#Diplomat Avenue

[doo-wop-city]

Diplomat Suites

Take a look at The Diplomat Suites, right in the middle of Wildwood!

Diplomat Suites is hard to describe, but we will. It is a five-story brutalist monolith protected by concrete walls. These photos were taken on September 8th, 1967. (…Or, was that 2023?) Located between Pine and Wildwood Avenues to the north and south, respectively, and midway on the block between Atlantic and Pacific Avenues to the East and west, respectively, The Diplomat’s parking lots span…

[adispit]

The Crown (100 followers special!)

Alpha! Rival king x alpha king m! reader

content warnings: bitching, reader gets turned into an omega against his will, noncon turned heavy dubcon, reader isn’t in the right of mind, breeding, dirty talk, degradation, cream pie, knotting, overstimulation, pwp, belly bulge

note: kinda went ham writing this wtf lmfao, anyways enjoy!

The tension in the room was palpable. As the one who wore the crown, your duty was just as heavy as the ornate gems that emboldened it. You were a young and green alpha, barely an adult at the ripe age of 18. Hastily made king, as your many brothers in line and father fell in the decades long battle against the opposing kingdom, your choice didn’t matter. The country needed someone to govern as soon as possible and you as the sole remaining heir was responsible. The whispers and scrutiny of the court didn’t help much either, the weight of responsibility of your decisions over the people and the waging war kept you awake at night, cold sweat dripping from your temples as you could almost hear the cries of your fellow soldiers perishing in battle.

Which took you into the present moment, where a heated debate was taking place of the next action that should be taken for the strife between your country and the rival nation. You sat in the heavy, intricately carved throne that seemed to press down on you, both a symbol of your power and a reminder of the immense responsibility you bore. The room was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, uneasy shadows on the stone walls. Around you, the advisors were gathered, their voices a murmur of concern and debate. “Thousand of soldiers have fallen in battle, we can’t take any more losses!” One of the advisors, his name you couldn’t really remember, argued fiercely with a hint of urgency. “The enemy is approaching closer day by day and the people are starving, we must surrender now to avoid total destruction!”

“Surrender?! That would cut off all means of escape! And you can’t possibly guarantee under the rule of the enemy’s rule, our people will be able to live peacefully!” Another advisor shot back, her voice sharp with defiance. Shifting uneasily on the throne, you felt the weight of their expectations bearing down on you. The advisors’ voices clashed, each presenting their case with unwavering conviction. Maps and documents spread out on the table before you seemed to blur as you struggled to focus on the conflicting arguments. Finally, you spoke, fingers drumming nervously on the table as you tried keep a steady tone amid the clamour. “How are you sure that surrender is the only viable option we have to take?” Your voice strained as you fidgeted restlessly.

The first advisor spoke, his gaze was intense, filled with concern. “The enemy’s forces are overwhelming. Continuing to resist will only lead to greater devastation. Surrender is the most rational choice to save lives.”The other advisor leaned closer, her eyes filled with determination. “We have not explored every diplomatic avenue. Surrender might be seen as defeat, but if we negotiate from a position of strength, we could secure better terms.” The room fell into a tense silence as every gaze fell upon you, the choice to surrender or negotiate hung heavily in the air.

However, you chose neither. “I have heard your concerns and arguments,” you began, your voice filled with unusual resolve. “We will not surrender.” Gasps echoed throughout the room as the disapproving gazes began pouring in but you pushed on. “As your king, no matter the outcome in this long war, we will push to the end. If we must fall, let it be with the knowledge that we fought to the last breath for our sovereignty and our principles. We will defend our country with all that we have, even if it means facing doom.” You were exhausted, the war taken its toll on you and you just wanted it to end. “Your majesty! You don’t understand, we-“ “Silence! This is an order from your king. I will now retire to my chambers.” Leaving no room for argument, you slipped away to the privacy and peace of your quarters, away from the shouts and protests of your counsel.

Chucking the heavy crown aside, you sank in your chair with a deep sigh. The flickering candlelight illuminating your weary face, an expression now often seen ever since you took on the role of king a few months ago. Absentmindedly tracing the patterns of the chair, the advisors arguments burst through your mind, doubt and despair both trapping you. God, not even having a moment to yourself was possible in the castle. You seriously needed a break from all the chaos, so you decided to slip out under the cover of night from the castle to the nearby forest, at the very edge of the country’s borders to seek some time to yourself.

As leaves crunched under your every step, the moon cast a gentle silvery glow over your cloaked form. The leaves in the tree branches rustled softly from the occasional breeze, the peace and quiet bringing about a pleasant atmosphere as you trekked through the woods. Arriving at a small clearing where a babbling creek lay, you finally let out an exhale you had been holding. Under the canopy of the stars, and no one around to constantly screech the phrase “Your Majesty!”, the sense of freedom you felt was truly unmatched. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to at least let out your worries, there wasn’t anyone around anyways… “Damn those old farts, it’s not like I even wanted to be king! I can literally see the court eyeing me like a piece of meat every time they argue about the war like I’m some kind of idiot! God, sometimes I wish I was just some simple commoner!” Fueled by your sudden rage, words rushed out your mouth, the confusion and rage you had held in for so long finally let out.

Oh. That actually felt…good. Unfortunately before you could continue, a voice interrupted you, “Your Majesty, are you okay…?” Whipping your head around, you were greeted at a sight of a golden-haired man donned in a commoner’s garb, standing there awkwardly at the entrance of the clearing. Caught off guard, you stumbled over your words, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Well, I …uh…! Sorry, you had to see that… that was pretty embarrassing of me haha…” You rubbed your neck sheepishly, mortified that one of your subjects had seen you so vulnerable. There was a heavy pause as your words hung in the air. The man’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, his tone empathetic. "Your Majesty, we all have our burdens. There’s nothing wrong with sharing your troubles. If you don’t mind sharing some of your problems with this humble subject, I would be happy to listen.”

The man’s unexpected understanding and calm demeanor helped ground you. Word after word, you shared about how you feel, the weight of the crown and its decisions, and the man patiently listened. Hours passed and you learnt the man’s name was Leo and he was an alpha. “Leo, thanks so much for listening to me.” You smiled shyly at him. “Not to mention, you’re really handsome too, I bet a girl or two would be interested in a guy who is as caring and good looking as you. Well too bad, I’m a male, an alpha and the king at that. Alphas can’t really be together.” You joked, failing to catch a brief piercing look that flashed in his eyes before he reverted back to his gentle expression at what you said. “No problem, Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine.” He bowed. “I am glad you were able to feel better, but I must go. See you around.” Waving at him, you watched as he left the clearing. Weird, you never saw his face before in the servants of the castle…why did he say see you around? Oh well, you brushed it off as you headed back to the castle, it didn’t really matter.

As you approached the castle, you were greeted by the sight of the once-grand fortress, now a dark silhouette against the burning sky, that was surrounded by enemy forces. Smoke billowed from the battlements, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of battle. Panic and despair filled you, as their king where had you been? Shirking your responsibilities and leaving your own subjects vulnerable! Your heart sank as you rushed into the fray of battle where the throne room lay, as multiple corpses of your former subjects lay there, a stifling numbness filled you. Gritting your teeth, you decided to fight to the end and honour your words as their king. Brandishing your sword, you swung at the enemy soldiers, desperately seeking revenge for your fallen subjects. Unfortunately, resistance was futile at this point, most of your soldiers were dead. The enemy soldiers recognised you as the king and immediately incapacitated you. Just before you passed out, you swore you could see a familiar smile on someone approaching you.

“—— needs to be done.” “That’s not——!” You jolt awake to the sharp, discordant murmur of voices. Groggy and disoriented, you struggle to make sense of your surroundings around you. The invasion! Wide awake, you opened your eyes to see the familiar throne room and your wrists bound together as you sat on the throne. Enemy soldiers surrounded the hall as a golden-haired man in regal attire seemed to be having a conversation with someone. Wait. No way. Was it- “Leo!” You blurted out involuntarily. Noticing that you were awake, the man gestured for the other person and the soldiers to leave as he walked in your direction. As he came closer, his cerulean eyes met your shocked gaze, there was no mistaking it. He was Leo, the man you had confided in hours ago.

The kind expression on his face you had seen was now replaced with a taunting smirk, a sharp contrast to his former soothing demeanour. A wave of disbelief washed over you, leaving you momentarily paralysed. Tilting your chin up with his hand, he smiled evilly. “Oh, you naive thing. (Name), you were just pouring your heart out to me as your subjects were ruthlessly slaughtered…you truly are a great king…” An almost psychotic giggle left him as he sneered at you. “I was honestly surprised. I thought you were be more well, less stupid. It’s almost adorable really! To not even do your research about the very king that you were at war with, your innocence was so cute.” Disdain was evident in his tone as he made cruel jab after cruel jab at you.

“Just kill me.” You snarled at him, a fierce defiance radiating as you bared your fangs at him. However, your words seemed to take on the opposite effect of what you wanted as he only cooed at you mockingly. “Now, now, I can’t possibly do that. You were so cute in trusting me, I can’t possibly let you go now!” He grinned with malicious intent, his thoughts unpredictable as you glared at him. “The elders at home have been bothering me about getting a wife lately, and you seem to like me after our first meeting so why not make you my bitch.” He beamed malevolently, making sure to enunciate every word clearly.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Bitch? Well, you certainly didn’t like that as you let out a guttural growl at that suggestion, your pride as an alpha rising up. “Quiet.” Leo shushed you almost as you were a disobedient child. Grabbing you with almost inhuman strength, you flailed as he hoisted you on his lap with your back facing him. Terror quickly set in as he began sniffing your nape where your scent gland was, his canines lightly grazing it. One bite and it was over. You wouldn’t be an alpha anymore and instead be bound to the very man that slaughtered your people. In a fit of fear, you began frantically struggling as you pleaded with him. “Leo! Please don’t-!” However, it was to no avail as he snorted back with a snarky “No.” He sunk his teeth into your gland, biting down with as much force he could humanly muster. The harsh pain ripping a pained whine from your throat as you scrambled at the air to grip onto anything to ground you. An intense heat began to envelop you, further intensifying your discomfort.

The bite took immediate effect, heat rushing through your veins as you felt your body beginning to change. Agony shot through you as the forced change to your secondary gender was initiated, a relentless wave of pain that refused to ebb. Your once sharp canines that served to give a mating bite shrunk along with your cock, turning into an omega’s tiny cock. Your unused hole began to leak runny slick through your pants, a sign that the bitching had been successful and your first heat as an omega was about to begin. Weakly twitching against Leo, your muscles felt like stone as all your strength was sapped from you. Satisfied with his work, Leo hummed as he licked the bite in satisfaction.

As the pain shifted to an insatiable need to be filled, you unconsciously grinded against the huge tent forming in his pants, seeking reprise from the unfamiliar heat you felt, your slick wetting his crotch. You whimpered, your newly turned body eager to be filled and fucked. Turning you around to face him, Leo tore off your pants impatiently, eager to see the results of his bitching. “Fuck, your dick has really turned into an omega’s useless cock!” He jeered as he thumbed at the slit at the head of your dick, pearly pre-cum forming at the tip. “F-fuck you…” You spat back, struggling to regain your senses in your lust hazed state. He smirked back, his fingers dextrously rubbing your cock in response. “S-stop!” You cried out, the rim of your eyes red. The humiliation of being bitched and getting jerked off was too much. Coupled with the fact you were a virgin, the pleasure immediately began to fill your frayed nerves. With your senses heightened by your heat, you came almost seconds after, the knot in your stomach tightening and breaking as you dirtied your shirt with a loud moan.

Hands moving away from your weeping cock, he spread your rim dripping with slick open. “It’s like a waterfall…” Muttering, he wet his fingers with your slick before slipping in a finger. The calluses on his finger served as delicious stimulation as they rubbed against your sensitive walls, trying to find your prostrate. Biting your lips, you tried to hold your moans in, not letting him have any satisfaction. Your attempts at resistance were once again futile as he quickly found your prostrate and began to abuse it relentlessly, slipping in another finger. Once again, you felt the familiar singsong of ecstasy rush through you as the pressure in your stomach tightened. “Gh! Ngh—no! D-don’t wanna cum again!” You sobbed as he mercilessly grinded away at your prostrate, crying out as cum shot out from your dick for the second time.

His fingers pulled out as he shared a kiss with you, hot tongue twisting and dominating your mouth. Caught up in the kiss, you didn’t notice him freeing his cock which was now circling your hole. The sudden intrusion had you gasping and pulling away as the blunt head of his cock slipped out from your movements. He grunted at you, annoyed as his cock throbbed impatiently. You shook your head at him desperately as your throat was too dry to form words. A sudden gentle expression formed on his face, “Okay, then if you don’t want it, I won’t force it.” He smiled, almost saint-like. You should have felt joy at what he said but only disappointment filled you. Why did you feel disappointed?! The growing emptiness in you made you restless as your instincts cried at you to make your mated alpha put his dick in you deep and knot you.

Conflicted, you stared at him blankly. “Tell me, do you want it or not?” He chuckled carefree, almost as if his cock wasn’t rock hard in front of you. The intense need to be filled overwhelmed your senses, you needed to be bred. Desperation and horniness got the better of you as you as you nodded your head, hole clenching in response. “Use your words.” He scowled in displeasure. Eager to please your alpha, you tossed aside your pride and shame as you uttered a low yes. In a split second, you felt his monstrous cock stretch you open and then white. You had squirted all over him just from penetration. Your mouth gaped as your eyes glazed over, the repeated orgasms leaving you twitching around the fat dick driving into you. “Shit.” He huffed, smug, and gripped your waist as he bounced you up and down his fat dick. “Ah! Ah- ugh!” Whimpers bubbled from your throat as you swore you saw stars from how hard he was thrusting into you, your prostrate kissed again and again. Watching your flesh ripple as his hips snapped against yours, Leo spurred on, your cries exciting him further.

Indescribable satisfaction filled you as he grinded his hips into you, making sure to go deep and bully your sensitive innards, making you pulse around his cock uncontrollably. “You like that, huh.” He growled, voice dropping an octave as he began relentlessly pounding, determined to sate his desire. It didn’t help that he had an incredibly strong stamina, making you orgasm multiple times, your voice too hoarse to even cry out. “Gonna wife you up, put my kids in you.” He groaned, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as the brutal pace of his cock began to stutter and slow down as the base of his dick began to swell. He was going to knot you. Roughly shoving his swelling knot in your hole, the burn and friction against your insides made you mewl in pleasure.

You attempted to move Leo’s hands away, but when that didn’t work, you tried to crawl off the dick destroying your insides. Tears fell from your eyes, your little cock not being able to keep up with the pleasure continuing to wrack his body. He felt you trying to pull away and grabbed you by the base of your throat, pulling his ass flush against his thighs. Leo continued to obliterate your hole, his other hand reaching down to wrap around the tiny dick. He jerked you in time with his thrusts, licking around the scent gland. 

“Don’t run from it. Take it like a good little wife.”

Finally, the moment came. The mast of his swollen knot locked you both together as he sheathed himself in to the hilt. You slurred incoherently as he began stuffing you full of his cum, a small bulge forming on your stomach. In a rare moment of reprieve, he gently placed his hands against your distending stomach as waves of cum were pumped into you. Trapped in a tight bear hug, your yowls of ecstasy drowned out his moans as you both came together. Barely conscious from the rough fucking you just had, your head lolled to the side on his shoulder.

Breathing in his scent as your hole hugged his cock, you swore you were going to kill him. A small hoarse “fuck you” left your lips before you drifted off to sleep, eliciting an amused laugh from him.

note: well that was it haha, Leo’s a bitch lol 💀. Tried a more descriptive writing style this time, hope u enjoyed the fic :)

Reblogs are appreciated! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

check out part 2 !

see some headcanons about him!

[carionto]

We'll do it our way

Been reading a bunch of Humans are Space Orcs and the like, and got me thinking - what if when aliens found humanity and our level of technology and method of propulsion for space travel, they decided that since explosions are way too hazardous and risky, that they're just not gonna let us leave on our vessels (via BS alien magic space tech). As a sort of intergalactic rite of passing (and poor results in the past of elevating a species like that), we have to figure out on our own how to not blow ourselves up once in space. But humans can be spiteful. We "have" to go in a direction they want? Fuck that. Aliens put a dome around Earth so we can't leave? Okay, that's a clear and practical problem to solve. Let's fix that instead!

_____________________________________

It had been just over sixty local cycles since First Contact with Humanity, and exactly sixty since the Federation had unanimously deemed it necessary to position a Responsibility Barrier around Earth.

Through countless observation relays, mass field generators, warp inhibitors (and the less spoken of and even less used laser batteries), any vessel - outside of local communication satellites, unmanned research vessels, or suborbital test vehicles - were prevented from leaving the planet.

Upon discovering Humanity, the Exploratory Commission Fleet quickly discovered a very hardy, innovative, diverse, violent, and adaptable advanced civilization on the cusp of entering the interstellar stage. There was one problem. Humans used explosions. For. Everything.

Their orbital spaces were already littered with micro-debris from their regular ventures into the local system. Practically every type of propulsion utilized highly volatile solutions, and they didn't even pretend to hide or be embarrassed by their history of weaponizing, well, anything and everything to be frank.

Wars and violence were common among nearly all sentient species, but there was something… peculiar, about how nonchalant the Human diplomats were about their supposed "solutions" to "tragedies" of the past.

We explained to them the dangers of their methods, showed examples of what happens when such line of thinking, without discarding these explosive ways, leads to - impassable fields of junk around once well traveled planets, now isolated; hastily jettisoned parts causing mayhem and destruction years down the line; entire Habitation Stations and their occupants reduced to faint rings around their homeworld from an "unplanned ignition"

We explained why we could not simply give them our safe technology, as they have to on their own give up the irresponsible ways first, lest they turned what was once safe into yet another means to an end. They "said" they understood, but it was all too clear the Humans would not follow our advice just like that. Hence the Barrier. This really angered the Humans.

They said it was stifling, that it was barbaric to "imprison" them like that. We tried to explained again why, but they would not listen, but we knew better. This had happened before and we would not allow it to happen again. It was for the greater good of both the Humans and the rest of the Galaxy.

For nearly sixty of their cycles, Humanity continued to advance and develop and flourish. We watched them with excitement at every new avenue of research they steered towards, silently encouraged them to keep going with every failure. They were getting close in several fields, we could see that Humanity was on the precipice of the right track. Then, one day, with a slight shimmer enveloping the planet and an eerie silence on all frequencies, the Earth just… vanished.

The Humans kept their true activity a secret, only after careful analysis of seemingly unrelated and unremarkable records did we figure out they were investigating a long abandoned line of research by all others in the galaxy - interdimensional travel. But there were no other traversable dimensions. That had long been tested by everyone - you can twist and bend and cut through the ones we have, but you are always bound to at least one of them.

It remained a mystery as to what truly happened to Humanity. Officially it was called a tragic scientific accident on an unprecedented scale. Earth and Humanity were memorialized as a bright species with infinite potential, but a recklessness that would serve as one of the starkest examples in the annals of Galactic history.

Until, nearly a millennia later, Earth just… popped back in. Right where it would have been had it continued to orbit around their star, almost as if that's exactly what it had been doing.

There was only a memorial station close to its original orbit, and some small research outposts dotted around the local system - it was decided to not terraform or colonize any of Sol's planets or install major stations within the system, as both a sign of respect to the deceased and a warning to all about the dangers of foolish science.

By the time the scrambled and panicked messages reached the nearest Coalition world and a small squad sent to investigate, everything had changed. Not only did they find Earth and Humanity, they were met by dozens of the largest space worthy vessels anyone had ever conceived of let alone dared to construct; orbital shipyards that each would put the production capacity of whole planetary SYSTEMS to shame; and a defiant attitude unmatched even by the previously thought exaggerated tales of our brief history with Humanity before the Vanishing.

The message we received from the Humans was simple:

"Thanks for the advice, but we do things our way. Now, let's start over, from an equal footing, shall we?"

(more while we were gone)

[bowielit]

everyone always talks abt johns aggression and paul's diplomacy like they are two opposing and inherently combative traits, not tendencies they both might've adopted precisely BECAUSE of the way the other was. like maybe its because john was the all-honest sharp mouthed man that paul had to be the safer, people-pleasing, diplomatic one of the two, and vice versa. john's sardonic dry honest songwriting probably impacted, warranted, and created avenues for paul's more jovial whimsical lovey writing. they definitely seeped into each other but it's their external yin and yang that makes them appear even more special as individuals in retrospect.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hear me out this. Hanzo falls in love with a woman who's in the Lin Kuei.

(You can make it as horny as your brain wants)

(Please?)

Oooooooh our resident spicy boy!

Fire & Ice

Hanzo Hasashi x Fem!Lin Kuei!Reader)

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Sexual tension, pining, opposites attract, slight spanking (briefly) unprotected sex, bath sex, PiV sex, temperature play(?) wee bit of Kanon fudging

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Hanzo is just MMMMF also Raiden is Light Aligned here for a wee bit of context

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

It all started during one of the first peace talks after the budding brotherhood of your Grandmaster, Kuai Liang (AKA Sub-Zero) and the Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu.

Once the cease-fire between the clans was initiated, it was met with mixed results. The original Shirai Ryu were annihilated (including Hanzo's wife and child) by the forces of the previous Grandmaster, Bi-Han (whom everyone later discovered was actually the evil sorcerer Quan-Chi in disguise).

However it came to light that the initial fires of hatred that were lit were orchestrated by the Grandmaster before Bi-Han himself; before Bi-Han became the void-creature known as Noob Saibot, before Cyrax and Sektor were "cyberized".

All of course, with Quan-Chi's aid...

But when Kuai Liang and Hanzo Hasashi buried old prejudices and hatreds and pursued an avenue of peace and allyship, they proposed training scenarios between the ninjas.

You were one of Sub-Zero's top members. Your flexibility and cryomancy a deadly and graceful combination.

Naturally, at some point you found yourself pitted against your complete elemental opposite, Scorpion.

Not only was he your elemental opposite, he was vastly more skilled than you. Having spent years as a revenant under the control of Quan-Chi, training others in the way of the Shirai Ryu, working with Lord Raiden... Yeah. You were a child compared to his prowess.

But you however, did get some ideas for your own weaponry from him. Instead of a normal kunai attached to a chain, you settled for a chain with blunt ends, allowing your cryomancy to shape various weapons at the ends. After all, they'd been useful for making things like spears, scythes and various others in the past...

And to say the man was floored when you used his own techniques against him--and mastering them with your own twists while you were at it--was an understatement.

It became rather normal for Hanzo to seek you out for sparring sessions, seeking to experiment with your respective powers you both created various attacks and techniques to better battle one another.

However it was during one of your sessions, where you were to be chased and he the hunter, that the two of you finally figured out that what was between the two of you was more than camaraderie, more than diplomatic friendship.

Hanzo himself realized a lot sooner than you did. The warmth in his heart (and not from his flame) and the increased rate of beats when you were around, how his thoughts would drift back to you when it was quiet, when he would pace the Fire Gardens...

It was a feeling he hasn't felt since Harumi.

He was hesitant to bring it to your attention, for fear of a repeat performance of some cruel twist of fate robbing him of the one he loved once again.

He couldn't dare hope one as vibrant and beautiful as you could feel the same.

Until that night, when he had you pinned to the tree, breathing hard from the chase.

He barely had a moment to realize how close he was to you before masks were torn from faces by your hand and lips met lips in a kiss balanced in his hot and your cold; a kiss so passionate steam wafted as your mouths parted.

It was under the snow-heavy branches of that tree where your hands first explored each other. Not in heated sexual passion, but with the desire to map out every detail you could, so when the two of you parted ways again you would always be able to mentally trace those lines, commit them to memory like a well-read book.

Kuai Liang had suspicions of a budding relationship between the two of you. If anything, you had to wager that he probably knew your true feelings for one another even before the two of you figured it out for yourselves; but he wouldn't bring it forth. He knew you two needed to figure it out at your own pace.

After all, his friend was still nursing a broken heart from the loss of his wife and child. But he knew this was still good for him, for the two of you, for both clans.

Hanzo Hasashi had finally fallen in love again.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Your first real "intimate" moment with Hanzo was when you showed him to the hot springs in the mountains. Heat, ice and snow all together in a blissful harmonious oasis.

Not unlike your love for one another, a peaceful respite in tumultuous times.

"This is... Beautiful." Hanzo said, his breath coming out of him in a cloud that swirled with the snowflakes. "But won't it still be too cold to bathe?"

You chuckled and pulled off your mask. Shaking your hair free of icy flakes. "Well, Hanzo, that's why the goal is to stay in the water. Where it's warm."

He blew out a chuckle and shook his head. "Obviously." He turned and looked around, the red leaves of the maple trees surrounding you casting a beautiful scattering of color among the white and gray.

"But it--"

His voice died in his throat as he watched you strip your uniform from your body.

You held no shame, clearly, as you stripped bare in front of him, your wonderous body on full display for his longing, hungry eyes.

You took pride in your athletic frame, muscles and soft curves in all the right places, your body a gorgeous shell for the violence you were capable of committing.

His dark eyes met yours, a twinkle dancing in their depths as your smile reached your ears. You beckon him towards you, your fingers curling in a silent request for him to come closer.

It is a silent request his body obeys before he realizes he's even moving, his blood rushing in his ears.

When your fingers wrapped around his tabards you begin undoing each bit of his ornamentation slowly, peeling it off of him like a juicy piece of fruit you couldn't wait to take a bite out of.

Maybe you would... later.

Once he was naked, you gave him enough dignity to spare looking between his legs, knowing he wouldn't be ready for you to look at him there just yet, you felt like he would set the very air ablaze; each snowflake that landed on his body melted with a soft hiss as it came into contact with his skin.

At first you were concerned that maybe he was too hot, that the spring might make him sick with the extra heat added to his body; but as you sank into the water, he didn't seem bothered in the slightest. In fact, his eyes continued to take your form as he thought you weren't looking.

Every scar told a story, and he wanted to hear them all, wanted to hear a symphony of your voices together as you breathed your love into one another s lungs as you shared scorching kisses.

You could have sat next to him. You could have.

But you didn't. As shameless as you were, you sank down in front of him between his parted knees, slowly, a soft noise escaping you as the water crept up your cold body and you pressed your back against his chest.

You pretended not to hear the sharp inhale of breath as his raging erection pressed firmly against your back, the heat from it almost hotter than the water you were reclining in.

You hummed softly as he slipped his arms around you, pressing a hot, damp kiss to your icy shoulder.

You'd swear he could probably leave burns with those lips of his.

"Hmm... How did your meeting with Lord Raiden go, Hanzo?" You ask him, sliding your hands up his thighs and to his knees, feeling the knotted muscles tighten and flex beneath your touch.

"Ah..." He said, his voice tight in an effort to control himself.

"It... Went well. Young Takeda was there, it was good to see him again."

"How is Takeda doing?"

"He's spending more time with his father, and I believe he and Jacqui Briggs are officially a couple." Hanzo chuckled.

"That's good, they're a nice match." You sigh, relaxing into him more, maybe, just slightly intentionally grinding your ass against his cock.

His arms tighten around you and he leans in, his lips at the shell of your ear.

"You're playing a dangerous game, my lotus." He growls.

"You know me... I live for danger." You purr, grinding against him once more.

He groaned in your ear and rolled his hips to meet yours.

"I have to ask..." Hanzo said, one of his rough and calloused hands rising to give your ribs a feathery touch.

"I'm experienced, don't worry." You assure him playfully.

"Good..."

Was that... disappointment you heard in his voice?

"Awww..." You reach back and comb through his ebony locks. "Hanzo... Are you sad you're not my first?"

"No..." He lied. "I'm merely content to know this will be fully enjoyable for you, then."

You gladly take a mental note and stow that information away for a later scenario you wanted to play out with him...

"Hanzo?"

"Hmm?"

You turn your head slightly and capture his mouth in an awkwardly-angled kiss, teeth and tongues grazing, nipping, and twining together in a passionate affair.

You lift your hips enough in the water so the head of his cock is squished between your thighs. You roll yourself against him, letting his cock stroke between your legs as you flex your muscles, gripping him as tight as possible.

"Agh... You truly live for danger, hm?" Hanzo groaned hotly in your ear. His hands kneaded your breasts, his fingers heating up as he pulled and twisted your nipples in time with the lazy rolling of your hips.

"Hanzo..." You keened softly.

"You need to stop." Hanzo said, gripping your hips, effectively stilling you.

You pout in protest, and look at him over your shoulder, waiting for an explanation.

Hanzo's tongue darts out to lick at a bead of water that rolls down your shoulder, and nips at the skin, there.

"When I finish, I want it to be inside you." He growled against your skin.

His voice and the way he was touching you sent a jolt of excitement racing up your spine.

"Yes." You breathe, your heart beginning to flutter in your chest like a flighty bird.

"Do you want me, my lotus?" Hanzo asked you. "Do you want me inside you?"

"By the Elder Gods, yes." You reply, your voice shaky but certain.

Hanzo quickly helped you up, turning you around so your breasts were squished against the rocks below you, your hands balling in the snow, ice creeping out from beneath your fingertips.

You eagerly spread your legs for him, water rolling off your body as his searing grip kneaded and squished the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks as his chest heaved while his eyes drank in your swollen and waiting sex and prone form.

"Hanzo, please?" You pant, pushing back into his grip.

His cock twitched at the sight of you, at the feel of your icy skin in his hands. Any normal person would be a shivering mess, being practically face down in the snow. But not you. You were Lin Kuei, a cryomancer.

His little ice lotus.

He gripped the base of his cock and took his time lining up, a small smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as you squirm impatiently.

He wasn't sure why, but something told him to raise his hand and slap your ass in a reprimand.

The squeak you made at first gave him the impression that he'd seriously hurt you, but when he noticed how demure you became, he chuckled softly.

"Behave, lotus. You must learn patience. It is a ninja's greatest asset." He said, his chest tightening as the tip of his cock slipped through your wet folds, the walls of your pussy gripping him in a greedy vice.

"Please, Hanzo..." You cried softly, trying to sink yourself deeper against him to sheathe his cock fully in the waiting velvet of your body.

Hanzo's hands prevented that, and it frustrated you, but your complaint died before it could form as he slowly eased himself inside, inch by torturous inch, until the tip of his cock just barely kissed your cervix.

He certainly had girth and length that was definitely going to make you see stars, tonight... His size complemented the roped muscles all throughout his body.

You make a deep, throaty moan as his weight settles into you, your muscles squeezing him down, trying to pull him deeper.

You feel the short coarse hairs that reached his navel brush the skin of your ass as he brought his hips firmly against yours.

He leaned in, kissing up your back and over your shoulder until his mouth was at your ear.

"How do you want me, love?"

"Fuck me hard. Please?"

He kissed your shoulder, biting down and sucking the skin, marking you as he pulled out and slammed his hips back in.

Your cries shook birds from the trees, the sensation of his balls slapping against your clit sending shivers up your spine, the pressure of his cock pounding you and pressing against that one divine spot within you, each drag of the vein running up his length driving you further and further into madness.

No other man you'd ever been with had been so precise or skilled in the art of sex.

Your previous partners were paltry compared to the sharp, angled thrust of Hanzo's hips, his cock cramming into you at such a harsh and heavy rate that you swore you were going to cum at any second, gushing around him, leaving a nice creamy ring at the base of his dick as he fucks into you like a man possessed.

He grips your shoulders and pulls you up against him, so your back is pressed against his chest.

His hands rise to your breasts, his fingertips almost glowing as he pinches your nipples, the soft mounds bouncing and jiggling in his hands with each upward thrust of his hips into yours.

"Hanzo!" You cried out, tossing your head back with a wail of ecstasy, your vision going cross as he brings one of his searing hands to your clit, rolling vigorously, the heat feeling like it set every nerve in your body alight with fire.

"Come for me." He softly commands.

And just like that, your body obeys him, clamping down, squeezing him, trying to mold yourself around him; commit his shape and size to memory so he and only he could ever fuck and satisfy you ever again.

He hisses out a breath, steam rising in waves off his body as he fucks up into you again, riding out your orgasm as he rapidly approaches his own.

Hanzo eases you back down, his hand sliding up your sweaty, chilly spine as he tips his head back, his lips parting in a moan as he cums, jerky thrusts and loud whimpers from you as his boiling hot load paints your insides a nice, pearly white, threatening to burn a hole right through you.

He lazily fucks you, some of his spend leaking out around him and dripping down your thighs as he rides out the blinding high that took over every range of his senses.

Once the two of you regain your breathing, he keeps you firmly seated on his cock as you both sink back into the water, relaxing as the heat soaks through your chilled core while Hanzo gently pours palm fulls of water on your skin, massaging your shoulders.

"Mmmh..." You sigh, relaxing against him as he kisses the top of your damp head.

"You seem content." He chuckled.

"Hanzo, I'm pretty sure you're going to have to carry me back home." You laugh. "Had I known what kind of weapon you were packing, I would have been just slightly more hesitant..."

"Only slightly, hm?"

"Just a bit." You murmur, kissing the knuckles of one of his hands.

Hanzo grins and plants a kiss over the bruise he'd left on your skin.

"You will get used to it, my lotus."

[currentfandomkick]

Re-Making Ghost King function

Ghost King is a lot of OP!Danny and skipping other avenues to explore how that could work, so i have IdeasTM to add weight to the role and make it Worse For Ghost King or add costs to acting outside of the role.

Adding possible story ideas to each example i give, and up for grabs just tag me if you do anything :D

Ghost king is a curse and death sentence.

It drains your core and keeps you from your obsession. It is the realm’s denizens deciding ‘fuck this guy in particular’. The draining of the king’s core causes them to go insane (known problem) and the energy goes to sustaining a number of youngers and newly forming ghosts in the Ghost Nurseries.

Yes, Danny’s main area of the Ghost Zone is included in Nursery where ghosts of similar species and backgrounds intermingle with parents of neverborns, form firghts and later move deeper into realms, unless their obsession includes the living. Then they tend to gravitate to portal rich areas, and areas that spawn in their preferred time and regions of living world.

This means Danny? Is possibly going to deal with going insane if he’s crowned, especially as Pariah is around still. Realms are convening on if Danny’s a bigger threat than Pariah after defeating him. Go nuts on court and legal arguments between various ghosts. JLD may be called in by [character] to find a way to save Danny from this BS, while Danny is staging another prison break and probably forming another army on his side that he does not lead and like him enough to keep around but do not agree with him in terms of leadership. So his new friends are kidnapping him for his own good, while a trial is held over if a halfa can be given the cursed role of ghost king, and if Danny should be cursed to future madness

Go nuts on political drama, jail break fun and Danny debating if this makes him a McGuffin, and why his life is Like This

Team ups everywhere

Ghost king is the loosely diplomat between the Infinite Realms. And other realms sometimes.

Pariah decided war was the best way to get everyone to shut up and unite and maybe not make all their issues his problem for five minutes.

Danny is now expected to handle this as physically beating opponents to establish credentials is vital

Danny is shit at remembering his powers. Or how to switch between them outside his main ones…

Cue danny finding mentors to help and runs into hero of your choice for help (yes this means Batman isn’t the best to handle this, if he’s around have him shuffle Danny to another team or frequent meetings with a lot of heroes)

Feel free to unleash him onto Hero Team of Choice and make him their problem as ‘oh its me or the guy who’s main response is world domination! My mirror likes traveling and a few of my friends are activists. I dont want Conqueror McGee in charge of this stuff. I’m just here as the muscle/backup, and engineer. And space stuff. I am not the negotiator, i am the negotiator’s bodyguard.’

Danny is here to play Guard the Diplomat and act like he is not, in fact, the diplomat Legally.

Heroes? Doing their best to train danny up, likely bonding with him and his crew (tagalongs of your choice. But please let Val be there too, and calling Danny out on ‘crap tactics’ in a teasing manner.)

Ghost King is Extremely Limited in living world regardless of previous powers

Ghost Kings only have their full powers in the realms of the dead, and said powers vary by monarch and region they are present in

Yes this helps explain Danny’s weekly new powers if we include Clocky as a previous king who saw Dan become king and thought early intervention on powers might prevent Dan. Did not work as intended.

In the living realm danny acts more as a medium and can answer questions about the dead, but cannot use his powers anywhere but Amity as Amity is a Veil City (city that exists in both the IR and Living Realm) but is anchored more on living side… outside of the city wandering about as it pleases

Danny is mostly human in human word besides having an encyclopedic knowledge about the dead, burial sites, which death realm one resides in or returned from, ect.,

In the infinite Realms he is eldritch though. As a treat.

Danny is not able to be summoned unless he’s in the infinite realms. Pariah is the backup summon though. And he’s bitchy about it.

High crack, comedy and angst potential

Summons can be anyone, and danny is Done with Cultists and makes a point to tell them to fuck off with the power crap. He will take questions about the dead, and only if he gets a burger shake.

As King Phantom he’s basically a Glorified Realms Secretary in his opinion. He makes Pariah the King when he wants to be bitchy to people, and vice versa.

No rule against Pariah and Danny in a weird joint custody of the title as ‘i beat you, i won’ vs ‘you only meet the credentials half the time. We work in shifts’

Ghost King with Serious Limitations the way most monarchs have.

King Phantom cannot help you with… finding your missing friend. Danny Fenton can.

Fenton gets no access to his powers when going against what Phantom is allowed to do. Including his healing factor!

Much whump and angst potential

So many scenarios to put this in, especially if you have another person pissed at danny for not doing more with his own powers and get reality checked with danny seriously injured for Not Following the Ghost King Restrictions

Fenton making tech to help where he cant is highly applicable

I say engineer Danny working with Hero Of Choice as Gadget Guy and finding out powers afterwards and former hero status could be fun too!

And there’s all i got ATM, if anyone has other ideas to make Ghost King less OP or have other angles, let me know so we can circulate other ways this can work.

Tag whoever may be interested or have other ideas to rework the ghost king concept

[metamorphesque]

ASALA: Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (part 1)

In 1915, ottoman turkey committed the Genocide of Armenians: more than 1.5 million Armenians were massacred.

Women were assaulted, raped, sexually mutilated and tortured. Many were killed by bayoneting or died from prolonged sexual abuse. The “lucky ones” managed to kill themselves, while others were sold as slaves, forced to work as prostitutes or into marriage by their perpetrators. An eyewitness testified, "It was a very common thing for them to rape our girls in our presence. Very often they violated eight or ten year old girls, and as a consequence many would be unable to walk, and were shot."

The men were usually separated from the rest of “the deportees” during the first few days and executed, but, of course, not before being tortured and mutilated. Some were crucified, beheaded, others were often drowned by being tied together back-to-back before being thrown in the water. So many bodies floated down the Tigris and Euphrates that they sometimes blocked the rivers and needed to be cleared with explosives. Other rotting corpses became stuck to the riverbanks, and still others traveled as far as the Persian Gulf.

In 1918, the young turk regime took the war into the Caucasus, where approximately 1,800,000 Armenians lived under Russian dominion. Ottoman forces advancing through East Armenia and Azerbaijan here too engaged in systematic massacres. The expulsions and massacres carried by the nationalist turks between 1920 and 1922 added tens of thousands of more victims. By 1923 the entire landmass of Asia Minor and historic West Armenia had been expunged of its Armenian population. The destruction of the Armenian communities in this part of the world was total.

And yet, despite all of this—the unimaginable horrors that plagued the Armenian nation in the early 20th century—what do you think the world did in response? After this descent into hell, after the suffering, the bloodshed, the total annihilation—what followed? Silence. Deafening, shameful silence, as always.

Silence—until it was shattered 58 years later, when, at the age of 78, having exhausted every peaceful avenue to draw the world’s attention to the Armenian Question and faced with nothing but ignorance, Gourgen Yanikyan fired 13 bullets at the Turkish consul and vice-consul. This singular act of defiance wiped 58 years of dust from the forgotten pages of Armenian history, forcing the world to confront the cause once again.By sacrificing his freedom, Yanikyan ignited a movement. His act became the catalyst for a wave of Armenian activism, inspiring the creation of ASALA, who would go on to fight for the recognition of the genocide.

In 1975, a group of Lebanese-Armenians led by Iraqi-Armenian Hakob Hakobyan, all of whose parents and/or grandparents were survivors of the genocide, inspired by Yanikyan’s self-sacrifice, decided to found an underground organization, which through armed actions will again bring the Armenian Question into the international political and legal dimension, present the recognition of the Armenian Genocide carried out by the turks in 1914-1923 by the international community, and create prerequisites for the liberation of Western Armenia. The organization was called ASALA - Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia.

The military operations of the ASALA were mainly aimed at turkish embassies, consulates, diplomats, government officials, military and police institutions, the turkish business environment, especially the offices of "turkish airlines corporation", as well as the state and public structures of other countries, which showed financial or military support to the turkish state.

Now, why am I telling you about this today? Well, today - on September 24th marks the 43rd anniversary of the Van Operation (24/09/1981), carried out by 4 Armenian ASALA soldiers - Vazgen Sislyan, Hakob Julfayan, Gevorg Gyuzelyan and Aram Basmajyan. On this day in 1981, four Armenian youths, aged 20-24, armed with pistols, automatic rifles and explosives, seized the turkish consulate in Paris, holding it under their control for 15 hours.

4 Soldiers of The Van Operation taking off their masks

The trial of “VAN” turned into a trial of the turkish government. The “VAN” operation and the political trial that followed it played a major role in bringing the Armenian issue to the international political arena, globalizing the territorial claim and the violated rights of the Armenian people, creating a new wave of condemnation of the reality of the Armenian genocide, strengthening the pride and spirit of struggle among Armenians.

When all the hope has slipped away, It’s the mad who find a way.

Though violence is condemned, it is the cruel truth that it is the only language to which the world listens.

More about the Van Operation in the second part.

[probablyasocialecologist]

In the past two decades, Israel has moved toward a form of warfare that attempts to remove the battle from the war, in which Israel has opted to keep its soldiers and army at a distance while relying on its potent airpower as a means of offensive action. It has employed this strategy during its past wars in Gaza with the effect of preserving the lives of its soldiers while killing hundreds of Palestinians, mostly civilians. In 2021, Israel actually tried to deceive Palestinian fighters by announcing a ground operation, aiming to target underground tunnels and eliminate numerous Palestinian fighters. The so-called “metro operation” failed partially due to Palestinian disbelief that Israel would actually enter the Gaza Strip. For years, the reliance on airpower alongside intelligence turned Israel into a one-dimensional army that uses air control for counterinsurgency operations, with all its operational limitations and limited efficacy in targeting fighters, while wreaking havoc in Palestinian civilian spaces. Israel has chosen a mode of killing without the peril of being killed. This strategy has spurred its adversaries to develop alternatives in response to Israel’s apparent reluctance for ground engagements — if you won’t come to us, we’ll come to you. War, as Clausewitz suggests, is inherently dialectical, akin to a “duel” in which each side employs technical expertise, determination, organizational structure, command and control, and intelligence to secure an upper hand. This is what happened on October 7; it was a Palestinian response to the tactical status quo that Israel had imposed. It is crucial to understand that Palestinian resistance in the Gaza Strip initiated the planning for this operation in 2022, merely a year after Israel’s “metro operation” failed to achieve its intended outcomes. Palestinian military planners took into account several significant factors in their planning. One of them was Israel’s recurrent reluctance to engage directly in Gaza, but there were also political and social pressures that pushed in the direction of October 7. They included the sluggish and limited improvements in living conditions on the strip and the absence of a clear political path forward. In other words, it was the exhaustion of political, diplomatic, and legal avenues. 

Abdaljawad Omar, Hopeful pathologies in the war for Palestine: a reply to Adam Shatz

[girlactionfigure]

rootsmetals

let’s play a little game…inspired by @chaoticjewish violent resistance is meant to be a last resort when diplomatic avenues fail. Groups like Hamas, Islamic Jihad, the PFLP, the DFLP, and formerly the PLO, which reject diplomacy as a matter of ideological principle are not “resistance” or “freedom fighters”…they are warmongers who relish in the slaughter of innocent people.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

'Gaza is on the ground,' says protester at demonstration in Brazil that marks one year of Israel's genocide in Palestine

At the mark of the massacre's beginning, the organization Palestine Front calls for a march at Paulista Avenue

“They're hearing bombs,” says journalist Sarah Kalo, a Lebanese woman who has lived in São Paulo for eight years with her husband and three children - one of them, a baby just seven days old. Kalo was referring to her parents and siblings, who live in Lebanon, the most recent target of Israel's attacks. On Tuesday evening (8), she was in front of the São Paulo Museum of Art (MASP), on Paulista Avenue, for another act of solidarity with the victims of Israel. 

With banners and posters calling for a ceasefire and denouncing Israeli atrocities, the demonstrators walked along the avenue. The act marks one year since the beginning of the attacks, which began on October 7, 2023.

“Gaza is on the ground. The universities are destroyed. The hospitals that weren't destroyed are in no condition to care for the wounded,” denounced Mohamad El Kadri, president of the Latin Palestinian Forum, at the start of the march to Roosevelt Square.  

As well as denouncing the violence and showing solidarity with the victims, the protesters want to put pressure on the Brazilian authorities to cut trade and diplomatic relations with Israel. “That's why we're building act after act across Brazil. To say enough is enough, to say no more to this genocide and to the complicity of companies, institutions, states and the Brazilian State itself as a whole,” warns Ju Sieg, an internationalist activist working for the Front in Defense of the Palestinian People.

Continue reading.

[mariacallous]

Eric Adams wanted to see the world, to see it in style. But he wasn’t a rich man, just a former cop and rising politician in a largely ceremonial job, Brooklyn Borough President. Luckily for him, there were a number of benefactors who federal prosecutors say were ready to help him travel in a manner benefitting the position he was angling for: mayor of New York City.

According to a sprawling, 57-page indictment unsealed on Thursday, there was the chairman of a Turkish university; a promoter “whose business includes organizing events to introduce Turkish corporations and businesspeople to politicians, celebrities, and others whose influence may benefit the corporations”; and a senior official in the Turkish government, who, prosecutors say, “later steered illegal contributions and improper gifts to Adams to gain influence with and, eventually, to obtain corrupt official action from Adams.” 

Adams in the summer of 2017 went with his son and a staffer to Nice, Istanbul, Sri Lanka, and Beijing, flying business class the whole way. In October, he went again to Istanbul and Beijing, and then on to Nepal. Those tickets were, all told, worth $51,000. But he got it all for free. 

The relationship deepened from there, as Adams began to run for mayor in earnest. The Turks allegedly funneled money to his campaign through false entities, or “straw donors.” Accepting such donations is against the law — and Adams allegedly received public matching funds based on these contributions. Adams allegedly returned the favor, in part by pressuring the fire department to allow the opening of a $300 million, 36-story glass tower to house the Turkish consulate, just off of First Avenue and 45th Street, without an inspection and “in time for a high-profile visit by Turkey‘s president” — a diplomatic coup for a man who’s functionally a dictator.

Adams has vigorously denied all of the charges. And at least one Adams ally I spoke with in the immediate aftermath breathed a quarter-sigh of relief — this person was expecting even more, and more serious, charges. “It’s obviously not great but this is weaker than I thought it would be,” the source tells me.

But that exhale assumes that the federal charges against Adams begin and end in this document. They almost certainly do not, with at least four more federal probes reportedly targeting his inner circle and FBI agents searching the mayor’s residence shortly before the indictment was announced. It also assumes that the Turks were the only government to allegedly turn Adams into an unregistered foreign agent. That, too, could prove to be a dangerous supposition — especially given the U.S. Attorney in Brooklyn’s pursuit of Chinese influence in New York. 

In the last four years, that federal prosecutor’s office alone has charged a dozen separate criminal cases of covert Chinese government interference in U.S. politics, business, and civil society. An aide to New York’s governor was indicted as a foreign agent on Sept. 3. An ex-corrections officer got 20 months for harassing an artist who lampooned Chinese leader Xi Jinping. Two more men were arrested for operating a secret Chinese police station out of the Manhattan headquarters of a group for expats from Fujian province. 

The examples spiral out from there.In July, a federal jury in Manhattan convicted Robert Menendez, a Democratic U.S. senator from New Jersey, of taking bribes and acting as Egypt’s agent. In August, federal prosecutors in Brooklyn charged a hitman with trying to assassinate Donald Trump, allegedly on Iran’s orders. In September, prosecutors in Manhattan revealed an alleged Russian plot to funnel $10 million to MAGA influencers. This is a partial list. A snippet of a list, really. And all of these developments happened in just the last few months, just in and around this one metro area, where a wide array of foreign actors are looking to turn New York into something like Spy City.  

The 20 experts, officials, and activists I spoke to couldn’t agree on whether these cases represent a major escalation in this covert activity, an increase in Washington’s willingness to combat it, or both. But they all agreed that such efforts are widespread and being directed by countries across the globe. And while it might be tempting to speculate about what this says about the various foreign policy strategies in foreign capitals, the clear takeaway is that malicious actors around the world see America as pliable, and influence as something that can be bought on the cheap. In other words, the most disturbing part about these covert foreign pressure campaigns is what it says about our politics, our society. About us.

ONE OF THE MORE disturbing foreign influence cases to recently come to light begins 35 years ago, in Beijing. Yan Xiong was a student activist there, jailed for being part of the big Tiananmen Square protests. When he got out, he made his way to America, enlisted in the U.S. Army, and eventually served two tours as a chaplain in Iraq. By 2021, Yan was running for Congress in lower Manhattan. He could tell that something was off. He’d show up to candidate forums, and then wouldn’t be allowed to speak. He’d try to raise money, no dice. There was an old man who wouldn’t stop taking pictures of Yan’s campaign. Yan would go out to his driveway late at night and find a car there, headlights blazing. It was unnerving, but Yan was used to looking over his shoulder.

Nevertheless, Yan was shocked when, in March of 2022, federal prosecutors revealed that he was being targeted by the Chinese government. The goal: to surveil and sabotage the chaplain’s long-shot campaign. “Go deep and dig up something. Right? For example, past incidents of tax evasion… if he used prostitutes in the past… if he had a mistress,” a member of China’s Ministry of State Security allegedly told a private investigator here in the U.S. If the private investigator couldn’t come up with — or make up — any dirt, the P.I. was encouraged to use other means to take Yan out of the race: “In the end, violence would be fine too.” 

In the end, Yan’s campaign netted him only 750 votes — not great, but 50 percent more than former Mayor Bill De Blasio received. The P.I. hired by the Chinese government never found any dirt on Yan, or physically attacked him. But the attempt to ratfuck Yan’s campaign continues to leave a wound. Yan’s getting ready to move for the fifth time in two years — in part “for safety, for psychology.” In August, prosecutors unveiled another layer to the alleged plot against him. The old man who’d been taking all those pictures? He was a former Tiananmen Square veteran, too — one who was now accused of working as an unregistered agent for Beijing. To Yan, he’s another “victim” of a regime that’s all-too-willing to extend its reach here. “It’s a tragedy, that’s my opinion,” Yan tells me.

And Yan’s case isn’t the only one in which there seem to be shadowy figures just out of frame. Shujun Wang, another longtime Chinese dissident, was convicted in late August of working as Beijing’s spy. The other day, I called his lawyer to ask about a member of the defense team, a man listed in court documents as a paralegal, who was, in fact, a Florida realtor, recently acquitted of rape. What was he doing there? Who was he? “He is nobody,” the lawyer answered.  

These influence campaigns by foreign governments, prosecutors allege, reach all the way down to the lowest levels of state and local government. Take Linda Sun, who started in 2012 as one of the more junior aides out of 200 or so in Governor Andrew Cuomo’s office. The former beauty pageant contestant and Barnard grad, who had come to New York from Nanjing when she was a kid, put in the work as a liaison to the borough of Queens and the state’s Asian American community. She’d help connect constituents to government services, make appearances at Lunar New Year events, write up proclamations, and liaise with foreign consulates. Over the years, she gained leverage. Cuomo’s communications shop — described by one former colleague as “95 percent Caucasian” — relied on Sun to tell them how a state proclamation or press release might resonate in Asian communities.

“She did her job. She went home. Didn’t cause any trouble, never caused any drama. But in hindsight, [there was] a lot of trust in that particular position. Because when you ask her opinion about how something plays, we were asking how it plays in, you know, [the Chinese American neighborhoods of] Sunset Park and Flushing. Not how it played in Beijing,” that source tells me.

By 2015, Sun had a willing ear in Kathy Hochul, the new Lieutenant Governor, who was iced out of Cuomo’s inner circle — and eager to build up her own political constituency. Hochul made sure to attend Chinese American community celebrations and events to promote trade with Beijing. (A Hochul aide notes that she interfaced with all kinds of foreign officials, including a half-dozen such meetings just with the Canadians in 2016.) Sun made sure there were all sorts of meetings Hochul wouldn’t take, wouldn’t even know were offered. For example, prosecutors allege, when officials from the rival government of Taiwan tried to get together with Hochul in D.C. in mid-2016, Sun scheduled talks with Beijing’s representatives instead — and then bragged to the Chinese consulate about what she had done. Hochul began to be quoted favorably and often by Beijing’s official state news agency. Sun started to receive gifts from Chinese officials, prosecutors say: tickets to Carnegie Hall, then a wire transfer for $47,895 for travel expenses. 

As Sun’s responsibilities increased, her profile grew. She worked with legislators when Korean American nail salons were revealed to be serially underpaying their workers. She helped steer money to Asian American groups as threats to them rose during the pandemic.

By 2021, Hochul was governor. Sun had a bigger title, deputy chief of staff, and was displaying sharper elbows. “She felt very emboldened with making sure that there was a focus [on] protecting mainland China’s agendas,” State Assemblyman Ron Kim, who previously held Sun’s community liaison job, recalls. “That was universally understood, because when myself and other[s] carried certain resolutions to celebrate U.S.-Taiwan relations, I got calls from the governor’s office letting me know that the Chinese consulate is very upset with you, and they would prefer if I don’t do such resolutions again.” (Sun has pleaded not guilty to charges she acted as an agent of the Chinese government, and her attorneys declined to comment for this story.) 

This might seem arcane and sort of small-ball. Who cares if some local pol doesn’t issue a Taiwan proclamation? But it’s part of a strategy, says Bethany Allen, author of Beijing Rules, echoing the sentiments of several U.S. officials. “If this is done extensively, consistently, quietly across many states, many state capitals, many state governments, local governments,” Allen tells me, “it can shape the debate. Have a strong downward pressure on the things that China wants to quiet.” 

And it’s a strategy that Beijing is willing to pursue over the long haul — to influence people at the lowest levels of local government, and let those folks rise over time. Back when she was a reporter, Allen broke the news of a suspected Chinese spy in California who cultivated relationships from the political to the romantic with city councilmen, small-town mayors, and at least one Congressman. The spy’s true motivations weren’t uncovered until that Congressman, Rep. Eric Swalwell, was on the verge of joining the House Intelligence Committee and gaining access to some of the nation’s better-protected national secrets. (Swalwell denied any romantic relationship, and a House ethics panel decided to take no action against him after a two-year investigation.)  

Linda Sun’s case never reached that kind of crisis point. But her value to Chinese officials was clear. The wire transfers were in the millions by 2021. The Chinese Consul General in New York — a sharp, genial diplomat named Huang Ping — sent Nanjing-style salted ducks to Sun’s parents, a half-dozen at a time. According to one source, she started showing up with a fresh tan and a new, high-end handbag to every community event. “People were definitely talking about how she went from rags to riches overnight,” Kim tells me. “Her parents lived in a one-bedroom apartment… She was trying to get a mortgage to buy a condo in Flushing, and she could barely get that. But all of a sudden, now she’s living in a mansion.” And in a sweet vacation home, too. Around the same time Sun and her husband bought a $3.6 million home in Manhasset, New York, they also, according to prosecutors, purchased “an ocean-view condominium on the 47th floor of a high rise building in Honolulu, Hawaii, currently valued at approximately $2.1 million.”

SUN AND ADAMS ARE the first local officials to be charged with acting as agents of a foreign power. They probably won’t be the last, or even the last in New York. (“What you saw with the governor in New York, that’s going to be scratching an itch that tickles in a lot of different places,” Bill Evanina, who spent seven years as the federal government’s top counterintelligence official, tells me.) The place has long attracted spies and clandestine power brokers, and not just because of the UN, or Wall Street, or all the corporate headquarters. America’s best city is, not coincidentally, also its most diverse; more than three million of the eight million-plus people living here are foreign-born. Those diasporas are often of intense interest to the countries from which they spring, especially if the countries in question are ruled by authoritarians. The revolutionary movements that took down the Czar, the Chinese Emperor, and the Shah were all incubated overseas. 

These diasporas also can wield outsized power in local politics, too. New York’s election laws are so labyrinthine and complex, with elections held on off-years and on strange dates, that they’re practically designed to keep people from voting. (Ron Kim has 115,000 people living in his district in Queens, for example; fewer than 3,200 of them voted in his contested primary race, which is the only race that matters in a one-party town.) So if any one group gets behind a single candidate, or gins up turnout, or dumps in a lot of money, it can swing an election. Kim faced off against a primary opponent backed by a well-known local community leader who is openly supportive of the Chinese Communist Party. They each poured more than $600,000 into that tiny-turnout primary race. “I felt this was a clear effort to get a political seat for a person who is loyal to their agenda,” Kim says. “This isn’t about lawmaking in [the state capital of] Albany, but it’s about being the power broker of Flushing that will give them credibility and access.”

This is all happening in a place where the politics are — there’s no other way to put this — corrupt as fuck. The five federal investigations reportedly swirling around Adams and his closest associates involve everyone from the police commissioner to the schools chancellor to his top fundraisers to a pair of deputy mayors. Adams’ immediate predecessor, de Blasio, dodged indictment for violating campaign finance laws, but not by much. After leaving office, former mayor Rudy Giuliani took money from a North Korean gangster and then worked with a man he admitted was likely a Russian spy. Long Island’s George Santos was expelled from Congress after less than a year; he recently pleaded guilty to identity theft and wire fraud. One of Santos’ bigger Republican critics on the Island, Rep. Anthony D’Esposito, was just exposed for giving Congressional jobs to his lover and his fiancée’s daughter. 

You get the idea: plenty of politicians with their hands out; elections practically designed to be swayed by small groups; those small groups susceptible to foreign infiltration and pressure, because they’ve all got family back home. “New York would be at the top of the list in terms of foreign governments, foreign regimes wanting to target,” says Casey Michel, author of the newly published Foreign Agents. “Especially New York City. I don’t think it’s any surprise that the major investigation into a municipal authority as a target of potential foreign influence is Adams.”

So let’s talk about the mayor. Adams has been ducking corruption allegations — and playing diaspora politics — for more than 15 years. According to the New York Times, a grand jury in July issued subpoenas related to Adams’ ties to six different countries: China, Qatar, South Korea, Israel, Uzbekistan, and, of course, Turkey. In his role as Brooklyn Borough President, Adams attended almost 80 events connected with Turkey, and at least 50 more celebrating China. Some of those events actually upset his Turkish government contacts, according to the indictment. In 2016, a Turkish official told Adams that a community center he used to visit “was affiliated with a Turkish political movement that was hostile to Turkey’s government… If Adams wished to continue receiving support from the Turkish government, Adams could no longer associate with the community center. Adams acquiesced.”

Adams also met multiple times with Huang Ping, the Chinese Consul General who prosecutors later identified as Linda Sun’s handler. And the politicking seemingly continued overseas. Adams took 13 separate trips to Turkey and China, which is a lot of travel to those two specific nations, considering borough presidents don’t really have foreign policy roles. “It’s totally appropriate,” he said after the first of the trips to China, in 2014. “I’m not going to be a MetroCard borough president — I’m going to be a passport borough president.”

City Hall won’t say what all of the trips were for. (They didn’t respond to requests to comment for this story.) The alleged purpose of the Turkey trips, at least, is now less murky after the indictment’s release.When it comes to the others, here’s what we can say for sure: We know that one of Adams’ China travel partners, his longtime Asian community liaison Winnie Greco, had her former campaign office and several of her homes raided by the FBI. We know that Greco and another Adams crony met separately in Fuzhou, the capital of Fujian province, with the man later indicted for operating that secret Chinese police station out of a Fujianese expat society in Manhattan. We know that Adams and Greco appeared onstage at a gala for that charity — the American Changle Association, named for a famed neighborhood in Fuzhou — shortly before it was exposed as a secret police front bythe New York Post. We know Adams was with Association bigwig Lu Jianwang days before Lu was arrested in the secret police affair. We know, thanks to local news outlet The City, that 121 workers at the New World Mall in Queens, the site of Greco’s 2021 campaign office, made donations to Adams of precisely $249 each, one buck below the limit for eight-times public matching funds. Several donors said they were reimbursed in cash, or had no idea they had been listed as contributors at all. This has all the hallmarks of illegal straw donations, as Adams’ team surely knows.One Chinese billionaire who gave money to Adams (and hosted his 60th birthday party) recently pleaded guilty to such charges. 

MAYBE ALL OF THESE connections were on the up-and-up. Maybe Adams’ trips to China and extremely odd donations from his campaign office in Flushing were no more nefarious than the 70-plus flag-raising ceremonies for various countries he’s attended in his two-and-a-half years as mayor. Maybe it’s an accident of scheduling that Huang Ping, the Chinese Consul General, asked him to blow off a banquet with the Taiwanese president and Adams wound up doing just that. Adams may have rubbed elbows with people who were later indicted as foreign agents in groups like the American Changle Association, where voters gather for an old-country meal or speak in their parents’ dialect. There’s hardly an elected official in New York who didn’t make such a visit, or get his picture taken at some point with Huang. Of course they did. Huang was a gregarious, effective, charming diplomat. He may be accused of secretly handling alleged agents like Linda Sun, but chatting up local politicians was most definitely Huang’s job.  

You don’t have to be some kind of simp for Beijing to find this kind of criminalization of foreign influence a little hypocritical, given all the governments the U.S. helped overthrow in the past century. You’re not necessarily an abolish-the-police type if you think the feds have gone overboard in their hunt for Chinese agents. “We’re not China. We’re supposedly a free country, and the government should take more care in prosecuting and, in turn, persecuting people,” John Liu, a state senator from Queens, tells me. This is personal for him. While he was gearing up to run for mayor more than a decade ago, the FBI ran a sting on him and his donors, part of a straw-donor probe he says was oh-so-subtly named “Operation Red Money.” They did find some straw donors, and a top aide did go to jail. But Liu himself was only fined $26,000 — proof, he says, that the whole investigation was overheated. Nor is it a one-off. Liu points to cases like Baimadajie Angwang, the cop accused of spying for China, only to have the charges dropped without explanation. By that time, the NYPD had fired him. “You know what? It wouldn’t be so bad if the government pursued these cases, made them as visible as they intentionally make them, and actually had a pretty good record of success,” Liu says. “It bothers me that there’s no accountability of any kind. You know, the government does this, and it doesn’t matter how many lives are ruined [or] the impact on the wider community.” 

There’s no question there’s been overreach, including horror stories of Chinese Americans interrogated by the FBI, seemingly for no reason at all. “We should absolutely oppose any effort by any foreign government to undermine our American society, our way of life, our democracy,” says Rep. Grace Meng, who hired Linda Sun when she was in the State Assembly and now represents a large part of Queens in the U.S. Congress. But “there’s a lot of fear right now in the Asian American community,” she adds. “Every day, young, professional Asian Americans are really scared that these harmful stereotypes are being fueled… [by] questions that are asked only of us.”

As overzealous as some prosecutors may have been, though, and as ugly our recent turn toward anti-China and anti-immigrant politics, there are too many of these foreign influence cases, tied to so many different outside actors, to brush off. A former Republican Congressman is under indictment for covertly working for Venezuela’s dictator. A major Trump fundraiser pleaded guilty to doing the same on behalf of the Chinese and Malaysian government officials, in a case so weird and sprawling, a member of the Fugees wound up with a foreign agent conviction as part of it. Things are so bad, the guy that’s supposed to be leading the investigations into these cases in New York — the head of the state’s FBI counterintelligence division — was himself sentenced earlier this year to federal prison for doing the bidding of a sanctioned Russian oligarch. The MAGA crowd can whine all they want about the #resistance obsession with “Russia, Russia, Russia.” Folks on the political left can roll their eyes at what feels like a Trumpy obsession with Chinese influence, or another red scare. It takes a kind of willful blindness not to see a pattern here. Liu, for one, called on Adams to resign after prosecutors unveiled their indictment which showed just how deep the mayor’s ties to Turkey went.

“This isn’t a Republican problem or a Democratic problem — it’s completely bipartisan,“ Michel tells me. “And as we’re now seeing, it’s not just one level of government these regimes are targeting. It’s everyone.”

For half a century, the American government hardly bothered to enforce the Foreign Agents Registration Act, which requires influence-peddlers to disclose their overseas clients, at least. That changed after the 2016 election, when Trump recruited the O.G. of scummy foreign lobbying, Paul Manafort, to run his campaign and publicly begged for a dictator’s help to win. The Department of Justice went on to prosecute Manafort and so many others — from the Russian troll farm to the white-shoe law firm Skadden, Arps — for breaking that law. Brandon van Grack, who oversaw many of those prosecutions as head of the Justice Department’s Foreign Agents Registration Act unit, says the apparent surge in cases we’re seeing, eight years later, is a result of that 2016 wake-up call. He credits “greater resources and tools to identify and disrupt those influence operations than an increase in the operations themselves,” adding, “Foreign influence is not novel.”

It’s not exactly dying down, either. A few years ago, you might have thought that prosecuting folks like Manafort would at least serve as a warning shot. The sheer range of regimes trying to influence the 2024 election paints a different picture, and I don’t just mean the fact that Manafort is a free man and doing Fox News hits from the Republican convention. “I would say that a couple things are true in this specific situation. Yes, there are more investigations, because there are allowed to be. And I think our adversaries are more brazen than they have ever been,” Evanina, the former counterintelligence chief, tells me. 

There’s a good argument that the number of prosecutions isn’t even the right metric to gauge foreign influence. Registering as an overseas lobbyist — dodging a FARA charge — that’s the easy part. More than 1,000 foreign principals have done so since 2016, spending more than $5.5 billion to whisper in lawmakers’ ears. At least 90 former members of Congress have registered since 2000 to push another government’s agenda. Scores of U.S. generals and admirals have taken jobs with foreign governments in the last decade, with Saudi Arabia alone hiring 15 retired flag officers. Biden talked in 2020 about banning former officials from lobbying for foreign powers. It was just talk.  

The Supreme Court in recent years has radically raised the bar on bribery cases, and functionally removed any restrictions on campaign spending. That’s allowed Americans closely aligned with foreign governments to make enormous investments in shaping U.S. policy. The best known of these are the lobbyists pushing the agenda of Israeli leader Benjamin Netanyahu, who gave over a million dollars to the now-convicted Sen. Menendez, even after he was indicted, and spent millions more on successful primary campaigns to knock out two of Israel’s few critics in Congress. None of this violates any laws. But maybe that’s beside the point. The real foreign influence scandal, Michel tells me, is how much of it is “perfectly legal.” 

If you’re mad at outside actors for exploiting America’s system, don’t be. The United States is still the world’s biggest power; of course every other nation is going to try to pull us in their direction. Try directing your anger a little closer to home. All of these politicians on the take, we voted for them. The bullshit China or Iran pumps out on TikTok? It’s downright factual compared to the nonsense we Americans push one another. And if you think a guy like Eric Adams is an outlier with his, shall we say, open-minded approach to campaign finance and outside influences, allow me to introduce you to the Republican nominee for president and his inner circle. The Congress we elected has bottled up nearly every attempt to close these foreign-funding loopholes. The campaigns we supported went along with the Supreme Court’s decision to make elections a feeding frenzy. This is a choice. Collectively, we made it.

IN THE HOURS AFTER Linda Sun and her husband were charged as Chinese agents on Sept. 3, Gov. Hochul urged the U.S. government to expel Sun’s alleged handler, Consul General Huang Ping, and a State Department spokesperson claimed that Huang had “rotated out of the position.” Yet on the night of Sept. 5, at Manhattan’s storied Plaza Hotel, Huang Ping appeared onstage at the China Institute’s $2,500-per-ticket Blue Cloud gala, looking rather dapper in a well-tailored tuxedo. Pictures were posted to the consulate’s website two days later. “Consul General Huang Ping is performing his duties as normal,” read a statement sent out to reporters.

A few hours after he was indicted, Huang’s longtime interlocutor Eric Adams promised to do much the same. “My attorneys will take care of the case, so I can take care of this city,” he said. “My day to day will not change.” 

[mylovelies-docx]

Social Cues

A/N: Wow. Okay. So it's been a couple of years since I've written anything and since I promised everyone that I was working on a Cassian fic.

Welp. Here's that fic now - only two years later than I was expecting.

My bad.

Take this 20k fic as an apology/your due/something that I wanted to give you years ago.

Plot: You and Cassian go undercover as a married couple, but things take a turn for the worst when your past finds you.

C/W: Angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, reader has an abusive mother (featured heavily), gendered reader (daughter), no use of Y/N, *SMUT* (18+, Minors DNI), Not beta'd, also not proofread (if I spent any more time on this, I would never get it out here). Probably more, let me know if I need to include something.

I started writing this before the show came out (which I have not watched... I know, I know.) Anyway, as is always the case with any Cassian fic that *I* prefer, there is no such thing as canon.

“Married,” you echo quietly in disbelief. You have never been more shocked in your life; and when you quickly glance over, Cassian apparently hasn’t been, either. His jaw is tense and his eyebrows have raised slightly.

General Draven had just dropped the specifics of your mission, and it was not one that you could have anticipated. You and Cassian were to pose as a married couple that had just moved into an affluent neighborhood full of Imperial officers, weapons dealers, and senators.

In other words, right into a Sarlacc pit. Only this situation was thrice as deadly.

“With all due respect, General, this isn’t something either of us have experience with. Would it not be better to send Rishi and O’tal?” Cassian suggests diplomatically. 

You nod your head at Cassian’s idea, showing your support. Rishi and O’tal are a real married couple in intelligence for the Alliance, so they are uniquely fit for this specific placement. 

“They’re currently on assignment right now. And besides: you two are the best intelligence officers we have. Mothma and I don’t want this handled by anyone else.” Draven’s compliment of your abilities would have been more than enough to placate you if you weren’t still reeling from the previous revelation.

“Yes General, I know what you’re saying and I thank you sincerely for the commendation, but I’m still unsure if this is a wise decision,” you rebut. You have never once doubted a mission assignment, and you know Cassian hasn’t either, but this was territory neither of you have ever found yourselves in. “This will be the first joint mission for either of us. Would it not be possible for a different relationship? Perhaps a hired guard would suffice for one of us?”

Sure, you’ve seduced and courted marks before, but bringing along a partner that you needed to present a sense of physical and emotional intimacy with? That is something entirely out of your realm of expertise.

Draven is stationed at the head of the table, using the projection screen in front of him to present information, schematics, and diagrams. From his vantage point, Draven watches a slight frown mar Cassian’s face at your suggestion, but it’s gone just as soon as it appears.

“I understand your hesitancy, Captains, but rest assured that we have exhausted all other avenues,” Draven consoles. “But you both will be in control of the gritty details, so you can make it work. We’re only providing the accommodations and whatever alibis you require.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Cassian acquiesce with no further argument. You look at Cassian out of the corner of your eye, hoping he can’t see the real reason for the hesitation.

This is going to be an adventure neither of you can prepare for.

***

“This is going to be a difficult enough mission, so I think sticking as close to the facts as possible is our best option,” you explain to Cassian, jotting down bullet points and ideas on your datapad to relay back to Mon Mothma and Draven so that they can fabricate your history once it’s been decided.

“I estimate a 33% chance of your entire plan falling apart, Captain (Y/L/N),” K2 chimes in.

“Agreed.” Cassian ignores K2’s comment and speaks directly to you. “We can use our first names for simplicity, but we need a surname,” Cassian recommends from the co-pilot's chair. 

“Would you like to know why?” K cuts in.

You appreciate the fact that you and Cassian are on the same wavelength about using your own names. You haven’t discussed it with him yet, so your similar logic on this bodes well for the rest of the discussion and the mission as a whole.

“Why don’t we just stick with Andor, for simplicity’s sake? It’s a common enough name and you’ll respond right away if someone calls for us. Plus, we both go by so many codenames that no one will ever think to search for us by this one.” 

You’re swiping away on your datapad to avoid either of them seeing your reddened cheeks, so you don’t see Cassian’s ears flush subtly at your suggestion as well. Your heart flutters madly, causing a pang in your chest to the beat of your ‘new’ name.

Cassian clears his throat and readjusts in his seat. “That could work,” he remarks coolly while rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

K2 turns his head quickly to observe Cassian, the metal joints whirring with the motion. The droid begins to speak and Cassian glares at him, but there is no reigning in K2.

“Because two can keep a secret only if one of them is dead,” K elaborates on his one-sided talkingpoint, still observing Cassian’s reaction to your recommendation on becoming Mrs.Captain Andor, however temporarily.

You hurry on to get your mind off the impossible fantasy the name has conjured up for you. “Great. I’m just trying to think of the likely scenarios that will be brought up at dinner parties or Imperial galas. Obviously how we met, connections to the Empire…”

K is just being a bugslut with his next comment.

“And I’d prefer if it was Cassian who remained living.”

The aforementioned man shoots K2 another glare, wordlessly saying “behave”. The droid shrugs his large mechanical shoulders and mimes a zipping motion with his fingers over his audio port.

You roll your eyes at K2’s insistence that your plan will be a failure and at his obvious distaste for you. You’re unsure what it is about you that he finds so distasteful, but you find yourself wishing he tolerated you a little more. Perhaps then, Cassian would join Rogue One more often on small adventures and get-togethers.

Being around Cassian is easier than being with anyone else; you don’t seem to exhaust yourself as quickly or as often with him. He is a source of calm, controlled energy that speaks to the weary parts of your soul.

Focus. 

“So. Instead of saying we met during a Rebel council meeting, how about we meet in the middle of truth and lie? Keep the time frame the same, just change the location. So for instance: we met five standard years ago at the launch of an Imperial class-II Star Destroyer. There were so many of those around that time that no one should question it – and even if they do, we could pretend we were too drunk on Merenzane Gold or love or whatever to notice anything but each other.” 

You are proud of yourself for keeping this discussion so professional despite your intrusive thoughts. Your heart is racing and your hands are slightly trembling with anxiety, but your voice is steady and you still sound confident. Maker! Why can’t you find the same focus and steadfastness that you have on missions? You can only hope that your professionalism will kick in once you land and begin the assignment in earnest.

“You were wearing a pink dress,” Cassian murmurs, staring distantly at the stars passing over the cockpit’s transparisteel. He mutters it to himself mostly, but you still hear.

You snap your head up, eyes large and mouth slightly parted, finding that he has his hand spread across the lower half of his face with his head turned away from you. You had been operating remotely for the Alliance for a while in various social circles and planets prior to settling down on base. You had just finished with a mission and were wearing a pink dress when you met Cassian for the first time during a debrief of your findings.

You shouldn’t be surprised that a man who had grown up as a spy can recall details as small as what you had been wearing, since you can also do the same. But you had been absolutely nothing to him then, so why would he bother to pay you any attention?

“And you had your A280-CFE heavy blaster strapped to your thigh,” you divulge. 

Your mind is still trying to wrap itself around the fact that Cassian had been watching you for far longer than you realized. He turns his head to look at you in surprise and catches your eye. Your puzzled expression is revealing too much of your thought process, so you drop your gaze from his and return to your holopad.

K2 breaks the tension with his usual tact.

“There’s a 93% chance you’re both lying to yourselves.”

“That’s enough, K,” Cassian reprimands, not for the first time.

“I’m only stating facts and highly calculated odds,” K defends himself.

“Facts as you see them,” you point out distractedly.

“Oh, I see a lot more than you do. A lot more.”

You’re still too self-involved to reply further and Cassian steers the conversation back to a safer topic: your mission. 

“Anyway.” He clears his throat. “Let’s say we were dating for...six months? Eight months? Enough time to get to know each other, but short enough to accommodate our ‘love at first sight’.” Cassian lets out one compact ‘ha!’ at the notion of falling in love with a total stranger without knowing who they were.

“Eight months seems reasonable. That would give me a few opportunities to let you meet family and friends, and vice versa. Speaking of: do we have any?” you question, back to yourself after banishing any and all thoughts of Cassian’s motivation to study you so intently. You can only hope to gather more data as the mission progresses.

“Hmm,” Cassian ponders, unsure what option would be best. He scrubs a hand across his stubbled chin and cheeks in thought. “No family seems suspicious, but we don’t want to create too many to keep track of.” He reasons out. “These people are well-connected and will be looking into our history, so we need to think of how our team back at base can create the strongest alibi.”

“True. And there’s no doubt they would recognize our infamous friends by name. That really narrows down our options.” Your lips are pursed to the side in thought and your chin is resting on your closed first. 

Your thinking pose works because you have an idea come to mind. Cassian stops his musings on ‘our friends’ to find your delighted expression when he turns at your little ‘a-ha!’ and finger snap.

“Do you remember anything about my mission on Aria Prime? My alias had a few family members we can repurpose.” You’re relieved that you’ve figured out a way to use established plants and make the intelligence officer’s work back at base easier.

“Antolin and Mauria, yes?” He confirms.

“Yes,” you verify, flustered yet again by Cassian’s attention to detail. “I’m glad you read my report – makes this easier for us.” 

“I read all your reports,” Cassian remarks before realizing his error. “I mean. I-I read all the reports. Everyone’s. It’s best to have a clear understanding of the bigger picture,” he corrects hastily.

You’re struggling to understand why, why, why, but your heart flutters nonetheless at the small thrill you receive. 

“Like I said,” K-2SO’s modulator is pitched to where only Cassian can hear, “lying to yourselves.”

***

This discussion had started a parsec ago, but is still going with no end in sight. Neither of you can agree on this, but neither are willing to yield.

“The more we use pet names, the less people will remember our real ones. First introductions we only give our names once and then use only nicknames after. People like them will be too embarrassed to have forgotten a name and won’t ask for them again.” 

Cassian is making excellent points, but your insides squidge in a nice uncomfortable way whenever he offers up an example. You can’t help but remember all the times your marks had forgotten your name, so they used demeaning pet names to refer to you. Maybe that’s why you were so easily onboard for using your names on this mission when you’ve never done it before. One: because it’s easier, and two: because you don’t feel as if you hear it spoken often enough.

Three: because you don’t want Cassian to forget your name when this war eventually claims your life.

You’re making yourself unduly anxious with the thought of that eventuality, and your response comes off melancholic. “They won’t remember me anyway.”

Cassian is thrown off by this. How could anyone forget you? He had a hard time not thinking about you some days. 

“Why do you say that?”

You give him a sad sort of expression, a wry smile turning your lips. “Isn’t that our job?” you question him. “Making yourself completely unrecognizable to the point that if your target ever saw you again, they wouldn’t even notice?”

Cassian can see where you’re coming from, but the look on your face and the tone of your voice makes him wonder at how lonely you feel during missions.

“As long as you are yourself around those you care about, it makes it worth it. Yes?” Cassian counters.

A small, wondering smile graces your lips as you lean back against the hold and look up. “Yeah, I guess so…”

You’re thinking of all the fun you have with Jyn and Bodhi when she drags you both away from base to explore, or when you’re all laughing at the exasperated look on Baze’s face when Chirrut walks into blaster fire with only his prayers to guide him. 

Or when you catch the relieved look Cassian throws you after a near-miss, like he’s impossibly glad that you’re okay. You always point finger-blasters at him with a smirk, trying to diffuse the situation, but he usually just shakes his head and tells you to focus.

Ahh. There you are, a voice in your mind whispers suddenly. It’s a cool and sinister voice, one you had not heard in some time.

You startle, knowing that the disembodied voice cannot see you physically does nothing to prevent a sense of overwhelming fear from taking over. You try to take a series of deep breaths to calm your racing heart and slow the pounding of blood in your ears. Hoping repetitive and familiar motions will calm you down and refocus your mind, you begin to rub up and down one arm with your knuckles. With the amount of pressure you’re using, you’ll end up with bruises but the dull pain helps.

Cassian sees you fidgeting out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns toward you, you’re already up and walking to a more private area.

“E-excuse me,” you stutter out. Your legs feel weak and you run one hand along the wall to keep you steady.

“Are you okay?” Cassian asks, preparing to stand up and follow you.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m fine. Just give me a moment.” Your voice is quiet, but you throw a shaky smile over your shoulder to try and stop Cassian from following you. You make it to one of the rooms and slide in, the door hissing closed behind you.

“That,” K2 says.

“What?” Cassian asks his companion, confused by the non sequitur.

“That is precisely why I don’t trust her. She hides too much,” the droid explains.

“She’s one of us, K,” Cassian defends. “We all have secrets.”

“Yes, but our secrets don’t make us run away. She’s hiding something big: I know it.” The droid asserts, giving his head one sharp nod to drive the point.

***

You survey the progress of your “home” being put together from the lofty heights of the balcony overlooking the foyer. Everything is white and gray and black, mimicking the Empire’s color scheme.

You hate it.

The only pop of color is your elaborate dress. The emerald gown is the height of Coruscant fashion, and you needed everyone who saw you and Cassian dock to know that you are important people.

Your quarters span the top two levels of one of the tallest towers in a swanky residential sector. The prestigious location alone should influence everyone’s opinions, but you also need to look the part of a spoiled and arrogant wife. So you have to dress and act accordingly.

You sense Cassian walking up behind you; his presence is unmistakable and you recognize his gait as his shoes tap against the expensive flooring. 

Your fingers grip the balustrade imperceptibly tighter, the only reaction you will allow yourself. Since shutting down on the U-wing to try and prevent the voice’s return, you’ve been able to keep your thoughts and emotions in check: no racing heart, blushed cheeks, or errant feelings. This is the only way you know how to keep your mind your own.

Cassian places his hands on either side of yours, trapping you between his warm body and the railings. His chest is pressing into your back and his sharp chin is resting on your shoulders. You weren’t prepared for this level of fake intimacy so soon, so your breath hitches in your throat and escapes as a soft gasp. You feel his warm breath fan across your ear as he pretends to nuzzle into your neck.

“Kay and I placed the data collectors throughout the public rooms.” Cassian mumbles, moving from one side of your neck to the other. You tilt your head in the semblance of allowing him room to kiss along your skin, growing hot where his breath fans now and goosebumps where it had once been. “We’re ready for the company to arrive.”

“Hmm,” you hum in acknowledgment. You’re developing a pit in your stomach at the proximity, but you grasp Cassian’s hands under yours for the illusion. Your palms are sweating and you’re sure that Cassian can feel it, but he continues resting his lips near your ear.

You glance down at the individuals moving your furnishings throughout the rooms, catching one gray-skinned and multi-eyed lifeform watching the two of you surreptitiously. You scowl down at them, feeling Cassian’s head turn enough to give them a side-eye as well. They turn back to arranging the many fire-waters and spirits you bought in preparation for your first gathering as new residents.

Some aliens begin making their way from where they were setting up the sleeping quarters behind you and Cassian. As they’re passing, Cassian pulls away from you. You take a deep breath to recenter yourself and cool your skin.

“Come, Love. Let’s break in the new bed,” Cassian says, loud enough for the passing workers to overhear.

You feign a saccharine smile and allow him to place his hand on the small of your back. Cassian leads you to your shared bedroom, dropping contact as soon as the door closes behind the two of you. You both sweep the room for any foreign devices and find none. You remain standing on opposite sides of the room, aware of the awkward atmosphere.

“I am sorry for that. A few of the workers were watching us,” Cassian apologized. One hand is scratching the scruff along his chin to hide his discomfort.

“I saw. It was an effective way to give them observations to take back to their superiors if some are spies like we suspect.” You carefully place yourself on the edge of the luxurious bed, taking this time to rest your feet before you need to get ready for the evening’s plans.

“Yeah…” Cassian draws, giving you a quizzical look. 

He knows that you’re on a mission now, but your tone and mannerisms are throwing him off. He always felt at least a sense of comradery with you, but this pliant and civil manner you’ve taken up bothers him for reasons he won’t can’t name.

You ignore his probing eyes. The voice in your mind is too recent an experience to let yourself relax even slightly. Your muscles are rigid from the straight posture of the elite woman you’re playing and from the stress of keeping your mind calm and under control. A headache is starting to form.

“I take it that K is situated?” You inquire of Cassian as you stand with bare feet. You pad over to the extensive closet space, selecting an outfit for tonight.

“Yes. He’s taken the ship to the lower levels and will stay there while we’re here; he’s close enough if we run into any issues.” 

Cassian’s voice is still low as he follows you to the wardrobe, just in case any of the movers are lurking outside the door. You both stand back to back as you each survey your arsenal of clothing for this mission. You run your hands lovingly over the soft fabrics, happy that your sensitive skin won’t have to endure anything rough for this mission. Cassian’s clothed shoulder blades scrape along your exposed back, sending imperceptible shivers down your spine. 

You quickly pull out a beautiful dress and move away from Cassian. You call over your shoulder to him as you near the refresher. “I’m wearing pink, unless you don’t have anything to match.”

“Of course I do. You selected the wardrobe,” he reminds you. 

You hadn’t seemed yourself since the ship, which Cassian picked up on immediately since you were so sure and confident at the beginning. He is trying hard to understand your abrupt change.

You shut the door on Cassian and take in the immaculate space around you. You hang the dress so it can air out while you apply your makeup and arrange your hair and try to enjoy the solitude while you can, knowing that tonight and all the nights to come will wear you thin. 

***

Cassian comes in a while later, taking note of your elaborate hairstyle and details of your thoad-eye makeup. He feels the nearly overwhelming need to comment how stunning you are and how similar you look now to when he saw you that first time, but holds his tongue. He doesn’t want to make this any more awkward for either of you.

You had been staring listlessly into the mirror before you until Cassian walked in. You can barely recognize the person staring back; hollow eyes, down-turned lips, dull skin. She isn’t you, but she is who you need to be until you’re sure the phantom hasn’t found you.

You move your eyes to study Cassian as he stands in the doorway. He looks handsome in his party-ware, the organic tones complementing his features and your pastel gown nicely. But you don’t dwell on how the sight alone of Cassian in something other than his everyday wear threatens the stability of the winged creatures in your stomach. You want them to be dormant, need them to be, but something about the man behind you sets them to tittering.

Since closing yourself off from your emotions and the galaxy at large, you have come to realize that you haven't been as careful as you should have. Despite your better judgment and without conscious effort, you have formed attachments in the Rebellion. Found yourself building relationships that mean something to you. Your fellow rebels from Rogue One are your life-line in this never-ending war.

Your bond with Cassian is one you are especially fond of.

You have grown to care for the man in a way that you know you shouldn’t. Your detachment now allows for you to reflect on your feelings in an objective way, understanding that you put yourself and the entire Rebellion at risk without fully realizing.

It stops today.

You harden what little bit of your heart you can still feel and fill in the small, Cassian shaped hole that had started to carve itself there.

You take your eyes from where they had locked onto his own. You can sense his hesitation to approach you and his inner turmoil that feels so like your own had earlier in the day. So while dabbing under your eyes for fallout and around your lips to neaten the line, you speak up.

“I’ll be done in time to greet our guests with you, but I need a few moments.”

Your voice is flat and devoid of any warmth that it once held for the man. Cassian notes immediately that your countenance has taken another turn, one that has pulled you even further away from him. His chest tightens. He sets his mouth in grim acceptance and leaves with a small nod in your direction.

***

All throughout the evening, a sense of foreboding had settled itself deep in your bones. You can feel it getting heavier and heavier as the party drags on, weighing down your body and worsening your already sickening headache. You continue to laugh and smile demurely despite it, but the bright light from the chandelier hanging above your head is sending bolts of pain behind your eyes.

In order to present a united front to these Imperial officers and sympathizers, Cassian has his arm wrapped around your waist and you’re resting your hand over top of his on your hip. The warmth of his hand as it caresses your curves sends heat between your thighs completely against your will. Your mind and heart know what you can’t have, but your body has wants of its own.

When an interesting piece of information comes up in conversations, one of you will squeeze the other’s hand in silent communication to pry further. It arose through no effort on either of your parts, but Cassian feels the rightness in the subtle exchanges. It feels like you’ve been partners for longer than a day, fake married for longer than a day, fake intimate for longer than a day with the way it feels to hold you. 

He can’t get over the rightness of having you in his arms. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt, even with the few past partners he’s allowed himself to have between missions. He can feel the heat of your skin beneath his palm and through the fabric of your dress, making him want to pull you all the more closer as the night wears on and the open windows bring a chill to the crowded room.

You’re both in the middle of a conversation with a commanding officer when it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of the room, like a cabin losing pressure out in space. Your eyes widen and your heart races as your sense of foreboding from earlier ramps up into full fight-or-flight mode. You’re hastily scanning the faces in the room, terrified.

Cassian feels you tense in his arms. With a quick glance at your face, he knows something is wrong. Your eyes are flickering around the room and the pulse in your neck is prominent against the stiffness of your body. He tries to catch your eye or squeeze your hip, but he gets no response.

Quickly and subtly shifting your body behind his, he excuses the two of you from your conversation. You don’t feel yourself moving, too caught up in trying to find the source of this feeling. 

You’re intimately familiar with this presence, having spent years in its company. You had tried so hard and traveled lightyears away in order to escape, but all your efforts seem futile now. You should have gone into hiding, should have locked yourself away on a little no-name moon, should have done something more. 

A whimper escapes your mouth without permission, and Cassian’s heart lurches at the frightened sound. He’s always known you to be the bravest, strongest person he has ever met, but the woman in his arms right now looks like a scared child, looks like someone he doesn’t know. He would take your cold and detached manner from the previous day over this. 

Because this? This scares him. And Cassian does not scare easily.

He leads you into a secluded area of the penthouse, away from prying Imperial eyes and whatever has caused your body to convulse with tremors. He still has his arm wrapped securely around your waist holding you close to him, and his other hand has a gentle but firm grip around your upper arm that is pressed tightly into his side. Cassian is practically dragging you away as your knees refuse to hold you up.

Cassian finds a small cupboard furthest away from the party. He looks around to be sure no one is near enough to listen in, and pulls you inside. A dim light turns on above your heads and Cassian places you gently against a wall. You start to slide down, but he puts his arms under yours, giving you support.

You can still feel her, can sense her proximity and her sinister presence in the back of your mind. It’s been so long since you were last with her, but your body must have known somehow that she was drawing nearer. Your headaches and anxiety that had only heightened throughout the party should have made you think.

But you didn’t.

Having Cassian at your side had made you feel safe, no matter that you were actively avoiding having any feelings for him. You have known his character well from watching and interacting with him over the years, learning to trust him and his calm and reserved nature. You were remiss in thinking that you could keep yourself and your feelings away from him during this mission. 

Now that the walls you carefully constructed on the ship have crumbled around you, you can’t help but feel again. Can’t help but feel the warmth radiating from his chest and into yours from where he’s standing so close to you. Can’t help but feel his breath against your face as he’s begging you to tell him what’s wrong. Can’t help but feel the pressure in your head slowly dissipating as you force yourself to breathe in time with Cassian’s instructions.

You readjust against the wall after a short while, standing taller and trying to regain feeling in your legs. Cassian’s hand shifts from the wall and cups the side of your face so that he can look into your eyes. You can see the question in his concerned gaze and answer in a still-weak voice.

“My… my mother. She’s here.”

Cassian’s brow furrows slightly as he wonders what that could mean for you and this mission. He opens his mouth to ask for more details, but you shake your head.

“She’s - we’re - I don’t know!” You cry out softly. You bring your hands up and grasp the lapels of Cassian’s shimmersilk jacket as you try to ground yourself and explain. “She’s in my head, Cassian. I can feel her. I can hear her. I couldn’t get away, and now she’s found me.” 

You suck in a deep breath through trembling lips. You look deeply into Cassian’s eyes, watching as a dawning understanding fills them. 

“I’m scared, Cassian,” you admit.

Cassian wraps both of his hands around your head with his palms against your neck, using his thumbs to sweep softly under your eyes, catching the tears that had fallen without you noticing. Your breathing is still stuttering in and out of your lungs, and Cassian can feel your pulse as he continues to stroke your cheeks.

“I know. I know, Princessa. But it’s okay, we can figure this out together, hm?” Cassian murmurs to you. 

You nod your head and close your eyes as you lean back against the wall, drained of energy. Cassian takes both of your wrists into one of his and holds them against his chest when he feels your grip slacken, hoping that you can feel his heart’s rhythm and use its steady beat to come back down from your adrenaline rush.

“What do we need to do?” Cassian asks after a moment. “I can signal K and we can leave right now.”

You shake your head as you look back at him. You can’t let this opportunity for information slip away because of you. And you’re definitely not giving K-2SO any more reason not to like you.

“No. No, Cass, I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just… give me another moment or two. Please,” you implore. 

Rational thought is coming back to you as you finally match Cassian’s heartbeat and breathing. You start to feel embarrassed about your breakdown, but Cassian’s sympathy and understanding prevent you from doing so. You’re now focusing on the shift in your mission.

“The good news is I’m using my real name, so she can’t ruin us immediately,” you begin slowly. “The bad news is now we have to contend with her story and timeline of events. I haven’t been with her since I ran away, Cassian. I haven’t spoken to her in years, but she’s been in my head a few times since then.”

What you have to tell Cassian next is hard, but he needs to know. For your own selfish needs, you want somebody to know what you’ve been through. 

“She… she studied under the Sith in her childhood, but never completed training. When she had me and realized I was force sensitive…” You’re pleading with your eyes and your grasping hands on his jacket once more. “She raised me on the Dark Side. To become the Sith she never could be.”

Cassian tries to pull away from you, shocked and angry by your perceived betrayal. His face hardens and his hands drop away from you, but you’re quick to hold tighter to him, keeping him from leaving you.

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Cassian! I never joined the Rebellion for her or anyone else. I stopped training and cut myself off from the Force after my 16th year because I knew what she was teaching me was wrong. I joined you because I wanted to make up for all the awful things she made me do, to give myself over to a cause that I believe in.

“I never intentionally put the Rebellion in danger. Every time she found my consciousness, I shut myself away from whatever I was feeling that let her in and left the base until I was sure she hadn’t found me,” you explain. “I don’t know why she’s here now, but it can’t be good. We have to find out, and I’m the best shot we have.”

You can see Cassian’s mind moving at lightspeed to determine if he can trust you. You’ve never given him any reason not to, but this secret is explosive enough to shake his faith in his own discernment. His eyes are shifting between yours, staring into each to find any trace of duplicity. You keep your expression honest and open. It’s the first time you’ve ever presented your emotions – true and real emotions – to someone. You’re vulnerable in this state, but Cassian needs to see it.

And he does. Cassian’s shoulders drop imperceptibly and the tension you can feel under your hands loosens.

“Does Mon Mothma know? She’s the one that recruited you, yes?” He asks, looking for a solid reason other than his gut instincts to guide his decision.

You nod. You hadn’t told her the full truth all those standard years ago, but she knew enough to think of you as a worthwhile risk.

Cassian exhales and reaches for your hands where they clutch at him. He gives them a squeeze in acceptance and you can’t stop a small smile from coming to your lips in relief.

“What’s your plan?” He asks you, deferring over to you on how this mission should move forward now that there’s a massive obstacle to manage.

“I think…”you hesitate, already dreading the series of events your next words are going to set in motion. “I think I need to get close to her again. Not ‘close’!” You reassure Cassian when a troubled look comes over his face. “Just make her think I’m still on the Dark Side. Being here already lends itself to that.”

“I don’t know. Putting yourself directly in her path like that is dangerous,” Cassian reasons.

You give a short laugh and look at Cassian with amusement. “We’re Rebel Intelligence currently undercover with elite Imperial officers and weapons dealers. I think we’ve been in danger.” 

Cassian mimics your small grin and rattles your hands around a bit. “Smart aleck.”

You’re feeling better than you have been since the U-wing. A weight has lifted from your shoulders and now you can breathe easier, safe in the knowledge that someone knows your secrets. Knows a large part of you, and doesn’t hate you for it.

Cassian’s smile fades. He doesn’t want to interrupt whatever this moment is, but you need to go back to the party. 

“I’m going to signal K-2SO; we might need him for security.” At the thought of K running his mouth off near all these officers, Cassian decides that he’ll instruct the droid to disable his modulator. “Are you ready?” he asks.

Your face drops into a determined expression. You gather all your strength and prepare to greet your mother. You’re going to need it.

***

“Well there’s my darling daughter!”

You keep your expression neutral, but quirk one eyebrow up as you look to the direction her voice is coming from. You watch as your mother saunters over to you, pulling along a middle-aged man in an Officer’s uniform; he must have been her way in, since you hadn’t seen her during your reconnaissance phase. He was of low-rank and low-importance, but you invited him because he could still harbor important information.

Your mother has aged: wrinkles line her eyes and crease her forehead, gray hairs are dyed an unnatural shade, and the skin on her neck and hands is thin and dry. Her dark robes swathe her frame in an abundance of fine fabric, perhaps to distract from all that you are observing.

“Mother,” you reply in a clipped tone. No one but Cassian notices the beginnings of sweat on your forehead. He leans in to place a kiss on your hairline, wiping away the droplet with his dry but soft lips. You grasp his hand tighter in appreciation.

“I knew I would find you here…” she taunts, but trails off as she eyes Cassian beside you. 

You stiffen because you know that look. You angle yourself to where your breasts are pressing against Cassian and you lay a possessive hand over his chest, clearly indicating he was ‘yours’ in the only way she really understands. 

But she hasn’t changed in all this time, so she tries her hand with Cassian. Even though her escort has an arm around her stomach in a not-so-subtle effort to keep her close to him and away from your partner - or anyone else in the room that catches her eye.

“My, my. Who is this handsome man you’ve conned into spending the night with you, daughter?” She addresses you, but bats her eyelashes coquettishly at Cassian. “I’m sure you’ll have much more fun with me, young man. I can give you anything you want,” she tries to whisper seductively, but fails in your opinion. 

Her date looks at you and Cassian contemptuously, as if you were the ones to blame for her behavior.

Your mouth curls into an uncontrollable sneer and your expression morphs into one of disgust and anger. How dare she proposition Cassian in such a way? What a lewd and demeaning way to come onto someone! 

All fear is forgotten in your outrage. You’re about to respond with vicious words as you start to move your hand towards the poisoned blade hidden under your dress, but Cassian stops you as he tightens his arm around your waist and pulls you further into him so that you’re basically looking over your shoulder - you’re full front is pressed against his as he takes his own hold on you. His hand snakes down to cup your ass in a proprietorial way to show your mother that he already has his hands full. 

Your heart quickens at the possessive act. Focus.

Cassian gives an uninterested nod as his greeting, making a show of looking her over and finding her lacking. It’s cruel, but it fills you with a spot of joy.

“The husband, actually,” he remarks coldly. “Weapons Specialist.”

“Oh.” She pouts for just a moment, disappointed that he wants nothing to do with her. “Well!” She claps her hands together and steps out of her date’s arm. “I’m sure you gentlemen won’t begrudge me a moment with my long-lost daughter,” she bids. She flaps her hands around as she says, “You boys talk amongst yourselves.”

She walks off, expecting you to follow like a kriffing Kath Hound. One of your eyes twitches in agitation as you look to Cassian. He uses one hand to adjust a piece of your hair, wanting to draw attention away from his lips as he mutters to you.

“Do not let her get to you. I will be right here when you return.”

“I don’t think I can follow through on the plan. I don’t think I can get close enough without failing,” you whisper. 

You are terrified of this woman and what she can still do to you, what she can still make you endure because of her connection to the Dark Side. But… you can’t really sense anything from her. You allow what diminutive control you have on the Force to surround her and probe for information, and you find very little. 

You’re wondering now if whatever prevented her from completing her training as a Sith has been depleting her midichlorians since then as well. Her voice in your mind has been diminishing for quite some time now; the event today having been the first time in over a year, when you used to hear her every other month.

A hypothesis begins to form. But in order to explore further, you need to follow your mother.

You rub Cassian’s cheek with the palm of your hand in farewell and his stubble is rough against your skin. He takes your hand from his face and places a soft kiss on your knuckles, but doesn’t meet your eyes.

 After your revelations in the cupboard and dispensation of some of the fear you had been holding all your life, you’re finding it easy to fall into this level of intimacy with Cassian -- false as it may be. You are no longer held back by thoughts of your mother reentering your life and wreaking havoc for the Rebellion. She’s found you here with Imperialists, ‘married’ to a war profiteer, and presumably on the same side.

But Cassian is still Cassian and you are still you. Public displays of affection make both of you uncomfortable, but you’ve been pushing it aside for the sake of the mission. You let go of each other and walk away from him, but you can still feel his eyes on you as you go to your mother.

“I never imagined you as a credit-seeking harpy, daughter of mine. Always so toffee-nosed and self-important. You never agreed to a single match I tried to make for you,” your mother starts in as soon as you’re close enough to hear. Some party-goers glance in your direction, but your glare sends them looking away.

“Perhaps you never set your sights high enough, mother. Maybe I sought better for myself than you could provide?” you retort, channeling Cassian’s cool demeanor into your character for this mission. 

You had never imagined as a youngling that you could ever be brave enough to face your mother in this way; she had dominated and dictated every facet of your life, refusing you free-will and a normal childhood. But you need to complete this mission and find out why she’s here, so you don’t have time to dwell.

She looks at you now with thinly veiled contempt. You imagine she thought you would still be that girl who was too afraid to speak out against her. And if it wasn’t for this mission and Cassian dragging you from the party so you could collect yourself, you would still be.

Your hands are trembling where they’re hidden behind your back and beneath the capelet on the dress, and gravity seems to have broken: incredibly strong at your feet and incredibly light on your head. It keeps you rooted to the floor while also making you feel like you’re floating away. Rationally you know it’s your fear response, so you work on taking inconspicuous breaths.

“‘Sought better for yourself’; don’t make me laugh! Those ‘friends’ you had were barely sentient! Let alone have any connections to elevate you anywhere,” your mother mocks.

You’re momentarily dumbfounded: how did she know about your friends? You made sure to never mention them or hang out with them when your mother was on-planet. “What friends?” you ask quietly.

“Don’t play ignorant with me, daughter, it’s so unbecoming of a Sith. Did you forget? I’m in your head.”

You jerk away from where your mother has leaned in towards your face, taking a step back. Her last words had been inside your head. 

“I’ve missed this, daughter,” your mother coos telepathically. She brings a wrinkled hand up to cup one side of your face while you’re struggling to breathe. “I’ve missed having you under my thumb.” 

At this, she drives her thumb into your cheek, pushing your head roughly to the side. She has a firm grip and directs your face back to where you have to look at her. You’re breathing fast and shallow, panic taking over. Your hands have flown to take a hold of her wrist and forearm, struggling to remove her nails from your soft flesh.

You finally wrench her hand away, just in time to feel a strong arm snake around your waist and pull you backwards. Cassian steps in front of you in a protective stance, one arm still holding you against his back and the other pointing his blaster in your mother’s face.

If looks alone could kill, your mother would have evaporated under Cassian’s glare.

You can feel his breath escaping him in angry heaves, nostrils flared. His mouth is set in a thin, angry line, and you can hear his teeth gnash together as he clenches his jaw. His eyebrows are furrowed over his hard, piercing stare, your mother the sole object of his ire at the moment.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look at Cassian as her focus is still on you. Staring down certain death and one of the most intimidating men in the galaxy, she doesn’t move a muscle except to smile cruelly.

“They were so heartbroken when I told them you were dead,” she mocks as you stare at her from around Cassian. “It was quite fun to watch them suffer.”

They thought I was dead? Your hands grasp Cassian tighter at the thought. Is that why they never tried to contact me? 

Feeling your shaking hands on his back and unsteady breaths against his neck, all Cassian wants to do is blast a hole through your mother. As soon as he saw her lay a hand on you, he was racing over to the altercation – blaster drawn and heart on his sleeve. He knows how strong and capable you are, but this mission is asking more of you than he can stand to watch be taken away. 

He feels your warm hand slide around his where it grips his blaster. You bring his arm back down to his side and step out from behind him.

Your nerves are shot and you’re so nauseous that you could vomit at any moment, but you need to take control of the situation again. Your mother is making you look weak and incompetant in front of the Empire’s largest figures. The party had come to a screeching halt when Cassian drew his weapon.

“It’s alright, my love,” you say loud enough for those around you to hear. “I believe our guest has forgotten who is in charge here.” 

You snap your fingers in K’s direction where you see him stationed against one of the columns beside the entrance. You’re elated when you see him actually heed your command and stalk over. He grips your mother’s arm and waits for your command.

“I do believe it’s time you and your date left now,” you say as you wave your hand in a dismissive gesture.

Your mother is absolutely fuming as K2 leads her out of the hall, stopping to grab her date as he tries to make himself small amongst the crowd. You can see her trying to move her arm out of the droid’s grasp, but she’s unsuccessful. Her date’s jacket sleeve is nearly ripping at the shoulder from how unwilling he is to be pulled along by her.

Cassian is immensely proud of you for standing up to your mother. After he watches her being dragged out by K, he turns to you with a glimmer in his eye, only to notice the sallowness of your skin and the movement of your throat as you swallow multiple times.

Cassian immediately turns to your guests and makes an announcement so you can sneak away unnoticed. “Now that we’ve weeded out the undesirables amongst us, it’s time to get this party started. Fosu–” Cassian calls to the Ortolan leading the live band “–let’s go!” 

You make your way out of the crowded hall with one hand fisted over your mouth and the other holding your stomach. You hear the band start up as you reach the nearest refresher and bolt inside. As soon as the door slides closed and you’re alone, you promptly empty the contents of your stomach into the vacc tube.

-------

You’re shivering against the wall when Cassian comes in some time later. Your body has lost all ability to function after trying to purge itself of these mephitic feelings, so you’re collapsed into a seated position on the floor with your head leaned back to rest against the wall. The expensive stone interior of this refresher is beautiful to look at, but severely uncomfortable to sit on. 

Cassian crouches down next to you and hands you a crystal flute full of water. You give a small smile in appreciation and sip from the cup, closing your eyes as you feel the cool liquid slither down your raw throat and into your empty stomach.

“You did good,” Cassian says to you.

You peep open one tired eye and look at him. His face is sincere and his eyes hold no hint of the disappointment you feel for yourself. You scoff at his words and close your eye again.

“The entire mission has gone completely barvy because of me,” you mutter harshly. If your mother hadn't shown up, you would have completed this mission without any problems. But as soon as you felt her presence and realized that she was in the same room, you broke down. And when she spoke to you and grabbed you...

At the thought of your mother’s touch, the anxiety in your stomach rumbles into nausea again. You press a closed fist up to your mouth to fight off the feeling. “I can’t even think about her without wanting to spew my guts up.” You roll your head to the side so that Cassian can’t see the self-deprecating expression you know is on your face. “How pathetic is that?”

A warm, rough hand encircles the wrist that still hovers in front of your mouth. The firm pressure brings your face up and forces your eyes open. Cassian is leaning towards you with an arm outstretched to you and balancing on one knee. You can’t help but feel bad that he’s ruining such a nice suit just to get you to look at him.

“Nothing about you is pathetic, Princessa,” he urges. “The way you handled that situation? There is no one else in the galaxy who could have gotten through the way you did.” He moves his hands in an exaggerated gesture to emphasize the shape of the galaxy around you, but your wrist is pulled along for the demonstration since it is still held between his fingers. 

“I didn’t really do anything. I asked K to kick her out for me. I’ve probably lost any ounce of power and respect we scrounged up in such a short time.” 

Your eyes are downcast as you say this, so you don’t notice Cassian’s other hand reaching up from where it was hovering over his bent knee. He oh-so-gently grabs your chin in the same place your mother had, but the difference between the two touches are immense. His thumb ever so softly brushes along the side of your mouth where a bruise is most likely forming, and his fingers perch below your chin as he pulls your face up to meet his gaze.

“If anything, you gave us more respect. You effortlessly took away all her power and turned her into the laughing stock of the party; these sorts of things are the highlight of any event for these people. You’ve just ensured that they’re all going to be coming back just on the off-chance that something like that happens again.” 

His eyes are so intense on yours and his hand so kind against your abused jaw that it brings a flush to your face. You shouldn’t be relishing in the closeness you’re feeling in this moment because he is only trying to comfort you and get you ready to be hostess of the party again, but you can’t help the warm feelings and fluttering of your heart at his proximity.

You think he must have noticed your blush and became embarrassed for you, because he drops his hand from your face and rises from his crouch. Cassian clears his throat and pulls your wrist up towards him, indicating that it is time for you to stand as well. You push against the wall with your free hand and stand in front of him.

You’re unsure of what else to say besides a whispered, “Thank you.”

Cassian nods his head in acknowledgement and drops your hand. The loss of contact stings a little.

Cassian quickly starts ruffling his hair and jerking his clothes until they’re disheveled. Your questioning look is answered a second later as the same realization comes to your mind. A married couple locked in a bathroom together for some time after an apparent power move? Everyone at the party is going to think that show of dominance got Cassian hot with desire for you.

Your blush reappears with a vengeance as your hands remove some pins from your hair and ruffle through it. Your heart thunders in your chest as you grab Cassian’s shoulder as he is preparing to unlock the door. He looks back at you and you drop your hand.

“It.. it would be more believable if some of my makeup…” you flap your hand towards his face, indicating what you mean.

Understanding crosses his face as he slowly leans towards you. You take your thumb and smear it across your lips, dragging the lip color from its place and around your mouth in a facsimile of the chaos a kiss would create.

You take your makeup covered thumb and firmly glide it across Cassian’s lips. The contrast between the softness of his delicate skin and harshness of his stubbled chin remind you that your face and neck need to be more red.

Making to take your nails and redden up your skin, you’re stopped by Cassian’s question of, “Can I?”

You look up to see his hands reaching for your face and you allow him to hold you. He brings his face into yours and presses his stubbly cheek into your skin. You hold back your gasp of shock, but the inhaled breath allows in the intoxicating smell of him. You close your eyes in order to maintain some semblance of control over yourself. Your hands are itching to run through his hair and dishevel it even more, but you refrain in case it makes him stop.

Cassian is nuzzling into your neck now and you can feel a slightly shaky breath leave his lips and fan across your ear. A shiver races down your spine and lands hotly in your lower abdomen. The sensitive skin of your neck is red now from both his ministrations and your increased temperature.

All too soon, Cassian pulls away. You're warm all over except for the irritated skin on your neck that feels cool without Cassian’s warmth against it. He looks at you unsurely, probably worried that he overstepped a boundary.

“Your hands wouldn’t have left the right pattern,” he mumbles out. 

He doesn’t seem unsure of himself, but not wholly convinced that you necessarily wanted him to do that. You nod your head too quickly when you agree with him to reassure that you do not mind. At all. 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, but swings out one elbow as an offer to you. You take a deep breath to calm down and place your arm within his before exiting.

***

Weeks pass and you and Cassian have been inundated with dinner offers, gala invitations, and special meetings from members of the Empire and their allies. It seems that Cassian was correct in saying that everyone at the party - and not at the party - would be clamoring to get into your good graces after taking so much power away from a prominent member so easily. 

When the topic is brought up, you always smile and laugh haughtily so they think such a thing was no big deal to you. The problem is that it was a big deal. You never stood up to your mother like that when you were younger - you always took the abuse until the day you jumped on a random cargo ship and ran away. You had always thought you were weak and powerless against your mother, but Cassian and these Imperial scum are beginning to make you realize that you’ve grown enough that she no longer holds power over you.

This realization makes you feel strong and more competent than ever. You’re fully ingratiating yourself with the beings around you, pretending that the Empire is the only way forward and that the Rebellion is just full of useless chizks. 

Ha! If only they knew they were being played like an Ewok drum by one of those ‘useless chizks’.

As you’re laughing at what some high-brow weapons dealer is saying, you glance around the room to find Cassian. You were separated when someone dragged you away to have a ‘female talk’ that was excruciating to sit through. You spy him across the hall, but your heart drops as you watch him follow a beautiful Twi-lek into a side office.

Over the past few weeks, you and Cassian have gotten close. Or you thought you had. You were both becoming increasingly comfortable in each other’s arms and Cassian had even taken to kissing your lips when others were around.

You couldn’t help but take those little kisses and tight hugs personally. You know that, rationally, he is only doing those things to keep up the pretense of a happily married couple, but your touch-starved heart was going soft for the Rebel captain.

And maybe it’s that soft heart that makes you excuse yourself from the current conversation. That soft heart that makes you follow in the pair’s footsteps. That soft heart that constricts and feels as if it’s crumbling away when you hear the soft murmurs coming from behind the closed door you have your ear against.

You’re unable to make out anything being said, but the closeness that whispering requires crushes your soft heart. You know this is a mission and you both need to get intel at any cost. Cassian is one of the best spies in the Rebellion – kriff, the whole galaxy – so it shouldn’t come as any surprise that seducing a target is one of his methods. 

But we’re supposed to be married, you reason out. Happily!

You hear the Twi-lek whine. Your chest tightens and your eyes start to burn for no reason. You shake your head to try and force the tears back. Taking a deep breath, you channel your current persona and feel her wrath and anger at the situation funnel through you.

You twist the handle and barge into the room. You stand scowling at the two as you eye them up and down. Cassian is unruffled and holding onto the Twi-lek’s shoulders as if to keep her at a distance. The Twi-lek, on the other hand, has her dress pulled down past her shoulders to expose her chest and her hands clasped onto Cassian’s lapels and fingering the buttons of his shirt.

Their eyes turn to you: Cassian’s relieved ,and the Twi-lek’s shooting daggers.

“Husband,” you deadpan, “what’s the meaning of this?” 

But you’re not looking at your fake husband, you’re eyeing up the female who still has her dress around her waist and her dirty hands on your man.

“Princessa,” Cassian seems to plead with you. You flick your eyes away from the Twi-lek and onto him. Princessa has become a normal term of endearment from Cassian since your heart-to-heart in the fresher, and you can’t get enough of how ardently he always calls to you. But now the name sends a pain through your heart, because you’re just now realizing he may have used it for others during missions as well.

Your eyes threaten to start burning again, so you look away from Cassian and back to the one that pulled him in here. You notice that she was hanging out with the one that pulled you away for that ‘talk’, making you think that this had been their play all along.

Your nostrils flare as you stare her down. “Fix your gown, find your friend, and leave this house. I will not repeat myself,” you growl at her. 

The Twi-lek’s eyes widen a fraction at the venom in your voice, hopefully understanding the danger that your persona emanates. She pulls her hands from Cassian and slips them through the sleeves of her dress before scurrying from the room.

You turn to watch her leave, narrowing your eyes as you catch hers as she shuts the door. You hadn’t only turned to make sure she left, you also turned so that you didn’t have to look at Cassian. You didn’t want to look closer and see what they were up to.

“Thank you,” Cassian murmurs as he walks up to you. “She seemed to think that I would sneak off with her willingly.”

“Didn’t you, though?” 

Your question catches him off-guard and you see his furrowed brow in your peripheral. You tried not to put any emotion into your words, but don’t know if you succeeded or not.

“What do you mean?”

“You were gathering intel, right? It’s part of the job to seduce targets.” You’re still looking to the door and away from him, but Cassian turns his body fully towards you and raises a hand in your direction. You lightly step away as you finish. “I just didn’t know our cover had changed, is all. I won’t interrupt you next time.”

Cassian calls out for you, but you’ve already left the room.

***

No one notices anything out of the ordinary after you re-enter the party, but you can feel eyes on you the whole night. Whether they’re Cassian’s or others’ is hard to say – once you returned to mingling with the guests, you started wrapping them around your little finger.

You aren’t discriminating against anyone that seemed interested in you. Any being that you felt had even an inkling of knowledge about something and would only give it up if persuaded, you flirted with. Subtly, of course, since you are ‘married’, but enough to let them know you find them just as interesting as they find you.

You’re only laying the groundwork tonight, so you don’t have to worry about planning any rendezvouses. You wish that Cassian had discussed seduction with you while you were both laying out plans on the way to Coruscant. 

No. 

You wish that seduction wasn’t part of the plans at all. Because as selfish as it is, you want Cassian all to yourself – if only for this mission. 

Stop lying.

As selfish as it is, you want Cassian. Period.

***

You don’t enjoy yourself tonight. Not like any of the other events had been times to enjoy, but at least for those few weeks Cassian had been at your side for most of them. Even so, you can’t pinpoint exactly when Cassian began this part of the plan, which means you are too distracted to be doing your job correctly. You internally berate yourself for the slip up. 

It’s late by the time you and Cassian are standing on the landing platform waiting for your cruiser to arrive. The wind this high up causes you to shiver and cross your arms to try and protect yourself from the chill. While you’re thankful for your thin clothing inside the incessantly warm buildings, walking out into the brisk night air always catches you by surprise. Cassian in the past has always draped his jacket over your bare shoulders when he noticed that you were cold, but he refrains tonight. He stands several feet away from you with his hands clasped behind his back and his jaw tight.

The tension roiling between you is uncomfortable. There were no soft touches or easy conversations between you this evening like you have grown used to. After you left the office and Cassian behind, you had avoided him at all costs. But you’d catch him staring at you as you laid a hand on someone else’s shoulder or whispered into another’s ear. 

You know that he’s upset with you for tonight, but you don’t know what for specifically. Did he think you were too bold in your attentions? It’s not like you had snuck off into a private room with someone in full view of the entire party. 

The thought briefly crosses your mind that you’re trying to make Cassian jealous, but it’s quickly brushed away. Why would it make Cassian jealous to see you flirting with others? It’s not like this is a real relationship anyway… no matter that you were starting to think it was.

Your transport arrives and the doors slide open. The warmth of the ship draws you in and you clamber in on your sore feet. The high-arching shoes you’ve been wearing are kicked off quickly so that you can pull your legs up to rest on the seats beside you. You’re fully reclined when the journey to your suite begins, but Cassian is still rigid in his seat in the farthest corner of the ship from you.

The warm transport grows stifling as you feel the heat of Cassian’s gaze on you. Your eyes are closed where your head is resting on the hull, but you’re too tired to open them and stare back.

“Go on and say whatever it is you’re upset about,” you challenge wearily. The events from earlier in the night and your subsequent ‘star of the party’ mode had worn you to the point of exhaustion. You were ready to be alone and to sleep for the next standard year.

“You do not think that was too much?” Cassian hurls at you. “You throwing yourself at them? We are supposed to be happily married. Why are you not acting accordingly?”

The force of his anger surprises you; you knew he was displeased with your actions by the look on his face throughout the event, but you didn’t think he was angry enough to yell at you. Nerves begin to course through your blood at his raised voice. It reminds you too much of your mother’s anger when you were younger – you have been invisible ever since then, so no one has had a reason to scream abuse at you. 

Until now.

Despite your weariness and building anxiety, the growing sense of your own power helps to bolster you. You will not let him lambaste you for putting your all into this mission. You’ve been here too long as it is, and you need to get away from Cassian so that you can get back to the right headspace without thoughts of him getting in the way of your duties. You’ve been too consumed with the feelings that his touch and presence bring you when you’re together. Too consumed with the thought that maybe he finds your presence just as all-consuming as you find his.

Your hands tremble slightly with nerves and anger as you plant your feet on the floor and turn to face him with a fierce stare.

“You will not speak to me that way, Cassian. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime. And I do not need you questioning me when you’re the one that started seducing targets without consulting me! I also thought the plan was to be ‘happily married’, but imagine my surprise when I found a half-naked Twi-Lek in your arms!”

The transport has arrived at your dwelling by this point, so you grab the hem of your dress and your footwear before stomping off into the entrance hall. You can hear Cassian muttering expletives under his breath as he races after you.

“If you would let me explain,” he begins after grabbing your wrist and spinning you around to face him. You jerk your arm out of his grip with a hiss.

“Don’t grab me,” you growl out. “We’re done for tonight. I’m sleeping in the guest quarters.” 

And you stalk away, leaving Cassian angry and alone.

***

Night turns into day, and the day turns into many more. Neither of you would admit to what was really the cause of the anger and the fight, not even to yourselves. 

You still attend functions and dinner plans, but the small and casual affection between you and Cassian has disappeared. Instead, quick pecks and a loose arm around the waist was the only physical contact.

You hate this. You hate that you’re acting this way - so unreasonably. If it were anyone else, you might even laugh at their blatant flirtations with others. But with Cassian… any time you see someone else on his arm or someone else whispering in his ear, you see red. The fire you felt that first night with the Twi-Lek comes back with a vengeance and you can’t help but feel stupid for it.

Your ‘home life’ isn’t any better. You both sit at opposite ends of the dining table, staunchly ignoring the other. At least, you try to ignore him. Cassian is still your friend, despite the silence lingering between the two of you. You want to break the war of no words, but it seems like every event resets both of your tempers.

You had yet to return to the extra cot in the master bedroom you used to share with Cassian.

It all came to a head one afternoon. The same Twi-Lek, Anansi, had put her hands all over Cassian in the middle of a crowded dinner party the night prior, eliciting murmurs from the other party-goers about your and Cassian’s physical relationship. Or lack thereof.

You had glared daggers at the both of them, catching Cassian’s eye and snarling your lip at him out of hurt more so than anger. If he wanted to flirt so openly and auspiciously with the targets, then so would you, you rationalized. You found the most eligible officer and made it abundantly clear that you were willing to do anything to stay with him just a little longer. So you went back to his quarters once the party was over. You didn’t stay over for long, stumbling back to your and Cassian’s penthouse long before the suns even rose.

You don’t even fully undress before you fall into a deep sleep. 

You neglect to leave your bed in time for the first meal of the day, but you make it to the small offering a few hours later. Cassian is already seated at the head of the table, so you avoid his eyes as you move to your place across from him.

Nothing is appealing right now, the firewater moving its way out of your bloodstream making you slightly dizzy. You glance up when Cassian’s utensils scrape across his dish.The noise sends shivers down your spine.

“Could you not?” you question quietly.

Cassian looks up with a quirked eyebrow. “Why? Enjoy yourself a bit too much last night, baby?” he taunts, scraping his plate again.

You send him a deadly glare, daring him to do it again. “I’m sure nowhere near as much fun as you had with Anansi last night. Another office, really?”

Cassian slams his hands down on the table and pushes himself up forcefully. “At least I didn’t take her home, unlike that officer. Couldn’t even leave the party with your own ‘husband’ – you just had to leave with him. Did you at least get anything from him?” he demands, glowering from across the spread of food between you.

You smirk at him. “Oh, I got plenty from him last night,” you taunt as you stand as well.

You’ll be the first to admit that was a low blow, but Maker did it feel good to give right back as good as you were getting.

Cassian growls and stalks over to you. The sight of his taut shoulders and ridged jaw send you backwards until you’re up against a low table against the wall. His hands land either side of your hips, caging you in. 

Your heart is thundering and you’re slightly shaking with adrenaline. A warm sensation fills your gut and you can’t believe that his anger is making you feel this way.

“Yeah?” Cassian asks in a low voice, his breath fanning across your lips. His face is so close and his eyes are staring deep into your own. “I bet I can give you more.”

And with that, Cassian’s lips are on yours and it’s hard to even breathe. Your arms snake up around his neck and pull his lips closer to yours, deepening the kiss. His hands move from the table and grab onto your hips, allowing him to grind against your abdomen. A hungry growl escapes his mouth when you bite his lip at the action.

Cassian reaches down to your thighs and hauls you onto the table that had been digging into your lower back. You gasp into his open mouth when he spreads your legs wide and settles between your thighs.

The days of anger and pent-up frustration explodes between you both and there’s no stopping the desperate kisses and wandering hands. You grab the side of Cassian’s face with one hand and slide the other down his chest to lay flat on his lower abdomen. You feel his muscles tense as your fingers slip under his waistband to tease him, forcing his hips to rock into you.

Cassian leaves kisses from your waiting mouth and along your jaw until he reaches your ear. He whispers huskily, “I bet he didn’t kiss you like this.”

You groan as Cassian sucks harshly on your neck, leaving red marks. The dress you have on rides up your legs and bunches around your waist as Cassian’s hand trails up the outside of your thigh. When he reaches your hip, he lets out another low groan at what he finds. Or doesn’t find.

“Nothing on underneath? Did you leave him a souvenir? ” he breathes harshly into your mouth, using his other hand to palm your breasts through your dress.

“Ha,” you laugh shakily. You can do nothing except throw your head back against the wall as his fingers travel towards your wet folds. Nothing had prepared you for this interaction with Cassian, but kriff were you glad you weren’t wearing underwear.

Cassian’s thumb presses harshly on your clit and you grasp his wrist tightly to keep him in place. He slowly teases one finger into your aching hole and grabs your neck to force you to meet his eyes as he feels you flutter around his finger. A small whimper escapes you at the hungry look in his eyes and the second finger nudging at your entrance.

“I know you didn’t get this wet for him,” Cassian purrs, still staring into your eyes. It’s hard to keep them open as he pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly, but the look he’s giving you is impossible to look away from. 

Your free hand that had been on the table below you to keep you upright takes his hand at your throat and makes him squeeze. You gasp softly at the pressure and Cassian’s eyes blaze. He forces himself closer to you, moving his thumb harder and faster against your nub and forcing your chests together so that there is no space between you. Your eyes slam shut when he scissors his fingers to open you wider and you hear the noise of your juices echoing throughout the room from his movements.

His hand around your throat pushes you back against the wall so that Cassian has a better angle at which to see his fingers moving against you. His mouth waters at the sight of his hand glistening down to the wrist. 

You’re rising higher towards your peak, but not quite there when Cassian leaves you altogether. You cry out at the loss of contact and immediately open your eyes to glare at him. Only he’s no longer face-to-face with you – he’s down on his knees and propping your thighs onto his shoulders. Cassian licks his lips as you stare at each other across the distance of your quivering body.

Your heart beats erratically in your chest, and when he licks his lips it sends another flood of heat towards your pulsing pussy. “Tell me how much you want it,” Cassian murmurs as he kisses your inner thighs while still looking up at you.

“Yes,” you breathe, panting and squirming to get his mouth closer to where you want need it. 

“‘Yes’ what, Princessa?” he questions while blowing lightly along your slit.

“You. I want you,” you gasp out. “Now. Please.”

And that’s all it takes for Cassian’s mouth to finally close in and taste you. Your hands fly into his hair and your shoulders are bearing all of your weight as you lean into the wall for support. You tug and pull at Cassian’s hair, ensuring that he’s in just the right spot at all times. A harsher pull at a particularly good lick causes Cassian to moan into you and you nearly come just from the sensation.

He suckles your clit into his mouth and pushes his fingers back into you. You cry out at his ministrations and try to grind against him, but his arms are pressing you down securely and you can hardly move.

“Yes. Please – please. Cassian!” you chant, trying hard not to dig your nails into his scalp and shoulders as your hands grab onto him. You’re so close that you can taste it.

“Did you scream his name last night? Or were you pretending it was me fucking you?” Cassian nips your folds when you don’t answer immediately, causing you to jerk and moan.

“I-I didn’t– Ah!” 

Cassian once again pulls away from you, raising his eyebrows in challenge. You’re determined that this is the last time he leaves you right on the edge, so you lean over and grab him by the shoulders and haul him up to you. You wrap your legs around him to keep him in place and begin to undo his shirt.

You deliberately let your hands press and knead as you tease him, wanting him as needy as you are. Cassian grabs your jaw and kisses you hard as you reveal his chest. He treats you in kind by pulling the straps of your dress off your shoulders and below your breasts. He palms them with both hands, tweaking the nipples when you reach for his pants.

Cassian rutts into your hands as you work him out of the confining fabric. He’s hot in your hand when you finally release his cock and pump his length. He groans into your mouth again and moves a hand down to yours and pulls it away. 

You try to fight against it, but he guides your entwined hands to your center and makes you soak your palm with your own fluids. Getting the gist of his actions, you rub yourself with his guidance. You’re panting into his mouth as he continues to kiss you. 

You deem your hand thoroughly soaked and place it back on him. He pumps into your fist until his cock is coated in your essence. You reach your free hand around his waist and pull him into the crux of your thighs, guiding him to where you desperately ache to be filled. Cassian pulls your hand away from him and places it against his neck, while his other hand keeps him positioned at your entrance.

He edges into you and stops when he meets a slight resistance. He looks into your eyes for permission to continue, and you nod your head vigorously.

With your acknowledgement, Cassian thrusts in to the hilt. You keen loudly at the sudden intrusion, but the fullness quickly turns all discomfort into an overwhelming need. You open your eyes from where they had closed suddenly and see Cassian already looking at you. He grabs one of your legs to hitch it up further around his waist and uses his other hand to cup your jaw and lean you back against the wall.

Cassian follows you and leans all his body against you. Your naked flesh moves against each other when he begins thrusting into you quickly. You gasp and shake against him, using your arms to keep his mouth on yours as you climb higher and higher once again.

Cassian can tell that you’re close. He raises your leg even higher and places one knee on the low table you’re fucking on, causing him to reach such a deep angle that you see stars with every movement. He’s practically on top of you now, bearing all his weight on his other arm that is grabbing hold of the back of the table to give him even more leverage.

He uses this new angle to thrust hard, slow, and deep. Your eyes water as the head of his cock slams into your g-spot over, and over, and over again. You can barely breathe with all of the pressure against you, but you drag in just enough air in order to scream as your orgasm washes over you. Your arms and legs go rigid around Cassian, forcing him to stay close as he continues to pump into you.

He can feel you pulling and squeezing his dick as your walls try to milk every last bit of pleasure, which leads him to his own finish. Cassian comes inside you hard, groaning in satisfaction. He continues to push into you softly as you both ride the last waves of your highs.

Your legs lose all muscle control and the one not being held up by Cassian drops down against the table. You’re gasping hard, trying to draw in a breath that will allow your head to start clearing from its post-coital fog. You can’t for the life of you remember ever having better sex.

Cassian slowly extracts his length from you and you cry out at the hollow feeling. He chuckles darkly. He pushes the hair that had fallen into his face back with both hands, removing all contact with your skin. “You won’t forget about your ‘husband’ now, will you?” Cassian smiles ruefully.

It takes you a moment to process the thinly concealed venom in his words. You still in disbelief as you puzzle out his meaning. 

Wait… wasn’t that? Didn’t he–?

Your face burns with embarrassment at having been caught out. You’ll admit you were angry at your ‘husband’ at the beginning of this experience, but you threw your anger out the very high-rise window of this dining room as soon as Cassian kissed you.

You replay the words he had said during sex in your mind. You had been too busy at the time to pay much attention to what he was actually saying. He really thought you slept with that officer last night? A Rebel captain, sleeping with an Imperial officer? Who did he take you for?

You thought… but that look in his eyes when he entered you. The-the kisses and the closeness and the feelings. The intimacy that comes along with sex. Doesn’t he…? 

You sit upright and grab the fabric of your dress to cover your breasts. The movement of your hips causes Cassian’s cum to leak out of you, and you watch his eyes trail the droplet as it races downwards.

You don’t understand. You don’t.

Did he not kiss you because he wanted to? Because he has feelings for you? Or did he only do it out of anger?

Your feelings for Cassian have grown over the weeks you’ve been together on this mission, and you thought he felt a similar way. All the intimacy in public and pretty words – even if it has been a while – were they really just an act this whole time?

You stand slowly, feeling your eyes grow hot with tears to mimic the warm wetness between your thighs. You bite your lower lip as you look at the floor by Cassian’s feet.

“I–” you start. “I didn’t sleep with him…” You look up to see Cassian’s eyes widen a fraction. You can’t tell if it’s in disbelief or surprise. “You really think I’d do that?” You question him.

“I don’t know…” Cassian whispers, shaking his head imperceptibly. His hair falls back into his eyes, but he doesn’t make a move to fix it.

You look away from him and towards the skyline outside, avoiding his gaze. You tug your dress back onto your shoulders and wrap your arms protectively around yourself once again.

“I thought you – I thought we… I don’t have sex with just anyone, Cassian.” 

Your voice comes out as a whisper and you wrap your arms tighter around your chest. Your heart constricts in fear and anxiety as you utter your next words. 

“I really like you, Cass. I kind of thought the feeling was mutual…because of – you know.” You shrug your shoulders self-consciously. “I thought as soon as you... felt that I hadn’t been with anyone in a while, you stopped pretending to be mad at me.” You look back to him with sad eyes, tears threatening to fall any second. “We were pretending, right? Because we were jealous?”

Cassian repeats your name in a whisper, sounding like an apology, beginning to lift a hand towards you but seemingly thinking better of it. He closes his mouth and shakes his head in a definitive ‘no’.

That hurt. That hurt bad.

Tears overflow your lashes and a small hiccup leaves your throat, but you nod your head and turn to leave. You feel ashamed of the feelings you had poured into your love-making, realizing that he hadn’t felt it. Realizing that he hadn’t done the same.

You shuffle softly to the door, your steps quiet. Your shoulders rise as a hiccup escapes your lips. You press one hand against your mouth to stifle the sob that is sure to follow. You’ve nearly reached the door when you hear Cassian take in a shaky breath.

“She said she was looking to sell weapons and wanted to know if I was interested. I went with her under the assumption that we could gain ammunition for the Rebellion.” Cassian says to your back. 

His voice is soft. Pleading. Begging you to turn around and understand. Cassian doesn’t know why he had said those things to you just now. Why he had to go and ruin one of the best things that had happened to him in a long time.

He sees you pause in your steps, so he takes a deep inhale to calm his emotions before continuing. He needs to get this right so he doesn’t lose you.

If he hasn’t already.

“I did not mean to hurt you,” he begins. All of his focus is centered on you, so far away. “I can not begin to apologize enough for the things I just said to you. Because I was jealous. Very. But those words – that is something you do not deserve. It was uncalled for to act in the way I did. I was angry at myself for not being brave enough to tell you how I feel. For letting you leave with someone else when all I wanted… when all I feel...is...” Cassian shakes his head in confusion while trying to come up with the right way to say this.

You take a moment before asking the question burning burning between you. 

“...How do you feel?” 

You wring your hands nervously in front of you while awaiting Cassian’s answer. Your heart is racing and you begin to feel light-headed from the anxiety coursing through your body in anticipation.

You feel more than hear the quick footsteps that stop just a hair's-breadth away from your back.

“Like…” Cassian begins, struggling to find the right words to convey just how attached he is to you, “like the galaxy wouldn’t be worth saving without you in it.” A tell-tale warble in his voice sends a stab of pain through your chest.

There’s a light touch at your waist, like he’s afraid that you’re going to run away at the slightest movement. That touch sends the chill that had seeped into your skin burning away and leaves you feeling all the warmth that had disappeared when you sat on that table alone. You let out a sob before spinning around to wrap your arms around his neck and cry into his neck.

Cassian hugs one arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders so that he can cup the back of your head. He squeezes with all his strength and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. He whispers “I’m sorry” over and over while you shudder against his chest. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I should not have accused you of sleeping with an enemy when I know you would never.” Another kiss to your temple, then one to your cheek. “I let my jealousy overrule my thoughts. I am so sorry.”

You hiccup again as you turn your face to press your forehead against his neck and bring one of your wrists down to wipe the tears from your face. “We were both wrong,” you tell him. “I misread the situation and didn’t give you the opportunity to explain. I just jumped to my own conclusions and caused this whole mess. I’m sorry.” 

Your throat is raw from your earlier activities and your crying spell, but you feel so much better now that your feelings are out in the open and you’re communicating about how’ve you’ve wronged each other. 

Cassian pulls away slightly and moves his hand from the nape of your neck to smooth along your cheek to collect the tears that are still there. His eyes are soft and sorrowful as he sees what he’s done to you. He makes a silent vow to never be the reason you cry again.

“It hurt to not be near you these past days,” Cassian whispers, resting his forehead against yours. “We’ll promise to talk everything out from now on, yes? 

“Yes.”

You both close your eyes and breathe each other in.

***

You wake late in the evening, the suns a few moments from setting. You feel Cassian’s warm breath against the back of your neck and his whole body as he cradles you from behind. You smile at the closeness, once again relieved that you both apologized and confessed your feelings for each other. 

Cassian escorted you back to the master sleeping quarters when he realized just how exhausted you were after this morning’s events. He’d slipped your dress from your form and pulled the covers up around your shoulders when you slid onto the bed. He crawled in on the other side and moved closer, placing a kiss in your hair before wrapping his arms around you.

You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe. If the universe was kind, you would willingly spend the rest of your existence just like this. You turn over as softly as you can, not wanting to jostle Cassian. When you’re looking into his peacefully sleeping face, you can’t help but lift a hand and trace along his features with the back of one finger.

Cassian’s eyes open for a brief moment before closing again, a hum escaping his lips. You laugh softly at his unwillingness to wake up and continue your tracing.

“We should probably check on the status of everything,” you whisper. “We’ve been MIA for a while now.”

“We have, haven’t we?” Cassian’s gruff voice responds. He lets out a deep sigh and pulls the arm that was around your waist up to catch your hand. “Tickles,” he murmurs while twining your fingers together and leaving them to rest on the pillow between your faces.

What’s a few more minutes going to hurt?

***

This is not good.

Cassian had just called you over to review footage and audio that has been recorded inside your suite from the past couple of days. You noticed an odd gap of time between when one crewmate entered the hallway leading to your private quarters and when they returned. This in and of itself wouldn’t have been enough to warrant any worry, but you saw them slip a piece of your Rebellion issued surveillance equipment into one of the pockets of their uniform as they walked away.

There is no way some common staff member could have found some of the only evidence linking you and Cassian to the Rebellion. No way unless they were smart enough and trained in the same occupation as you. 

You’ve masqueraded as household staff enough times that you should have realized that this was a distinct possibility when hiring a crew to keep up appearances.

You’re barely getting over your shock as you move to watch the next clip of the Adarian’s movements around your quarters. You take note of every movement of their cranial aperture as they scan their surroundings for sounds. Cassian had risen from his seat beside you in order to confirm that one of your signal jammers had indeed gone missing and to then send an encrypted message to Mon Mothma and General Draven to let them know you are now compromised. 

Cassian is just returning to you when you come to the last holovid recording. He’s too riled to sit down again, so he stands behind your chair and lays a hand on your shoulder. You place your hand over his and worry your lip.

You watch as the Adarian closes their eyes and presses their head against a wall adjacent to the entryway from the landing pad. You're wondering what they could be hearing when Cassian’s hand grips your shoulder.

You look up at him and open your mouth to ask what the problem is, but he stops you.

“Look at the time.”

You furrow your brows and glance at the timestamp. Your blood runs cold in your veins.

“They heard us...” you breathe to Cassian as you tighten your hold on him.

“I mentioned buying ammunition for the Rebellion…” Cassian remembers out loud. Your lip is nearly bleeding with how hard your teeth are working it.

“Kriff,” you mutter.

Cassian flexes his fingers under yours before sliding back across the room to update the message to your superiors about your immediate removal from the situation. You ponder the implications of ending the mission here, now, and realize that if someone knew enough to plant a spy within the staff that the Rebellion hired directly, then they knew enough to be dangerous.

You stop Cassian before he can send for an escape vehicle. “This is the only one that has shown any subversive behavior.” You begin. “We need to follow them and find out who planted them here.” Your eyes bore into his as he takes the time to deliberate between escape and possible death.

Cassian finally assents. “They’re to finish their shift in the next standard hour, so we’ll have an opportunity then.”

You spend what little time you have planning the recon details with heads together and hushed voices.

***

The alias given by the Adarian, Sulet, didn’t turn up anything useful when the Rebellion ran the initial background check before they were employed, so you are now confident that this is a false identity. Their history is incredibly detailed and in-depth, so whoever they work for has good connections.

You and Cassian follow Sulet onto a hyperbus that takes you to another sector close by, where they are soon picked up by a private hovercraft. You have to commandeer a speeder left nearby, deftly connecting wires and slinging yourself onto the vehicle. The small seat has you pressed up against Cassian’s back and feeling his muscles move as he steers. 

Cassian follows the craft from a distance that still allows him to watch its movements, but not be detected by the passenger. The insane traffic pattern soaring between the buildings on different levels makes you glad that Cassian is the one driving and not you, since your eyes are watering from the wind. You have a hard time focusing on anything further away than Cassian’s elegant neck and windswept hair. You burrow your head between his shoulder blades to escape the biting wind as you both race after the hovercraft.

You feel the speeder slow as the hovercraft drops Sulet off at some upper level quarters. The prime location and size alone tells you that they have the credits to employ their own personal spy.

You watch from above as the Adarian looks around furtively and moves inside.

“What do you think?” You ask Cassian.

“It could be a trap,” he replies. “They were smart enough to figure out we’re part of the Rebellion, they had to have known we’d be able to follow them at any point in time.” He peers down at the unassuming penthouse below.

“Especially with that device and what they heard this morning after we… after.” You blush profusely at the memories that are only hours old and remembering how loud you were when you came on Cassian’s hard…

Stop it.

“We need to be careful,” Cassian murmurs. “Backup will not arrive for a while yet.”

You nod against his shoulder blade and have him settle the speeder down onto the same landing pad the hovercraft dropped the Adarian off. You grasp your blaster firmly in your hands, ready to defend yourself. Cassian follows you as you both dismount and make your way slowly and cautiously to the doors.

You settle either side of the opening and look into each other’s eyes, signaling your readiness after not hearing anything from inside. You both jump away from the wall and bring your blasters up, pointing directly into the darkened living space. There is no sign of movement, the Adarian nowhere to be found.

Sparing a quick glance at Cassian, he motions for you to search your half of the room. You nod. Creeping along the wall, you scan behind the sofa and nudge the window coverings.

Nothing.

You look over to Cassian and find him already looking your way. He shakes his head, not having found anyone either.

“I don’t like this,” you mouth. Cassian agrees with another head shake.

You’re just turning to face the closed door keeping you both out of the rest of the home, when the door suddenly flies open and there’s a blaster pointed right at you.

Your eyes widen in surprise. Your training kicks in and your blaster seems to aim itself while you dodge for cover. Your blaster isn’t the only one that had gone off – Cassian slams into the cushions behind you and rolls down to crouch on the floor with you, his blaster smoking.

Adrenaline is high as you and Cassian take turns to give covering fire as you make your way slowly back towards the landing pad and your stolen speeder. You’re hunched behind a sturdy end table, waiting for your blaster to cool off, while Cassian fires on your assailants. He’s positioned not far from you, his back to the exit to cover your next move so he doesn’t see the figure land just outside the doors.

“Cassian!” you yell desperately, reaching a hand towards him to drag him down and out of the way of blaster fire. Your gun is still too hot, incapable of taking out the figure that has the two of you pinned down. Your hand clutches Cassian’s shirt, twisting him and throwing him down to the floor on your other side. Unfortunately, his weight destabilizes your center of balance, causing your bent legs to give way and making you topple sideways over Cassian’s now prone figure.

A sharp pain slams into your left shoulder blade. You cry out, but still whirl around to fire, hoping beyond hope that your blaster has had enough time to equilibrate. A bright red beam soars from your gun and hits your opponent square in the chest. They go down with a soft thud, leaving your escape path clear.

You turn back to Cassian, planning to grab him and run, but you’re frozen by the look on his face and his hands around his throat. Cassian sputters as if he can’t breathe, trying desperately to claw at his throat to relieve whatever invisible force is closing his airways.

Force.

Maker be damned.

You move your eyes back to the doorway where all your adversaries had seemed to pour only moments ago. Bodies litter the ground, the Adarian’s among them, courtesy of your and Cass’s excellent aim, but there was one person still standing.

A familiar figure you hadn’t seen since you kicked her out of your ‘home’ at your first party.

Your mother stands there, one hand directed at Cassian, fingers curling inward.

“Daughter,” she greets smugly.

“Let him go.” Your voice comes out as a hiss, spitting venom towards the woman in front of you. You already have your blaster pointed directly at her head.

Your mother clucks her tongue. “Now, now, dear. You wouldn’t want to make me kill your husband now, would you?” 

Her fingers come closer together, and Cassian falls to his knees. Your heart twists in your chest at seeing Cassian in pain, but you dare not take your eyes and your aim from your mother.

“Stop.”

“Lower the weapon and I’ll let him go,” she croons with a smile on her face. She is enjoying watching you plead for Cassian’s life. You’re tempted for a split second to do as she says, but Cassian interrupts you before you even move.

“No. Princessa, no,” he gasps. “Kill her.”

Your eyes meet his, and you see determination blazing through him. His strength lends you the power to turn back to your mother and pull the trigger.

Instead of your finger squeezing the trigger, you feel it extending away. You curse and try with all your might to fire your blaster.

Tutting softly, your mother shakes her head.

“I was giving you one last opportunity, daughter.”

Her fingers close the gap between each other and Cassian slumps to the floor.

“NO!” you scream, panicked. You watch Cassian’s chest for any sign of movement, but before you can confirm anything, you feel your own throat being squeezed.

You gasp and turn your focus back on your mother, trying desperately to think of any way out of this before you, too, lost consciousness.

A short sigh leaves your mother’s mouth. “Look what you’ve done, now.”

“Me?” you struggle past your lips. “This is all you.”

“No,” she says firmly. “This is all because of you. Everything I do is because of you.”

Rage burns through you and your words come out icy. “Everything you’ve ever done is all for yourself, mother.” You take as deep of a breath as you can to continue. “Nothing you ever did benefited me.”

“I made you strong,” she growls.

“You abused me!” you cry. Big, fat tears drop from your eyes and what little breath you’ve been able to pull in leaves you in stuttered breaths. “My entire childhood was ruined because of you! My only solace, my only happiness, my only friends. You made them think I was dead!”

“Friends,” she scoffs, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “We don’t need friends. We’re better than everyone else! They should worship us, our strength, our power! We are above them!”

“No,” you whisper out. “We are not better than anyone. We are not anything! You! You think that way. You hurt and maimed and killed so many people because you thought it was entertaining! Because you thought it would teach me ‘strength’.” 

There’s blackness creeping along the outsides of your vision, all the air you’re expelling in your tirade causing a loss of oxygen in your lungs and brain, your heart pumping overtime to accommodate. You gasp big, heaving breaths as you collect yourself.

Your mother stands rooted, anger apparent in the severe set of her mouth and deeply furrowed brows. Her eyes could set the whole city on fire.

You know that there is no coming back from this moment – that whatever happens here, there will only be one of you to make it out alive.

The problem you’re facing now is that you haven’t used your power in years. Over a decade, maybe. The mental muscles you used in adolescence have atrophied in the years that you’ve pushed this part of yourself into the background, trying to forget. 

You pull with all your might, forcing your awareness to focus on your mother. You search deep within her, past organs, past muscle, past tendons. You reach into her cells, finding those miniscule particles she had taught you were the key to your powers. 

You call out to them. Asking, begging, pleading them to obey you. Wanting them to do something that will stop your mother.

Stop her from killing you now. Stop her from hurting Cassian any further – if it wasn’t already too late. Stop her from continuing on this dark path that can only lead to death and destruction.

You feel a rush when the little beings begin to vibrate. It begins as a quiet little shiver, but slowly builds.

Your mother’s eyes widen in fright, her focus broken between cutting off your air or protecting herself from you.

“What are you doing?!” she shouts, arms quivering. She can barely stand, her legs are bowing at the knees and she begins to sink down onto the ground.

The shivering envelopes her cells, vibrates her muscles, quakes her entire body, until she can no longer maintain her hold over you. She collapses forward, crying helplessly. 

The rage you’ve suppressed for your entire life boils through your veins, setting you alight. You feel good. Strong. Stronger than you’ve ever felt; the trials and tribulations she put you through growing up not even comparable to your feelings now. 

“Please. Please! Daughter, stop! Stop!” she sobs into the carpet, curling into herself as if to protect herself from a violent beating, from a violent person. 

But no other threat exists. Only you.

“Why?” you whisper hoarsely, voice barely loud enough to cross the distance between you and your pathetically weeping mother. “You never did.”

With a violent yank, you grab onto the essence within your mother, pulling it away from her and towards you.

She screams for a split second as the power leaves her body, and then she falls unconscious. All the power that once filled her now dances around you. You can feel the energy they house, their want of a new host, their preference for you.

You allow them in.

There’s a tingling sensation across your skin, a warmth enfusing into your blood. You shiver softly, close your eyes, and take in a deep breath. You feel at peace, calm. All your worries have disappeared knowing that your mother could never hurt you again.

A pained groan fills the silence that had settled around you. You jolt, realizing that you need to check on Cassian.

Feeling immensly guilty for taking so long but also incredibly grateful that he is still alive, you rush over to his side. He still lays on the floor with his eyes closed, but you see his chest moving rhythmically with each breath. As you place a hand on his chest, Cassian’s eyes flutter open.

You grin down at him, enjoying the contact as he places his hand over yours.

“You…” he breathes. “You did it.”

“Yes,” you say. “I did. Finally.”

Cassian smiles up at you, pride evident in his eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Princessa.”

The warmth from both the power and Cassian’s hand travels to your heart, filling it with love and hope for a long life with the man here with you. 

“Come on,” you urge gently, tugging Cassian into a sitting position so that you can help him stand. “Let’s get back to base so that you can rest.”

Cassian comes to his feet and you pull one of his arms over your shoulders, allowing him to place his weight against you. You both begin to shuffle away when Cassian turns his head to look back over his shoulder.

“What about her?” he questions.

You glance back as well to see the crumpled woman on the floor. You no longer feel any fear, or anger, or hatred towards her. You feel nothing at all.

“I honestly don’t care,” you reply. “When our backup gets here, they can take her or leave her. I don’t care what happens to her after today.”

Cassian reaches across his body and clasps your hand within his. He gives a firm squeeze, then interlocks your fingers. Placing a soft kiss on your temple, he urges you to keep moving forward.

As you both walk into the fading sunset, you see a picture in your mind. A murkiness around the edges trying to invade the focal point of the image. But that center pulses with an overwhelming feeling of love, and safety, and contentment. 

You and Cassian stand together inside the image, holding onto each other and never letting go.

[deadpresidents]

The Elegant Mr. Arthur

It was about two hours after midnight on September 20, 1881, and not unusual for the resident of 123 Lexington Avenue in New York City to be awake at such a late hour or to have plenty of guests. In fact, he preferred to keep late hours, entertaining friends deep into the night with late-night dinner, drinks, and endless conversation. Yet, on this night, 123 Lexington Avenue was somber and the mood was grave. Just a few hours earlier -- at 11:30 PM -- a messenger knocked on the door of Vice President Chester Alan Arthur's Manhattan brownstone and handed Arthur a telegram. Surrounded by a few friends and colleagues, Arthur read that President James Garfield, just 49 years old and in office for almost exactly 200 days, had died at a beach cottage rough 60 miles away, in Elberon, New Jersey. Turning to his friends in his sitting room, Arthur said, "I hope -- my God, I do hope it is a mistake."

On July 2nd, President Garfield was shot twice and seriously wounded by Charles Guiteau as he walked through the Baltimore & Potomac Railroad Station in Washington, D.C. with Secretary of State James G. Blaine and Secretary of War Robert Todd Lincoln (son of Abraham Lincoln), en route to a speaking engagement at his alma mater, Williams College in Massachusetts. Guiteau was a disgruntled, disturbed, and delusional office-seeker who had been pleading for an appointment as consul to Paris despite an absence of diplomatic or political experience and a complete lack of qualifications. Hounding Garfield throughout the early months of an Administration that had just begun on March 4, 1881, Guiteau's constant harassment of the new President finally resulted in Secretary Blaine ordering Guiteau to never return to the White House again. Guiteau felt that he had been entitled to some office, particularly a high-profile ambassadorship, and was terribly upset that Garfield and his Cabinet members refused to consider his requests. Blaine's order to stay away drove Guiteau to purchase an ivory-handled .44 British Bulldog revolver (specifically chosen because Guiteau felt that particular firearm would look good in a museum) and he began stalking Garfield throughout Washington before finally shooting him in the rail station two days before Independence Day 1881. As police arrested him, Guiteau shouted, "I am a Stalwart of the Stalwarts...Arthur is President now!"

But, Arthur wasn't President; not yet at least. Garfield was a physically robust man and relatively young in comparison to most Presidents. Although one bullet had lodged in Garfield's spine, the other bullet grazed his arm and caused no significant damage. While it appeared that he was gravely immediately following the shooting, Garfield's vital signs soon started to improve and the American people began to get their hopes up about a full recovery. A vigil of sorts was underway as President Garfield convalesced in the White House, and his doctors issued regular bulletins updating his condition. Garfield's doctors also poked and prodded with unsterilized instruments and dirty fingers to attempt to locate the bullet still inside of the President's body. Had they left it alone, Garfield almost certainly would have survived; his wounds were significantly less dangerous than those survived by Ronald Reagan 100 years later. However, the unnecessary poking and prodding resulted in a serious infection that ravaged Garfield's body, weakened his heart, and left the muscular, 215-pound President emaciated and weighing less than 135 pounds. After fighting for his life in the sweltering summer heat of Washington, on September 6th it was finally decided to transport Garfield to a cottage on the Jersey Shore in hopes that he could benefit from the fresh ocean air. Sadly, it was too late. The infections were accompanied by blood poisoning and pneumonia, among other ailments. On September 19th, at 10:35 PM, Garfield suffered a massive heart attack and was pronounced dead. In the 79 days since he had been shot, Garfield had lost over 80 pounds and the 49-year-old President's dark brown hair and beard had turned a ghastly white color. An hour later, the messenger arrived at 123 Lexington Avenue.

•••

The Vice Presidency was a stretch. Chet Arthur of New York as Vice President? When offered the Republican Vice Presidential nomination by James Garfield in 1880, Chester Arthur was urged by his political mentor, the leader of the Stalwart branch of the Republican Party, Senator Roscoe Conkling of New York, to decline the appointment. Arthur, a man who had never spent a day in Congress or been elected to any office at any level, couldn't turn down such an unexpected opportunity. He accepted the nomination and was elected alongside Garfield in November 1880, but most of the country (rightfully) saw Arthur as the poster boy for a machine politician elevated by the spoils system. The Vice Presidency was certainly a stretch for Chester Arthur, but President of the United States? That was an almost frightening thought to a nation still recovering from Civil War and desperately seeking civil service reform, especially now that a disgruntled office-seeker has assassinated the President. The idea of Arthur as President left a lot of Americans worried -- some because Arthur's political background was as the powerful and somewhat shady Collector of the Port of New York, appointed during the controversial Administration of President Ulysses S. Grant and eventually fired by President Rutherford B. Hayes during a housecleaning of corrupt institutions; and some because James Garfield's murderer had claimed to be a Stalwart and, by his own words, insinuated that Garfield's shooting might be a conspiracy on behalf of Arthur's faction of the divided Republican Party.

Chester Arthur was a creature of the era known as the "Gilded Age" and was the symbolic mascot for the widespread corruption of the 1870's due to his position at the Port of New York. Born in Vermont in 1829, Arthur was the son of a preacher and grew up mostly in upstate New York, graduated from Schenectady's Union College in 1848, briefly taught school was studying law, and was admitted to the bar in 1854. As his law practice grew in the 1850's, Arthur immersed himself in New York Republican politics yet never ran for office. A political appointee to the New York State Militia, he found himself serving during the Civil War and his superb organizational skills led to quick promotions all the way to quartermaster general in 1862, a position which carried the rank of brigadier. As a political appointee to the militia, however, Arthur served at the pleasure of the Governor of New York and was forced to resign in 1862 when a Democratic Governor took office. Returning to New York City, Arthur resumed his law practice and political gamesmanship. More appointments came his way as he supported Republican candidates throughout the state and worked on national campaigns such as President Lincoln's 1864 bid for re-election and Ulysses S. Grant's 1868 Presidential campaign.

In 1871, President Grant appointed Arthur as Collector of customs at the Port of New York, which gave Arthur responsibility for about 75% of the nation's customs duties and was one of the most powerful patronage positions available in the United States government. Arthur used his office to efficiently raise money for Republican campaigns and candidates, supporting President Grant's 1872 re-election campaign by seeking contributions from his employees at the customhouse. In 1876, Arthur championed his political mentor, Roscoe Conkling, for the Republican Presidential nomination, but supported Rutherford B. Hayes in the general election, once again using the employees at the customhouse to help raise money to finance the successful Republican campaign. However, once Hayes was elected, the new President made it clear that he was serious about civil service reform and that meant reforming Arthur's customhouse, too. In 1877, Arthur testified before the Jay Commission, which was formed to investigate charges of corruption and eventually recommended that President Hayes reduce the workforce of the customhouse and eliminate the corrupt elements that had worked there for so long. Due to Arthur's longtime support of the Republican Party, President Hayes offered him an appointment as consul in Paris in order to quietly remove him from the Port of New York. When Arthur refused the appointment, the President fired him and Arthur resumed his law practice in New York City (Hayes intended to replace Arthur with Theodore Roosevelt, Sr. -- father of the future President -- but Conkling felt insulted by Hayes's termination of Arthur and worked to kill Roosevelt's appointment during his Senate confirmation ).

When Arthur headed to the 1880 Republican National Convention at the Interstate Exposition Building in Chicago, it was as a New York delegate supporting the aspirations of former President Ulysses S. Grant who was coming out of retirement to seek an unprecedented third term. However, neither of the front-runners for the nomination -- Grant and Senator James G. Blaine of Maine -- could capture enough votes from delegates to clinch the nomination. After thirty-five ballots, Blaine and another prospective candidate, John Sherman of Ohio, threw their support behind a dark horse candidate -- Ohio Congressman James A. Garfield. On the next ballot, Garfield clinched the nomination and reached out to the opposing wing of the Republican Party for his Vice Presidential choice. The first choice, Levi P. Morton of New York (who would later serve as President Benjamin Harrison's Vice President) declined Garfield's offer, and Arthur -- who had never previously held an elective office -- excitedly accepted, much to the chagrin of his angry political mentor, Roscoe Conkling. Not confident in Garfield's chances for election, Conkling told Arthur, "You should drop it as you would a red hot shot from the forge." Arthur replied, "There is something else to be said," and Conkling asked in disbelief, "What, sir, you think of accepting?" Despite the complaints and anger of Conkling, Arthur told him, "The office of Vice President is a greater honor than I have ever dreamed of attaining. I shall accept. In a calmer moment you will look at this differently."

Following the election, Arthur prepared to settle into the quiet role of Vice President during the 19th Century. The Vice President of the United States has only one real Constitutional responsibility -- to preside over the Senate, and even that responsibility is normally delegated to Senators who rotate as presiding officer almost daily. The powerful or even influential American Vice Presidency is a fairly recent evolution, not even 50 years old. While some Vice Presidents were relied upon for advice or counsel or given larger duties than others, most Vice Presidents were so far removed from the Executive Branch that they were not only kept out of the decision-making process but also kept in the dark about certain information. For example, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt died towards the end of World War II in April 1945 and was succeeded by his Vice President, Harry S. Truman, the new President Truman had to be quickly briefed about the existence of the Manhattan Project to develop atomic weaponry. The first Vice President to have an office in the White House was Walter Mondale and that didn't occur until 1977, so in 1881, a Vice President was expected to preside over the Senate on special occasions, cast a tie-breaking vote when necessary, and be available to take the oath of office if the President happened to die or resign.

Like most 19th Century Vice Presidents, Chester Arthur didn't even spend much time in Washington, and he was returning to his regular home in New York City on July 2, 1881 when he stepped off a steamship with Roscoe Conkling and was told that President Garfield had been shot. In fact, the first message that Arthur received erroneously reported that Garfield was already dead and at the request of Garfield's Cabinet, the stunned Vice President immediately returned to Washington, D.C. to proceed with the next steps necessary for maintaining the continuity of government. When Arthur arrived in Washington, President Garfield's condition had improved and his recovery continued to show signs of promise as the Vice President and the nation prayed for him and held vigil throughout the summer. Shaken by rumors that he and his "Stalwart" wing of the Republican Party conspired to assassinate Garfield, Arthur returned home to New York City, hesitant to invite criticism that his continued presence in Washington was merely an eager deathwatch so that he could grab power.

Garfield clung to life for eighty excruciating days with doctors probing him in an effort to remove the bullet in his body, causing infections and leaving the President suffering from blood poisoning which led him to hallucinate at times. The Navy helped rig together an early form of air conditioning in Garfield's White House sickroom in order to give him relief from Washington's stifling summer conditions. When Garfield was taken by train to New Jersey in early-September, it was clear to many that the long vigil was nearly over. More infections set in, along with pneumonia and painful spasms of angina. When the messenger arrived at 123 Lexington Avenue just before midnight on September 20, 1881 to inform Arthur that President Garfield had died just 60 miles away, the new President wasn't surprised, but he also wasn't quite prepared. The nation worried about the lifetime political operative stepping into the position vacated by the promising President assassinated before he could enact the civil service reforms promised in his Inaugural Address. What would Arthur -- the quintessential patronage politician -- do as President? Nobody knew, but Chester Alan Arthur had an idea.

•••

It was fitting that Arthur was surrounded by friends when he took the oath of office at his home in Manhattan at 2:15 AM on September 20, 1881. Arthur's beautiful wife, Nell, died of pneumonia in January 1880 and he was inconsolable for months, regretting for the rest of the life the fact that she never saw his election as Vice President or ascendancy to the Presidency. People who knew Arthur stated that he clearly never fully recovered from her death, and that as a "deeply emotional...romantic person," it was no surprise that he ordered that fresh flowers were placed before her portrait in the White House every day while he was President.

Chester Arthur had a lot of friends. That's what happens when you control as many patronage positions as Arthur controlled for as long as Arthur controlled them. But it wasn't just his political position that gained him friends. Arthur was a great storyteller, a man who loved to hunt and fish, kind, easy-going, charming, graceful, and smooth. During his life he was nicknamed "Elegant Arthur" and is considered one of the most stylish of Presidents. Photographs of Presidents from the 19th Century show us men no different than statues. They dressed the same, they looked the same, and when portrayed in the black and white photos of the time, we feel no differently when we see their pictures than when we see a slab of marble carved in their image. Arthur leaps out of his photographs, however. He was a very large man for his era, standing 6'2" and weighing around 220 pounds during his Presidency. Large muttonchops connected to a bushy mustache and his close-cropped, wavy brown hair seemed to pull back his forehead and place more emphasis on expressive black eyes that easily reflected his moods. While it seems that most Presidents of the 19th Century wore the same boring black suit and black tie like a uniform, Arthur's ties are patterned, his jewelry is visible, collars are crisp, handkerchiefs are folded creatively, and his lapels shine as if they were polished along with his shoes. We see photographs of Arthur in fashionable overcoats, a wide variety of hats, and he employed a personal valet who helped the President change clothes for every occasion and multiple times a day -- he was said to have over 80 pairs of pants.

Most apparent of all is that Arthur was a gentleman -- an interesting man with superb social skills and fastidious manners. Even as one of the top operatives in New York's Republican political machine of the corrupt 1870's, he was nicknamed the "Gentleman Boss." As President, he brought entertainment back to the White House -- something that had been missing on a large scale since before the Civil War twenty years earlier. One of his recent predecessors, Rutherford B. Hayes, was one of the few critics of this development, stating that there was "nothing like it before in the Executive Mansion -- liquor, snobbery, and worse." Arthur also redecorated the White House, hiring Louis Comfort Tiffany to help with the design. To help raise money for the redecoration, Arthur basically held a White House yard sale. On the lawn of the mansion, twenty-four wagons full of history (including a pair of Abraham Lincoln's pants that were left behind in a closet) were sold to citizens. To some, the items were priceless; to President Arthur, they were ugly and a man like Chester Arthur did not live in an ugly home. Several weeks after Garfield died, Arthur got his first look at his new home and quickly stated, "I will not live in a house like this." He didn't end up moving into the White House until three months into his Presidency.

•••

After taking the oath of office at home in Manhattan in the early hours of September 20, 1881, now-President Arthur proceeded to Washington, D.C., stopping in Long Branch, New Jersey to pay respects to the late President Garfield and his grieving family. Once Arthur succeeded to the Presidency upon Garfield's death, there was no Vice President, no president pro tempore of the Senate, and no Speaker of the House because Congress had not elected its leadership yet, thus, there was no Constitutional line of succession. If something had happened to Arthur at that moment, the United States would have faced an unprecedented Constitutional crisis. As his first act as President, Arthur immediately called the Senate into session in order to select their leadership positions and place someone in the line of succession. Upon arriving in Washington, Attorney General Wayne MacVeagh suggested that Arthur take a second oath of office and he did so at the U.S. Capitol on September 22nd in the presence of Garfield's Cabinet, members of Congress, Supreme Court Justices, and former Presidents Grant and Hayes.

Americans worried about the former machine politician's integrity were transformed quickly as Chester Arthur underwent somewhat of a transformation himself. Widely considered a lapdog of New York's Roscoe Conkling, Arthur broke ranks with the party boss and pushed for the same civil service reform championed by James Garfield prior to the assassination. Arthur's former associates in the New York Republican Party were disappointed when he declined their requests for political favors. One former colleague sadly reported, "He isn't 'Chet' Arthur anymore. He's the President." Arthur found that the transformation was almost automatic and out of his control, noting that "Since I came here I have learned that Chester A. Arthur is one man and the President of the United States is another." His old benefactor, Conkling, was one critic of the new President, complaining "I have but one annoyance with the Administration of President Arthur and that is, in contrast with it, the Administration of Hayes becomes respectable, if not heroic." Arthur signed the Pendleton Act in 1883 which created a modern civil service system and eliminated the spoils system that had long dominated American politics. The reform, which Conkling called "snivel service" was the final break between the longtime friends and colleagues.

To the American people, the great surprise of the Arthur Administration was the fact that it was clean, honest, and efficient. Arthur helped lift the gloomy moods that had shadowed Washington through the Civil War, Lincoln's assassination, Andrew Johnson's Impeachment, Reconstruction, the corruption of the Gilded Age, and Garfield's assassination. His popularity rose throughout his term and most critics focused on his lavish entertainment or the fact that he was notoriously late for meetings and seemed bored or lethargic at times. He often procrastinated -- as a White House clerk once said, "President Arthur never did today what he could put off until tomorrow." Still, most Americans were happy with President Arthur and echoed the thoughts of Mark Twain who said, "I am but one in 55 million; still, in the opinion of those one-fifty-five-millionth of the country's population, it would be hard to better President Arthur's Administration."

He was bored, though. President Arthur didn't like being President. He enjoyed the entertaining dinners that he could throw and loved public events or ceremonies that allowed him to meet the people of the United States, but the desk work was tedious and he wasn't interested in policy. Arthur stayed up late and seemed to vacation often, which perplexed many people because it was said that he was constantly exhausted. What they didn't know was that from almost the time he became President, Chester Arthur was dying. In 1882, he was diagnosed with Bright's disease, a fatal kidney ailment at the time. Despite reports that he was suffering from the disease, Arthur hid it from the public, desperately protecting his privacy, as always. Arthur's distaste for the Presidency probably stemmed in part from depression triggered by the Bright's disease. At times, Arthur suffered from debilitating illness and it was always covered with a story about the President catching a cold during a fishing trip or spending too much time in the sun while hunting. In a letter to his son Alan in 1883, the President confided, "I have been so ill that I have hardly been able to dispose of the...business before me."

Despite his popularity, Republican leaders opposed Arthur's nomination as President in his own right in 1884. The man who opposed it most, however, was the President himself, who stated "I do not want to be re-elected." Not only was he disinterested in a second term, but he knew very well that there was a possibility he might not even survive to the end of his current term. He did, and after attending the inauguration of his successor, Grover Cleveland, on March 4, 1885, Arthur returned home to New York City where his health rapidly declined. The former President was aware that he was dying and made plans for a relatively quiet retirement, deciding to practice law, but doing very little work due to his health. When asked about his future, Arthur said, "There doesn't seem anything for an ex-President to do but to go out in the country and raise big pumpkins." On November 16, 1886, Arthur suffered a stroke that paralyzed his left side. Gravely ill, he called his son to his bedside the day before his death and had all of his public and private papers stuffed into trash cans and burned. On November 18, 1886, the 57-year-old former President died in the same place he became President just five years earlier, 123 Lexington Avenue in New York City. After a quiet funeral at the Church of Heavenly Rest on Fifth Avenue in New York, Arthur's remains were buried next to his beloved wife at Rural Cemetery in Albany, New York.

•••

When President Arthur had many of his personal papers burned prior to his death, he eliminated one of the best sources of information for future historians. With a thin resume and a fairly uneventful Presidency, there wasn't much public information about his career, either. This leaves us with very little to remember Chester Alan Arthur by. Research on his life -- particularly his personal life -- is difficult, and Arthur would have appreciated that. During his Presidency, leaders of the temperance movement called on Arthur and urged him to follow the non-alcoholic lifestyle led by President Hayes and his teetotaler wife, who was known as "Lemonade Lucy."

Arthur's response: "Madam, I may be President of the United States, but my private life is nobody's damn business."

And so it isn't.

[kyriethesquishysquid]

Betrayal Never Felt So Good (König/Fem!Reader) Chapter 2

You can find Chapter 1 here, Chapter 3 here, Chapter 4 here, Chapter 5 here, and Chapter 6 here!

Word count: ~6.5k

Rating: Mature

A/N: Use of Y/N and Y/L/N. Appearance of a feral and jealous Possesive!König. We get plot but no smut in this one, with some angst, feelings, murder, and comfort on top! Reader really just needs a hug right now. Reader is also morally grey and morally questionable. Continued COD and military inaccuracies galore. Don’t shoot me for not writing out any combat scenes please - I’m a smut/fluff/angst author, action is outside of my wheelhouse lol. Once again written in less than 24 hours so please forgive any mistakes!

TW: Non-consensual drugging, emotional manipulation, body shaming, and attempted assault from asshole #2. Cold-blooded murder (but done for “good” reasons so it’s fine right?). Canon violence toward others by König, hints at stalking, hurt/comfort. Pet names (in English and German), bad German translations bc I’m still a lame monolingual American, and STILL no beta because we die like jackass Graves.

Crappy Translations:

Ungeziefer - Vermin

Maus - Mouse

Mein schatz - My darling

Meine leibling - My love

Scheiße - shit

It had been two whole months since your “rescue” from KorTac and not a day had gone by where you didn’t spend it thinking of König. That man plagued your mind worse than anyone ever had before. Which was stupid, considering you knew next to nothing about him, except that he treated you like a princess and fucked you like a whore. Oh and that he was the colonel of a “technically” enemy faction and your relationship would be seen as treason. And yet, he was the first man you’d had any sort of connection to in years. The only one who seemed to know everything you needed and wanted by intuition alone, and you craved the opportunity to explore that connection further. 

You tried to think of some way to reach out to him but there was never a plausible avenue. You didn’t know his real name so finding him online, if he even had an online presence, would be impossible. You couldn’t very well ask Graves if he had any information on him either, lest you get fired, or worse, murdered, seeing as the Commander did not have a reputation for being understanding.

 As the hamster wheel in your brain spun round and round, your thoughts grew more desperate and unhinged. It wasn’t too much longer before your contract with Shadow Company was up anyway. You were heavily considering seeing if KorTac would take you after, which you felt crazy about, but you weren’t sure what else to do. Logic just didn’t seem to play well with your thoughts about König and it was driving you insane to not be in control of yourself.

You could only turn off your constant barrage of emotion when you were knee-deep in patients or allowed out onto the field to provide care; though even that had been happening less. “Don’t want to chance triggering a PTSD episode”, Graves had said. And yet, despite thinking it couldn’t get worse, life had decided to throw you another curveball. It came when you were given your first mission in weeks, being called across countries with a small team of specialists to Russia to protect a diplomat and his family while they were in the country. That wasn’t the bad part though. Oh no. You could handle travel and a safe mission for once. The part that tied your stomach into knots was the fact you were going to be serving along with KorTac. It took everything in you not to show the emotions you felt in the moment Graves had told you that, while the last time you’d seen the KorTac colonel flashing through your thoughts like a movie. 

-

The shouting in the quiet bunker was your first sign something was wrong. At first, you tried to ignore it, snuggling closer into the big human-shaped heater against you but then there was a gunshot, and that got you both up. Instinctively, you knew what was happening before even stepping foot out of the room. 

“They’re here, aren’t they?” you whispered.

An overwhelming sense of panic filled your chest as you clasped his hands tight, unsure of what you were supposed to do.

“Stay here,” he instructed you as he quickly crossed the room to his dresser, gearing up in a hurry. 

“What? No! You can’t go out there! What if they hurt you?!” you snapped back. 

König shot you a bemused look as he tightened his vest. 

“They can try, mein schatz, but they will not succeed.”

While his cockiness was certainly attractive and you knew he could hold his own in fights, there was now a part of you that worried and ached at the thought of him getting hurt. Before he could leave, you caught his wrist and jerked him back to you, smashing your mouth against his. 

“Be safe.”

-

“Y/L/N!”

The pain of being ripped from such a powerful memory was enough to make you stumble, nearly falling into the last man you wanted to see at that moment; Daniel Carter, your “savior” from König and KorTac. It took all the power in your body not to frown at the brunette smugly grinning down at you. 

“Yes, sir?” you finally asked. 

“You gonna get in?” 

He gestured to the plane and you quickly stepped into the cabin, a hot blush coating your face as you walked down the aisle to find a seat near the exit but still far enough to not be at the very end. Your fear of flying wasn’t something you had to face often thankfully but, when you did, it was a tough beast to battle. Fortunately, your mind was easily swayed into other worries when you watched the rest of the teams climb onto the plane. One by one, they found a seat, until the last member boarded, his figure dominating the entire space with his six-foot-eight presence. You couldn’t help but watch as he walked by. Gods, he was even bigger than you remembered. The sway of his hips and spread of his gait as he walked left nothing to the imagination, and you found yourself staring unbearably hard at his thick ass and thighs until he sat down on the other end. 

Fuck, this was going to be harder than you thought. Your heart had felt afloat water in stormy seas ever since the moment you’d seen him waiting with his team this morning. At first, seeing him made you feel like you were finally able to breathe again, but the way he pointedly avoided your presence dragged you back down into the suffocating depths of turmoil. You’d hoped it was just a show for the others around you, but then it became clear that your hopes were for naught. Twice you’d tried to get him alone, practically begged him to talk to you, only to be treated as if you didn’t even exist.  

A tightness that had nothing to do with your fear of flying squeezed at your heart as your eyes dropped to your feet. Doubts began to pile up like a car crash. Maybe you were stupider than you realized. Maybe those nights had meant nothing to him. Maybe you were just another stupid conquest who had the gall to believe someone as high-ranked and enigmatic as König would actually want more than an easy lay. And, fuck, had you made it easy. Some nice words, a few sweet gestures, and a voice that made your brain melt, and you were putty in his hands.

Lips tilting down, you leaned back against the stiff seat and let out a long sigh. Maybe if you hit your head hard enough on the wall you’d break something, or at least get a concussion bad enough to be sent home.

“What’s up, toots?” Daniel asked, tapping his boot against yours.

You managed a half-assed smile and muttered, “Hate flying.” 

He grinned and leaned over just enough to nudge your shoulder with his. It was minimal contact but it was enough to make your stomach hurt. While Daniel seemed nice enough, you’d been privy to too many conversations he and his buddies had when they thought they were alone in the medbay or canteen. While some of the absolutely disgusting things he’d said were enough to make you wary, most of your ire came from him being the one to sneak you out of König’s room. 

“You’re a strong gal, you’ve got this. Just take some deep breaths,” he instructed slowly, “Here, gimme your hand.”

Before you could politely decline, he snagged your hand in his and wrapped your smaller fingers around his palm. 

“Lean back, close your eyes, take deep breaths, and squeeze if you need.”

Just the thought of being that vulnerable in his presence, or really any of the men around you,  made your skin crawl. But honestly, what else did you have to do at this point? It was about an hour flight and your mind wasn’t in a good place. 

Giving him a little nod, you did as instructed and let your head fall back once more. After the first few breaths, you had to admit some of the tension was dying down. 

“There you go. Atta girl.”

Fuck. Your heart lurched against your ribs as his words threw you into a very heated memory that you most certainly didn’t need right then - the way König praised you for taking his cock so well, how his lips brushed your ear as he said such sinfully beautiful words as his hands caressed your skin. Face warming, you tried to clear your head again, only to get disrupted by the sound of heavy feet stopping in front of you. 

“Can I help you with something, sir?” Daniel asked, something akin to fear in his tone. 

Who could he have been afraid of? Most everyone here was on good terms, or so you thought. 

“Is there something that we need to know before we land?” 

König. Jolting upright, you gaped up at him in disbelief as he stood there stiffly, arms crossed across his chest and eyes pinning Daniel down in earnest. God, that shouldn’t have been hot. You were supposed to be hurt, pissed at him, and yet the fire in his eyes as he stared down the other man was nothing more than primal.

“U-Uh, I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” Daniel stammered out.

You quickly jerked your hand from his and noticed that finally- FINALLY- those deep blues were focused on you for the first time all day. 

“We cannot afford to have any distractions out there. I will ask again, is there something that we need to prepare for? Will your attention be divided?” König bit out.

It wasn’t painfully obvious but you could hear a slight inflection, almost anger, filtering through his tone. 

“No, sir,” you retorted stiffly, “Private Carter was helping me with my fear of flying.”

“Correct, sir,” Daniel agreed quickly.

König let out a snide hmm before strolling back down the aisle to his seat. It wasn’t until he was fully sat that you relaxed in your seat. 

“What the fuck…This is awkward, right?” Daniel whispered, “I mean, it’s weird for me but I can’t imagine how weird it is for you.” 

Playing dumb, your eyes cut to him curiously and you asked, “What do you mean?” 

He gestured weakly toward König and the rest of his team, and then at you. 

“They quite literally kidnapped you a couple of months ago,” he muttered, “They killed a group of our men and were actively fighting against our mission, and now we’re expected to just get along with them?” 

The guy had a point. Sighing heavily, you shrugged and leaned back. 

“Yeah, it’s weird, but we do what we gotta do, right?” you murmured.

If only he knew the real reason for your discomfort. Eyes flicking up to the bare metal ceiling, you said a silent prayer that once you were on the ground, you wouldn’t have to be in König’s presence anymore. It wouldn’t do to be distracted, and lord knows you would be. 

“Try to rest,” Daniel said suddenly, “I’ll wake you when we land.” 

Any thoughts of arguing were wiped from your mind when the cabin shuddered through turbulence. With a shaky inhale, you closed your eyes and started counting back from one hundred. Even if you didn’t fall asleep, it would help with your endless anxiety.

…

“Alright, you’re good to go. Just try to stay off of it as much as possible until we leave tomorrow. Those painkillers will help the pain but the ligaments still need time to repair,” you sighed with a weak smile.

“Just glad it’s not broken,” he laughed nervously, “It’d suck for my first real injury to be caused by tripping in the dirt rather than by combat,” 

You snickered in agreement at that. That would be one sad story.

“Remember, ice, elevation, and painkillers!” you called as he exited the room with a wave. 

Turning back to your laptop, you started the final charting on the private’s file but it wasn’t long before you were distracted by someone entering the room. Dread filled the pit in your stomach when they didn’t instantly speak. So far you hadn’t seen König more than once or twice in passing this past week and you’d hate to break that streak right before you got to go home. 

“Hey, Y/N, why don’t you head out for the night? I’ve got things covered here!”

Relief practically oozed from your pores as you heard the familiar voice of one of KorTac’s medical staff. Spinning around in the wheely chair, you found the redhead already opening her own laptop at the other desk. 

“You sure?” you asked.

“Of course! You let me sleep in and took the first half of my shift, it’s only fair I let you out early,” she teased kindly. 

Leaving early meant the possibility of running into the silent colonel, but it also meant you could actually enjoy the last night in the city. While it was a smaller area, it apparently had a decent nightlife, or so Daniel said. He’d caught you before your shift and practically begged you to join him and some of the guys out for drinks at the local bar to celebrate a job well done. You’d thought he was going to cry when you told him you worked late and couldn’t join. 

“Girl, go! Shoo! I’ve got this.”

Flashing her a smile, you nodded and gathered up your things. 

“Okay, fine, you win,” you groaned in faux frustration, “I’ll leave you be.” 

She shot you a mock salute and turned dutifully to her laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as she began to check charts. With one last nod, you grabbed your bag and hurried out into the hall. It was only eight thirty and the guys were going out around nine, so you had just enough time to change into something more sociable. 

The instant you were in your room, you wasted no time digging through your duffle bag until you found a semi-decent outfit. Most of your clothes were for work but you liked to keep a few nicer things on hand for occasions such as this. After pairing a cute black peekaboo sweater with a pair of fitted dark-wash jeans that framed your thick thighs and ass perfectly, you slipped on your only non-work shoes- a pair of black ankle booties. From there, you hastily fixed your hair and put on a quick bit of makeup before rushing out the door. 

It felt weird to admit you were kind of excited to hang out with Daniel and the others tonight. You’d never really been included much in things back home, being medical staff and not one of the “boys”, but ever since being here for the mission, Daniel had made it his primary objective to make sure to check in on you multiple times a day. A strange little friendship was budding and, somehow, you didn’t hate the idea. He’d been nothing less than kind, and now that you weren’t completely hung up on the colonel, you were losing your biggest reason for disliking him. 

“Y/N! Whoa!” 

Daniel’s yelp caught you off guard and you couldn’t stop the blush that formed when you saw the way multiple pairs of eyes raked up and down your form. 

“Damn, you clean up nice, Y/L/N,” another private, Chad you think it was, said from beside Daniel. 

“Uh, thanks,” you replied awkwardly, “So… bar?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel said with a grin, “Hope you don’t mind but we’re walking because it’s only two blocks away!”

Nodding in understanding, you joined the group of five with a little smile, trying your hardest to keep your nerves at bay. It was chilly out. Nothing too horrible, but it made you glad you’d had the foresight to wear something warm since you had to walk in it. 

“Hey, you know, Chad was right,” Daniel said quietly when he dropped to the back of the group with you, “You look incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than work attire.”

Damn it. It was much easier to hate him when he was acting more creepy and you were under the illusion he’d ruined your love life. Now… Now it was almost too easy to like him.

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” you answered, “You look nice too! Never seen you dressed down either.” 

It wasn’t a lie. Daniel wasn’t a bad-looking guy, maybe a bit plain with short brown hair styled in the regulation cut, nice green eyes, and a big smile, but definitely not bad. It was just that your thoughts were always flittering around the almost seven-foot beast of a man in comparison and no one could compare to that. 

The pink that dusted his cheeks only served to make him cuter and you were nearly groaning in frustration at the thoughts filtering through your mind. No. There was no way you were going to give in to those thoughts. It was just the pain of König ignoring you and the human need for attention making you think that way, you were almost certain. 

“Ah, we’re here!” 

The music from the bar was audible from the outside and it only got worse once you stepped in. He hadn’t been lying when he said there was a thriving nightlife. The small bar was packed to the gills, with just enough room to move around and get to the bar, bathrooms, or dance floor. 

“Come on, I’ll buy you your first drink!” he shouted over the music. 

Aw shit. You knew where that was going to lead. Before you could decline his offer, he snagged your wrist and nearly dragged you to the bar. You were given no choice but to order your favorite drink when he demanded so and the bartender stared you down with a less-than-patient glare. True to his word, he paid for your drink, and then instantly dragged you through the crowd without a word. Daniel led you everywhere like you were some lost puppy who needed direction. From the bar to the table, and then to the dance floor, you weren’t given a single choice in the matter up to the point of him practically pouring your drink down your throat. 

Said action didn’t fly over well, the liquor bitter and stinging down your throat so quickly you had to reflexively cough to avoid aspirating. 

“Jesus, fuck, calm down,” you snapped at him once you caught your breath. 

“I just wanna make sure you can loosen up and have fun,” he replied with an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry. I.. I just don’t want you to fall behind or anything.”

You couldn’t contain your eye-roll as you gave into the puppy dog eyes and made a show of taking another drink. 

“There, happy?” you asked. 

“Definitely, come on, let’s dance!” 

The irritation over his actions was soon forgotten as you gave in to the beat of the music and joined in the writhing bodies on the floor. It didn’t take long to get drawn into the moment, the alcohol and music a powerful combination that brought out the serotonin you didn’t know you needed. Song after song passed and soon enough you found yourself in Daniel’s arms. It was almost nice, to let the stress of the past few months flow away and focus on only the here and now. 

“I didn’t know you could move like this,” Daniel said into your ear as his arms wrapped around your waist.

The graze of his lips across your skin sent shivers down your spine and you instinctively arched into his touch as his hands slid further down your sides. 

“I don’t get the chance to dance much,” you admitted meekly.

“That’s a shame. You’ll have to let me drag you out more often because it’s a damn sexy sight.”

A giggle escaped before you could stop it. Damn it. His flirting wasn’t funny! 

“Mmmhmm, sure,” you retorted cheekily, “You’re like the only one who thinks that.” 

He quickly spun you around, fast enough that the world went wonky and you had to grab onto him for balance, and it sent chills through your body. 

“Whoa, that- oh my,” you gasped. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” 

There was a look of concern on his face as you felt your knees weaken. Panic sent your heart racing but you couldn’t focus enough to figure out why. Something just felt… wrong. 

“Maybe you’re dehydrated. Why don’t you finish the rest of your drink?” he urged. 

Shaking your head, you managed to mumble out, “Alcohol won’t fix dehydration. It’ll actually make it worse.”

“Well, it’s worth a try, come on.”

When he pushed the cup to your lips again, some semblance of your brain came back online and you pushed instinctively it away. The ugly curve of his downturned lips told a terrifying story. Was he- Was he trying to drug you?! Clenching your eyes shut tight, you tried to sort through your memories and recall the symptoms of being drugged to compare to your current ailments.

“Damn it, just take the fucking drink. I spent ten dollars on this fancy shit,” he grunted lowly. 

Eyes popping open, you caught his furious glare and instantly everything clicked. The reason he was so intent on you coming out tonight, how he handled the drink all the way to the floor, his insistence to drink the alcohol. 

“You- You prick,” you bit out. 

Thankfully, you hadn’t drunk more than those first two gulps. Whatever he’d laced the liquor with likely wasn’t at its full potential, and yet you were still feeling the effects. Just what the fuck had he given you?

“Y/N, what are you-”

With all your strength, you pushed him and luckily managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying back into the group behind him. You didn’t wait to see if he got back to his feet before you took the chance to escape. It was like a psychedelic maze, trying to escape the packed dance floor with your heart racing and your eyes swimming. Eventually, you made it out, and you instantly left the bar. 

The cold night air tore a gasp from your lungs when it hit your skin but it was more than welcomed. Your body felt like it was on fire, sweat rolling down your back and forehead as if you’d just been vigorously working out. The chill helped to clear your thoughts some. 

“Okay, I can do this, it’s just two blocks,” you murmured to yourself. 

For a minute, you considered calling for help from one of your squadmates, but your gut cautioned you otherwise. These soldiers were close, dangerously close. There was a good chance they’d just help him cover it up if you tried. A weak sigh left your lips as tears flooded your gaze. You wished you would have just stayed at work. You wished you hadn’t gone against your initial judgment of that asshole. You wish you were home, safe and sound in bed. Most of all, you wished you could call König to come save you. How ironic that you were looking to the man Daniel had “rescued” you from to come rescue you from him now. 

“Where do you think you’re going, bitch?!” 

A big hand snagged your wrist and pulled you to a stop so suddenly that your shoulder popped audibly, pain shooting through the joint as you collapsed back against him. 

“Daniel, please- I-”

“Uh-uh, nope. You’re not talking me out of this,” he hissed.

Despite using your entire weight to pull against him, he was able to drag you down a nearby dark alley with ease. Pain exploded through the back of your skull when he slammed you into the brick wall with a grunt and you nearly collapsed.

“Fuck!” you yelped, hand instinctively touching the throbbing spot to check for blood.

“You don’t fucking get it, do you? I was the one who located their base. I was the one who led the team in and took out as many of those dumb fucks as possible. I was the one to save your miserable ass, and what did I get for it? Nothing more than a fucking “thanks” and a shitty attitude. I waited for you to come around but you never fucking did,” he snarled, palm slapping the brick beside your face with a grunt, “When Graves suggested we bring medics along, I knew it would be my best chance of getting you alone. You’re such a stuck-up whore at home that you don’t ever go out with us. But here, I knew I could convince you. All it took was some kindness for your fat ass to fold. Can’t reckon you get much attention, so I’m not that surprised.” 

Disgust and shame reared its ugly head in your chest as you let your eyes drop from the angry vision of his face. Instead, you stared intently at the pocket of his white polo. 

“Now, you’re going to do what you should have done long ago, and you’re going to thank me for saving you. Get on your fucking knees and if you even think of using teeth I’ll put a round in your head so fast that-”

You stopped, mid-decent to the concrete when Daniel went flying. As he slammed into the ground, a hulking shadow followed him in earnest. It took your brain some time to figure out what was happening, but then you heard a familiar voice snarling in German. Slowly, the details of his form solidified in your gaze, and you sagged in relief. 

“Pray to your god while you’ve got the chance, ungeziefer!” König barked loudly.

A pained screech filled the air and made your stomach twist. 

“ König?!” Daniel groaned, “What the-? Why?!”

“You’re quite simple, aren’t you?” König snapped back with a humorless laugh, “Take one guess.”  

You watched the way Daniel’s head popped up, a look of disbelief clear in his eyes as he stared up at the giant before turning to you. Even through the lingering haze of the drugs, you could clearly make out the terror on his face and a sick part of you felt thrilled that he was experiencing even a modicum of the fear he’d pushed onto you. 

“I- I didn’t know,” he panted through frantic gasps, “I wouldn’t have-!” 

Daniel’s weak croak was silenced by a brutal kick to the face. The crunch of bone and cartilage sent chills down your spine and you couldn’t but absentmindedly think about how badly that would heal… if he even made it out of there. 

König rolled him over with a boot to the gut and crouched down above him, his voice just barely loud enough for you to hear. 

“Even if she wasn’t mine, you don’t get to touch her in that way. Unfortunately for you, she is mine. You’re just lucky I don’t have the time to drag this out. The things I would do to you…”

His words lit a fire in your stomach, misplaced lust and satisfaction filling your chest despite the gruesome scene before you. There was a rapid-fire battle going on in your mind, between the lawful good instinct to stop König and the chaotic righteousness to let him beat the hell out of Daniel. It wasn’t until the glint of a blade pierced through the dark, reflecting the weak fluorescent light behind them, that reality finally set in. This wasn’t going to be a fight. This was going to be a slaughter. König was going to kill someone over you!

“No, don’t! König, wait!” 

Your pleas fell on deaf ears. Before you could even blink, he was knelt on Daniel’s back, jerking the smaller man’s head up by the hair only to sink the knife into his ribs repeatedly, ending it with a vicious slash across his throat. It was awful and astonishing. A man of his size shouldn’t be that quick. While you’d seen him take out five of your team alone, that was with a gun. This was different. This was personal. 

Licking your dry lips, you watched with wide eyes as König got up from his position and turned your way. Something between fear and excitement quickened your breaths as he stalked your way, slowly, wiping the blood from his blade before shoving it back into his pocket

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you murmured. 

“And let him live after knowing what he was going to do to you? I think not,” he growled back lowly.

The instant you were within reach, a hand was around your throat, gentle but commanding as he pulled you into him. 

“He’s lucky I didn’t make him clean his guts up off the floor,” he hissed.

“Oh.”

Before you could react, he crouched and lifted you up onto his waist. Brick bit into your back through your sweater as he pinned you against it, making you gasp as his mouth devoured yours. 

“Mine,” he growled fervently. 

His hips ground roughly into the apex of your thighs and stole your breath as a wave of pleasure scorched through your belly. Holy fuck, he was already rock-hard. A pathetic whimper escaped your mouth into him when his teeth bit into your lip hard and you couldn’t resist scraping your nails along the nape of his neck. 

 “Nobody gets to touch you except me, got it?”

Your eyes rolled back at the rasp in his voice, the thinly veiled need peeking through in a taunt.

“Yeah, but… Hey! König, wait, please!”

A little growl emanated through his chest as you pushed on him, but he easily relented, drawing away to catch your flustered gaze with half-lidded eyes. 

“What is it, maus?” he asked.

“We can’t just- What- How the fuck are we gonna explain this?” you retorted, panic slowly filtering through your lust-hazed mind, “My god. You’re gonna get in trouble! I can’t- I can’t let you get hurt for protecting me! We have to do something! Maybe we can-”

Your rambling was quickly silenced with a hand over your mouth, the weight of his body leaning more into you, providing a sense of comfort almost like a weighted blanket. 

“Calm down, meine leibling,” he shushed warmly, “Take a deep breath and relax. Everything is going to be fine, I promise you.” 

Tears blurred your vision as you looked from him to Daniel and back to him, only to find his eyes hungrily tracing your form. Even in the current situation, you couldn’t deny the heat it caused. And then it was gone, the furrow of his brow conveying that anger once more when he released your mouth. 

“What did you think you were doing anyway, coming here with him?”

You couldn’t help but recoil, grimacing as your head hit the wall in the same tender spot, until he forced your face up by your chin. There was so much fury residing in his gaze that your heart squirmed in pain. It hurt worse than anything to see that judgment and anger directed at you. Was he really going to blame you?

“Maus, I said, what did you think you were-”

“Well, I sure as fuck didn’t think I was coming out to get raped!” you spat back finally, unbidden tears spilling down your cheeks, “I thought- I thought I was- was with friends. I-I didn’t think-”

When he pulled you into his chest, the damn broke fully. Sobs poured from your shaking form as you wrapped yourself around him and breathed him in. You cried over the betrayal from your teammate. You cried at how close you came to being assaulted by another horrible person, the fact that König had saved you twice now. You cried over how much you’d missed him, over how happy you were to hear he still had some kind of emotion for you; no matter how demented it might be. 

“I had a bad feeling about him,” he bit out after a moment, “When I saw you leave with them, I just knew. I’m sorry it took so long to get out here to you, schatz. If I had been quicker-”

You shook your head frantically and whimpered, “You were just in time.” 

He hummed quietly, hand cradling the nape of your neck as he murmured little soothing words against your hair. You don’t know how long you stood there like that but eventually, your limbs started to ache from the position. When you pulled away from him, he put you down gently but didn’t let you retreat fully, hands cupping your face tenderly while he wiped away your tears. 

“I don’t enjoy seeing you cry like this,” he sighed. 

Something about that triggered that subdued anger in the back of your mind, waking the beast from slumber. Anger was easier to handle than sadness. How dare he stand here and comfort you, hold you like this, when hours ago he couldn’t even look you in the eye! 

Nose wrinkling in frustration, you stepped back and wrapped your arms around yourself as the lack of his warmth hit hard. The hurt that passed through his eyes nearly made you collapse back into his arms but you knew you couldn’t- not yet, not until you had answers. 

“Why?” you finally asked.

“Why, wha-”

“Why did you act like I didn’t exist? I spent the last two months driving myself fucking crazy, pining over you and what could have been, only to get treated like I was nothing more than dirt on your boot the next time I saw you!”

He tried to talk but you cut him off swiftly. No way were you done with him. Shoving a finger into his oh-so-glorious pec, you stepped closer with all the rage you could muster in your glare. In another light, it probably would have been hilarious to see someone of your short stature intimidating the giant man.

“If I was just some fucking notch in your bedpost, you could have said that! You didn’t have to act like there was something more. You have to know how hot you are. I would have fucked you even without you tricking me like that. But no, you had to make me feel special, make it feel like there was more than just my body on the line, and then you have the nerve to get mad at me for seeking out platonic companionship in my teammates?! You dare claim that I’m yours?! No, no, you don’t get to do that!”

The instant your rant ended, one hand cupped the back of your head and the other shoved you back against the wall, the impact cushioned by his hand before he boxed you in on either side. And fuck, you shouldn’t have found that hot but god it was. The way he instinctively protected you, acted like he cared, towered over you in a way that just screamed dominance and power.

“Don’t you dare say those things. There hasn’t been one moment that I haven’t thought about you, that I wasn’t looking out for you from afar, mein schatz,” he said sternly.

“Then why-”

“Because I couldn’t risk anyone figuring out what had happened between us!” he snapped with a huff, “If anyone knew you had stayed with me willingly, your life would be in danger, and I knew if I spoke to you, I would break. How could I not? I’m only so strong, meine liebe. Did you really think it was easy for me to do that? That I didn’t want to scoop you up in my arms the moment you walked through that door? That it didn’t break my heart when I watched the hope leave your eyes?! I hated myself every- single- second.” 

Swallowing hard, you couldn’t force out any kind of answer. Distrust held your heart in a stronghold but his words were slowly chipping it away, the passion in his voice worming its way under your skin. 

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. You don’t even understand. Scheiße, I put so much time and effort into finally meeting you, and then somehow… somehow, I lucked out. I  got a taste of what I’d wanted for so long,” he paused, thumb gently stroking that sweet spot below your ear as his eyes searched your face, “And it was more than I could have ever hoped for, only to have you ripped away at the last moment.”

His words settled heavily around you and, as their significance soaked into your brain, you could only stare at him in confusion. He… had known of you before you met? You knew they’d gathered intel on your team before the attack, but… he'd seen enough to want to see you?

“What do you mean?” you asked softly. 

His silence was loud, louder than you could handle and the guilt in his eyes sent a shiver up your spine.

“König,” you urged, “What- What do you mean?” 

German spewed suddenly from his lips, angry and frantic as he began to pace in place, and it only served to make that anxiety nestle deeper in your belly.  

“Damn it! Talk to me!” you cried. 

When he spun around, you tripped over yourself in shock trying to back away from the fury in his glare. Fortunately, or possibly unfortunately, he caught you before you could actually fall, but he didn’t let you go even once you were balanced.

“There’s no way to make this sound good,” he breathed quietly. 

Eyebrows shooting up in disbelief, you retorted, “Yeah, well, it can’t be worse than leaving me guessing at all the horrible things you could mean!” 

“I need you to promise me you won’t run, that you’ll let me explain.” 

While you wanted to hear him out, you weren’t sure how well you would handle whatever it was. There was also the issue of your dead teammate less than five meters away. Everything in your heart and mind was torn into a million little pieces of focus and it was all too much. You had to pick one problem at a time to deal with.  

Looking over at Daniel’s still form, you pressed your lips into a thin line. 

“What the hell do we do about him?” you asked. 

You weren’t lying earlier when you said you were worried for König. He had a lot of power, but straight up murdering one of Graves’ men out of battle and, even worse while allied, was beyond reason. That was a death sentence. 

König froze up, almost as if he’d forgotten about the whole reason you were there, and let out a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll call it in and have Horangi take care of it,” he muttered, “For now, come back to my room with me. Everyone should be out right now.” 

Why did that sound so inviting, so perfect? Fantasies of being able to touch him again, cuddle with him once more, plagued your thoughts until the weight of his admission came crashing back down. You couldn’t help but stare at him as his words reverberated in your head. It was clearer than ever that you knew nothing about this man, and yet you couldn't stop the way your heart fluttered when he slipped his fingers between yours, nor the way you felt content in following him out of the alley. Despite it all, under the fear and the uncertainty, that fatal attraction to him was still burning strong. When he wrapped his arm around you and slipped you under his jacket to protect you against the blustering winds, it felt too much like home. 

Just what the fuck were you supposed to do now?

[cursed-40k-thoughts]

Just going off the vibes I get alone I think tau should basically be portrayed as the British empire

While I get the gist of your notion what with the annexing and assimilating... no, I don't agree.

The signature thing the T'au do is put up a front of diplomatic inroads, usually trade or medical relief or general assistance and political interaction, and then use that as an avenue to introduce more and more of their forces and culture and ideals to a non-integrated populace/world whilst passively using all their ships and suits as a show of force. Even if that populace/world is difficult, provided that violence is kept to like... a controllable level, the T'au aren't inclined to explode into warfare.

Now, obviously, by today's standards, this is still very bad. We understand what they're doing is colonisation, but the key difference between the T'au and the British Empire is that T'au colonisation aims to be as bloodless as possible, and takes a vested interest in communicating with and learning about the people they're trying to assimilate, so as to show the doctrines of the Greater Good to them in a way that resonates more effectively.

The British Empire didn't give a single fuck about the ins and outs of cultural integration. The British Empire didn't invade new places with the intent to be as tactful as possible, or to induce amalgamation through politicking and implicit threat. The British Empire wanted to go to other places, take possession of all their shit, kill/torture anyone who disagreed, and then fill all the gaps created by these murders with upstanding white British people.

You know the bits of the Horus Heresy early on where the Imperium is "bringing order" to "savage"/"degenerate"/"heathen" worlds by giving them one opportunity to accept being part of the war machine, then siccing thousands of bloodthirsty soldiers on them if they refused, and then graciously accepting them into the Emperor's fold? That's the British Empire.

[rhpotter]

Because I feel like screaming into the void that is this hellsite today ....

I keep seeing commentary here and elsewhere from leftists, usually young leftists. They blame Biden for what Israel is doing to Gaza. They say they won't vote for Biden because he won't stop what Israel is doing to Gaza. They scream about how Biden is a fascist because he's willing to send money to Israel, while Israel is killing civilians in Gaza.

Let's get the obvious out of the way. What Israel is doing in Gaza is horrific, inhuman, and I have no doubt constitutes war crimes on a massive scale.

Now, go ahead, tell me. How is the U.S. supposed to get Israel to stop?

They're a sovereign country. Why the hell would they do what we tell them to?

They have a hard-right Prime Minister who needs to keep his job in order to avoid going to jail. He's basically their version of Trump. You think Trump would have listened to another country telling him not to do something?

Sure, we can cut off aid. Then what? Israel wants U.S. money, but it doesn't NEED it. It can survive without it, and it can survive without the U.S. as an ally - it's spent the last 80 years making sure of that. And if we stop selling them weapons, I can think of a couple countries willing to step up and sell them whatever they want. Biden has been putting conditions on proposed aid and U.S. arms sales to Israel for pretty much the first time in history. He's been putting the screws to Netenyahu's government in almost every diplomatic avenue possible. Also, that proposed aid package for Israel? A BIG reason that Israel money was even in there was to try and get Republicans on board with the *other*, larger parts of the aid package - like the aid to Ukraine and to Taiwan.

Now you may disagree with how he's doing this, or think Biden should just take the U.S. ball (aid) and go home. Then what? You think that actually solves anything? You think that helps the Palestinians in Gaza? You think Israel's actually going to stop? Or do you just want him to do it because it makes you feel better and then you can stop thinking about it? Serious question here. People want Biden to stop Israel. Tell me how. If you actually want to understand what's going on and what the solutions might really be, this is a good place to start: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOFdG87ZJgE https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvKMbZGbH7U&list=PLKG4P0uu-XSej2c3SALLEXyxT-j7YwCJ5&index=11&pp=iAQB