently.  The man chuckled, eyes roaming the group of men before they landed on you, a glint of curiosity shining in them. “And you must be Raven.” He said. Although you knew well, that he knew that wasn’t your name. You nodded, and he took a few steps towards you. “You look tired, hungry and in a need of a warm shower, don’t you think?” He stopped in front of you, lips pursing and eyes kind as if he knew everything about what you had just been through. You couldn’t help but take his kindness in a full blow, eyes welling up and lips quivering.  “Yes...” You said in a breath. “Yes, please.” He nodded.  “Come with me.” He wrapped a hand around your shoulders and you didn’t protest.  As you all walked into a hallway, Taehyung started talking.  “So, I looked into what you asked me over the phone.”  “And?” Jungkook asked.  Taehyung stopped in front of a door but looked back at Jungkook.  “I have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, but you’re going to need help.” He said with a worried tone to his voice.  “What’s the fucking number Tae?” Jungkook asked, annoyed.  “1.5b.” He said.  “Holy shit!” Hoseok exclaimed.  “That can’t be possible.” It was Yoongi’s turn to protest.  “Are you sure?” Jungkook ignored whatever the information meant. “Yes, and I already know that many people like us are in for it.” He sighed.  Jungkook looked at you, brows furrowed.  “1.5b for one hit? Why? What the fuck could she possibly do?” Hoseok was still outraged.  “Shut up, Hobi,” Taehyung said, noticing you put two and two together.  It was a lot of money for you to be killed, you knew that. But it wasn’t about what you could do, but about what you knew.  “I think she knows why,” Jungkook said, your eyes met his dark and hard ones, and Tae was opening the door.  It was a large room with bunk beds. No windows. To the right, there was a door that led to what looked like a locker room shower. Four showers divided by white low walls and on the other side, toilets. As you made your way in with the rest of the group, Taehyung took your bag and left it on top of one bed.  “Ok, sweetheart, I’ll bring you some food and some fresh water, you’ll probably need underwear and some shampoo. There are fresh towels in the lockers.” He smiled sweetly at you and you nodded.  “Why aren’t you that good of a host with us?” Yoongi questioned, walking towards the bunk bed across from yours and dropping his bag.  “Because, one, you’re not worth 1.5 billion dollars, and two, you don’t have soft skin and look as pretty as she does.” He smiled sarcastically at the boy and Hoseok laughed. You felt your cheeks blush, looking away from the men and down to your bag, pulling out the fresh clothes.  “Hoseok, go with Taehyung, get rid of the car and we’re going to need backup if we’re going to make sure we deliver on this.” Hoseok nodded, following Taehyung out of the room. Yoongi looked at Jungkook, having a silent exchange of words with the man before he glanced at you.  “I’ll go check if Red Hawk hasn’t been compromised.” He said and left the room.  You were left there with Jungkook, in silence. Swallowing hard, you took the clothes into your hand, turning around and looking back at him. He was leaning against the doorframe, eyes trained on you.  “You were right.” He said, eyes shifting down.  You pursed your lips, deciding to sit down on the mattress.  “About what?” You questioned, voice low.  “I really don’t know shit about you.” His eyes met yours again. You were quiet, your eyes now hard. “I don’t want to know why you’re so important other than being the president’s daughter, but you should know that I signed up for something a lot bigger than I expected it to be.”  You felt your cheeks burn in shame. You were a burden. You felt like one. A chuckle left you.  “You know what Jungkook if I’m such a hassle, why not let me get killed, maybe that will help with the weight on your shoulders?” Jungkook didn’t show any sign of a reaction, eyes still burrowing into yours as if trying to read you.  “You seem to think life has no value to me.” He said.  “Mine apparently does, 1.5 billion dollars, why not just do it yourself?” You challenged.  He was quiet before uncrossing his arms and taking a few steps in your direction.  You suddenly felt scared. He and the other two men had taken out nine men in the desert with their own hands. You could only imagine how quickly he could end your life. He crouched down, your eyes following his every move as you silently shook. He extended his hand, gripping your chin and turning your head from side to side.  “Go take a fucking shower, you smell like piss and blood.” He spat at you, letting your face go harshly before standing.  Your breath was ragged, eyes raging at him as you watched him take a few steps back.  You got up, walking into the bathroom all the way to last stall. Jungkook stood at the bathroom door, back turned to you.  “You can leave.” You said, peeling your shirt off.  “No, I can’t, you don’t stay alone.” He said, his head turning but not looking at you.  You hung your shirt on the wall, opening your pants and putting them next to it. Unclasping your bra, you felt a sense of relief overtake you when your breasts were free.  Looking down, you noticed the bandaged were bloody, and you knew you were going to need help to get them off. Taking in a deep breath, you sighed, eyes closing in frustration as you groaned.  Jungkook seemed to notice.  “What?” He asked.  “I... I need help.” You said reluctantly. Jungkook turned around fully, looking at you. All he could see were your shoulders and your head, your cheeks were slightly flushed and your eyes on the floor. He walked towards you, your hands crossing over your bare chest. “The bandages.” You said as he stopped behind you.  He was quiet for a few seconds before taking out his pocket knife. The sound of the metal opening made you flinch, the memory of watching Yoongi stab a man in the head rushing back into your memory.  “Hold still.” He said before he crouched down, hand grabbing at the top edge of the bandage and cutting through. The sound brought you the image of him slicing that same knife through a man’s throat like it was nothing, you could still hear the gargling noises he made before he fell lifeless on the sand. Your body started shaking as you were suddenly taken over by fear. When Jungkook was done, you felt him gently peel the gauze off, dropping it beside him. You started sobbing, unable to move as your eyes shut tight. You had lost everyone, you were alone and scared, and your future was nothing but a big question. Everything you had seen for the past three days haunted you like a monster and now, finally, you felt as if it were too much to bear.  Jungkook stood, noticing you violently shake and cry. Gulping down his own sorrows he sighed, he might be rude, relentless and cold, but he wasn’t heartless. Taking a step forward, he took the knife and cut through the fabric of your underwear.  “Don’t worry, I won’t look.” He reassured although you were barely there.  Cutting on both sides, he peeled it off, throwing it along with the gauze. He leaned forward, beyond you and turned the faucet, a hard stream of water hitting your body and making you jump, a loud sob escaping you.  “Sh, it’s ok, it’s just water.” He spoke in a whisper and gently pushed you into the stream. You looked down, allowing the water to run through your body as the white floor stained red with your own blood and unknown blood. Maybe it was Thomas, but you knew it was everyone’s blood. Every single person who had died because of you. Your body only shook more as Jungkook turned you around, eyes trained on your face and never looking down. You met his hard eyes, but they seemed gentle for the first time. Slowly, he leaned your head back, allowing the water to soak your hair, and you closed your eyes.  Taehyung, Hoseok, and Yoongi were all standing by the door at this point, watching everything in silence, in sorrow. You didn’t notice them, and you doubted you would have.  “Focus on me,” Jungkook said, and you tried your best, but you just couldn’t hold back the sobbing and shaking of your body. “Taehyung, can you bring me the soap?” Jungkook asked, bringing the boy back from his thoughts. The boy cleared his throat, walking towards the end of the bathroom and extending his hand, head turned away.  “Thank you,” Jungkook said and finally looked at him. Taehyung had the sad eyes, the ones he knew well enough, held pain and empathy. He looked back at his unit, both men looking down in silent reassurance. They were all feeling their own pain from their own life while they watched your suffering. Jungkook looked back at you, the fragile shaking woman in front of him. Taking the soap into his hand, he gently started rubbing it on your arms.  “You can go now, Taehyung, take the boys with you, we’ll be there soon.” Jungkook’s voice was low and calm, but yet commanding. The man nodded and walked away, leaving a towel on the wall. As he walked away, Jungkook brought your head back down.  “Can you go on by yourself?” He asked, and you nodded, your shaking hand resting over his and trying to take the soap. You clearly couldn’t go on by yourself. “Tell me when to stop.” He said and continued to rub the bar of soap on your arms, then up your shoulders and neck. He watched his hand as you slowly unfolded your arms over your chest and shakingly rested them on your side. The water was warm, not too hot, and the stream was hard on your back. Jungkook gulped, eyes coming up as you slowly stopped crying, but never stopped shaking. “I’m going to have to look.” He said, and you nodded. As he looked back at his hand, he brought it to your front, above your breasts. This was a fragile moment for you and he knew that he would never take advantage of it. He took in your breasts, eyes darkening unwillingly, he went around them with the soap, never touching. Bringing the bar to your other arm, he rubbed it, bringing it back up your shoulder and neck. Every movement he made felt gentle, careful.  “Turn around.” He said in a whisper and you did so, his other hand brushing your hair off your back where he brought the soap and rubbed going down around your behind. At this point, his clothes were soaked from the splatters, but he didn’t care.  The moment you had screamed his name in that dark desert, something had shifted inside of him. It was primal, a screaming voice in his head saying. “I need to protect her.” And it was so loud he couldn’t ignore it. As he watched, you laid on his lap while you slept he saw just how fragile you were, your skin dirty, yet soft, pink cracked lips, small neck, so easy to cut through that he held his hand there, scared that something would. He shook the thought off his head as he crouched down. Rubbing the soap on the back of your thigh and down your legs, he went around and back up, making sure every spot that was acceptable to clean, he would. He shifted to the other side where your wound was, he had to clean around it, he did so, gently hearing you hiss in pain as the bloody water soon turned clear beneath you. As he got up, he brushed his fingers through your wet hair, bringing the soap to clean your locks. He watched as you let your head back into his ministration, eyes closed and body now shaking less. As he rinsed he turned you around again, letting the soap rest on the soap dish in the wall and bring his hand to brush off the dirt and blood off your face. You closed your eyes, allowing his rough thumbs to brush your skin ever so gently. When he was done he took the soap again, putting it in your slightly shaking hand.  “Now you gotta do the rest, little dove.” He said, and you nodded. Turning his back to you, you stared at the wet fabric of the brown shirt he was wearing, it was slightly soaked and you rubbed the soap on the parts he kindly left out, hand still shaking, you slowly calmed down, putting the soap on the soap dish and turning to turn the shower off.  Jungkook turned his head to the side but didn’t look at you. “I-I’m done.” You said in a weak, small voice so low that he could barely hear you. Jungkook nodded.  “Can you dry yourself?” He asked.  “Y-yes.” You answered.  “I’ll get your underwear, we’ll clean your wound and put on bandages when you’re done.” He walked away, leaving you alone for a while as you wrapped the white towel over your body, Jungkook walked back in, handing you the undergarments. He walked back out when you thanked him quietly. It took you a few minutes to realize just how intimate that had been as you slowly dried your body and put on the underwear. A white pair of cotton female underwear and a cotton top. Trying your best to dry your head given your still shaking hands you walked slowly out the bathroom, Jungkook seated on a chair, elbows resting on his thighs. He looked up at you as you limped slowly towards him. He made a motion with his fingers for you to turn around and you did, ass facing him.  “Taehyung brought some pain killers and ointments, it’ll help you heal faster.” He said, and you nodded. “This is going to hurt, so I need you not to faint, you’re standing.” His voice was now starting to sound like it did before. As Jungkook began to clean your wound, you gripped onto the table in front of you.  “Jesus fuck!” You cursed in pain, face contorting as you tried your best to endure.  “I’m almost done.” He said, but the next stab of pain was harder, making you whimper and your body falter. Yet, you held yourself up, nails digging into the wood. “Okay, spread your legs.” He said, and you did so, cheeks hot. You were in your underwear in front of him, legs spread as he slowly wrapped you up. You were naked in front of him a couple of minutes ago, and just that was enough to make your cheeks burn hotter. Even if he had been respectful, only making sure you could clean yourself without having a complete meltdown, you couldn’t help the embarrassment that flood through you. “Turn around.’ He said and on wobbly legs, you did so, his eyes trained on the task in hand. You looked down at him, his hard features were almost soft from how close you were. You shut your eyes, breathing in before you spoke.  “Thank you.” You said. He had just finished wrapping you up and he looked up at you, knowing you weren’t thanking him for just helping with your bandages.  “Even if you think I’m tempted to take on the task and get rich, your death would weigh on my shoulders a lot more than the situation at hand.” He said, eyes on your thigh as he made sure it was properly set.  “I know.” You whispered. He looked up, leaning back in the chair. Clenching his jaw and sighing.  “Do you?” He questioned. Wondering if you doubted his integrity. You said nothing as he slowly got up. “Get dressed, you have to eat before you take any medication.” He said, and you moved to the bed, putting on the fresh clothes in silence. Jungkook never left the room. When you were done you walked towards him and he walked out of the room, you followed.  As you made your way back to the warehouse, Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok were sitting on the floor, some men you didn’t know around them, as they talked a laugh erupted through them as you finally came into Taehyung’s view.  “Fresh and clean.” He said, and you smiled softly at him. Jungkook walked further, pulling a chair for you to sit down, and you thanked him before taking a seat. The air was thick. They had witnessed what had happened in the bathroom, an intimate, fragile moment that wasn’t meant for them, but yet, life as cruel as it was, allowed them to witness your pain. Trying to lighten up the mood, Hoseok cleared his throat.  “We were telling Taehyung about the Jimin thing, he and Yoongi bet against me,” Hoseok said to Jungkook. Jungkook lifted an eyebrow, eyes shifting to Taehyung, he shrugged.  “What can I say, Jimin can be quite stupid sometimes.” He said and everyone laughed, Jungkook included. You noticed how his face looked younger when he smiled, his front teeth jumping out a little and giving him a boyish look, almost as if he were a different person.  “Who’s Jimin?” You asked, looking around at the men.  “Jimin is the head of Red Hawk,” Yoongi said, passing you a hard plastic plate with bread, some chicken and what looked like mashed potatoes along with a hard plastic fork. You started eating slowly, watching as they handed the same thing to Jungkook and the rest of the men. “He’s a soft guy, but deadly, he’s one of the fastest.” Yoongi continued but was interrupted by a cough. “Oh, please, Jungkook, we all know he’s beaten you in speed at training more than a couple of times.” He indulged.  Jungkook squinted at the man, eating his food eagerly.  “Yeah, but I remember that on the field that was a completely different story.” He argued, swallowing down his food.  Scoffing Yoongi took a bite of his bread. The food wasn’t bad, quite the opposite, it was good, but your stomach wasn’t thrilled with hard solid food after so long so you tried to eat slowly.  “You all served together?” You asked, and this time Taehyung was the one to answer.  “Well, us four, Jimin and two others. Jin and Namjoon.” Taehyung said. “We were the best unit on the field, served three times as a unit before shit went crazy,” Taehyung stated. You assumed he wouldn’t add on, and you assumed correctly.  “But we are a family, brothers.” He said.  “Speak for yourself, I despise you,” Yoongi said, and everyone laughed again, even you. Conversation flowed between them as you ate in silence. Sometimes you would glance at Jungkook and he would be quiet, almost as if not taking part in the conversation. His head working a thousand miles an hour.  You had taken the pain medication and soon; it was just a small dull ache that made your head clearer than ever. You heard the men tell stories of when they served and stories about jobs they had gone on. What seemed like hours went by. Soon, the men had brought some alcohol into your circle, dinner being served not long after, and they put a fire lamp in the middle of the circle, everyone coming in and speaking a little about themselves. They all seemed to have immense respect for Jungkook, even if he was younger, it was as if he had lived more, seen more. Eventually, a man you didn’t know spoke up.  “This is fun and all, but I can’t help but think you look really familiar,” The man in black clothing and a rifle on his back said, eyes on you. Four heads turned in his direction and you didn’t need to look to know who.  You opened your mouth to answer, but Jungkook looked at you, shaking his head. The man noticed.  “You seem like you’re very important, how about you tell me your name?” He questioned, a disgusting smile on his face.  “That’s none of your business, Kyle,” Taehyung said in a low, yet threatening voice.  “Oh, it’s not, boss? Because I think you hiding a 1.5 billion dollar worth hit from us makes it my business.” He quirked an eyebrow towards Taehyung. “What were you going to do? Take her away and keep all that money to yourself?” He questioned, you slowly felt your body shake again, eyeing Jungkook and the others. They were all looking at the man named Kyle, dark and dangerous eyes staring at him.  “She’s not here for the hit, she’s here for protection.” Taehyung spat at him.  “Are you fucking kidding me? Not gonna lie, I was wondering why you’d feed her and be kind before you’d kill her, I was thinking you were some sadistic bastard, but now I just know you’re stupid.” Kyle said shifting, the sound of several guns being pulled out and unlocked ready to fire ringed through the warehouse.  “You touch one fucking hair on her head and I’ll put a bullet through your skull.” Jungkook’s voice was laced with danger, it wasn’t just a threat, it was a promise as he clutched his gun in his hand. You watched as Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok all had their guns pointed at the man. Some of Taehyung’s men also had joined in and pointed the gun at him. You were staring back at the man, his eyes now slightly bulged as his arms were lifted in the air.  The man chuckled. It made you shiver in your seat.  “You all are idiots if you think you can protect her from what’s coming.” He spoke, eyes locked on yours. “I might not be the one to do it, but someone will.” He finished.  “Raven.” Jungkook’s voice rang through the silence, his eyes still on the man. “Look away.” He said and your eyes bulged before you turned in your seat, looking the other way and the shot echoed through the warehouse. You flinched at the loud sound, a low thud being heard right after. You shook in your spot, not having the guts to look.  “If anyone else has the same ideas as Kyle, speak now,” Jungkook said, and all you were met with was silence. You heard movement and a hand resting on your shoulder, you looked up at the dark eyes. ‘Let’s go." He said and you got up, his hand rested on the small of your back as he gently guided you back to the room, footsteps followed after you both.  “A little warning would be nice next time,” Hoseok said while you walked down the hall.  “You know he doesn’t pull out his gun if he’s not going to shoot,” Yoongi said, following right behind.  As you made your way into the room Jungkook sat you down. You looked at the three men in front of you, Taehyung joining right after.  “How reliable are your men?” Jungkook quickly questioned, looking up at him.  “He was a new recruit, only a month here. The others have been here longer, they’re smarter than to pull any shit on me.” He said, but you noticed that wasn’t a good enough answer for Jungkook. He looked back at you, head going a thousand miles an hour.  “We’ll take shifts, two at a time, we leave before sunrise, Taehyung and me first.” He said, his eyes finally meeting them. They all nodded. “Get some rest.” He said, and you watched as Yoongi and Hoseok made their ways to the bunk beds. Jungkook sat down on the table and Taehyung on the chair. Both gripped their guns in their hands. You laid back, slightly shaking as you curled in on yourself. Jungkook had killed a man for just mentioning you being killed, he didn’t even think twice, and what Yoongi had said repeated in your head again and again.  He didn’t take his gun out unless he was going to shoot.

#jungkook #jeon #jeon jungkook #reader #y/n #fanfic #imagine #smut #bts #bts imagines #jk #mature #pureevilforkookie #fic #smutcentralnet

[arukou-arukou]

Extremis v. 2.4 Superior

For @stevetonygames team angst, fill Angst: Mind Control. Also filling prompt Canon ref: Superior Iron Man. Warnings: Angst without a happy ending, evil Tony Stark, mind control.

Steve and Nat were running a mission with STRIKE in Syria when the emergency evacuation order came through. The president of the United States had been kidnapped and SHIELD wanted its top agents on the case yesterday. Helicopter to Quinjet to DC was the planned route. They’d been communications dark, so the additional news that Tony Stark was dead was a shock to say the least. Steve stared down at his tablet, spine numb, fingers cold. It was not the time to fall apart, but oh how he wanted to fall apart. He wanted it like he wanted a cup of coffee in the morning, like it was habit. He wasn’t allowed to fall apart, and somehow the restriction made it even more impossible to bear.

Nat sat beside him, her face betraying nothing, her eyes sharp on their team, on the pilot, and most especially on him. He wasn’t supposed to notice her noticing him, but he couldn’t help himself. She wouldn’t do him the disservice of asking if he could handle this, but she’d be shadowing him every step of the way, ready to step in if his thin veneer cracked under the pressure.

They touched down on US soil four hours later, Fury waiting for them on the tarmac, Hill at his side, Alexander Pierce, Vice President Rodriguez, and Thaddeus Ross also waiting on them, secret service swarming, the whole atmosphere strained, and not only because of the kidnapping, if Steve had to guess. Fury looked pissed to be working with Ross, and Ross looked like he’d been sucking lemons, so in general, the affair was a stick of dynamite waiting for a spark. More shuffling, more takeoff and landing, a briefing meeting that felt more like negotiations at the height of the cold war, and then they were en route to Florida. Steve tried his hardest to keep his head in the game, but part of him was remembering sweat damp sheets from months ago. Tony was in DC on a fairly regular basis, which meant Steve was getting laid on a fairly regular basis, but it also meant that he spent more time than he ought wondering what exactly to make of their relationship. He’d done his reading, knew all the filthy terms for people who fucked without dating, and knew that wasn’t for him, but somehow, he kept falling into bed with Tony anyway. The lack of resolve, the knowledge that that resolve would never come, was a hairline fracture within him, and at the first opportunity, he’d drive an ice pick in and let it rip him to pieces, but he couldn’t do it yet, not with the president in the hands of terrorists.

Halfway to Florida though, they got a cryptic message across the coms. It was carrying all the right codes, all the right signals, and it told them to land at the oil rig and standby, stand down. Fury sized up Ross and Ross sized up Fury and then they lit into each other, each accusing the other of undermining the operation. STRIKE looked on with barely concealed glee as the higher-ups had it out with each other, but Steve and Nat were trading glances. They could both of them come up with a few explanations for a mysterious coded message with all the right signatures, but Occam’s razor said the most obvious explanation was a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist.

The quinjet touched down on the oil rig with Fury and Ross still arguing about what to do, and seeing his opportunity, Steve took it, Nat shadowing him without question. The rig was on fire. Very on fire. Molten twists of metal littered the landscape, and they were no doubt only minutes from a major explosion.

“We need to evacuate this place. Hostiles and friendlies.”

“So you’re assuming there are friendlies?”

“Aren’t you?” Nat nodded and considered the disaster before them. “I’ll do a check from the high ground, you run the gauntlet. I’ll relay any activity I see. We’ve got five minutes and then we need to clear our people, whether we’ve found anyone or not.” Her voice brokered no compromise, and feeling that hairline fracture within him, Steve thought better of arguing. He took off at top speed into the mess of the rig while Nat swung herself up a set of stairs, climbing like a monkey for the best vantage point. She needn’t have bothered. The moment she cleared the rooftop, an Iron Man armor—not one like Steve had ever seen before, big and bulky and gorilla-shaped—swooped in and grabbed her. A second later, he was gripped in his own Iron Man bear hug, a second armor right behind the first.

Joy overtook worry, and Steve gave himself over to the ride, watching the burning rig shrink away, not caring that he was leaving his team behind. Tony was alive. Tony was alive!

The armors landed them in a McMansion somewhere outside of Ft. Lauderdale, if Steve had to guess, and they released them both, standing as flanking guards. The entire mansion was dark, not a light in sight, and above, the stars twinkled down on them with a cold, hard glint. Tony emerged from an arch, flanked by Pepper and Jim. Steve’s heart started fluttering at double speed, overjoyed. He rushed forward, only just stopping himself from kissing Tony in front of them all, and instead gripped his biceps, looking him over for any sign of injury.

“You’re okay? You’re okay! The news said you were dead.”

“Not so easy to kill me,” Tony replied, a smirk drawing up one corner of his mouth. There was something different about him, though in the darkness, Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“The president?”

“Taken care of. Why don’t you guys come in and we’ll chat.”

Steve was all too eager to follow, like a puppy to heel. Nat spoke, though, and stopped him cold. “What did the Mandarin do to you all?”

Tony stopped too, though he didn’t turn back. “It’s not what he did to us, Nat. It’s what we did to him. I promise I’ll tell you all about it if you’ll just come with us. We’ve got drinks by the pool and everything.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Steve?”

Steve didn’t want to look back. He didn’t want to see Nat’s face, because the thing was, he trusted her instincts more than his own. She never trusted anyone, and she was never wrong about a situation headed south. And he didn’t want to hear it. Tony was alive. The president was safe. For once, just for once in his life, he’d love for the dire national emergency to already be taken care of. But no. He had to look back.

Nat stood her ground, the armors looming behind her, now closer than they had been. Her stance was wide, her guns drawn, and they were aimed at Tony. When she saw she had his attention, she spoke again. “Steve, that’s not Tony.”

Tony was at his side now, that same razor-sharp smirk on his lips. Steve looked closer, and against his will, he began to see what he hadn’t wanted to see before. The light was low, yes, but even so, he could see that Tony somehow looked younger, smoother, leaner. The beautiful crow’s feet and laugh lines on his face had disappeared, the slight layer of middle-aged fat on his face and stomach were gone. From the corner of his eye, Steve could also see Pepper, and she too looked younger, sharper, as though there was metal under her skin.

“What are you talking about, Nat? I know you don’t like me, but surely you know your old pal, Iron Man.”

Nat fired three shots, all of them straight into Tony’s skull, and Steve broke again, the fracture back, splitting splitting, a fault line straight through his heart. But no. There was a strange white-blue glint in Tony’s head. He hadn’t crumpled to the ground. There was no blood. Tony hadn’t moved at all. Instead, he started laughing. One by one, the metal bullet casings plinked out of his skull and straight to the ground. The hole healed itself over, smooth, unscarred, perfect.

“Tony?” Steve asked, even as Nat twisted to make her escape. She was too slow though, and the gorilla armor had her up in its grip, holding her fast.

“Pep, Gummy Bear, if you would escort Natalia to the lab, I’ll be along soon to administer the dose.” Pepper and Jim strode forward like machines, their eyes blank, and Steve felt horror creeping up his esophagus, souring his mouth with bile. “Jim, Pepper, please don’t hurt her. What are you doing? She’s your friend.” Steve stumbled forward, but Tony’s hand clapped down on his shoulder, pushing him down down down with inexorable weight. His knees buckled and then cracked into the cement, pain shooting through his legs.

“Tony, what are you doing? What did you do to them?”

“Oh my dear Captain, I’ve done the best thing I possibly could. I’ve made them superior. They’re happier this way. See?”

He gestured, and as one Jim and Pepper turned toward Steve and bared their teeth in a horrible parody of a smile. “You see, darling? Younger, stronger, happily rid of all that pesky free will. Happier. Just like you will be, too.”

Steve turned to look up into Tony’s eyes and saw the white blue glow within.

“Extremis, darling. It was flawed when the Mandarin had it, but now I’ve perfected it. Eternal youth and beauty. Unfailing loyalty. And the world at our feet. Come now, Steve. Don’t you want to be superior?”

Tony’s hand dug into the thick muscle of his trapezius, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing, until Steve’s vision went black and white and blue.

#writing #fanfiction #steve/tony #stony #team angst #superior iron man

[raywritesthings]

Happy Accident 3/3

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Thea Queen, Susan Brayden, Adrian Chase, Susan Williams, Quentin Lance, Talia al Ghul, Curtis Holt, Rene Ramirez, Rory Regan Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Felicity’s punch has consequences no one intended, driving Oliver to take drastic measures with their own unexpected result. *Can be read on AO3, link in bio*

Laurel didn’t know what to think upon stepping through yet another strange portal into their base to find a couple strangers standing there. She’d heard the others mention recruits, of course, but it seemed odd not finding her teammates there waiting for them. At least, not both her old teammates.

Thea stood from a chair at the computer monitors, arms crossing as she eyed Laurel with a mix of mistrust and pain. “Rene and Rory filled me in. So, any sudden, overpowering need to kill a person yet?”

“Aside from your usual moods,” one of the men added. Laurel cringed; Iris had told her that a number of the others’ Earth-2 doppelgangers had also been criminals, but she did not love being judged as one herself.

“Where’s Felicity?” The other man asked.

“Felicity is taking a leave of absence,” Oliver answered simply, which Laurel thought was probably for the best rather than getting into details. She was still shocked it had even happened. “And we’ll be monitoring the situation with Laurel to see if the Lotus is necessary and if we can acquire more of it.”

The first man raised his eyebrows. “I thought the plan was bring her back, lock her in a cell.”

“Well, considering I haven’t even been read my charges let alone my rights, I’m not sure I agree with that plan,” Laurel decided to interject. “There’s also the fact that I’m not really who you think I am. When Ollie tried to bring back my doppelganger, it didn’t work, but somehow he found my soul and brought me back instead.”

“And you are…?” The second of the two men asked.

Oliver stepped up beside her and laid a hand at the small of her back. “Rory, Rene, I’d like you to meet the Dinah Laurel Lance original to Earth-1, the Black Canary and someone very important to me.”

The one she could guess was named Rory gave a start; Rene looked skeptical; but in that moment, Laurel really only had eyes for Thea, who gasped and swayed a half-step forward before catching herself.

“You’re really…?”

Laurel nodded, a smile growing on her face as Thea rushed forward.

Before her friend’s arms could circle round her however, Rene called out. “Wait a minute. Hoss, how do we know she isn’t just playing you again?”

“I mean, the Flash team thinks it’s her, so if she’s not that’s gonna be awkward,” Curtis remarked finally. “I mean, I only met Laurel — the real Laurel — once. I only met her doppelganger once, too, so that doesn’t help much, I guess. But if I had to say which one this Laurel reminds me of more, it’s probably the real one. I think?”

“Thanks, Curtis,” Oliver said, not doing much to disguise how insincerely that was meant. “Laurel - this Laurel - knows things that only the version I knew would really be aware of. Cisco tested that for himself as well.”

“Maybe people would feel better with one more test?” Rory suggested.

“I’ve got something,” Thea said. She turned to Laurel and asked, “What did I tell you about Alex compared to Roy?”

It took Laurel a moment to recall, but she nearly laughed when she did. “That you’d be surprised who uses more tongue?” Beside her, Ollie pulled a disgusted face.

“It’s you,” Thea declared, then practically squealed as she launched herself into Laurel’s arms. Laurel grinned from ear to ear as she hugged her friend back just as tightly. This, in some ways, truly felt like a homecoming.

Thea pulled back abruptly, her eyes darting from Laurel to Oliver and back again. “But this is — I mean you guys — did you tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Laurel asked, looking back at Oliver who had gone a remarkable pink color.

“One thing at a time,” he said. “First thing’s first; Thea, I’m gonna need your help drafting a proposal.”

“Okay. To City Council?”

“To the President of the United States.”

More than a few jaws dropped, and Laurel waited for Oliver to break or otherwise indicate he was joking. Yet apparently he wasn’t.

As it turned out, only the previous month Oliver’s team, Barry’s team and Sara and her crew had all repelled an alien invasion — because of course there were aliens — along with a different alien from a totally separate world and had been declared heroes by the President. Who had been the Vice President, last thing Laurel knew.

Ollie’s plan was to use that goodwill from their Commander in Chief to parlay some kind of deal for Laurel to receive immunity against being prosecuted. It wasn’t a terrible idea, all things considered, except for one small problem.

“This might just cover me for everything I did as Black Canary in the past, but it’s not going to hold up for anything I continue to do.”

Oliver looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean when I go back out in the field with you guys. I’m going back out there,” she added before he could even start. To her annoyance, the Queen siblings shared an uneasy look. “I understand that what happened last spring was traumatic. It was for me, too. But I am not going to let some kind of fear from what Darhk did to me make me waste my second shot at life.”

“We know,” Thea said. “We just — it’s been hard without you. I haven’t even been going out in the field much. Things were rough.”

Laurel rubbed Thea’s shoulder with one hand. “I’m sorry, and I’m glad you’re giving yourself some space to figure things out. But I don’t need time off. In fact, I’m pretty sure you need as many hands on deck as possible,” she added to Oliver, “considering Felicity is taking time off and John also doesn’t seem to be around.”

Oliver and Thea both looked down. “John’s in prison.”

“What?”

“He was framed by a superior officer,” Thea said. “Cause he went back for a fourth tour. Like I said, things were rough.”

Laurel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. John couldn’t be sitting in prison; he had a family to take care of, a daughter to watch grow up. “Can we get him pardoned with me?”

“I have a friend working on his case,” Oliver told her. “That’s the best hope we have for him right now.”

Privately, Laurel made a note to review said case and said friend’s handling of it so far, but there wasn’t much else she could say now without knowing all the facts. She’d have to see John as soon as she was allowed to walk about without risk of ending up the block above or below him.

All too soon, Laurel found herself standing in one of Oliver’s beta sites in front of a large screen that currently displayed the president’s seal. Oliver stood beside her dressed in his Green Arrow uniform.

The screen finally changed, showing President Brayden sitting at her desk in the Oval Office. “Green Arrow, Miss Lance.”

“Madame President,” Oliver said. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us in this manner.”

“I’ll admit, there was some debate on my part as to whether I should insist on a meeting face-to-face. This is a very sensitive matter. But why don’t you explain from the beginning what happened to you back in April, Miss Lance?”

Laurel nodded, taking a deep breath as she recalled the story they had practiced. She didn’t relish getting to lie to the president, but all of them had agreed that the less world governments knew about the Lazarus Pits, the better. “Last April, I was taken from the hospital by men working for Damien Darhk. I guess they must have substituted some kind of fake body or something for me to make everyone think I had died. According to them, since I had lived, he wasn’t done punishing my father for betraying him. But I guess Darhk was killed before he could make good on his promise

“I was moved from place to place. They didn’t seem to know what they were going to do with me, and there wasn’t a good window of escape for a long time. I wasn’t tortured, but they would starve me or leave me without water for periods of time, and I was still recovering from my injuries.

“What allowed me to finally escape was me discovering my metahuman abilities.”

“And these are?”

She’d been expecting that question; she and Oliver had agreed it was best to be forthcoming about this development so it didn’t look like she’d been concealing something on purpose from the Commander in Chief. “I can produce screams at loud enough frequencies that the sound waves are visible and can physically impact a target. I’d offer to demonstrate, but I imagine that wouldn’t be very good for your speakers.”

“No, probably not,” Brayden agreed wryly. “And upon escaping, you returned to your city and your team.”

“Yes, Madame President,” Oliver confirmed. “We were unbelievably grateful to have Laurel back with us. But we’re afraid to lose her again.”

“Green Arrow and the others wanted me to ask you for a pardon,” Laurel said. “But if I was granted one, it wouldn’t allow me to continue to operate as Black Canary.”

“And that’s something you wish to do.”

“Yes. Being the Black Canary is a part of me, and it’s the best way I know how to help people.” Laurel shrugged. “As much as I have loved being a lawyer, I know there’s no practice or District Attorney’s office that would take a publicly known vigilante. A lot of other jobs would be leery of it, too. That’s why I have a proposal.”

President Brayden steepled her hands together and leaned a little closer towards the camera. “I’m listening.”

“I understand that last month you gave an address commending my fellow heroes. You see the need for what we do, but I imagine there are some in Washington who don’t like the idea of trusting us blindly.” Laurel laid a hand over her chest. “With my identity known, I could act as a liaison of sorts between my team and your administration. I’m accountable to both sides since everyone knows who I am.”

Brayden thought for a few moments. “That would be a tremendous responsibility for you to take on, answering for any of the actions your fellows take.”

“It would be my honor to represent each and every one of them, Madame President,” Laurel said. Okay, so she didn’t actually know Rene or Rory or even Curtis all that well, let alone most of the people Sara traveled with. But Laurel trusted Oliver and Sara’s judgement in who they would choose to fight alongside them.

“And we would be honored to have Laurel representing us,” Oliver added. “Not one of us is going to take the trust she, you or the greater public have placed in us for granted.”

“Let me say that this arrangement is an attractive idea,” Brayden finally said. “But I will need time to discuss it with my advisors. You can expect a call from me as to my final decision within two days, Black Canary. Thank you for your time.” With that, the president signed off.

“I think that went well?” Laurel said, turning to Oliver.

“I’m inclined to agree. No matter what happens, though, we’ll handle it,” Oliver told her.

A week of negotiations ensued. All the details of Laurel’s new appointment had to be worked out; how and when and to which agency or body Laurel would be reporting to, what she was expected to disclose and what infringed on the other’s expectations of privacy. She remained down in the beta site the entire time, visits from Thea or Oliver with food and reminders to sleep breaking up the monotony of video calls and working out, testing the limits of the body she had woken up in. She really was going to have to send a blood sample to Caitlin for analysis; whether it was the meta gene or something about Earth 2, she felt stronger and more durable than ever, and part of her was itching to get out into a real fight to see for herself.

She took a round trip on a private plane to sign the final documents in D.C., shaking hands with President Brayden immediately after doing so while Secret Service members stood incredibly close. She supposed a metahuman would present a highly unique risk to the life of their charge.

“I’m hopeful that this is the start of a beautiful partnership, Laurel,” the president told her as the White House cameraman snapped their picture for the next morning’s press release. Laurel would not be attending since she would be in a special closed court session back home getting her death overturned.

“I’m hoping with you, Madame President.”

It was still early evening when she arrived back in Starling even though a whole day had passed for her. “I’m exhausted, and I miss a real bed,” she admitted to Oliver, who had been waiting just outside the tarmac to pick her up. She was sure once she had fallen into the cot in the beta site she wouldn’t care what she was sleeping on, but right now with her freedom very nearly secured, she longed for those kind of simple comforts.

“Why don’t you come back with me instead?” He asked.

Laurel stilled for a moment, then gave a quiet, “Okay.”

She was still so confused about what was going on with Oliver. She had wanted to chalk up his happiness, the frequent touching and the near-constant praise to just the newness of her being back, but it had been nearly two weeks and there was no sign of it slowing. Then there was the sort of excited buzzing about Thea seemed to do whenever Oliver so much as entered the same room as Laurel. Laurel recognized the behavior from Thea’s childhood; she had a secret, and she wanted to tell it. If she hadn’t been so busy working out the details of her new life as a publicly sanctioned vigilante, Laurel would have demanded her friend just tell her already.

Stranger still was the continued lack of Felicity’s presence and Oliver’s continued lack of seeming to care about that. Laurel had honestly thought the couple would have made up by now and resumed their lives together, yet her resurrection had seen them further apart than ever. She didn’t have the whole story yet; Laurel knew something had happened to a man named Billy who Felicity had obviously cared for, and there also appeared to be tension surrounding the way Felicity and Oliver had been clashing on leading the team’s new recruits, but Laurel would have thought Oliver would be devastated to be experiencing even more troubles with the love of his life. What exactly was she missing here?

All these thoughts were running through her mind as Oliver parked the car in the garage attached to his new home as the Mayor of Star City. He came around to lead her up through the house and to what looked to be an unused guest bedroom. Laurel bid him goodnight and climbed beneath the covers, letting herself succumb to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be an extremely important day, and Laurel wanted to be prepared for it.

She woke up to Oliver’s soft knock on her door the next morning, a breakfast tray in his hands. Laurel smiled and combed some of her hair back from her face. “Breakfast in bed? Careful, I might not want to go back to my apartment.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind the company,” he replied, his eyes soft once again as he gazed at her. Laurel took a bite of her eggs so she wouldn’t be expected to reply. “I also thought you might like to call your dad before the big announcement from the president this morning.” He took out his phone and a piece of paper, setting both down on the edge of her bed. “That’s the number to the rehab facility.”

“Thank you, Ollie. For everything. Really, it’s kind of impossible to sum up how much I owe you for all this.”

Oliver shook his head. “You don’t owe me a thing. It’s what you deserve from me.”

She was speechless again. Laurel looked down, taking up the paper and fiddling with it.

“I’ll let you make that call,” Oliver said, backing out of the room.

Laurel willed the heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks back down as she tapped each number in its sequence. She waited as it rang twice before a woman with a pleasantly calm voice answered. “Evergreen Care Center, how can I help you today?”

“Hi, my father is staying at your facility right now, and I was hoping to speak to him. Quentin Lance?”

“Date of birth?”

Laurel gave it, followed by his phone number and the last four digits of his social. She’d memorized such information years ago after her mother had left them and Laurel had realized she would be his designated representative in any emergency situation.

“Let’s see here. Oh, yes, we do have Quentin with us. I’ll see if he’s up to a phone call this morning,” the woman replied, and Laurel felt her heart sink lower in her chest. She should have called sooner. “One moment, please.”

Laurel waited as she was put on hold, her fingers drumming on the bedspread a counterpoint to the soothing music that played. Eventually it cut out, and her father’s voice — tired to her ears — came on the line.

“Sara? You’re back in town?”

Laurel’s lips pressed together for a moment before she answered, “I’m not Sara, daddy.”

She heard a sharp gasp, then a thump that had her worried, but her dad asked, “Laurel?”

“Mm-hm. I’m alive. Ollie — it’s complicated — but Ollie found out about another Pit, and I’m okay now.”

“Oh, God. Oh, thank God. You — I’ve missed you so much, missed your voice, baby. Where are you?”

“I’m in the city. Listen, I’m going to get myself declared alive again today, and I’ll come visit. Please don’t check out of this place, dad. If you need it, you need it. I want you to get the help you need.”

“I needed you, honey,” he argued. “This stuff, this was just to keep me going. But I’ll be fine with you back, I promise.”

“When does the program end?” She asked.

“Nother two weeks,” was his grudging reply.

“Then just do the two weeks. I’ll still be here. I want you to learn how to do this without me or Sara, because you know we lead crazy lives. Anything could happen.”

“Hey, you just said you’re still gonna be there.”

“I know.” There was a knock on her doorframe, and Laurel looked up. Thea was standing there with a suit bag that was probably holding her court clothes. “I need to get ready for my appointment. We’ll talk about this when I come see you, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too, honey. I never said it enough, before, but I- you’re my world, Laurel.”

She swallowed down the lump in her throat and said, “I’ll see you soon, dad.” Laurel drew in a breath as she hung up and let it out before getting up and facing Thea. “Okay. Shower?”

“Bathroom’s down the hall to the left,” Thea told her.

Laurel took a quick one, realizing belatedly that she had left the suit bag with Thea in her temporary room. She pinned her hair up and wrapped a towel around herself, hoping to sneak down the hall unnoticed. But as she drew up towards the guest bedroom door, she heard voices.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t told her,” Thea complained.

“It’s not exactly something that comes up in a normal conversation,” Oliver replied.

“Yeah, but how you feel at least? Ollie, you have a real chance to be happy, and I don’t want to see you walk away from that because you think you’re unworthy or something like that.”

As much as Laurel desperately wanted to know what Oliver’s response to that would be, she was hearing a conversation that was clearly meant to be private. She was also in danger of running late if she didn’t get dressed soon, not to mention that she was starting to get a little cold out in the hall with nothing but a towel on.

So Laurel pushed the door open the full way. “If I can have the room for a few minutes?”

The Queen siblings looked her way, but only Oliver sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes unmistakably flicked up and down her body for a moment, and Laurel flushed with heat a second time that morning at the way he licked his lips.

Thea crossed between them, but it wasn’t until she called, “Ollie, coming?” that either of them seemed to snap out of it.

“Right. Uh, sorry.”

Laurel backed up to give him room as he practically fled out into the hall, and she thought she caught Thea smirking as her younger friend shut the door. Laurel fanned her face with one hand as she grabbed her clothes to finally change.

Her day in court was short-lived considering all she was being required to do was appear in person and give the judge the written version of the statement she had delivered to the president, signed by both herself and Brayden. Judge Moore reviewed the document before adding her own signature.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Miss Lance.”

Laurel smirked. Moore couldn’t know how literally that statement applied to her case. “Thank you, judge.”

She was shepherded into the car around the side of the courthouse. “Brayden’s press conference just finished up,” Thea told her. “You’re officially the world’s first publically-sanctioned hero. You ready for a gig in PR?”

“I guess we’ll find out tonight,” Laurel answered. Oliver had scheduled a gala for tonight, ostensibly to check in with some of the higher-society constituents, but really to serve as Laurel’s reintroduction to Star City. It was strange how fast everything seemed to move now that she was alive again. And she was so, so glad for it. Her life had always been messy and complicated and confusing. She hadn’t known what to do with all that peace.

---

Adrian Chase had a problem. And he hadn’t planned for problems.

Everything he had worked for these last five years, every piece he had put in place, had ensured that Oliver was walking right down the path he had designed for him without even knowing it, all the while thinking he had a fighting chance. There simply weren’t room for mistakes.

But one had apparently been made, and as the morning news told him, it all came down to Dinah Laurel Lance.

Adrian had been satisfied overall with the Black Siren’s performance and the effect she had worked on Oliver and his team, the trauma that having to fight a woman that looked like their departed friend had brought on. Even if he had had to remind the woman of her place now and then, she had always been meant as more of a blunt instrument than anything. Something to let out and play for a while before she was rounded up by ARGUS’ agents.

At least, that was what Adrian had assumed had happened to her. That had been his first mistake.

Next had been not trying harder to learn why Oliver had taken a sudden trip out of the country or why he had come back looking as though he were walking on clouds. Strange, considering that his spying had informed him that Felicity Smoak was no longer going to the Green Arrow’s base of operations. If Oliver’s team had truly splintered so badly, what could he be happy about?

In his guise as DA, he had had no luck getting his ‘friend’ to open up to him about it, or the impromptu press conference and gala he had scheduled two weeks after his strange behavior had begun. All Oliver had said was, “You’ll see.”

And he was seeing it now. He was seeing her right on his television screen.

“President Brayden, surprising the nation and perhaps the world this morning with a stunning revelation — Star City’s own Dinah Laurel Lance is alive and well. In a written statement, Miss Lance explains that she was taken captive by men associated with the late terrorist Damien Darhk and managed to escape only last month. Lance was famously exposed by her friend Mayor Oliver Queen as the vigilante known as the Black Canary. In the president’s release, she indicated that not only will charges not be brought against Black Canary, but instead Miss Lance will be taking on the role of official liaison between the Capitol and the growing roster of masked men and women we have seen take place over the years. We at Channel 52 say welcome back, Miss Lance, and Star City should be happy to know their Canary has flown home.”

He wanted to break something. How dare that woman? Who did she think she was, turning her back on him after he had rescued her from the Flash’s pipeline and running into Oliver’s arms? What sort of game was she playing?

Since he was on the guest list for Oliver’s gala tonight, he intended to find out. After all, he was pretty sure who the guest of honor was going to be.

Sure enough, that night Adrian stood in a crowd that applauded as Oliver led who everyone thought was their miraculously returned hero up to a podium with her arm looped through his. His eyes practically shined as he let Laurel go and stood just off to the side to give her the floor.

“Thank you,” she began, a picture of grace and humility. She had perfected her act in the weeks since Adrian had seen her last, and he would be hard-pressed to tell the difference now between her and the original. He could acknowledge a guise well done.

“I’m thankful and relieved to be able to stand here in front of you all tonight and be welcomed back to my home. I can’t wait to get back to work making this city the best that it can be, and I hope you all feel the same.

“I’ve been doing everything I can to catch up on what I missed while I was gone. One of those things is the significant damage done to the Glades district last spring, a section of our city which has already suffered too much over the years. There is a donation plate available tonight to help fund the relief efforts Oliver and his administration have put in place. Please consider giving if you are able.

“That’s all I really have to say at this time. I’d rather speak to you all personally. I ask that the questions about my captivity be limited. It’s not exactly a period of my life that I want to dwell on.”

Adrian fought down a smirk at that. Clever, he had to give her that.

“Thank you.” Laurel Lance stepped back from the podium and rejoined Oliver as the two made their way out to the floor to speak with groups of people here and there. They made a fine couple, which begged the question: what had she told Oliver? How had she convinced him to go along with this? Adrian had clearly underestimated the power even a shadow of the woman Oliver had lost last year would have over him.

Eventually, the pair of them made their way around the room to where he stood. “Laurel, this is Adrian Chase, my DA.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you.” There was not a hint of recognition in her features. Did she hope that here, in public, they were trapped into playing their roles, that he wouldn’t be able to get the truth out of her?

For now, he smiled politely. “You as well.”

“Adrian’s agreed to help with John’s case,” Oliver added in an undertone.

Her eyes lit up. “I was hoping to hear more of the details on that.”

Well that was interesting. Was she angling to speak with him now?

“I’d be happy to get such an accomplished lawyer’s position on it. Who knows? If things had been different, we could’ve been working this together,” Adrian said, his one hand clenched right where it rested in his pocket as she failed to give any hint that she understood his double meaning. “If I could borrow Miss Lance for a moment, Oliver? Shop talk, you could call it.”

“That’s fine with me. I’m sure you and Laurel have a lot to say on the subject. I’ll just be making the rounds.” With a last smile in Laurel Lance’s direction, the man turned and walked back through the crowd.

“It’s a little loud in here, don’t you think?” Adrian asked, not waiting for an answer before he turned and left the main hall. There was a smaller, unused room in the venue just across the hall, a few tables and chairs being stored and little else. It would do.

“So, Oliver told me you were able to have John remain here by invoking the Star City charter,” she said as she entered the room.

Adrian rolled his eyes. “What exactly is your plan here?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You can drop the act, Siren,” he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “I highly doubt Oliver is listening in considering how well you’ve apparently wrapped him around your finger. I have to wonder how you did it.”

She stared at him. “How do you know about Black Siren?”

Adrian was about fed up with the games. “How does the man who sprung you from a four-by-four cell know who you are? You can play dumb with Oliver, but it won’t work on me.”

“You’re Prometheus,” she breathed, and the shock looked so genuine, he found himself honestly wondering if she somehow hadn’t known, no matter that he knew she did.

“I’m glad you’re caught up, but you seem to need a reminder of who exactly is in charge here,” Adrian said, reaching swiftly to circle his hand around her throat.

Her eyes bulged as her nails dug sharply into his hand. He threw her down before her kick could connect with his side; he just felt the scrape of her heel against his pant leg.

“This new life you’re trying to build yourself here on this Earth, you wouldn’t have it without me. I can take it away just as easily.”

She shot up and lunged at him immediately, and Adrian sidestepped her, letting her careen straight into one of the tables. The crash did not seem to faze her, for she whirled around and was on him before he could dodge a second time, clawing and punching at every bit of him she could reach. Her eyes were wild, and without his training he might have been overwhelmed.

But he rammed her with his shoulder to send her staggering back, one of her heels snapping. 

Adrian straightened his jacket, reaching into an inner pocket for his stars as she rallied, lips pulled back in an animalistic snarl.

One thing was finally clear: this was not the Black Siren. This was something else. Something worse.

---

Oliver walked through the throng of people, nodding in acknowledgement whenever he caught the eye of someone he and Laurel had already spoken to. So far, the night had gone off without a hitch, for which he was immensely grateful. Laurel deserved a night of celebration like this.

He kept waiting for some sign that he was dreaming again, some indication that it was all about to be ripped away. He didn’t get lucky like this, not ever.

There was so much he wanted to say to her, it was hard to put the feeling into words. Thea made it sound so easy, but then Thea didn’t know how he had failed to let Laurel know what she meant to him that night in the hospital when she confessed her own feelings. Feelings she hadn’t spoken of or acted on since. Not even now that he and Felicity were well and truly estranged.

He had expected to feel more regret over that, but truthfully it had made some things easier. The recruits had started shaping up more, whether that was out of fear of being kicked off the team or what he couldn’t exactly say. But he was glad to be able to feel in control of this unit he had agreed to take on. Thea was coming down to the base more to borrow the training area, too, and he had a feeling she was inching back towards the life of Speedy now that her partner in the field had returned. With Laurel’s new role official, she would be joining them down in the bunker rather than the beta site as well. It would be good to have more people with experience than just himself out there.

But how to show Laurel that, that he was happy and hopeful about the future again? And a future with her. It wasn’t even a question of if he should tell her; he didn’t think he could hide the way he felt for very long. When she had come back to her room that morning looking so much like the dream he had had, Oliver had forgotten how to breathe for a moment. Forgotten, too, that he was not her fiancé with the permission to look upon her with awe and desire.

She deserved to know. He just had to get over this old fear of his, convince himself he wouldn’t screw it up this time, and tell her.

Oliver wandered the perimeter of the room as these thoughts played out in his head until he found himself standing near the door he had made note that Adrian and Laurel had left through. He wanted to be able to catch her when she came back, missing her by his side already.

“I was starting to wonder if I might catch you alone.”

He froze. “Susan…”

It was not that he had forgotten the reporter he had taken on a date. But guilt churned in his stomach all the same as he turned to face her fully. There was no reason for it; Laurel had been, as far as he had known, beyond his reach in this life, and had given her deathbed blessing to him finding happiness without her — even if she had felt that would be with Felicity at the time. 

“You must be really happy to have her back,” Susan said.

“I am,” he answered with a small smile he couldn’t help. He felt guilt towards Susan as well, considering what he knew was really in his heart. He should have called her to end things before now. “Listen, about, um—”

Susan held up a hand to stop his halting attempt. “It’s been nice, Oliver, but I’d have to be blind not to see what Laurel Lance means to you. And I’m big enough to know there’s little point getting in between that.” She smirked as she added, “Probably better I don’t get too heavily involved with the politician I’m trying to cover anyway.”

Oliver nodded. “Thank you. Really.”

She nodded and turned to leave. The relief that Oliver felt was cut short when he heard a loud crash from somewhere out in the venue. Susan pivoted on the balls of her feet.

“What was that?”

“I’m not sure.” Oliver slipped out of the door, unsurprised when Susan followed him. He was fairly certain it had come from the room directly ahead. “Stay behind me, okay?” He asked as he cautiously approached the door, which had been left just slightly ajar. He peered through the gap, eyes widening in alarm at what he saw.

Adrian stood in the middle of the floor, his suit and hair rumpled and a split lip slowly leaking blood. And Laurel, missing one shoe and the other snapped off at the heel, struggled to free the skirt of her dress from where it was pinned to the wall by three throwing stars.

“I’d love to understand what you really are, but Oliver isn’t ready to know my secret yet. I’m afraid there’ll be need for a fresh grave in Starling Cemetery.” Adrian flicked his wrist with practiced ease, another star sailing through the air.

Oliver threw the door open and leapt in front, remembering Susan’s presence at the last minute. He forced his instinct to snatch the weapon out of the air down, instead letting it slash his upper-left arm, teeth gritting at the pain. But the weapon clattered uselessly several feet from Laurel.

He turned to see Adrian’s shocked gaze, and Oliver willed his voice to remain steady as he asked, “What’s the meaning of this?”

Adrian’s answer was cut off by the rip of fabric, and Oliver ducked as Laurel released a sonic scream, features contorted with blind rage. Adrian fell to it, hands clapped over his ears as he cried out in agony.

Laurel marched towards him, her intent to worsen Adrian’s suffering clear. Oliver reached out and caught her around the waist. “Laurel! Laurel, stop!”

The scream died, and she blinked as if coming back to herself. “I- I wasn’t — oh, God.”

“Hey, it‘s okay.” He rubbed her back as she sagged against his shoulder. It was clear what must have happened; the blood lust had been triggered during whatever fight had broken out here. He was just glad he had intervened in time to keep a life off her conscious. Even if it was the life of a man who must have had some sort of long game to betray Oliver planned. Who really was Adrian Chase?

He caught Susan’s eye as she surveyed the whole scene and asked, “Can you call 911?”

She nodded. “I take it the DA is actually our Throwing Star Killer,” Susan remarked, gesturing to the weapons still in the wall, little strips of Laurel’s dress hanging from them.

“Looks like it,” he agreed. “I don’t have a statement on that just now. I, uh, I’ll see what the police are able to find out about it.”

They stuck around long enough to see Adrian taken away. He was only just beginning to stir as he was led away in handcuffs to be looked over at the hospital before being transferred into the SCPD’s custody. Oliver also placed a discrete call to Lyla’s office to see what ARGUS could do about assuming jurisdiction over the case as soon as possible. Adrian knew far too much, even if Oliver didn’t yet understand how.

Laurel’s other shoe was located, and he helped her to hobble towards the back entrance of the venue, hoping to shield her from as much of the press as possible. The last thing needed right now was the press photographing her in a dress with the skirt torn halfway up her thigh.

The driver took them back to his place. Oliver knew it was likely only Laurel’s shock at how she had lost control that was keeping her from asking to be dropped off at either the beta site or the old apartment Thea still owned. She would probably return to the latter soon if he didn’t say anything. Didn’t make any kind of sign.

Once they were inside, Laurel bent down and undid the straps that were barely holding her broken shoes on. “Well, some night,” she remarked with her head still tilted down, hair half-hiding her face.

“It wouldn’t be Star City if something eventful didn’t happen,” he replied. “Was, uh, was that the first time you’ve used…”

“The sonic scream? On purpose, yeah. I didn’t really know how strong it would be. I could’ve killed him.” Her eyes had a haunted look to them as she continued, “One second we were just talking, the next was like he just flipped personalities, was trying to threaten me. He thought I was her. Siren.”

“If he’s really Prometheus, then that makes sense.”

“The way he talked about me – her,” she amended, giving a slight shake of her head as if to clear it. “It was like he thought he owned her. The others told me the things she did, but nobody should be talked to like that.”

“I know,” he agreed. “She told me that she wanted out. I never found out if it was the truth or a lie.” Seeing the way his Laurel felt about it now, he thought maybe it just might have been a truth, even one that Black Siren hadn’t actually wanted to admit to herself. Or maybe that was wishful thinking; thanks to the others, he would never know.

“Then he attacked me. I just lost it, and when you were hurt—” Her hand reached out, just barely brushing his arm below the gaze bandage a paramedic had applied. “If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed him,” she stated. “I guess I’m not as different from her as I thought.”

“Maybe, but that’s not such a bad thing,” he said. She looked up at him in surprise. “If I hadn’t seen some of you in her, I might not have gone so far to try and bring her back. I might never have known there was a way to save you. Black Siren wasn’t evil, no matter what the others say,” he added. “I think she was just lost. You know what that’s like.”

She nodded.

“But you’re not a killer, Laurel. That was the effect of the Pit.”

“I was hoping the new one wouldn’t have the same side effects.”

“So was I,” he admitted. “But we’ll get more of the Lotus. You’ll be fine, just like Thea.”

Laurel’s lips twisted in a funny half smile. “Thea doesn’t seem fine right now. I think she’s going to lose it if you don’t tell me whatever it is she wants you to.”

Oliver swallowed. There it was. He was being handed a perfect opportunity to open up, to be truthful about his feelings. There was never anything half as terrifying as that. “Thea… what she wants me to tell you, it wouldn’t make any sense to come right out and say. There’s things you have to know.”

“Like?”

“Like how much losing you hurt. That it caused me to look back on the last few years and think of all the time I wasted. How much I wished things had been different for you and me.”

Laurel’s throat bobbed, but she remained silent, listening.

“And a couple months ago, my wish was granted.”

“A couple months?” She asked, and he didn’t blame her for the confusion. Laurel had only been back for a month.

“Yeah. See, when the Dominators came to Earth, they took a few of us hostage, to try and study us for potential weaknesses. We were placed in some kind of stasis where our minds went to a made-up reality based on our dearest-held dreams. Thea and I were back at the Manor with mom and my father. They were alive.”

“Oh, Ollie,” Laurel said softly.

“Yeah. The thing was, you were there, too. And it was almost our wedding day.”

Laurel’s mouth fell open. He didn’t know if the shock on her face was a good or bad thing, but Oliver also knew that he needed to say this no matter the outcome.

“I love you, Laurel,” he confessed. “And I know it doesn’t make up for all the years or the ways that I’ve hurt you whether I meant to or not. All I know is, when you told me how you still felt, all I could think about was what could’ve been for us. It haunted me the whole time that I thought we’d lost that chance.” Even now, he could see her in that beautiful white gown, her face so sad as he was forced to leave to help the others. “I wondered how I hadn’t seen it, why you couldn’t have said something before.”

“You were happy,” she said, as if that was all that needed saying. Her eyes shone bright with unshed tears. “You were happier without me.”

He shook his head. “The one thing I haven’t been this past year is happy without you. This, right now, is the best I have felt in a long time.”

He didn’t just mean because he had finally given voice to his feelings. Oliver had a team that was learning to respect his judgement calls in the base and in the field; he honestly didn’t miss the constant back talk on the comms. He felt better, too, seeing Thea happier and knowing that once Quentin finished his rehab program that he would come home to his daughter and be whole again. The looming threat of Prometheus had been ended as abruptly as it had begun. None of this would have been possible without Laurel.

“I know this cannot be an easy decision to make. I understand if, whatever our feelings for each other are, you’d prefer to remain as we were before that night. All I’ll ever ask of you is to be part of my life, Laurel, because it’s a far less full one without you,” he finished.

Her head tilted as her lips pressed right together for a moment, considering him. Then at last she stepped forward, cupping his cheek with her hand. “You know I never do things halfway, Ollie.” She rose onto her tiptoes, her hand at his cheek guiding his lips to meet hers in that perfect synchronous dance he had longed for, so much better than his dream for knowing that it was real.

Oliver smoothed his hands over her arms, down her back and up into her hair, unable to choose now that he was granted it all. Laurel seemed of a similar mind, hands cupping his face then smoothing down his shoulders, then up and his suit jacket. They were each aware of the time they had wasted before and how they could never get it back, and it spurred them on towards making the most of the time they had ahead. The time they very nearly hadn’t had.

He regretted what had happened to Laurel’s counterpart from Earth-2. No version of her deserved a violent end in his eyes. He took some comfort at least that she was now free from men like Adrian or Zoom. Maybe her soul had gone to whatever was next beyond the grave to find the Ollie she had truly loved and not just the man that looked like him. He chose to believe that, since he’d been granted the same beautiful dream in its own way.

For all that he and Laurel had suffered through, if it meant they arrived at this point together, Oliver wouldn’t change it. No matter how tempting it could be to fix the past, he knew how fragile time could be. And this time, at last, was theirs.

---

Talia al Ghul was more familiar with disappointment than one of her ability and lineage would like. Her first disappointment had come from her Beloved. Bruce had been a fine warrior, full of discipline, intellect, skill and honor. Yet he had lacked the conviction to bring a permanent end to those who committed evil in the world and so he had left her and her father’s League behind.

Then there had been her father himself. She could admit with chagrin that Bruce had been the one to initially question her father’s intention to pass on the title of Ra’s al Ghul to her. As the years had worn on, Talia had seen for herself that he would never do so. And so she had left, forming her own following to carry on the mission she still believed in.

Yet now, two of her own students had disappointed her one after the other. Oliver Queen and the one who called himself Adrian Chase. The former had killed her father and handed the League of Assassins to a traitor which caused it to fail less than a year later, and the latter had failed to be her instrument of revenge. Instead, she currently watched as the news continued to cover his arrest and the accusations mounting against him. Something would have to be done, and quickly. She was not ready for The connection Mr. Chase had to her to be revealed, as it might should he be questioned.

Talia had left it up to her student to plan the reckoning Oliver should face, who it would involve and where it would be. All of this would have to be abandoned now, and more planning would have to be done. Especially to accommodate the unexpected wrinkle that had developed: the return of this Earth’s Dinah Laurel Lance, Oliver’s own Beloved.

Talia’s spies had followed Oliver and his associates’ progress to the mountains of Siberia and confirmed to her that one of the rumored Lazarus Pits was in that location. She had also been made aware of the comings and goings of Miss Lance to and from the United States’ Capitol. Yet she had not realized until tonight — nor had Mr. Chase, it seemed — that rather than the copy of her from another Earth, Oliver had somehow managed to resurrect the original. It would be like him to play with those kind of forces with little regard for any consequences.

Talia left her current base of operations to deal with one of those consequences. Mr. Chase was going to be moved from where he was being seen at Star City General to a holding cell at the downtown precinct. It was her task to ensure this never came to pass.

She took up her position only minutes before Mr. Chase was escorted out the front doors towards a waiting transport van. From the rooftop across the street, she watched her chosen spy approach at a walking pace, the umbrella he had taken from their supply store tucked under his arm. She saw the moment he fired the jet of poison gas from a crushed cyanide ampule, though it was truly invisible to the eye, then smirked as an officer moved to intercept him from fully crossing paths with the police escort. Her agent backed away, feigning as though he had not realized what was going on, and crossed the street to continue his walk.

Just as Mr. Chase was walked up the steps of the transport van, he collapsed to one knee, the poison already taking its effect. None of those around him would realize that was what it was, of course. To them, it would appear as though he suffered a sudden heart attack. They would see the matter as closed and put the unfortunate memory of their fallen District Attorney behind them.

Oliver would suspect, of course. Oliver always suspected. But he would only have his suspicions. For now, Talia would retreat and reassess the best way to bring retribution to her former student. Let him grow complacent with his loved ones; she had all the time the Lazarus water allowed her to have her revenge.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing

[anthonyjlockwood]

just another day at delilah’s

Hi everyone! I wanted to write something for Flynn’s birthday. So here’s another one shot in the same universe as “if you need, come build your home in me”-- featuring barista!Flynn and Bobby, trying his best. Read it on ao3 here!

Bobby doesn’t like to talk about it, but he worked at Delilah’s Cafe for a day and a half.

Flynn thinks that it was for the best, really-- Bobby Wilson is not suited for a career in customer service.  He tends to be the one causing problems, rather than solving them.

Flynn, however, is a problem solver. She’s been one for as long as she can remember-- back in the first grade, the girl next to her had started crying because she’d gotten red paint on what was supposed to be a picture of a blue butterfly. Flynn had jumped to the rescue, mixing the colors just like her Daddy had taught her-- “See, blue and red makes purple! You’ve got a purple butterfly, now, and that’s so much cooler, really!”

She’d been best friends with Julie Molina ever since.

Flynn knows what she’s bad at-- very few things, she’d like to say, but there were some things that she didn’t have a knack for.  Sports.  Painting her fingernails-- she just couldn’t keep her hand steady enough for the paint not to smudge.

And, her Dad always said she was bad at waiting. Flynn didn’t disagree, exactly; she just preferred to say that other people were bad at speed .

So, yeah, Flynn knows that there are some things she could improve on-- nobody’s perfect, after all. But she prefers to put her time and effort into things she’s already good at, and problem solving is one of those things.

______________

A few months before she started college, she knew she wanted to get a job.  Her dads had been super supportive of her college plans-- they were adventurous types, just like her, but Flynn knew that Julie would want to stay close to her family.  So she’d gone ahead with the plan of applying to Covington to stay with her best friend, and her dads had been all for it.

But Covington’s tuition rates were expensive-- when Flynn ran alongside Willie for Vice President of the United States, lowering tuition would have to be one of their campaign promises, because honestly -- so she’d decided to get a job during her senior year, so she would have a few months to save up some money.

A cafe not too far from her house was hiring. Delilah’s.  

It was a college hangout spot; lots of students from Covington went there between classes. But high school students went there, too-- she’d spent many afternoons with Julie and the guys, doing homework at the corner table, fueling her mind with countless cups of caffeine. So when she marched through the door and up to the counter, she recognized the man standing behind it.  Mr. Rosa was the owner of Delilah’s; he’d named the place after his late daughter, and it had become like a second home to him. He was a cheerful Italian guy whose booming laugh echoed through the cafe. He’d opened Delilah’s years ago, and business was still thriving.

It was thriving so much, he’d let it slip, that it was getting hard for him to keep up with all the orders. That’s why Flynn was there: she swept through the door, on a mission, pulling down the “Help Wanted” sign as she passed.

A short “interview” later, she had an apron tied around her waist and was behind the counter, learning how to make all different drinks.  

Ever since that day, Flynn had been working at Delilah’s Cafe. So when Bobby’s grandmother suggested he get a part time job, Flynn had hooked him up with Mr. Rosa, who’d agreed to give the boy a trial shift.  

______________

Flynn knows her friends pretty darn well, if you ask her.  She knows that Julie is terrified of spiders because of a prank Carlos pulled on her, Halloween of ‘14. The kid was only ten years old, and he’d managed to scar his sister for life-- she still couldn’t see a pumpkin without cringing.

She knows Julie’s worried for her brother, who will be growing up without a mom. She’s worried for her father, who will be without a wife.

She knows Julie worries about everyone but Julie.

She knows that Julie only drinks coffee with cinnamon in it. She knows that Bobby, as boisterous and confident as he may seem, has a terrible fear of flying and absolutely refuses to get on an airplane. She knows that Reggie feels alone sometimes; even in the presence of all his friends, she can always tell when his mind is drifting towards his parents-- probably wondering what they’re doing at that moment.

She knows that no matter how much Alex wants to pretend he’s fine with his parents no longer wanting to be a part of his life, he’s broken inside. He misses his sisters. And she knows that Willie, whose own parents had turned to drugs years ago and would probably no longer even recognize him, feels broken, too.

And she knows that, as much as Bobby Wilson tries to play it cool, he’s absolutely useless under pressure.

______________

The day after his “trial shift,”--which he’d scraped by for because Flynn was behind the counter with him-- Mr. Rosa decided to try a new promotional event at the cafe. He put a sign in the window that each coffee would come with a free scone, that day only.  

Flynn knew this meant the place would be packed-- Mr. Rosa’s scones were legendary. Nobody knew where they came from, or why they tasted so incredible… but if there was a chance of getting a free one, you could bet people would be taking advantage.

And take advantage they did. Not twenty minutes after Mr. Rosa had put the sign in the window, the place was packed.  Flynn and Bobby were rushing around, mixing scone dough and pouring coffee respectively. Flynn did not trust Bobby near a stand mixer.

“Excuse me,” Flynn heard a customer complaining from behind her. “There’s too much ice in my drink-- are you paying attention?” she snapped.

“I ordered an espresso with milk-- why does my cup say ‘latte’?” Another man grumbled.

“I’ve been waiting for 10 minutes! Where’s my order?” A third woman cried.

Flynn rolled her eyes and kept moving-- patience is a virtue, people! she thought irritably.  

But she looked to her left, and she saw that Bobby had turned away from the stand mixer, spinning around to face the complainers.

Uh-oh.

“You know what?” Bobby glared.

“Bobby--” Flynn tried to spin Bobby back around towards the stand mixer, but he wouldn’t go.

Bobby pointed at the first customer. “Ice melts.”

Bobby pointed at the second customer. “That’s what a latte is, dude! Even I know that!”

And, Bobby pointed at the third customer-- “And trust me, I’d be glad to get you your coffee already-- just so you can go away !”

Flynn gaped at Bobby as he stood his ground in the face of the angry customers.  Around him, a line was still forming-- people wanted their free scones, despite the chaos that was already occurring.

Flynn thought fast.  She vaguely recalled the third woman’s order-- decaf hot coffee, cream and sugar-- and threw it into a to-go cup in seconds.  She handed it to her with a swift apology.  

One down.

The other two complaints were, admittedly, incredibly stupid, but… Flynn was a problem solver. “Sorry about the ice-- I’ll remake your drink,” she shot Complainer Number One a large, fake smile.  She remade that drink quickly, too, and handed it over.  

Two down.

And now, she rounded on Doesn’t-Know-What-A-Latte-Is.  “My coworker is right,” she said sweetly. “A latte is milk and espresso-- did you want something else instead?”

“Yeah, your manager!”

Flynn resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. Ah, yes, the ol’ “Can I Speak To Your Manager.” What did these people even hope to accomplish, doing that? She gave the rehearsed answer that Mr. Rosa had instructed-- “Our manager is tied up at the moment, but you can have another drink and a pastry from the display case, free of charge!”

Once Flynn turned her back on the man, not caring to see if her answer had satisfied him, she did roll her eyes.  Mr. Rosa did not pay her enough for this.

Working as swiftly as possible, she made her way through the remaining line of customers-- Bobby helped, when Flynn gave him explicit directions, but otherwise he tried to stay out of the way-- she put him on scone duty.

Bobby was so not good under pressure.  

______________

Now, Bobby’s one day at Delilah’s is a common source of teasing among the group. Reggie tells the story at parties, sometimes; the story of how Super Flynn had come to the rescue of Delilah’s Cafe, which had been swarmed with angry ninja pirates-- Reggie tried to make it interesting.  

“In a world where baristas take ten minutes to make coffee,” Reggie loved to say, in a fake movie-trailer-announcer voice, “ one hero comes to the rescue--”

“Hey!” Bobby would interrupt. “I was there, too!”

“One hero comes to the rescue…”

Flynn laughs about it, now. But that day was far from funny-- she’d really put her problem solving skills to the test.  Mr. Rosa had been grateful; Flynn had gotten a raise after (there was extra room in the budget, Bobby had joked, now that Mr. Rosa wouldn’t be paying his salary).

Delilah’s Cafe would definitely fall apart without her.

#julie and the phantoms #julie & the phantoms #jatp #flynn nolastname #flynn flynnigan #bobby jatp #bobby wilson #jatp fanfiction #jatp fanfic #netflixwewantjatp2 #netflixwewantjatps2 #i already found a mistake in this ajsdhkasdga #oh well

[legrandepapillon]

Hush, You Foolish Man (dollmads)

Summary: James alters the course of history, but he can’t say his wife is very happy about it. Prompt: “Take it easy. I wouldn’t want you to tear your stitches again.” Author’s Notes: is… this my first historical setting fic on this collection…… it took me fifty ficlets to get here

i’m trash

In the long run, James would look back and wonder why the hell he jumped in front of a bullet meant for the man that for years, he’d come to loathe. He’d curse himself to heaven, hell and purgatory for getting involved in the childish spat between Burr and Hamilton, for allowing Alexander ‘Can’t-Be-Quiet-For-His-Own-Good’ Hamilton the reprieve of another moment of his slanderous and scandalous life here on this God-given Earth. He’d be angry with himself for intervening with history. For foolishly taking himself away from his wife, and child.

Or at least, he would if he had the glorious fortune to live to see the day that he recovered from this horror show.

When Burr had arrived on his doorstep a month prior, angry tears welling in dark eyes and fury coating the words on his tongue, James had been genuinely surprised. Well, he’d been taken aback at first but once he realized that the rage emanating from the other man was not directed at him, it had turned into surprise. Given how poorly the election had gone for him, and how cruel Thomas had been to the man afterward, Madison hadn’t expected to hear from Aaron Burr ever again in his lifetime. At least not directly. And certainly not so late in the evening.

But he quickly realized that the reason his old friend and now political rival had arrived on the doorstep of his home wasn’t for a social call nor was it for an argument, but for a far more pressing matter—a grave one, in fact. Aaron and Alexander would be having a duel at Weehawken, and Burr wanted James to attend as his second.

First, he’d tried to talk Aaron down from it—”Duel’s are dumb and immature, and Theodosia needs her father, sir.”—but all of that had only fueled the rage that the new Vice President was struggling to contain within himself. It ignited a passion that James had only seen inside Aaron once before—when he’d run for President—, a scary fire that burned behind his eyes and elevated his voice to levels Madison hadn’t thought he was capable of reaching. And honestly, by the time Burr had finished ranting and raving about how Hamilton had been in the way of his every attempt at greatness, about how Hamilton was entitled to this or disrespectful about that… Madison was tired of arguing. It became clear that there was no talking his once-friend down from this.

So, then he’d contemplated saying no the absurd request. After all, bearing witness to a duel was quickly becoming illegal—and even in places where it wasn’t already, it was greatly frowned upon. Not only would attending and being the witness to a man’s potential murder be horrendously stupid in general, but it’d be social suicide—which means it’d be more stupid for Madison, who had plans to one day be the next President of the United States. No one would dare associate with him if they found out he participated, and the last thing he needed was to make life any harder on Dolley.

But it had seemed like Aaron wasn’t one to take no for answer, anymore. And if he was being honest, James had always enjoyed a bit of old-fashioned gossip. There was a good chance that neither of them would shoot, and he could be home before breakfast to tell Dolley all about how over-dramatic the two of them had been.

He’d accepted. Foolishly.

In his defense, he thought that by the time the two men got a look at each other, they’d call the duel off. They’d been friends, afterall—Aaron had been one of the first people Alexander had met when he arrived in America. He’d attended his wedding, they were fellow soldiers. They both had known each other for thirty or more so years, which was why James didn’t believe for a second they had the capability of shooting each other.

He could tell as they rowed across the Hudson, could tell by the anxiety and turmoil in Aaron’s face, that he didn’t want to kill Alexander. They had all joked about it before—especially Thomas, who sometimes was a little obsessive in his comments—but Burr wasn’t a murderer. No matter how much of a nuisance this man was. He was simply too prideful to allow the Hamilton to continue his libel unchecked. And of course, Madison couldn’t really blame him for that—no matter how infantile he thought the two of them were being. Being told that one had no opinions, no morals, no viewpoints… that must’ve stung, especially when it was done so publically. He isn’t sure himself how he would’ve reacted to such a humiliation.

Certainly not with a duel, though, that was for sure.

When they dock at the banks and disembark from the boat, James can see Burr softening a bit. When they approach Hamilton and his crew and Pendleton passes one of the guns to James, he can feel the tension loosen—if only for a second. Hamilton seems distracted, as he looks out over the sunrise and plays with the trigger of the gun.

I’ll be home before Dolley wakes, James thinks to himself blandly, placing the gun in Aaron’s hands before returning to join Pendleton to discuss the matter. He isn’t made nervous about the duel actually happening until this moment—the moment where he presumes the entire affair will be called off.

He and Pendleton meet between where the two opposing men stand, and when Madison asks for a simple apology from Hamilton, he expects Pendleton to agree. He expects the man to concede, admit that this entire affair was overdrawn and foolish and the two of them should return home to their families. I’ll be home before Dolley awakes, he thinks again, a confident air around him.

Instead, Nathaniel nervously fiddles with the sleeves of his coat as he says, “I’m… I’m not sure Mr. Hamilton is willing to agree to that.”

James’ stomach drops. He opens his mouth to protest, to insist to this man that of course, Hamilton should be agreeing to apologize. What, does the man have a death wish? he thinks bitterly, eyeing the grey-haired figure over the shoulder of Pendleton. He knows that Alexander had been challenged to—and had challenged men to—duels before, but he couldn’t possibly have such arrogance about him to think he was bulletproof. This was not a political debate, this was not a cabinet meeting. Someone could—and would—die. No one’s ego was enough to save their life from a bullet shot by vengeance.

Looking over his own shoulder to Burr, he finds that his gaze has hardened. He’s glaring daggers into Alexander, slowly loading the bullet into his gun. This is no longer, to James, a matter of childish ego between frenemies. He realizes, staring at his old friend, that this had quickly become an immediate matter of life and death.

“Well,” James says curtly, knots of anxiety tying themselves in his stomach. Suddenly, he finds himself on the wrong side of history, staring down at his friend that was now planning to murder his political rival... Nerves prickle just beneath his flesh, and the crisp morning air is suddenly far too cool—everything inside of him screams that something is not right, something is not right. Do something to stop this, he screams at himself. Stop this, at once! “Then I suppose, there is nothing that can be done.”

There is nothing that can be done, he assures himself, though something in him is not satisfied with that outcome.

Nathaniel nods, shakes Madison’s hand, and turns away—back towards Hamilton, to whisper something in his ear. The man’s eyes find James, then they float over to Aaron, and then they flutter shut for several long moments. In that time, there is nothing in the air but the sound of birds chirping and the river water pattering along—almost as though the world is giving a respectful moment of silence to the two men laid bare before it. Then Alexander takes a deep inhale and gives a nod, turning on his heel.

Burr turns as well.

They count.

One…

This isn’t right, James mind screams as he watches their boots crunch the leaves on the ground. Nathaniel warns him to turn around for deniability, but he can’t will his body to do so—he’s frozen in anxiety, anticipation. Someone could die, right this very moment, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the inevitable.

Four…

Do something! Stop this at once!

Six…

This is foolish!

Ten…

Someone is going to die!

For some odd reason, that thought is the one that spurs his feet forward. He’s already moved towards the line of fire when Burr has turned, pistol pointed directly at Hamilton’s chest and finger on the trigger. A sense of urgency blanketing him, James half-stumbles, half-runs in front of the gun just as Hamilton raises his own weapon in the air. The action of concession is too late, however, because Aaron has already pulled his finger back against the trigger and fired.

He distinctly hears both Hamilton and Burr simultaneously shout ‘No!’ and a ringing in his ears from the gunshot. Pain sears through his stomach, spreading out to bloom a blood-red flower against the creme cloth of his coat. His eyes can’t focus on just any one thing, but he distinctly catches a glimpse of the regret on Aaron’s face before his eyes flutter closed from the blood loss.

They open again at home, and his nose is filled with the smell of pork cooking and fresh laundry. James grunts in confusion, attempting to sit up from what must’ve been a bad dream. He is made distinctly aware of the fact that it was indeed not a bad dream by the tearing pain that spreads through him again—exploding from the center of his stomach and rippling outwards. Giving a cry of pain, he nearly collapses back against the sheets but is caught by gentle hands.

“Stop!” a soft, familiar voice says. James looks up to find his wife’s french manicured hands on his chest, easing him back down against the clusters of pillows. He frowns just slightly at the design—she hadn’t had it before he left, which meant Thomas must’ve sent her more of those French fashion magazines. How long was I out for? he wonders curiously.

There is worry crinkling the corners of her dark eyes, and she smoothes back the sweaty curls of James’ dark hair—a comforting action for the both of them—as she speaks. “Take it easy! I wouldn’t want you to tear your stitches again. It was quite the hassle the first time it happened, I think you’ve ruined a set of sheets… or two.”

Wincing at how it scratches at his throat when he does so, James mutters, “I was shot.”

“Yes. Stupidly, I might add. You told me you were going to a meeting,” she says, pointedly avoiding looking him in the face—probably afraid she’d be unable to school her expression out of anger and hurt. Instead, she peels back the covers of their bedsheets and tuts her tongue at what she finds—his quick action had caused blood to begin spread through his bandages, soaking the perfectly white cloths and his shirt a wine red. “I’ll have to change these.”

“It was a meeting,” he says defensively, watching as she rises from her spot at his side to open a nearby cupboard. A cupboard that hadn’t been there before either—stacked neatly with tonics, bandages, alcohols, and medicines. He can’t help but notice how frazzled she looks as she does this—her usually well-styled hair falls limply over her shoulders, and she doesn’t wear any of the grande dresses that he’d become accustomed to seeing her in. Instead, she wears a simple frock—one that a milkmaid might wear to work the cows. It’s obvious that she has not left the home they share together—Dolley had never been known to let the public see her this way.

“Do you take me for an idiot, my love?” she asks flatly, filling a wicker basket with bandages, towels, and antiseptics before joining him again at his bedside. She sets the basket of materials down and begins the messy task of changing his bandages.

He winces, this time from the guilt. “Dolley, I—”

“Hush, you foolish man,” she says, peeling back the cloths. Looking down, James grimaces at the wound. Dark puckered flesh around a carefully stitched together hole in his stomach, red and swollen from irritation. Blood oozes and gushes from the sides—probably from where he’d torn the stitches in his abrupt movement. Dolley sighs, and he doesn’t say anything when he notices her swipe at tears on her face. “We can argue about how stupid and callous that was later. Rest more. Are you hungry?”

“How long was I out for?” he asks groggily, waving his hand in dismissal at the offer. Dolley hums a faint tune underneath her breath, peeling the bandages the rest of the way from his clammy skin and tossing them onto the rug on the floor.

“A week and a half,” she says, after a moment. Taking a cloth, she pours a bit of the alcohol onto it and begins to clean up the blood that had begun to dribble from the wound. James winces at the faint burning that comes when she swipes around the gunshot wound, gives a small hiss of pain. Despite the scowl gracing her lips, she lets up on the pressure. “I thought you were going to die. Everyone did. Hamilton, Burr, those idiots they… they send their sympathies and well wishes. I made stew.”

James gives a laugh, a dry one that hurts his abdomen, as he says, “You can’t cook.”

“Fine,” Dolley says, tossing aside the dirty cloth with the rest of his bandages. She’s quiet for a few moments as she finishes redressing his injury—noticeably pulling tighter than necessary—before she retrieves the still steaming bowl of stew waiting on the nightstand for him. “The servants made stew. Eat.”

“I’m… sorry, I didn’t tell you,” he interrupts, as she lifts a spoon from the bowl. Dolley’s hand falters, before lowering down. Sighing, she sets the bowl aside again and reaches up to brush away his hair.

“You should be,” Her voice is soft as she speaks, the edge slowly receding before dissipating completely. Dolley looks tired, he notices under the barely flickering lamplight. There are deep bags under his eyes and a striking sadness that breaks his heart. “You’re lucky that doctor that was with Hamilton was halfway competent, you could’ve gotten an infection or they could’ve shot you somewhere serious or… or—”

Dolley’s voice breaks and she cuts off, bring the sleeve of her dress up to press against her nose. Fat tears roll over the brim of her eyes and she swipes at them again—though unfortunately, this time, she misses the majority. Reaching up with weak hands, he presses it against the side of her face—thumb lightly rolling over the soft skin of her cheek. He thumbs away a stream of tears, a sad smile gracing his lips.

“My love, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why the hell would you jump in front of a loaded gun!” she snaps, abruptly pulling away from his touch. She picks up the bowl again, stirring the contents of the stew around with an urgency in her movements he had not seen before. The tears that fall over her face come with rapid succession now, pooling at her chin and making large droplets on the sheets. “... I could’ve lost you! You could’ve died! What were you thinking!? No, you obviously weren’t thinking!”

“Dolley, I’m sorry,” he stresses, attempting to still her hand. He wraps his hand around the one that holds the fork, stilling her movements. Then, with a weak smile, “I promise, I won’t do it again.”

She softens, looks back down at the bowl. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he assures, with a whisper.

“I love you, James. I truly, truly do. You have made me the happiest woman on Earth. But damn, if you aren’t a fool sometimes.”

“You are getting a potty-mouth from that parrot of yours. I do say, she has a bad influence on you,” he chuckles, head falling back against the pillow. Though there are still tears in his eyes, his efforts are finally rewarded with a light chuckle and smile. Lifting the spoon again, this time with a purpose, she brings it to his lips.

“Oh, hush. Here.”

“Mm. Thank you. Dolley, I love you, too. And I promise, if there ever is another duel, I’ll stay far from the firing range.”

“There will be no other duel,” the woman says with finalcy—eyes narrowing and a daring in her tone. James chuckles again, wincing just slightly and shifting in his sheets to become more comfortable.

“Are you sure? Hamilton is still alive, isn’t he?”

“James,” she says sternly, warning in her eyes and tone. He smiles as she readies another spoonful of the stew for him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Author’s Notes: this isn’t… particularly fluffy or angsty. but it's my first dollmads fic so with practice I will get better hopefully

#my writing #writing #otp #ficlet #one shot #fanfiction #drabble #hamilton fanfiction #hamilton #an idealism #boy do i have a queue for you #dolley madison #james madison #dolley madison x james madison #dolley madison/james madison #dollmads #kind of hurt/comfort #whump #alternate history #canon era #alternate duel ending

[96thdayofrage]

United States Congress

During his time in Congress, Ryan went to Newfoundland with James Jeffords to investigate the inhumane killing of seals,[15][16] and he was famous for vocal criticism of the lack of Congressional oversight of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), authoring the Hughes–Ryan Amendment,[17][18] which would have required extensive CIA notification of Congress about planned covert operations.[19][20] Congressman Ryan once told Dick Cheney that leaking a state secret was an appropriate way for a member of Congress to block an "ill-conceived operation".[21] Ryan supported Patricia Hearst, and along with Senator S. I. Hayakawa, delivered Hearst's application for a presidential commutation to the Pardon Attorney.[22]

Peoples Temple

In 1978, reports regarding widespread abuse and human rights violations in Jonestownamong the Peoples Temple, led by cult leader Jim Jones, began to filter out of the organization's Guyana enclaves. Ryan was friends with the father of former Temple Member Bob Houston, whose mutilated body was found near train tracks on October 5, 1976, three days after a taped telephone conversation with Houston's ex-wife in which leaving the Temple was discussed.[23] Ryan's interest was further aroused by the custody battle between the leader of a "Concerned Relatives" group, Timothy Stoen, and Jones following a Congressional "white paper" written by Stoen detailing the events.[24][25] Ryan was one of 91 Congressmen to write Guyanese Prime Minister Forbes Burnhamon Stoen's behalf.[23][24]

Later, after reading an article in the San Francisco Examiner, Ryan declared his intention to go to Jonestown, an agricultural commune in Guyana where Jim Jones and roughly 1,000 Temple members resided. Ryan's choice was also influenced both by the Concerned Relatives group, which consisted primarily of Californians, as were most Temple members, and by his own characteristic distaste for social injustice.[26]According to the San Francisco Chronicle, while investigating the events, the United States Department of State "repeatedly stonewalled Ryan's attempts to find out what was going on in Jonestown", and told him that "everything was fine".[9]

The State Department characterized possible action by the United States government in Guyana against Jonestown as creating a potential "legal controversy", but Ryan at least partially rejected this viewpoint.[27] In a later article in The Chronicle, Ryan was described as having "bucked the local Democratic establishment and the Jimmy Carter administration's State Department" in order to prepare for his own investigation.[12]

Travels to Jonestown

On November 1, 1978, Ryan announced that he would visit Jonestown.[28] He did so as part of a government investigation and received permission and government funds to do so.[29] He made the journey in his role as chairman of a congressional subcommittee with jurisdiction over U.S. citizens living in foreign countries. He asked the other members of his Bay Area congressional delegation to join him on the investigation to Jonestown, but they all declined his invitation.[9] Ryan had also asked his friend, IndianaCongressman and future Vice President Dan Quayle, to accompany him – Quayle had served with Ryan on the Government Operations Committee – but Quayle was unable to go on the trip.[30]

While the party was initially planned to consist of only a few members of the Congressman's staff and press as part of the congressional delegation, once the media learned of the trip the entourage ballooned to include, among others, concerned relatives of Temple members. Congressman Ryan traveled to Jonestown with 17 Bay Area relatives of Peoples Temple members, several newspaper reporters and an NBC TV team.[31] When the legal counsel for Jones attempted to impose several restrictive conditions on the visit, Ryan responded that he would be traveling to Jonestown whether Jones permitted it or not. Ryan's stated position was that a "settlement deep in the bush might be reasonably run on authoritarian lines".[31] However, residents of the settlement must be allowed to come and go as they pleased. He further asserted that if the situation had become "a gulag", he would do everything he could to "free the captives".[31]

Jungle ambush and assassination

On November 14, according to the Foreign Affairs Committee report,[32] Ryan left Washington and arrived in Georgetown, the capital of Guyana located 150 miles (240 km) away from Jonestown, with his congressional delegation of government officials, media representatives and some members of the "Concerned Relatives".[33]

Jonestown

Georgetown

Kaituma

Jonestown, Guyana.

That night the delegation stayed at a local hotel where, despite confirmed reservations, most of the rooms had been canceled and reassigned, leaving the delegation sleeping in the lobby.[34] For three days, Ryan continued negotiation with Jones's legal counsel and held perfunctory meetings with embassy personnel and Guyanese officials.[35]

While in Georgetown, Ryan visited the Temple's Georgetown headquarters in the suburb of Lamaha Gardens.[36] Ryan asked to speak to Jones by radio. Sharon Amos, the highest-ranking Temple member present, told Ryan that he could not because his present visit was unscheduled.[33] On November 17, Ryan's aide Jackie Speier (who became a Congresswoman in April 2008), the United States embassy Deputy Chief of Mission Richard Dwyer, a Guyanese Ministry of Information officer, nine journalists, and four Concerned Relatives representatives of the delegation boarded a small plane for the flight to an airfield at Port Kaituma a few miles outside of Jonestown.[32]

At first, only the Temple legal counsel was allowed off the plane, but eventually the entire entourage (including Gordon Lindsay, reporting for NBC) was allowed in. Initially, the welcome at Jonestown was warm,[29] but Temple member Vernon Gosney handed a note to NBC correspondent Don Harris (mistaking him for Ryan) which stated, "Please help me get out of Jonestown," listing himself and Temple member Monica Bagby.[31]

That night, the media and the delegation were returned to the airfield for accommodations following Jones' refusal to allow them to stay the night. The rest of the group remained.[32] The next morning, Ryan, Speier, and Dwyer all continued their interviews, and in the morning met a woman who secretly expressed her wish to leave Jonestown with her family and another family. Around 11:00 A.M. local time, the media and the delegation returned and took part in interviewing Peoples Temple members. Around 3:00 p.m., 14 Temple defectors, and Larry Layton posing as a defector, boarded a truck and were taken to the airstrip, with Ryan wishing to stay another night to assist any others that wished to leave. Shortly thereafter, a failed knife attack on Congressman Ryan occurred while he was arbitrating a family dispute on leaving.[37] Against Ryan's protests, Deputy Chief of Mission Dwyer ordered Ryan to leave, but he promised to return later to address the dispute.[32]

Camera-shot by Bob Brown (NBC) of shooters.

The entire group left Jonestown and arrived at the Kaituma airstrip by 4:45 p.m. local time. Their exit transport planes, a twin-engine Otter and a Cessna, did not arrive until 5:10 p.m. The smaller six-seat Cessna was just taxiing to the end of the runway when one of its occupants, Larry Layton, opened fire on those inside, wounding several.

Concurrently, several other Peoples Temple members who had escorted the group out began to open fire on the transport plane, killing Congressman Ryan, three journalists and a defecting Temple member, while wounding nine others, including Speier.[23][38] The gunmen riddled Congressman Ryan's body with bullets before shooting him in the face.[39] The passengers on the Cessna subdued Larry Layton and the surviving people on both planes fled into nearby fields during and after the attack.[32]

That afternoon, before the news became public, the wife of Ryan's aide, William Holsinger, received three threatening phone calls. The caller allegedly stated, "Tell your husband that his meal ticket just had his brains blown out, and he better be careful." The Holsingers then fled to Lake Tahoe and later to a ranch in Houston. They never returned to San Francisco.[40]

Following its takeoff, the Cessna radioed in a report of the attack, and the U.S. Ambassador, John R. Burke, went to the residence of Prime Minister Forbes Burnham.[32]It was not until the next morning that the Guyanese army could cut through the jungle and reach Jonestown.[32] They discovered 909 of its inhabitants dead. They died in what the United States House of Representatives described as a "mass suicide/murder ritual".[32]

Conviction of Larry Layton

Larry Layton, brother of author and former Peoples Temple member Deborah Layton, was convicted in 1986 of conspiracy in the murder of Leo Ryan.[41] Temple defectors boarding the truck to Port Kaituma warned about Larry Layton that "there's no way he's a defector. He's too close to Jones."[42] Layton was the only former Peoples Temple member to be tried in the United States for criminal acts relating to the murders at Jonestown.[43][44] He was convicted on four different murder-related counts.[45]

On March 3, 1987, Layton was sentenced to concurrent sentences of life in prison for "aiding and abetting the murder of Congressman Leo Ryan", "conspiracy to murder an internationally protected person, Richard Dwyer, Deputy Chief of Mission for the United States in the Republic of Guyana", as well as 15 years in prison on other related counts.[46] At that time, he was eligible for parole in five years.[47] On June 3, 1987, Layton's motion to set aside the conviction "on the ground that he was denied the effective assistance of counsel during his second trial" was denied by the United States District Court of the Northern District of California.[47] After spending 18 years in prison, Layton was released from custody in April 2002.[48]

Memorial

In honor of Leo Ryan, Veterans for Peace Chapter 124 was named after him. VFP 124 Leo J. Ryan Memorial.

Burial

Ryan's headstone

Leo Ryan's body was returned to the United States and interred at Golden Gate National Cemetery in San Bruno, California. The official Congressional Memorial Services for Ryan were compiled into a book: Leo J. Ryan – Memorial Services – Held In The House Of Representatives & Senate Of The U. S., Together With Remarks.[49] Ryan's younger sister Shannon said she was surprised both by the number of supporters that attended the funeral, and by the "outgrowth of real, honest sorrow".[50]

Legacy and honors

In 1983, Ryan was posthumously awarded a Congressional Gold Medal by the United States Congress, as the only member of Congress killed while in the line of duty; the bill was signed by President Ronald Reagan.[51][52] In President Reagan's remarks about the medal, he said: "It was typical of Leo Ryan's concern for his constituents that he would investigate personally the rumors of mistreatment in Jonestown that reportedly affected so many from his district."[51] Ryan's daughters Patricia and Erin had helped to garner support for the Congressional Gold Medal, in time for the fifth anniversary of Ryan's death.[53]In 1984, the National Archives and Records Center in San Bruno, California was named the Leo J. Ryan Federal Building in his honor, through a Congressional bill passed unanimously and signed by President Reagan.[54]Jackie Speier, Ryan's former aide, was elected in 1998 to the California State Senate. In 2008 she won a special election to the US Congress from California's 12th congressional district, much of it formerly Ryan's constituency.[55] After redistricting, since 2013 it has been designated as the state's 14th congressional district.

[hellyeahomeland]

“Paean to the People” | Directed by Lesli Linka Glatter

“Paean to the People” picks up right where “All In” left off. Carrie and Anson are speeding through the streets of Budapest Moscow Budapow. In this opening shot, their car is the only one on the bridge, adding to the feeling of just how on their own they are, without diplomatic cover, as they try to distract Yevgeny long enough to get Simone on that plane.

The arrangement in this shot!! Everyone whose face is visible is serving so much face. Simone is like, “don’t look at me.” Bennet (with facial hair!) is like, “are you fucking kidding me?” Doxie (with some pretty great side eye) is like, “I am NOT getting stuck in Budapow.” And Ms. Pink Scarf is like, “What am I doing here again? What is my job?” You and us both, Pink Scarf. You and us both.

Let’s give a full round of snaps to Sandy this season. She brought the sassy realness and Russian know-how the whole dang time. This show needs all the female energy it can get and this shot of her pulling out the chair for Clint’s “time out” is incredible. We’re not sure if she’ll be back for season eight, but if she won’t, we will miss her so.

Both Carrie and Anson know what’s at stake in this mission but in this moment, it’s Carrie who has to convince Anson how far she can and will go. We hate to say it, but the moment of recognition shared here between them screams “America First” when Quinn tells Carrie to get in the car and stay down. If seven seasons of Homeland have taught us one thing, it’s that these people all follow the same code: Get in. Get down. Shut up. Mission over self.

IJLTP.

We will hand it to the Homeland props department for getting the birthday right on Simone’s fake Carrie Mathison passport (it’s April 5, 1979). But!! Her middle name is spelled Anne, not Ann.

Simone spent a lot of time obscuring her face from the Russian officials in that car, but this glimpse of her expression after she asks Saul if he’s really going to leave Carrie--the Carrie who CLIMBED A FUCKING ROOF LIKE TWENTY MINUTES AGO TO GET TO SIMONE--in Budapow. That is a pursed lip and evil eye if we ever saw ‘em.

...And, of course, the guilt is written all over his face.

We are CACKLING at the dude in the white jacket in the background. We are not sure if he is just a really bad extra or some random stranger who saw Claire Danes in a Budapest train station and needed to share else he was met with a chorus of “pics or it didn’t happen” from his friends.

Sara and Doxie have the same birthday (November 4), which further solidifies that he is her forever man and the best Carrie Angel of them all.

We talked about the strong “America First” vibes above and the whole sequence of Carrie running through the train station is giving us heavy “The Smile” vibes, too. After seven seasons, it’s difficult for some moments not to feel like explicit callbacks from earlier episodes. After all, maybe looking at a mirror in a crowded marketplace is just Carrie’s favorite American spy woman move. But this shot, and Carrie’s smile later, are so specific that we think the homage is intentional.

IJLTP, II.

Real talk though, you really get a sense of the loneliness of the office here, as Beau faces away, back to the camera, surrounded by those heavy curtains.

Lesli Linka Glatter is a choreographer by training and she’s talked before about the diligent preparation she does before directing a Homeland episode. In sequences like these--filmed, acted, and edited with such specific clarity--that training and preparation come through loud and clear. Every shot has a purpose and we’re exposed to all angles of the action. It really is like a dance.

Here, the slow reveal of Yevgeny coming around the corner ratchets up the stakes as Carrie waits, a sitting duck in the locked room.

And here’s our duck. What’s so great about thrilling and suspenseful action sequences like this is the human moments they’re contrasted with. We can see the fear in her face as she contemplates whether to go down in a blaze of glory. She’s not made of steel. She may only have seconds left to live. She may be a hero but she is not a superhero.

Yevgeny delivers a BudaPOW (sorry, we couldn’t resist) with his punch to Carrie, but her moment of defeat is quickly transformed into one of triumph with the news that Saul and his “package” have achieved lift-off.

This smile, guys. Damn. Claire Danes is in a class all her own.

Delirious, glorious laughter. When was the last time we saw Carrie laugh?

It doesn’t last long, of course. The first rule of Homeland is that if Carrie smiles, shit’s about to get fucked up. “At least she had this moment,” we all whisper quietly to ourselves.

The shots of Saul looking down from his window at the city of Budapow--Carrie in it God knows where, the proverbial needle in the haystack--are powerful. He has left her there. And now he has to get her back.

We love this shot of everyone arrayed out like this, watching Simone’s testimony in The Room Where It Happened. Though we would like to point out that it’s hard to take Bennet seriously without facial hair. Dude, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere. Get on it! (Also there are so many VESTS this season! We count two in this shot alone.)

IJLTP, III.

This is the sequence of shots after Keane says she’ll do everything she can to get Carrie back. There was some chatter about going to Anson first (looking pensive), then Saul (looking sorrowful), and finally Max, who looks the most doubtful and suspect of them all (and, of course, almost hidden behind the others in the back). Sara actually thinks closing with Max is the most powerful. He’s been by Carrie’s side, through thick and thin, all seven seasons of this show. And after the trauma of losing Quinn last season, it’s easy to see how history may be replaying itself for him, this time in agonizing slow-motion.

So many “Pilot” vibes. This show loves playing with reversals and bookends, and having Carrie be the prisoner now is one of the most stinging of them all.

Sara would just like to say that she even looks beautiful in a Russian prison.

The book Carrie’s reading here is called Where Avon into Severn Flows, which is actually a short story by the American writer Harold Frederic and part of his book The Deserter and Other Stories: A Book of Two Wars.

Here is the opening paragraph of the story:

“A boy of fifteen, clad in doublet and hose of plain cloth dyed a sober brown, sat alone at one end of a broad, vaulted room, before a writing table. The strong, clear light which covered him and his work fell through an open window, arched at the top and piercing a stone wall of almost a yard's thickness. Similar openings to the right and left of him marked with bars of light a dozen other places along the extended, shelf-like table, where writers had now finished their day's labor, and, departing, had left covered horns of ink and cleansed utensils behind them. But the boy's task lagged behind fulfilment, and mocked him.”

It’s easy to see the parallels. Carrie is held in a Russian prison, also dressed in plain, ill-fitting clothes. She sits in a broad, vaulted room with a plain writing table nearby. Carrie might have won the battle, getting Simone back to the United States, but here in this cell, her success must feel fleeting and the irony of her current circumstance mocking.

Some major “There’s Something Else Going On” vibes here. (Sorry, we’re just gonna point out all our vibes.)

We’re just gonna call this pose from Costa Ronin the Yevgeny Lean (#IJustLikeHowHeLeans). On a more serious note, some credit needs to be given to Ronin, who brought Yevgeny to life and made him feel like a fully lived-in person. His habit of leaning back, feet propped out before him, is just one small example, but it’s representative of the care and attention he put into crafting such a three-dimensional portrait of one of the most interesting villains in the series’ history.

IJLTP, IV. 

And that IJLTP shot of Carrie, alone in that Russian prison with the stakes (i.e., her mental health) now clearly defined, is followed by the rather astounding hero’s welcome that awaits Keane back in the West Wing. This reminds Sara of those tunnels that sports teams would form after a game for everyone to run through. And now Sara wishes Keane had run through the tunnel, high-fiving everyone.

It’s Tie Color Time! Note that Beau is now back to the blue tie, having resumed his position as Vice President.

Talk about sweet karma. The scene between Paley and Keane is remarkable for a few reasons. First, Paley does all the talking. Keane doesn’t even give him the respect that comes with a response. He lowers himself to his knees, literally begging for her mercy.

Keane is often shot from below, highlighting her stance and power. But here, it’s a point-of-view shot. We see what Paley sees: this woman, whom Saul once claimed could not “rise above her own vindictiveness,” closing in on him, a bird of prey who’s finally made her catch. And then she spits in his face.

The Washington Monument, which sits due east of the Reflecting Pool, adds great dramatic effect to this beautifully shot (and scored) moment after Keane leaves her meeting with Paley. Despite the monument’s great size, in these shots its height matches Keane’s, which is likely intentional.

As the monument was being completed. Joseph R. Chandler, a Freemason and member of the House of Representatives said:

“No more Washingtons shall come in our time ... But his virtues are stamped on the heart of mankind. He who is great in the battlefield looks upward to the generalship of Washington. He who grows wise in counsel feels that he is imitating Washington. He who can resign power against the wishes of a people, has in his eye the bright example of Washington.”  

As she drives back through the DC streets at night one last time as President, she’s clearly at a crossroads. History has its eyes on her. (We will also continue to make ALL the Hamilton references.)

We’re not sure if this moment was scripted or if it was a choice by Claire in the moment. Either way, what’s happening? If she praying? Thanking God? Carrie’s relationship with religion and atonement has been basically nonexistent since the show devoted attention to it in season five. We wonder if, like Brody before her, she may be discovering--or rediscovering, as it were--it while in captivity, a salve for her inevitable isolation.

A few things to note from this headstone:

It’s the tenth anniversary of Andrew’s death.

Are we really meant to believe Keane is old enough to have had a kid in 1979? Elizabeth Marvel was born in 1969, which means she’s playing at least ten years older than she actually is. Sara does not buy this, but whatever.

Andrew is born mere weeks before Carrie, which in hindsight kind of shifts the relationship between Keane and Carrie in season six. Carrie really could be Keane’s daughter, and if Carrie indeed did see her in some small part as a mother figure, it frames her conflict with Saul last season--and the battle for Carrie’s loyalty--in an even sharper light.

This is just a gorgeous light, the rows of headstones filling the bottom half of the screen and the large, overgrown tree framing Keane in the top half. It’s her figurative “moment alone in the shade” (figurative because she’s not really in the shade, but y’all catch our drift).

Again, it was impossible to properly capture the moment when Carrie congratulates Aleksandr through anything other than a gif. The quiver in her voice, her attempt at a forced smile. After this moment, the lighting in the room shifts--she is literally forced to see the light, as the direness of her circumstances are fully revealed.

This is the last time we see Carrie before the “seven months later” coda, so now’s as good a time as any to talk about the truly tremendous work she did this season.

From the opening episode, Claire took us on the tenuous, tumultuous journey of Carrie’s war with her own mind and the battles waged within. Every episode, every moment was brought to life with exacting precision. Sometimes we loved her, and sometimes we hated her, but Claire’s commitment to every moment never wavered, whether it was seducing Dante, having nightmarish visions of her bloodied daughter, or inching her way across that GRU roof.

The throughline of this season of Carrie’s mental health makes this moment and the final scene land with even more crushing weight than they otherwise would. When Carrie experiences a breakdown so harrowing and frightening, she goes to extreme lengths to restore her own sanity. In the last three episodes of the season, we see just how invaluable that sanity is--her mind is both her greatest asset and greatest liability.

Carrie knows here what’s about to happen. She stares, eyes wide open, almost as if she’s glimpsing into the future at what lies before her. There’s no safety net this time, no pills or ECT to pull her back or hit the reset button. But for as much as she knows that she’ll lose her mind (in every sense of the word, it turns out), there is also great uncertainty, looking into “the bottom of a black hole with no walls.”

Something we find super interesting about this sequence is just how many perspectives LLG gives us of Keane’s speech, whether it’s Wellington’s from inside the Oval, Saul in his office, or Yevgeny in Budapow. Again, LLG’s choreography background comes shining through. For almost the entire speech, we see her presidency--and what turns out to be its final moments--through everyone’s lens except her own.

LLG doesn’t shoot Keane center-frame, without some extra filter of a screen, until the very end of the scene, after the speech is over. Keane talks earlier about wanting to speak directly to the American people, from the heart, but what we actually get is everyone looking at screens, at the filtered version of this woman and her office, a metaphor if ever there was one for her short-lived presidency.

As her speech (which, like Washington’s Farewell Address, focuses on the need to not let political parties and divisions tear apart the country) nears its end, we do see Keane center-frame. But, again, it’s a shot of her center-frame on the screen, and her appearance is somehow altered and filtered.

(A quick note about her wardrobe: Keane starts the day grieving for her son at Arlington, and she keeps on the same black clothing during her speech, a signal of the impending end of her presidency. The dangling earrings are also an interesting choice, and an unusual one for Keane, who usually wears studs or conservative-looking hoops. Like Carrie in “Species Jump,” this is as close as she’ll get to “letting her hair down,” and the unconventional jewelry choice conveys the peace she’s found with her decision.)

And now the lights come down on Keane and her presidency, in every sense of the word.

The dynamics of this scene remind Sara of the end of “The Choice,” when Saul sees Carrie in that hall of dead bodies after thinking she’d died in the explosion. They shared a moment of recognition at the end of that scene, standing in stark contrast to what unfolds here.

Here’s our first good shot of Carrie, and there’s a lot to take in. The swollen face and unkempt hair are startling, to say the least. Under her bulky black coat she’s wearing white (you can see a peak of her shirt here but her pants--not visible in this shot--are also white), indicating she’s been in an asylum.

The season opened with Carrie running on a treadmill, athletic and strong, the buzzy chords of jazz blaring in our ears. It ends with our heroine on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. She’s feeble and unsteady, running away from the Russian guards and straight past Saul. We hear jazz again, but it’s slower and somehow weightier.

As Saul gently brushes the hair from her face and looks into her eyes, calling her name, she is seemingly unable to recognize him. Her eyes dart from side to side, up and down, but his remain steady on her, and we can see (and share) the concern and devastation etched on his face.

She’s searching, and so is he.

#homeland #homelandedit #paean to the people #lesli linka glatter #* #in the director's chair #by: sara #by: gail #vibes on vibes on vibes

[havenoffandoms]

“We the People of the United States”

Pairing: Dean x Non-American Reader

Summary: You did not really understand why Dean had insisted that you apply for US citizenship. You were already a lawful permanent resident and holder of a green card, which already gave you the right to live in the United States. The benefits that come with being a citizen were not necessarily of any use to you.

Warnings: fluff, non-American reader, reader-insert, topics relating to immigration and deportation

You did not really understand why Dean had insisted that you apply for US citizenship. You were already a lawful permanent resident and holder of a green card, which already gave you the right to live in the United States. The benefits that come with being a citizen were not necessarily of any use to you. You were the proud owner of at least ten different fake U.S. passports, each displaying another name and therewith protecting your true identity. You had no interest in voting in any kind of elections, far too busy hunting demons and other monsters. Dean, however, had been stubborn about the subject.

His argument was that as a permanent resident, you could still be deported to your home country; that would never be the case if you became a US citizen. No matter how long you had argued with Dean, he would not let go. He did not want to risk losing you because of ever-changing immigration laws. Seeing how upset he became at the idea of being separated from you, you had decided to apply for citizenship and had even managed to have the civics flash cards printed at the local library. You had been studiously going over them for weeks and the date of your test was fast approaching. You had not yet told Dean about your intentions, wanting to keep it a surprise until you had passed your test. However, you needed someone to help you revise and therefore had gone to Sam for help. His smile when he heard the news was priceless.

“Of course I’ll help you, Y/N. I can’t wait to see Dean’s reaction when you show up with your certificate”

You could not wait either, but you knew that you still had a lot of work to do before you had the required level. For the weeks that had followed, you had tried to juggle between hunting, studying and keeping your plans a secret from Dean (which frankly took a degree in engineering considering how well Dean knew you and how easily he could detect people lying to him). You usually waited until Dean was asleep (and snoring loudly) to sneak out of bed and join Sam in the library with your flashcards, where he would randomly question you on the material.

“What do we call the first ten amendments to the Constitution?” Sam asked, looking at you expectantly.

“The Bill of Rights” you fired back confidently.

“Very good. What are the five rights of the First Amendment?” You took a minute to think before enunciating:

“Speech, religion, assembly, press, and…” you scratched your brain for the last right, feeling like it rested on the tip of your tongue and you merely needed to spit it out.

“Come on, you got this, Y/N” Sam encouraged, seeing that you were close to a breakthrough. Suddenly, the answer seemed crystal clear.

“Speech, religion, assembly, press and petition the government”

“Yes, well done” Sam praised you, making you smile fondly at your best friend, “now, a bit more technical, if both the President and the Vice President can no longer serve, who becomes President?”

“Ehm…” You had to admit, you did not remember the answer to that one and no amount of reflecting would help you. Sam noticed this and gave you the answer.

“It’s the Speaker of the House. It used to be the Secretary of State. This changed with Harry Truman, who believed that the President should not be allowed to choose his successor by naming a Secretary of State. His rationale was that the two Congressional leaders came closest to being elected by all voters of the nation”

“I will remember that” you said, making a small note on your flashcard.

“Who wrote the declaration of independence?”

“Easy” you said with a smirk, leaning back against your chair nonchalantly, “Thomas Jefferson”

“Alright, smartass, name the thirteen original states” You shot Sam a hurt look.

“You don’t have to be mean…. So” you began listing up the states in question, using your fingers to keep track of how many you had already cited, “New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, North and South Carolina and Georgia”

Sam nodded, looking rather impressed, which made you smile proudly. Your best friend was about to compliment you on your progress when you saw him tense up and look past your shoulder like a child who had just been caught red-handed trying to steal a cookie from his mother’s biscuit jar. Turning around, you could see Dean standing in the doorway, leaning against its frame with a small grin on his face.

“How’s the studying going, sweetheart?” he asked you directly, making you gape in surprise.

“I… ehm, well…”

“You really thought that you could hide this from me?” Dean raised one eyebrow. You shyly lowered your eyes and stared at your bare feet in embarrassment. You should have known that Dean could not be fooled.

“I’m sorry”, you whispered. You heard your boyfriend walk to where you were sitting and saw him crouch before you, placing his hands on either sides of your face.

“Hey, don’t be. I appreciate what you were trying to do, but you know Y/N… I would love to help you with this. I know I’m not as good at studying as Sammy is, and I’m probably a crappy teacher, but… I want to be part of it all”

You looked into Dean’s green eyes, feeling terrible for purposefully excluding him. You thought you were doing him a favour by sparing him the hours of revision, but you could see now that the hunter truly wanted to be there for you. You suddenly realised how tired you were from the hectic lifestyle you put your mind and body through recently. A long yawn escaped you as you were about to thank Dean for his support.

“Now, I think what you need is a good night of rest. I’ll test you in the morning before our salt and burn if you like?”

You nodded sleepily, still managing to shoot your boyfriend a grateful smile. You felt Dean lift you up and carry you to your bed.

“I love you, Dean. Thank you”, you softly said.

“I love you, too, Y/N”

Before you fell asleep, you felt Dean place a tender kiss on your forehead.

#supernatural #supernatural family #supernatural fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #reader #non American reader #reader-insert #fluff #immigration #mentions of deportation

[patriotsnet]

Who Were The Republicans Who Voted For Impeachment

New Post has been published on https://www.patriotsnet.com/who-were-the-republicans-who-voted-for-impeachment/

Who Were The Republicans Who Voted For Impeachment

Fred Upton Of Michigan

10 house Republicans voted to impeach Trump

A fixture in his southwest Michigan district, Mr. Upton is in his 18th congressional term, though in recent years, his margin of victory has shrunk with each election. Now, if he seeks re-election in 2022, he will face off against a primary challenger endorsed by Mr. Trump: Steve Carra, a first-term state representative who has led the push at the State Capitol for a review of the 2020 election results.

A spokesman said Mr. Upton would follow his practice of announcing his decision in the year of the election.

For years, Mr. Upton, a longtime friend of President Bidens, has prided himself on his willingness to work across the aisle. Mr. Upton announced that he would vote for impeachment after Mr. Trump described his language at the Jan. 6 rally outside the Capitol as totally appropriate.

Here Are The House Republicans Who Voted To Impeach Trump

Ten GOP;House members joined Democrats in voting to impeach President Trump

It marks the first time in the countrys history that a president has been impeached twice in one term.

Its also the most bipartisan impeachment vote in the nations history.

Hugh Thompson RiceSC state Rep. Russell Fry launches primary bid against Rice over impeachment votePro-impeachment Republicans outpace GOP rivals in second-quarter fundraisingCheney, Kinzinger are sole GOP votes for Jan. 6 select committeeMORE was the most conservative of the members who supported the effort.

He said a reasonable person would see Trumps remarks to a crowd before the mob attacked the Capitol as having the potential to lead to violence.

Under the strict definition of the law, I dont know if the presidents speech last Wednesday morning amounted to incitement of a riot, but any reasonable person could see the potential for violence, he said.

Rice also took aim at the president for going after Vice President Pence.;

I have backed this President through thick and thin for four years. I campaigned for him and voted for him twice. But, this utter failure is inexcusable, he said in a statement.;

The ten Republicans in the House who voted for Trumps impeachment were;House Republican Conference Chair Liz Cheney

Letters To The Editor Aug 20 2021

Ten House Republicans crossed party lines on Wednesday and voted to impeach President Trump which is 10 more than the amount to go against him the first time around.

The GOP lawmakers aligned with Democrats to formally charge the outgoing commander-in-chief with inciting violence against the government of the United States in last weeks;storming of the Capitol;by supporters he had;addressed during a rally;near the White House.

No Republicans voted;in 2019 to impeach Trump the first time.

Here are the 10 GOP members who voted to impeach on Wednesday:

Also Check: Top Republicans In Congress

Gop Leader Mccarthy: Trump ‘bears Responsibility’ For Violence Won’t Vote To Impeach

Some ambitious Republican senators have never been as on board the Trump train as the more feverish GOP members in the House, and the former might be open to convicting Trump. But their ambition cuts two ways on the one hand, voting to ban Trump opens a lane to carry the Republican mantle in 2024 and be the party’s new standard-bearer, but, on the other, it has the potential to alienate many of the 74 million who voted for Trump, and whose votes they need.

It’s a long shot that Trump would ultimately be convicted, because 17 Republicans would need to join Democrats to get the two-thirds majority needed for a conviction. But it’s growing clearer that a majority of the Senate will vote to convict him, reflecting the number of Americans who are in favor of impeachment, disapproved of the job Trump has done and voted for his opponent in the 2020 presidential election.

Correction Jan. 14, 2021

A previous version of this story incorrectly said Rep. Peter Meijer is a West Point graduate. Meijer attended West Point, but he is a graduate of Columbia University.

Here Are All Of The House Republicans Who Voted To Impeach Donald Trump

Ten members of the GOP joined with Democrats in the vote.

President Donald Trump impeached for ‘incitement of insurrection’

The House of Representatives has voted to impeach President Donald Trump — making him the only president in American history to be impeached twice.

Unlike his first impeachment in 2019, 10 Republicans joined Democrats to charge Trump for the “incitement of insurrection” for his role in the Jan. 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol with a final vote of 232-197.

Some Republicans may have feared for their own safety if they voted for impeachment, Rep. Adam Kinzinger, one of those who voted against Trump, said. Kinzinger told ABC’s “Powerhouse Politics” podcast that some members of his party are likely holding back from voting for impeachment due to fear of highlighting their own participation in supporting the president’s false claims of election fraud.

Democrat Jason Crow, of Colorado, relayed similar thoughts in an interview with MSNBC on Wednesday morning.

“I had a lot of conversations with my Republican colleagues last night, and a couple of them broke down in tears talking to me and saying that they are afraid for their lives if they vote for this impeachment,” he said.

Here is a list of the 10 Republicans who took a stance against Trump:

Rep. Adam Kinzinger, R-Ill.“It’s not going to be some ‘Kumbaya moment’ on the floor — it’s going to be an awakening by the American people to hold their leaders accountable to their rhetoric,”

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Washington Rep Dan Newhouse

Newhouse was first elected during a Republican wave in 2014. He beat a Democratic challenger by 33 points in November, solidly overperforming Trumps 18-point win in Washingtons agricultural 4th District. He serves on the Legislative Branch Appropriations Subcommittee with Herrera Beutler.

A vote against this impeachment is a vote to validate the unacceptable violence we witnessed in our nations capital, he said in a statement. It is also a vote to condone the presidents inaction.

Newhouses views have not always aligned with Trumps on key issues, but he has modified positions in response to the Trump administrations actions. He was a strong supporter of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program but said after the Trump administration ended the program that it was never the long-term answer. He is concerned about the national debt but voted for the 2017 GOP tax overhaul that contributed to its increase. He has had a 90 percent presidential unity score during the Trump administration. But on Wednesday, he said Trump failed when the country needed a leader.;

Adam Kinzinger Of Illinois

None of the 10 pro-impeachment House Republicans have raised their profiles more than Mr. Kinzinger, a six-term conservative who represents an exurban and rural part of northern and central Illinois. He has created a political action committee and become a frequent anti-Trump presence on cable television and social media since the Capitol riot.

Mr. Kinzinger hasnt formally announced a 2022 re-election bid, and the Illinois legislature, controlled by Democrats, is likely to redraw his district to make it more difficult for a Republican to win.

A half-dozen Republicans are vying to challenge him, including Catalina Lauf, a former Commerce Department official under Mr. Trump, who placed third in a Republican primary in a neighboring congressional district last year.

So far, Ms. Lauf has been endorsed by Representative Madison Cawthorn of North Carolina, one of the leading purveyors of pro-Trump misinformation in Congress.

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Rep Tom Rice South Carolina

Rep. Tom Rice, representing South Carolinas 7th Congressional District, voted to impeach Trump, though he had not spoken out publicly about his decision prior to the vote.

In a statement after the vote Wednesday, Rice said he was not sure whether Trumps speech before the mobs attack amounted to incitement of a riot, but any reasonable person could see the potential for violence.

Once the violence began, when the Capitol was under siege, when the Capitol Police were being beaten and killed, and when the Vice President and the Congress were being locked down, the President was watching and tweeted about the Vice Presidents lack of courage, Rice wrote.

I have backed this President through thick and thin for four years. I campaigned for him and voted for him twice. But, this utter failure is inexcusable.

Republicans Voted To Impeach Trump 7 Already Facing Challenges For Their Seats In Congress

These House Republicans voted for impeachment

Some of the Republicans who voted to impeach former President Donald Trump in January are already having their seats challenged and their ability to hold onto their place in Congress may be dependent on the moves the former president makes in the next 18 months.

Ten Republicans joined Democrats in impeaching Trump a historic second time, a move that was quickly met with condemnation back in their home states. Theyve been publicly scolded, pushed to resign and warned that local organizations will mount a strong push to oust them from office in the primary.

After my last election, I had decided not to run again. But the vote by Congressman Valadao to impeach President Trump with no witnesses, evidence, or without allowing any defense was too much for me to stay on the sidelines, Chris Mathys, a former Fresno, California, city council member, told Newsweek.

Valadao, who represents Californias 21st district, wasnt in office during Trumps first impeachment, as he had been ousted from office in 2018 by Democrat TJ Coxx. In November, Valadao won back his seat from the Democrat who beat him in 2018 by less than a point. The Republican placed blame on Trump for the Capitol riot, saying that his rhetoric was un-American, abhorrent and absolutely an impeachable offense.

Senate Republicans Out of Step With Majority on Convicting Donald Trump

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Michigan Rep Peter Meijer

The freshman Republican, who won a primary last summer in the 3rd District with the backing of House GOP leaders such as Kevin McCarthy, already is cutting an image for himself independent of his party after two weeks on the job. Its less surprising considering that former Rep. Justin Amash, the Republican-turned-independent-turned-Libertarian who split with Trump, held the seat before Meijer. Amash voted to impeach Trump in 2019.;

The scion of the Meijer family, which founded the grocery store chain of the same name, is a veteran of the Iraq War. Trump won the 3rd District, which includes Grand Rapids and Battle Creek, with 51 percent of the vote. Meijer, who turned his campaign operation into a grocery delivery service in the early weeks of the COVID-19 pandemic, outperformed Trump in November, taking 53 percent of the vote.;

Impeachment Of Bill Clinton

Impeachment of Bill Clinton Floor proceedings of the U.S. Senate during the trial of President Bill Clinton in 1999, Chief Justice William Rehnquist presiding Accused Bill Clinton, President of the United States Date Outcome Acquitted by the U.S. Senate, remained in office Charges Perjury , obstruction of justice, abuse of power Congressional votes Voting in the U.S. Senate Accusation Article I perjury;/grand jury Votes in favor Acquitted Accusation Article II obstruction of justice Votes in favor Acquitted

This article is part of a series about

The impeachment of Bill Clinton occurred when Bill Clinton, the 42ndpresident of the United States, was impeached by the United States House of Representatives of the 105th United States Congress on December 19, 1998 for “high crimes and misdemeanors“. The House adopted two articles of impeachment against Clinton, with the specific charges against Clinton were lying under oath and obstruction of justice. Two other articles had been considered, but rejected by House vote.

Clinton was the second American president to be impeached .

Also Check: Donald Trump Calling Republicans Stupid

Rep John Katko New York

To impeach a sitting president is a decision I do not take lightly, Rep. John Katko of New Yorks 24th Congressional District said in a statement Tuesday.

As a former federal prosecutor, I approach the question of impeachment by reviewing the facts at hand, he said. To allow the President of the United States to incite this attack without consequence is a direct threat to the future of our democracy. For that reason, I cannot sit by without taking action. I will vote to impeach this President.

Dont Miss: Trump Democrat Or Republican

Stupidest Week In The Senate

Perhaps the lone voice of reason coming out of Congress this week was that of Senator Kevin Cramer who described the impeachment trial as, well stupid.

Welcome to the stupidest week in the Senate, he announced in a video statement.

Sen. Kevin Cramer made it clear today what he thought about the historic second impeachment trial of Donald Trump: Welcome to the stupidest week in the Senate

POLITICO

Cramer also blasted House Speaker Nancy Pelosi for using impeachment flippantly as a political tool and described her impeachment managers as backbenchers.

While Speaker Pelosi sent these backbenchers to tie up the Senate, Cramer said, she sent the rest of the House home instead of leaving them here to carry out the actual work of the American people.

Read this NextonThePoliticalInsider.com

Also Check: Who Is Right Republicans Or Democrats

The 10 House Republicans Who Voted To Impeach President Trump

The House of Representatives voted Wednesday afternoon to impeach President Trump for his role in last weeks assault on the Capitol as Congress started to formally count the electoral votes showing that President-elect Joe Biden was victorious in last Novembers election.

The article of impeachment charged that Trump gravely endangered the security of the United States and its institutions of Government by promoting false election fraud claims, seeking to illegally manufacture a different election outcome and inviting his supporters to attend the Jan. 6 rally in Washington that turned violent.

He threatened the integrity of the democratic system, interfered with the peaceful transition of power, and imperiled a coequal branch of Government, read the impeachment article. He thereby betrayed his trust as President, to the manifest injury of the people of the United States.

Trump became the first president to ever be impeached twice, following his December 2019 impeachment for soliciting foreign election interference before he was acquitted in the Senate. Those articles had no support among House Republicans, who unanimously opposed them, but this time 10 members of Trumps party voted to impeach.

Rep Dan Newhouse Washington

Rep. Dan Newhouse of Washingtons 4th Congressional District on Wednesday voted to impeach Trump shortly after announcing his decision to do so on the House floor.

These articles of impeachment are flawed, but I will not use process as an excuse for President Trumps actions, Newhouse said.

The president took an oath to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Last week there was a domestic threat at the door of the Capitol and he did nothing to stop it.

In a separate statement released the same day, Newhouse said Trump did not strongly condemn the attack nor did he call in reinforcements when our officers were overwhelmed. Our country needed a leader, and President Trump failed to fulfill his oath of office.

Also Check: How Many Republicans In Congress

Rep Anthony Gonzalez Ohio

As House members cast their votes on the articles of impeachment, Rep. Anthony Gonzalez from Ohios 16th Congressional District, tweeted a statement asserting that Trump helped organize and incite a mob that attacked the United States Congress in an attempt to prevent us from completing our solemn duties as prescribed by the Congress.

When I consider the full scope of events leading up to January 6th including the presidents lack of response as the United States Capitol was under attack, I am compelled to support impeachment, he wrote.

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Rep Anthony Gonzalez One Of The 10 House Republicans Who Voted In Favor Of Impeaching Trump Will Not Seek Reelection

Opinion | Republicans on impeachment witnesses, then and now

GOP Rep. Anthony Gonzalez of Ohio announced Thursday he is not running for reelection in 2022.

Gonzalez was one of 10 House Republicans to vote in favor of impeachment, drawing Trumps ire.

Gonzalez called Trump a cancer for the country in an interview with The New York Times.

See more stories on Insiders business page.

Rep. Anthony Gonzalez, a Republican from Ohio, announced Thursday he would not be running for reelection in 2022.

Gonzalez, one of the 10 House Republicans who voted in favor of impeaching former President Donald Trump, said the decision was based on what was best for his family, but that the current political environment also played a role.

While my desire to build a fuller family life is at the heart of my decision, it is also true that the current state of our politics, especially many of the toxic dynamics inside our party, is a significant factor in my decision, Gonzalez said in a statement.

Gonzalez, who is married with two young children, said the decision was the best path for our family.

Gonzalez came under fire from Trump after voting for impeachment in January after the Capitol insurrection. The former president has indicated he will play an active role in the 2022 elections to unseat Republicans who voted against him and replace them with pro-Trump candidates.

In February, Trump endorsed Gonzalezs primary challenger, Max Miller, who worked for Trumps 2016 and 2020 campaigns and as a White House aide.

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