#i kept getting messages from them until i stopped giving into the rage bait and (i think) finally blocked all their sock puppets

[comicbookddr]

that bman anon needs to leave people ALONE!

[bookishofalder]

I’ll just leave it at I love you

Summary: In which Hotch and the reader are holed up in a safe house to avoid a killer set on destroying the BAU. A tale of smut, because what else happens when two consenting adults are fighting their feelings, then get stuck in a house together?

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, female reader, domHotch, PIV, virginReader, oral sex, mildly rough, language. WC-3500

A/N: I have crushes on fictional men and I'm not afraid to take that energy and create shit like this for the hell of it! Edited but feedback appreciated.

Hotch was restless, his shower had done nothing to help him relax. He stood in the kitchen, staring into the fridge as if it would give him the answers he needed. He wished he could go for a run, let off some steam. His pent-up energy, this cottage, (Y/N) being so close-it was all too much. The lines of professionalism were bound to blur, but he felt as if they were so far gone in the dust, he couldn’t see them anymore, not in his mind.

Their argument that afternoon had been like a match being lit within a gas station. It had heated up too quickly and then burned away, leaving them both feeling angry and dejected. And she had been right that Hotch was being overprotective, but it didn’t mean the problem would go away, and to just let her go back to DC would only end up in her being hurt, or worse.

He wanted this purgatory to end just as much as (Y/N) did.  He longed to be back with his son.  And with the team, solving cases. But none of them could do that until the killer was found, and Hotch had no control outside of this cottage.

As thoughts of his control, or the lack thereof, came to mind, he slammed the fridge shut in frustration and sighed. (Y/N) had been challenging him since the moment they set foot in this place, which he could understand. There was no one else, and therefore she took out her anger and fear on him.

He could handle that, he had thought at first.

When she yelled that she should leave, go home, and then offered to be the bait to lure the killer out, Hotch had felt something inside of him snap. The final tethers of his patience and sanity disintegrating. The team were in this together, all making sacrifices to protect (Y/N) because she had been the one receiving the death threats and mysterious packages. She had been the one whose photos were displayed on the walls of the crime scene in DC, a clear message-(Y/N) was the target.

So why was she so determined to leave and put herself in danger?

He was leaning against the counter, his hands gripping the edges. The sound of her soft footsteps approaching alerted him to her presence. Hotch opened his eyes, meeting hers directly. She was standing next to the island, biting her lip and looking at him with dark eyes, her arms wrapped around her middle protectively. She still looked angry. Hotch just stared back at her and waited for her to speak.

“I...” She frowned, “I’m not apologizing.” (Y/N) said stubbornly, making him tense, furious. But he refused to respond, he simply glared at her. He was not going to fight again now, it wouldn’t do either of them any good.

But she stepped into the kitchen further, looking determined.

“You should let me go right now, let me go and lure him out and end this, please.” She looked so hopelessly desperate as she spoke. Hotch shook his head, gripping the counter more fiercely.

“You know I can’t let you leave, just as much as I can’t leave.”

(Y/N) scoffed at his words, pointing toward the front door, “If I decide to walk out that door right now, you can’t stop me, Hotch!” Her eyes flashed dangerously until Hotch stepped away from the counter, standing at his full height. He saw something behind the anger shift, a modicum of fear.

He kept his voice steady, low, “You are not leaving. End of discussion.” She watched him speak, her face twisting further in anger. She turned, abruptly, toward the front door, blind rage overtaking her sensibility, and she moved toward it.

She was in a sweater and jeans, and she walked toward the front door like she was in full combat gear, ready to take on the world. But Hotch was quicker, he reached out and grabbed her arm, jerking her first toward him, and then into the wall behind them. He wasn’t harsh, careful not to hurt her in any way, but her furious yell made clear that she was not impressed. “For fucks sake, Hotch!”

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), when did you become such a little fucking brat?” He spat, holding her against the wall, he stepped closer, looking down into her eyes, “When did you decide that it was you against the world? I’m right here trying to protect you!”

She stopped struggling and looked at him with wide eyes, “That’s why I want to leave, Hotch! Being cooped up here, knowing you aren’t safe-knowing you’re sacrificing everything for me, I can’t do this to you anymore, I can’t accept this kind of help.” She was breathless, tears burning at her eyes that she refused to let fall, arms pinned to her sides.

He shook his head, sighing, “How can I possibly make clear to you that I am okay with this, that I-I need to be the one to protect you, (Y/N)?” Hotch gripped her arms tighter, still standing so, so close.

“Why? What does that mean, that you need to?” She gazed up at him now, her wide eyes revealing her anger was disappearing, despite her frustrations. “Aaron?”

At the sound of his name, Hotch felt his anger dissolving into something much more powerful. His willpower shattered, and he dipped his head-surprised to find her expression was not of anger or fear now, but anticipation. When he captured her lips with his own, her reaction was instantaneous, her head lifting from the wall to deepen the kiss.

It was bliss, pure bliss.

Hotch slid his hands from her arms, gently cradling her head. He ran his tongue across her lips, and they opened for him, allowing him to taste her. He groaned as she slipped her hands up, gripping his shirt to pull their bodies together.

After a moment, he pulled his head back, panting, “I love you, that’s why. I love you more than I should, and I have for a while now. I think I’ve loved you since we first met, and every day I fall all over again when I see you, or learn something new, and I am never going to let you walk out of a door without me by your side if it means keeping you safe, because I’ve just found you and I never want to lose you, (Y/N).” The words rushed out of him, finally free, his shoulders lighter already.

“I thought it was just me.” She was looking at him in adoration now, tears falling, “I thought, a man like you...never, not for me, look but don’t hope.” She sniffled, and he wiped away her tears with his thumbs, kissing her forehead. “Aaron, I love you too.” At her words he brought their lips crashing together again, holding nothing back now.

He pressed (Y/N) into the wall, delighted at her gasp when she felt him hard against her stomach. He trailed his hands down, to her hips, behind her thighs. He had to stoop slightly, she was so short, and he scooped her up. Her heat made contact with him and they both groaned at the sensation before Hotch hastily carried her the few steps into the bedroom. Hotch laid (Y/N) down on the bed carefully, one hand sliding protectively behind her head. She kept her legs around him, holding him close and taking on his weight.

For a few minutes, they continued kissing, until Hotch broke away to begin exploring her body. Shifting his weight and kneeling, his hands travelled down, gently. She moaned softly, then whimpered when his hand traced over her breast, her nipple hard within her thin sweatshirt. Hotch sat up, pulling her with him so that he could pull the sweater over her head. She complied without hesitation, seeming to consent to his control.

But he was a gentleman, “Just tell me if you want to stop, okay, (Y/N)?” He breathed, pausing as he reached for her beautiful, bare breasts. She nodded, but Hotch needed to hear her say it, and she read that in his expression.

“I promise, Hotch.” She gasped out, writhing in anticipation. He began kneading her breasts, only to find she was sensitive here-his fingers brushing over her nipples caused her to jerk slightly, moans unending. He gently eased her back to lay again, before pulling his shirt off.

Momentarily, he became self-conscious of the scars scattered across his torso, now exposed. (Y/N) reached up, tracing one with her finger, “You’re perfect, Aaron.” Worry ceased at her words, his heart swelling. In response, he ducked his head and brought his mouth to her chest, his tongue flicking over her nipple. She reacted instantly, her back arching and a hand gripping his hair, encouraging him.

He took his time teasing her, moving between each breast, he ignored her hips seeking friction against him. For as long as he could stand.  

A whimper escaped her lips, so full of longing it had Hotch glance up, meeting her eyes. Her pupils were blown out, desire flushing her face, lips trembling, “Hotch...”. He shifted again, this time slipping his thumbs into her waistband, tugging. She lifted her hips to help, and he swiftly removed her pants and underwear in one swoop, tossing them on the floor.

Automatically and instinctively, her legs closed. Hotch caught her left leg, pushing his hand down her inner thigh. She writhed beneath him, but her leg stiffened, and he looked at her closely, “What’s the matter, baby girl?” He whispered, concerned.

She peered up at him, looking shy, “I...I’ve never been able to cum that way, and I know men don’t really like to, you know, so you don’t have to.” Hotch gazed at her in surprise.

“Is that what you think? I don’t want to taste you?” He held her gaze, but moved his hand down, sliding a finger across her heat. Her hips bucked, “I’m going to taste you cum in my mouth, sweetheart. I’ll show you just how much I’ve been wanting this, okay?” She nodded eagerly, her breathing erratic, legs relaxing slightly.

Hotch pushed himself down the bed and hooked her legs over his shoulders, finally coming face to face with her; she was glistening for him. He groaned. “Sweetheart, you’re so wet for me already.” She merely mewled in response as his fingers explored her folds. She was well-groomed, her hair trimmed fairly short, giving him a full few of her; his mouth watered.

The moment Hotch felt her legs relax on his shoulders, becoming more comfortable with his face being so close to her, he dove in. He quickly moved his hands to grip her hips, holding her in place as he began to lick up her slit, then press his tongue into her clit. She bucked and writhed, fighting against his grip to no avail.

“Oh god, oh god, Aaron, please, please...”

He smiled against her, pulling back slightly, “Please what, baby girl? What do you need?” He licked her again, and she cried out, lifting her head to look down at him. She tasted divine, which only drove him to lick and suck more, waiting for her to respond.

It took her a few minutes to form words as his assault on her clit continued, “Need...I think I might...uh, cum, Aaron.” She groaned his name, and he laughed against her, which sent vibrations deep into her. He kept up his pace, felt her tensing more, shivering beneath him.

“Cum baby girl, let go for me.” He ordered, and it was like she’d been waiting for his permission. Her back arched up and he felt her throb against his tongue, a soft cry escaped her lips. She jerked in her orgasm, over and over. He sucked lightly on her and she trembled in response, tears spilling out of her eyes before she fell back into the bed, coming down from her high.

“Oh god, oh,” She breathed, and Aaron backed off, sliding up the bed to lay next to her. He watched her catch her breath, revelling in her blissed-out expression, her red cheeks. He waited a few moments, letting her come down. “I’ve never, ever had an orgasm like that, Christ.”

Hotch laughed, leaning over her and planting gentle kisses along her hairline, her eyes, the tip of her nose, “We can stop here if you want to.” He suggested, but of course, Aaron had forgotten her age. 25 years old, in good shape-orgasm or not, she wasn’t done yet. Her eyes flew open and met his, pupils fully dilated still.

“I want to keep going, but I have to tell you something first,” (Y/N) stayed laying, but drew her legs together, “And if you decide you think we should stop, then I fully accept that.”

He tilted his head, eyes exploring her worried expression, “What is it, sweetheart?” His hand had been roaming absentmindedly, but he stopped at her hip. He gazed down at her, brows furrowed.

She seemed to steel herself, taking a deep breath.

“I’ve, never-you know, had sex,” Seeing his shocked expression, she began to ramble, “It just never happened, with anyone I dated when I was younger, and it got to the point where it was an afterthought, especially after I bought an expensive vibrator, and I know that it’s weird or, whatever, to be 25 and this inexperienced, but-“

“(Y/N),” He cut her off, stroking her cheek gently, “Thank you for telling me. But it doesn’t change my mind, about anything. I would understand if this was far enough, for now, truly, so just tell me what you want.” He hoped he could spend the rest of his life making her feel better, happy, loved. They didn’t need to continue if she wasn’t ready.

“Hotch, I...I want you, I always have,” She shifted slightly, and he watched her breathing pick up in anticipation, “I’ve thought about it, so many times...when I shouldn’t have, especially.”

His interest was piqued. Hotch rolled over her, bracing his weight on his arm, pressing his erection against her, his pants still on, “Really? Tell me.” He said, noting how she flushed any time he ordered her to do something.

“The first time I thought about it, was back at headquarters after the first case we worked when you came back to work. You were in your office and I dropped off everyone’s reports,” Hotch remembered this evening, as he’d been surprised to find the newest team member picking up the slack and finalizing everyone’s notes for submission, “You had taken off your tie, and you’d been so good to me in the field, so kind. But when I knocked on the door you were deep in thought and at first, you glared at me and I thought ‘how much would I give to climb up on that desk and get rid of that frown’.”

Hotch hissed at her words, grounding against her harshly, “You wanted me that soon?” (Y/N) nodded, a breathy moan escaping.

“After that, I thought about you too often. I had to use my vibrator the moment I got home, every day. I had to bring it on the road, even. I wanted you to take me, everywhere, anywhere, as much as you wanted.” Hotch groaned, pushed her down and sat back, swiftly removing his pants and briefs. (Y/N)’s head popped up and looked at his erection, her eyes widening in shock, instantly licking her lips. “Holy shit, Hotch...” He laughed at her words.

“I’ve been wishing I could bend you over my desk for months now, but I had no idea you hadn’t ever done this before. I want to see your face, baby girl.” Something in his voice caused her eyes to widen, further. He lowered himself, reaching down with one hand to push his length along her folds, wetting it in her juices.”Oh fuck, you’re so ready for me baby girl, tell me you want this.”

She knew he needed to hear her give permission again, and she gave it instantly, “Please Aaron, please I need you, ple-oh!” She gasped as he pushed into her, hard. Stiffening, a low groan broke free, her eyes shut tightly. He buried himself completely inside of her before freezing, waiting for her pain to subside. Pleasure rippled through Hotch.

Hotch kissed her gently as she whimpered in pain, “You did so good, sweetheart, it’ll be okay in a minute, just breath for me,” He whispered, stroking her hair back, watching her face closely. For a few moments, her eyes stayed shut, screwed up against the sensation, and he gave her credit for taking her time to adjust. He knew he was larger than average, and she was so tight around him. He had to keep still for both her sake and his own, fearing her tightness alone would send him over the edge-he wanted to take his time and make her feel...everything.

He felt when her body had adjusted, the tension in her lower body relaxing, her eyes beginning to open. He tested the waters, moving his hips back slightly, and then sinking into her again. He groaned, watching as her face lit up at his movements; so he repeated them, moving further back this time.

“Oh fuck, Aaron!” That was all he needed to hear. He moved over her, bracing his arms on the bed on either side of her head, his hands near her face, and began to thrust quickly, long strokes that brought stars to his vision. And she was loud beneath him, one hand on his chest, the other gripping his shoulder, screaming his name. He pounded into her, groaning, and he buried his face in her neck, biting gently, which only elicited further shouts, her hips bucking slightly to meet his movements.

“Oh baby girl, you are taking me so well, fuck,” He bit her neck again, and she jerked in response, her walls squeezing him. “Such a good girl for me, such a good girl.”

“Sir, please, please don’t stop.” She whimpered, and Hotch’s eyes flew open in surprise, her words sending a shiver down his body.

He stared down at (Y/N), who seemed surprised at herself, but a small smirk quirked her lips, and he growled, a hand sliding behind her head and gripping her hair, the other grabbing her jaw, gentle but firm. “Say that again.” He kept his pace, pleasure building.

“Uh, sir, fuck me, please sir!” (Y/N) was a writhing mess beneath him, loving his reaction, his dominance, her eyes watching him in delight. She arched slightly as his thrusts became almost brutal, and began to call his name over and over, unable to stop.  

Hotch leaned down and bit her neck again, leaving another mark, and she began to tremble beneath him, words escaping her when his thrusts bottomed out, hitting her deep, eyes-rolling. He kissed her, but she was so blissed out it barely registered, which only made him happier. “Fuck...Good, baby girl, so good...cum for me again okay? You can cum for me now, fuck!”

On his last word, he gave an almighty thrust and she screamed, her hands clutching his shoulders as the wave broke over her, her body tensing, squeezing him, and then, “Aaron!” It was his undoing and he came with her, spilling himself inside her as he moaned her name. He brought his head down and kissed her breasts, jerking wildly into her, his thrusts sloppy. Her body relaxed as she came down from her high.  

“Oh sweetheart,” He breathed, slowly easing out of her, before collapsing on the bed beside her. He pulled her to him, and she obliged, rolling over and resting her head on his chest, while they both remained silent, catching their breath. “You did so well, baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head.

“That was-I mean,” (Y/N) stammered, struggling to find words. Inwardly, Hotch smirked, happy to know he’d rendered her somewhat speechless. “I think I’ll just leave it at I love you.” She began to giggle, gazing up at him.

Hotch joined her, months of tension and longing now gone, and in its place a happy new beginning. They still had forces outside of their cozy little hideaway that worked against them, but for the time being, he and (Y/N) could simply enjoy the clear air between them.

The rest of the world could wait.

“I love you, too, (Y/N)”

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

[rosevanhelsing]

Wendigo

Chapter  21

Vic stared at the police cars until the lights were lost on the horizon, then she went back inside, full the tank of the Triumph and when she got out and accelerated the Shortcut Bridge appeared again that took her home.

Meanwhile, Charlie returned to Christmasland and was full of good humor, her plan was going from strength to strength. It was a matter of time before Vic ended up abandoning Lou and Wayne, well he didn't mind him going back to Christmasland either. Suddenly the Wraith sent him a telepathic message

-You are not getting too illusions with her again, are you? I don't think that overnight she will abandon that man.

-I know, but she will sooner or later, even if she did not abandon him of her will, I do not think that Mr. Carmody will live many years, he has already had a heart attack ... Vic knows, deep down, that I can only be your partner. I am sure that we are soul mates as they say ...

-While I was with her, I have delved into her mind ...

-Hahaha, you have to see how gossipy you are ...

-Well, you will not like what I have found out ... She has no affective feelings towards you except gratitude because you saved her life ... In fact, for her, you are only a necessary evil to be able to defeat the Wendigo ... if you fall into that confrontation, she will not care.

-No, that's not true! I've seen it in her eyes. She no longer looks at me with disgust and contempt ...

-At most you can expect her to forgive you for what you did to her and you know it. She is in love with Lou Carmody and she will marry him and even she may consider having children with him.

Charlie screamed in rage.

-No, that won't happen ... Shut up.

The Rolls fell silent and continued on. Charlie spent the rest of the trip in a bad mood, killed a hitchhiker to feed the children, and returned to Christmasland.

When Vic came back she hugged Lou and brought him up to date. Since the next day was Wayne's birthday, between the two of them they wrapped the accessories for the puppy as a gift to surprise Wayne and then the three of them would go to find the puppy. Possibly they would stop by a good restaurant to eat.

 For his part, James had gone to Boston to do a merchandise delivery, when he was taking the regulatory break, he noticed a poster announcing the Halloween party of the publisher that published Vic's books. James returned to the truck, He picked up the book he had bought and checked the publisher's name. A wicked smile played on his lips.

- I think I know where we'll meet again, Vic McQueen.

James went to the publisher and at reception asked:

- Good morning, I would very much like Vic McQueen to sign the book for me and send you a letter of admiration. Could you give me her  address?

The receptionist looked at him and she had a strange feeling that this man was shady. Since she was little, she had always had a very good intuition and she was never wrong in judging people and also that intuition had saved her once from a strange woman with  a top hat.

- Sorry but no. Our publisher protects the privacy of our authors - she said professionally - If you wish, you can leave your letter and the book along with your  address and she will send you the signed copy.

- Well, I'll do that. Thank you, Miss. By the way, do you know if she's going to attend that Halloween party, miss?

- I don't know, sir. However, this party is free. What I know is that we have sent you the invitation

James greeted her with his hat and left. He got a notepad and a package and wrote:

"My dear, and newly discovered, cousin

I can't wait for us to get to know each other better, I think the Halloween party at the publisher you work with would be a great place for us to talk. Let's have a friendly conversation and I won't hurt you but if you refuse or call the police, your family will pay the consequences.

James the Wendigo "

James packed everything up and delivered it leaving a zip code for reference. After a few days, Vic received the package, picked it up and opened it, seeing that it was one of her books, he proceeded to open it to sign it and then he saw the note. He carefully kept it in plastic to preserve the prints and hid it so Wayne wouldn't see it and when Wayne went to walk Hooper he showed it to Lou.

- Call Tabitha, now- said Lou

 Vic swallowed hard and nodded. She called Tabitha and she came over.

- You've done well, Vic. We'll catch that bastard, you'll see.

- Well, then I'll be the bait, I let him approach me, I take him to the hotel parking lot and there and you catch him.

- Yes, you are the bait ... but don't worry, we will keep you and Lou safe. Wayne will also have protection in case he gave her for trying to kidnap him or something.

-Yeah ... if you do as well as when Manx took him ... -she said sarcastically

- Vic ... we did not know that Manx had an ally who was like him, and there was also Bing. And the Wendigo is not like Manx, thankfully. Go both of you to that party, me and other agents will be disguised and incognito, you won't even know who we are.

- It's okay.

Later, while she and Lou were in bed, Lou said:

- It's a trap, don't you know?

- Of course, and I think he must also assume that I will call the police. And not only that, I think he's also looking forward to Charlie Manx coming.

- But he didn't mention Manx

- Needless. I think you already know that I have sided with Charlie against him and I will tell you.

- And what are you planning to do? Will you leave it all to Tabitha or are you going to have a plan B with Manx?

- Both things ... I want the Police to take care of Wendigo, but if the Police fail, we both know we can stop it. And Charlie won't want the Wendigo to hurt Wayne either. I did not tell you, but Charlie "adopts" the children he takes, considers them his children even if they turn into that kind of demon, soulless vampires that Wayne was about to become.

- So you have to go back to Christmasland to tell him, right?

- I'm afraid of that, yes.

- Do you want me to accompany you?

- I would love if you could join me but I don't want you to turn it into a Christmas Dinner. When he took Wayne away, he wanted to put you in the trunk of his car to serve you to the kids as food. And he had the same intention with Craig Harrison.

- Wayne's father?

- Yes.

When Vic made sure Wayne was asleep, Vic and Lou both went out and drove the motorbike a couple of miles, far enough away that Wayne would suspect nothing and think that his parents were out for a walk or a drink.

"Are you ready?" Lou asked.

- To be honest no. I'm even afraid to go back there.

"I suppose Christmasland is as twisted a place as Manx."

-You suppose very well. But I have no choice ...

Vic sped up the Triumph until the bridge appeared and crossed it back to Christmasland.

[nlights37]

three stars ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️

::In very convincing Matthew McConaughey Texan:: Alright alright alright, 3 stars, 3 fics to disclose little nuggets of info on...

1.  From Fixer Upper, Chapter 4 - Jon and Dany’s text exhange:

She was laughing even as she sent the text, knowing how touchy he was about this topic. Honestly, it was the whole reason she sent it.

Dany: I can’t believe we’ve been fake dating this long and you haven’t sent me a single dick pic 😖

The text bubble appeared for so long she was a little worried, but then his novel-length answer appeared. She was two lines in before she was laughing so hard she was crying and her vision blurred beyond her ability to continue reading at all.

Jon: How ABSOLUTELY DARE YOU?! Apparently I need to explain this AGAIN? If the Westerosi Security Agency is going to see my dick they can come here and do it in person like men. I’m not just gonna offer it up on a silver platter for them. Also need I remind you I am a small business owner, madam? This store is my kingdom and you ask me to besmirch it’s good name so you can see my cock at 2 pm on a Thursday? I’m disappointed in you Daenerys, I really am.

It should probably come as no surprise, given the ‘Buttslut’ text I shared awhile back, that a lot of the dialogue I write (including text messages) comes from the way my husband and I talk to each other, and in this case I based Jon’s reluctance to free the Peen digitally off my own husband’s unbreakable stance that sending dick pics means your dick is then somewhere in the cloud and idk I guess he thinks the Governtment is just chilling and collecting nudes all day.  Anyway, I really did ask him once when we were dating why he had never sent me a dick pic and he said something along the lines of Jon’s response here, and even now, years later, it still makes me laugh, so I used it :)

2.  A Thin Line (Just some thoughts on this fic in general, that I’m not sure I’ve shared):

I was SURE, ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that a lot of people would hate this fic.  Like, I was over the top about ‘Hey this is crack’, etc, because as much fun as I had making them just awful people to each other, I was like ‘ugh there’s gonna be some stans in both camps that maybe get pissed about this’, but I figured fuck it, let’s do it.  The thing about them in this fic that I really, really enjoyed writing was that they are completely and totally unapologetic about themselves, and letting myself just really let them be the worst versions of themselves, I don’t know, guys.  It felt good.  So good that I was like ‘hmmmm, maybe keep it in the drafts.’

Because that’s the thing I like best about them and this fic - it’s not a redemption story about two tortured souls who find each other and then learn the error of their ways.  It’s more like two villains meet at villain convention and will they birth the antichrist?  Who knows, really, but probably, yes.  Definitely.

Anyway, I really dug that so many people enjoyed their unspeakably assholish tendencies and please know I haven’t abandoned my part 3, in which Dany gets to snob it up in the North and you know, so more light bondage, maybe some matching prenups, I don’t want to give it all away.

3.  From Fang and Claw, Chapter 1:

“When you say fucking,” Drogon drawled, “what exactly do you mean, snack?”  The three were all gathered near the stone walls of the Keep, guards watching anxiously as the three creatures of legend circled and paced.

“Stop calling him that.”  Rhaegal leaned in, nipping at Drogon’s swishing black tail.  “He has a name.”

Drogon rolled his eyes, looking at his brother incredulously.  “I’ll call him whatever I like.  What’s he going to do?  Howl me to death?”

Rhaegal glared, inching closer to Ghost.  “He’s magic, like us, and he’s Jon’s, so you’d better behave.”  The green dragon growled.  “You know what mother said.”

The black dragon gave a dismissive snort, his eyes searching the windows of the Keep instead of Rhaegal or Ghost.  “Be nice.  Yes, I heard her.  This is me.  Being nice.  Not eating this talking little snack.”  His eyes shot to the wolf’s.  “Rather nice of me, isn’t it,” teeth gnashed together, grinding as Drogon uttered grudgingly, “Ghost.”

The white wolf ignored the black dragon, his eyes also falling to the windows.  “You want to know what fucking is or don’t you?”

“I want to know what it is you mean when you say Jon is fucking my mother, yes.”  Drogon sounded angry, offended even, and Ghost was surprised two mighty creatures could be so absolutely innocent to the ways of the world.  Why, he’d been fucking for years now.  Surely there were girl dragons flying about somewhere, though the lack of fucking certainly explained the black dragon’s horrible attitude.

“I feel itchy.”  Rhaegal was shifting restlessly beside him.

Ghost gave a wolfish grin.  “You’re bonded to Jon now.”  Rhaegal nodded though it was not a question.  “That’s what it feels like when Jon’s fucking your mother.”  The wolf’s mouth fell open, and he panted in Drogon’s direction.  “Like an itch you need to scratch.”

His red eyes fell to the windows till he found the one he wanted, and he whispered for the duo to follow as closely as they could as they slid along side the ancient stone, ‘til they were just under the window to Jon’s chambers.

“Hear that?”  He certainly could, and by the look of confusion on the dragons’ faces they could as well.  The Silver Dany let out a throaty yell then, followed by Jon’s name, the sounds and smells of mating flowing from the open window and out into the night.

“Is he hurting her?”  Drogon was rumbling and thrashing his tail about, rage building in those mad eyes.

But Rhaegal responded before Ghost could answer.  “No.”  He drew the word out, his head rising until he could look into the room for himself, then shooting back down to stare at Ghost.  “Why are they doing that?”

Drogon mirrored his brother’s actions, even angrier but endlessly puzzled when he lowered his head as well, clearly befuddled by what he’d seen.  “Explain this!”

Ghost gave a shrug, padding off a few paces, ready to give his brother a spot of privacy with his mate, heading for the clearing along the tree line where he could scent some rabbits running.  “It’s what they do.”  The pair was scrambling after him, landbound, awkwardly lumbering after the sleek wolf.  “Humans.”  Both dragons remained clueless, and Ghost snagged a hare and crunched down heavily, warm blood streaking his fur, downing the small prey in a few bites before continuing.  “When they want to make a pup.”

Drogon shuddered as he watched Ghost eat.  “You’re a fucking savage.”  He grumbled and groused, claws swiping out to catch an elk, idly shooting out gouts of flame to cook the meat before he began to tear it apart.  “You don’t even cook your food, little snack.”

Rhaegal ignored it all, focused only on this new knowledge.  “But our mother is a dragon.”  His eyes lit up, suddenly, turning to his brother in excitement.  “It’s how they make eggs!”

Ghost gave a snicker.  “Humans don’t lay eggs.”  He looked at the pair with amused eyes.  “You lot come from eggs?”

Rhaegal gave a nod, but Drogon preened, proud as he broke his meal’s rib cage between his jaws.  “You should be so lucky.  We certainly do.  Beautiful eggs people pay large sums of gold for.”

Ghost crouched, his attention on the deer he could now sense beyond the tree line.  “Like a chicken then.”  He leapt as the black dragon roared in outrage, his jaws sinking into the deer’s neck, and he pulled the twitching body out of the treeline to drop it in a heap before Rhaegal.

“NOT LIKE A CHICKEN!”

Rhaegal looked at Ghost pleadingly before he cooked the deer his host had provided, his eyes begging the wolf to stop baiting his brother, and Ghost grumpily complied.

“Alright, not like a chicken.  Point is, humans have pups that look like them, and they don’t come from eggs.”  He sat on his haunches, watching the pair as they ate.

“So,” Rhaegal snapped into a femur, “you meant to say that’s what Jon’s doing.  Trying to put a small human in our mother.”

The wolf couldn’t stop the snicker of amusement.  “Oh, no he’s already done that.”  He looked at the pair wonderingly.  What sort of beast were they, that they couldn’t smell the pup in their mother?  “Now he’s just fucking her because it feels good.”

There is nothing funnier to me than the idea that (1) Ghost would ever try ot explain to anyone what sex is and (2) that the dragons wouldn’t know and would be VERY offended and it took a little bit for me to write this scene way way back ago when we all thought that Season 8 would not be a massive shitstain in history because I kept laughing so hard picturing this shit.

This story is probaby one of my favorites, just because it’s silly and every magical creature is TIRED TIRED I SAY of everyone dicking around and just the notion that they’re all like ‘THESE HUMANS ARE SO DUMB UGH DO WE HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING?!”  It just really tickled me, and I might never have written it had the amazing @aweseeds not requested it after her winning bid for the Jonerys Unites charity event.  So, everyone say thank you to aweseeds lol, this might’ve just stayed in my head and silly tumblr posts without that fine investment in fandom content.

Thank you lovely @frostbitepandaaaaa for the ask!  I LOVE YOU BITCH, I AIN’T NEVER GONNA STOP LOVIN’ YOU BITCH!

[aowski]

Changing the Narrative

It seems that death is coming at us from all sides these days. Police shootings, mass shootings, road-rage shootings, COVID deaths, and the execution spree of the last administration.  

What most of us know about the death penalty in America, we probably gleaned from movies like “The Green Mile”. In our minds, we confine it geographically and historically to the old South. I propose that it encompasses more of our lives than we care to admit. We just don’t see it and recognize it as such. The sentence of death hangs over all of us. We’ve become numb to all the ways this is true, especially if it doesn’t directly affect us or our demographic today. But executions are happening daily in this country. It might help if these executions were categorized:

Judicial Execution - Death administered by the State, as a punishment for a capitol crime, usually for being too poor to afford a proper defense.

Civil Execution - Death administered by law enforcement as punishment for  no reason at all except being a poor person of color. 

Stochastic Execution - Death administered randomly in a public place by another person by reason of their own uncontrolled rage and easy access to military-grade firearms.

Domestic Execution - Death administered by a significant other, usually an aggrieved spouse or lover. Again rage combined with easy access to firearms. May result in stochastic execution of others.

Policy Execution - Death administered by state austerity that neglects human well-being. Reverend Barber’s “Policy Violence”.

Economic Execution - Death administered by poverty. Holes in the social safety net coupled with grievous inequality depriving people of access to food, water, shelter, and healthcare.

Environmental Execution - Death by industrial pollution, its toxic effects on food, water, or air, and climate change.

Epidemiological Execution - Death by a communicable virus that spreads like wildfire because of government negligence,  politicization, assertion of personal freedom, and utter disregard for the well-being of others.

Self Execution - Death caused by our own hand. More than the act itself. The culmination of untreated depression, bi-polar illness, or hopelessness, i.e. the psychic death that precedes it.

Taken together, the result is...

Actuarial Execution - The reduced lifespan resulting from living in the United States. With a life expectancy of 78.5 years (per a WHO 2019 report), we have fallen to 40th among the world's nations in life expectancy! These are Life-years stolen! How did we get here? What is it about America that has made 39 others countries a better place, a place to live longer?

We have accepted a "culture of death", a phrase coined by Pope John Paul II. The Psalmist called it “the Shadow of Death”. In this country, the culture of death began with genocide of the indigenous, but gained an enduring foothold with slavery.

Slavery was the foundation of the economy at our country’s inception and was well-represented at the Constitutional Convention: 

Let us consider the first fifty years of our national history. There was never a moment during this time when the slavery issue was not a sleeping serpent. That issue lay coiled up under the table during the deliberations of the Constitutional Convention in 1787.— John Jay Chapman

Much of our Constitution was an agreement made by compromising with slave-holding states and interests. The most notorious artifact was the “three-fifths” clause which counted slaves as 3/5 of a human being for the purpose of apportionment, thus giving the slave-holding states disproportionate representation. The Second Amendment is another concession to the interests of slavery. By the time of the Convention, “Slave Patrols” were well established in the South. There was concern that Article 1, Section 8, giving Congress the power to form and finance armies could gain control of state militias. Virginia would not ratify the Constitution unless the Second Amendment was included. 

The cohesion (and fragmentation) within our society is based on identity. Too often this identity is not based so much on common interests, but on caste.

Identity is not who we define ourselves to be, but who we define ourselves to not be. More to the point, we understand ourselves to be in a hierarchy, so we define ourselves by who we are above. 

They have had to believe for many years, and for innumerable reasons, that black men are inferior to white men. Many of them, indeed, know better, but, as you will discover, people find it very difficult to act on what they know. To act is to be committed, and to be committed is to be in danger. In this case, the danger, in the minds of most white Americans, is the loss of their identity.—James Baldwin

"If you can convince the lowest white man he's better than the best colored man, he won't notice you're picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he'll empty his pockets for you." —Lyndon B. Johnson

It is a human failing that we need a scapegoat to blame others for our shortcomings and vulnerabilities. White people impugn our shadow on Black people and other minority groups. Everything White America refuses to believe about itself, hates about itself, is projected onto people of color.

The white man's unadmitted and apparently, to him, unspeakable-private fears and longings are projected onto the Negro. —James Baldwin

Of all the things we want to push away from ourselves, the certainty of our death is chief among them. Yet...

Mortality the reality that we are most adept at denying. 

Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, which is the only fact we have.

—James Baldwin

And, again, White America, finds it convenient to avoid  the reality of death by projecting it on others:

White Americans do not believe in death, and this is why the darkness of my skin so intimidates them.  

—James Baldwin

Is this is why White America has been so indifferent to the suffering and death of Black Americans? Per CDC data, life expectancy for Black Americans is approximately five years less than the population as a whole. Indifference may not be imputation, but it does translate into the lack of political will to change things.

Racism is the Poison. Although inequality disproportionately affects people of color, all working and middle-class people are struggling to survive. Compared against other wealthy Western nations, America’s systemic ills are dragging us all down into the shadows of death. 

...racism is a poison first consumed by its concocters. What's clearer now in our time of growing inequality is that the economic benefit of the racial bargain is shrinking for all but the richest. The logic that launched the zero-sum paradigm-I will profit at your expense-is no longer sparing millions of white Americans from the degradations of American economic life as people of color have always known it.

—Heather McGhee (The Sum of Us)

Solidarity is the alternative and people are waking up to it:

Everywhere I went, I found that the people who had replaced the zero sum with a new formula of cross-racial solidarity had found the key to unlocking what I began to call a "Solidarity Dividend," from higher wages to cleaner air, made possible through collective action. And the benefits weren't only external. I didn't set out to write about the moral costs of racism, but they kept showing themselves. There is a psychic and emotional cost to the tightrope white people walk, clutching their identity as good people when all around them is suffering they don't know how to stop, but that is done, it seems, in their name and for their benefit. The forces of division seek to harden this guilt into racial resentment, but I met people who had been liberated by facing the truth and working toward racial healing in their communities.

—Heather McGhee (The Sum of Us)

A New Way, a way of life, a way of economic security is possible, but only if we seize the moment we are in. A moment of crisis is also a moment of opportunity. As we come out of a once-in-a-lifetime crisis, more people are facing the bankruptcy of 40 years of trickle-down Reaganomics.

Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced —James Baldwin

The politics and messaging of racial scapegoating is deeply embedded in the American psyche. Race-baiting and fear are the tools used against solidarity. The answer is a new story, a race-class narrative. 

If we lead with a shared value, that means race and class, for example, ‘Whatever your race, gender, or religion, most of us work hard for our families. Every child, regardless of where they come from, deserves a chance to pursue their dreams.’ Reminding us of our common humanity (that’s a good place to start) and then saying that racial scapegoating is a weapon that economically harms all of us. You’re actually putting a shot in your listeners’ arm, inoculating them, so the next time they hear that racial scapegoating, they have antibodies for it. —Heather McGhee

This is the pivotal moment we find ourselves in. Our choices are to continue with the old story of racism, division, and death or to embrace a new story, a story of solidarity and an abundance. This can happen when we realize we are more than "The Sum of Us" (McGhee).

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: The Rebellion of Adrien Agreste, ch. 10

Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Luka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Kagami Tsurugi, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Luka Couffaine, Lila Rossi/karma, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/aneurism, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Kagami Tsurugi, Plagg & Tikki

Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Lila Rossi, Jagged Stone, Plagg, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine, Penny Rolling, Anarka Couffaine, Rose Lavillant, Juleka Couffaine, Kagami Tsurugi, Alya Césaire, Chloé Bourgeois, Wayhem, Nadja Chamack, Nathalie Sancoeur, Sabine Cheng, Tom Dupain, Tikki, Fang, Principal Damocles, Caline Bustier, Ms. Mendeleiev, original minor character, Alec Cataldi, Lila Rossi’s Mother, Sabrina Raincomprix, Roger Raincomprix, Mylène Haprèle, Le Gorille | Adrien Agreste’s Bodyguard, Nino Lahiffe, Nooroo

Tags: Lila Rossi salt, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Teenage Rebellion, Swearing, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Crack Treated Seriously, Lila Rossi’s Lies Are Exposed, Cuddling & Snuggling, Luka Couffaine Needs a Hug, Paparazzi, Parentification, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Needs a Hug, Gabriel Agreste Needs an Aneurism, Uncle Jagged Stone, we’re all queer here, the spirit of punk is sometimes just being allowed to be yourself, Kagami Finds Her Groove, punk rock fashion, Savage Kagami, Marinette protection squad, Good Parent Sabine Cheng, Good Parent Tom Dupain, Protective Kagami Tsurugi, Protective Luka Couffaine, Bisexual Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Pansexual Luka Couffaine, Sharing a Bed, Pet Names, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Instagram, Bullying, Social Media, Anxiety, Makeover, Hugs, will cure your acne, Face Punching, Bad Ass Juleka Couffaine, Rumors, Protective Juleka Couffaine, Protective Adrien Agreste, Lawyers, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Holding Hands, accountability, mental health, Jagged Stone’s well-paid pet shark, How to Make the Evening News, Sexy eyeliner for days, one fish two fish Lila is a screwed fish, How to have fun and piss Gabriel off, Fuckery, sweet litigious karma, Alya sugar, lawyer shark doo doo doo doo doo doo, Schadenfreude, Bad Ass Alya Césaire, Gaslighting, abuse denormalization, Jagged likes his lawyers like he likes his pets: toothy af, Blood in the Water, Everything you didn’t know you wanted and some things you did, Gabriel Agreste is shark bait, Denial, Consequences, Principal Damocles salt, caline bustier salt, the impotence of Gabriel Agreste, snarky Nooroo, lies and the lying liars who tell them, Lila’s brain is a narcissistic hellscape, Lila’s mind is built like an Escher piece, Alec Cataldi salt, Adrien Sugar, wholesome salt, Fu Salt, Kwami Shenanigans, Nooroo is a little shit

Summary: How to Piss Off Gabriel Agreste

AO3 link

Chapters 1-2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

-----------

Gabriel Agreste was displeased.

Honestly, that was an understatement.

Gabriel Agreste was infuriated.

He had allowed Adrien his little temper tantrum, the slamming of the door and stomping to his bedroom, expecting to let the boy stew for a bit until he had calmed enough to be reasonable. In the meantime, he had assured Mlle. Rossi things would progress as planned.

That had been a miscalculation. Adrien’s behavior had only escalated, as he somehow managed to escape the mansion—something Gabriel had only discovered later, when Nathalie had brought the tablet to him, with that picture on the Instagram social media account that was meant largely for Adrien to promote the brand. He had been permitted to use it for additional reasons, but clearly that had been a mistake.

Gabriel had been struck by the smile on Adrien’s face, though, carefree and happy… and alongside that of a boy he’d never seen as they cuddled in an intimate way that was wholly inappropriate for the brand. He never would have allowed such a picture with Mlle. Rossi.

But his hands were also tied by Adrien’s move—if he were seen to disapprove, many of his employees would be livid, not to mention critics. The LGBTQ+ community was well represented in the fashion industry. At this point, Gabriel would be seen as homophobic.

Furthermore, a third party had taken those pictures, meaning Adrien had found allies.

Nathalie had attempted to regain control of the account, to no avail. Hopefully the furor would die down quickly; Gabriel had the Gorilla out searching for his wayward son so they could nip this in the bud. But he’d come up empty thus far.

Mlle. Rossi had called, raging, and had required a lecture about tone and entitlement. She had been seething by the time he hung up on her, but Gabriel didn’t particularly care. She was outliving her use with her childish assumption he’d give in to her demands.

He had used the roiling emotions of a jealous fan to create an Akuma, but it had been defeated far too quickly for his liking,

Nathalie had returned with the tablet shortly thereafter, with a new photo and that hair. His hair had been pristine, never adulterated with anything so aggressive as dye. And now—! He matched his ‘boyfriend’—Gabriel was certain this was a fake relationship, but if he said such a thing publicly it would receive backlash—and they were feeding each other ice cream and laughing. Another picture taken by a third party.

Gabriel hadn’t even noticed the caption, or the following post essentially accusing the company of forcing him to work, until Nathalie pointed them out. Worse, there were comments from fans angry that Adrien was not permitted to play with that ridiculous band.

theofficialchloebourgeois: I didn’t know it was that bad, Adrikins. I’ll talk to Daddy.

alya.ladyblogger: @theofficialchloebourgeois Pretty sure this violates child labor laws, too. #LetAdrienGoToSchool

theofficialchloebourgeois: @alya.ladyblogger Will bring that up.

The Instagram tag the Ladyblogger had created had started going viral, even spreading to Twitter.

The TVi news was even using it. Curious, Gabriel clicked on the article they’d linked to.

Model Adrien Agreste Comes Out, Alleges Being Forced to Date New Gabriel Muse, Lila Rossi

Leaked Rossi text messages include threats

When he saw the image of the text messages, he hurled the tablet against the wall.

Nathalie gave him a reproachful look and he glowered at her. “You were due for an upgrade anyway,” he hissed, still trying to contain his rage.

Clearly Mlle. Rossi had become more than an inconvenience.

“Inform Mlle. Rossi that her association with Gabriel has ended, as she has provided an unsavory image for the brand. Announce that on the official social media. Make sure the announcement planned for tomorrow is stopped.”

A stress headache, perhaps even a migraine, was coming on.

--

Marinette returned home with freshly painted pink fingernails, and Jagged loudly praising her nonexistent design ideas.

“Marinette Dupain-Chang, would you care to comment on your relationship with former Gabriel model Lila Rossi?”

Oh, that had been tempting. ‘Former’? They hadn’t seen that bit of information before she’d left—she’d have to text that to Kagami and Luka, who would share it with Adrien. They’d agreed that he’d need to keep his cell phone off to avoid the GPS locater, until they’d gotten enough done.

Jagged posed for the camera, hugging her one-armed. “That horrid girl has been bullying my niece here. Kept her too afraid to say anything. But Uncle Jagged’s here to take care of his Marinette.”

Then he pushed past Nadja Chamack to enter the bakery—let in by her parents despite it being after hours. They presented him with a large box of macrons to thank him, and asked if he would be free to join the family for dinner the next night—specifying that ‘the team’ was welcome, too.

Adrien, Luka, and Kagami had been insistent that she should bring them in on the plan, that they have some adults they could lean on aside from Jagged, whose stay in Paris would only be so long.

Marinette hadn’t been certain about letting them in on the fake relationship details, but they had been appropriately horrified at Adrien’s treatment and had immediately been on board. Everything had fallen into place, and maman had insisted after tomorrow she would take her break from the bakery to coincide with Marinette’s walk to school, so she could escort her for her protection.

They had a plan, a script, for Luka and Adrien’s relationship. She just had to be ready early tomorrow to be escorted to school, and be ready for any media attention.

And they had decided that Luka should be seen with Adrien, saying goodbye before the school day with appropriate closeness. They hadn’t specified what it should be, but that part could be ad-libbed. Regardless, the media would eat it up.

She updated her parents over dessert fruit tarts, then pleaded exhaustion and headed up to her room to get ready for bed. On her way up, she texted Luka and Kagami the news about Lila.

Tikki looked a bit exasperated when she was finally able to leave Marinette’s purse, and for a moment she was worried the kwami disagreed with what they were doing, that she’d be disappointed.

“I didn’t realize Adrien had it so bad,” Tikki said instead. “That poor boy. I’m glad you came to his side; I know it might be hard to watch him in a pretend relationship with Luka.”

Marinette relaxed. Tikki was on her side.

“I knew his father was awful, but I didn’t know it was this bad, either. If we do this right, M. Agreste will be under enough scrutiny to give Adrien some freedom.”

“He deserves better,” the kwami commented, taking the cookie Marinette offered her.

Marinette nodded. “Do you think I’m doing enough?”

“You’re doing everything you can.” Tikki set down the cookie and put one tiny hand on Marinette’s. “And… I think Luka was right. You expect too much of yourself. I know you’re Ladybug, but you’re also Marinette. You don’t need to bottle things up. You don’t need to be perfect.”

Marinette was silent for a bit, thinking about that. She’d always tried to stay strong on her own—even during the worst of Chloé’s bullying, she hadn’t reached out. Part of it was learning that Chloé could get away with a lot because of her status; teachers were rarely willing to punish the daughter of the mayor, so instead Marinette had been told she was being too sensitive, or that she needed to be the bigger person and be an example. All she’d wound up being is an example of a doormat.

In the past year, she’d learned that what her teachers had done was considered gaslighting. She’d managed to let them convince her that her feelings weren’t important. Marinette had been afraid to tell her parents everything, because if they told her the same thing…

Ever since Alya had come, she’d been able to start growing out of that—all it had taken was someone standing up for her.

“Thanks, Tikki.”

The kwami sighed. “Honestly, I should have helped you take care of this Lila situation earlier. It’s gone on too long. I let you flounder, even after you were almost Akumatized. I didn’t even think about how this was effecting you. I’m sorry, Marinette.”

Marinette brought Tikki up to her face and kissed her cheek. “I was doing what Luka said—putting on a front. I need to trust you and my parents and my friends more.”

“We’ll learn together,” Tikki told her with a smile. “I’m so proud of you, Marinette!”

They snuggled cheek to cheek for a moment, and then Marinette went to the bathroom to prepare for bed, leaving Tikki to her cookie.

[artificialqueens]

[i know you’ll be by my side] in the heat of the moment (Branjie) - PinkGrapefruit

A/N - Drunk Brooke is my new favourite thing to write. Special thanks to Frey and Q-tip for coming with me on the ride. Please feel free to send me asks and prompts because i get bored as hell. As usual, all work is my own and although this is based on real people, both the characters and the story are my own interpretation and therefore fully fabricated. Enjoy! x

*

They’d been observing each other across the room all day. Each looking up as Ru did his walkthrough, surveyed their partner with a protective gaze and a warm heart. They’d be naive to think he hadn’t noticed, but then again they were never the most aware. As Brooke walked into Untucked, feet aching from heels and soul burning just a little brighter from the praise, he’d hoped they could have a nice talk. He was blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The thing was, he missed her. He missed the way her eyes softened at the sight of him, the way her face broke wide into a smile at the things he said. Hidden relationships were never said to be easy, but he at least hoped this one would involve talking in the open more than once a week. He grabbed his brightly coloured cocktail from its usual table, pink straw already finding its way to his lips as he sat down beside her. Vanjie looked at him lovingly, hand on his knee for a brief second. Brooke savoured the tingling feeling her fingers sent through his thigh - held onto it like a life raft in an ocean of sugary drinks and nail polish. Then it started.

It began as a, to be fair, quite harsh argument between Silky and Yvie. Had Brooke been listening, he might have had an opinion that wasn’t just occasionally taking dramatic sips of his cocktail. Unfortunately for him, his entire focus was concentrated on the way her knee was almost touching his. Almost.

The first time he broke his - now slightly tipsy - trance was when she moved, presumably to support Silky or something of that nature. The cold shock he felt as the ever-present heat of her body moved from his periphery sobered him somewhat, and he found himself listening back in on the conversation. For the most part he kept to himself, finding it amusing to look straight at the camera in the more dramatic moments.  Where he felt necessary (or when he was the most bored) however, he’d add in little comments. He wasn’t particularly sure which side he was supporting but he more or less just sat and drank until the pink straw fell lazily to the opposite side of his glass.

Unlike the usual schtick though, where the one glass rule applied, a producer immediately handed him a second cup. The green straw very quickly found his lips however the warning glance from the camera guy suggested this one be drunk slower than its predecessor. He put down the drink.

The tension between the two was cut by the wheeling in of a large video screen where, to Plastique’s screams if delight, her boyfriend popped up. At that moment his eyes scanned the room to find her. It was just his luck that she was already staring, warmth pooling in her features as the heartwarming message played in the background. It humbled him a little to remember that he wasn’t far from his man at any point. He didn’t have to hope for a message from a boyfriend or loved one  - he had one right here.

Unfortunately, the calm and happy aura didn’t last long in the backstage area. Ra’jah instantly appeared to have a problem with the message and to be honest, it confused the hell out of him. He knew that later he’d probably voice it over with a dumb comment about Mother Theresa or something, but for now, he was content to establish full eye contact with every camera surrounding him. He wished  RuPaul could see him right now - this was his personality. “Brooke Lynn, what is it that you have to say,” came Ra’jah’s voice from over the pounding of his head. He awkwardly rolled himself to be somewhat facing them, the angle not so much pretty as just comfortable - the level of double chins he was giving was sure to be a wild ride. “I… Y’all just need to get the fuck out,” he chuckled before continuing. “Like you need to get out what you wanna say ‘cause this whole, like, ‘I’m mad at you but now we’re best friends thing is like…” He rolled his eyes back into his head, tried to convey the confusion that he felt. He was used to the abject, blunt professionalism of ballet dancers and Canadians. He wasn’t used to the soft, cushioned blows that many Americans favoured - it just wasn’t his style.

Ra’jah and Plastiques fight ended almost as quickly as it had begun and Brooke almost hoped that the rest of Untucked could just be a nice, cocktail-fueled debate over flowers or the best sauce at Swiss Chalet. Maybe he and Shuga could have a kiki or he could talk to Vanjie about anything. Literally anything . He had to stop jinxing things. As nice as his momentary lapse in thought had been, he was snapped back to the present where Yvie was now trying to fight Vanjie over comments made in the werkroom and, if by magic, she took the bait. It was only now,  one and a bit cocktails deep, that he was surprised though. They’d been buddies at the start of the day but now the two had very little stopping them from tearing each other apart. He would be excited to watch if he didn’t care. Sadly for his entertainment, he did.

The fight raged on. He liked to think that the Montagues and Capulets would shudder if they watched it.

Eventually he came to the conclusion, in his admittedly drunken state, that the only way his Canadian ass could solve this would be to build a pillow fort. As if to try and shield himself from the actual hell that was occurring on the other side of the plush blue sofa cushions, he buried himself further into his cocoon. It was no secret that he really liked Vanjie, maybe could even see himself loving her, but god at that moment Brooke Lynn wished to be as distant as possible from the tiny, rope clad man. Yet again, making eye contact with the camera, he slowly manoeuvred his way out of the den. Very careful not to spill any as he pragmatically sipped his drink, he steadied himself on his heels before taking a few confident strides towards the mess that was unfolding. Despite Silky’s half-assed effort at holding Vanjie back, she was still trying at Yvie’s throat so Brooke positioned himself between the two. He placed one shaky hand softly on the shorter queen’s and felt it relax beneath his grasp. Their eyes met, serene (slightly blown) blue, locking with dark, burning brown. Brooke had to swallow back a chuckle as one of the producers called them to the main stage, a quip about being saved by the bell on the tip of her tongue as he gave Yvie a simultaneously apologetic and warning look.

Later, on the mainstage, when they were down to eight queens and Brooke could say for sure he had another few days with his man - he intertwined their fingers. His calloused palm met hers and the soft squeeze that went through them sent shivers down his spine. It only lasted seconds but he knew what it meant, even as tipsy as he was. It was thank you and I love you and please don’t leave all rolled into one.

‘I’m still here, baby’

[murdocklovespage]

One more note on plagiarism

This is an answer to a Karedevil Squad ask. I figured since these are very much my opinions, I should answer it here so that people could come at me directly if they want, especially since I’m calling a specific person out. 

I’m sorry if this is long-winded or redundant in places. Blame it on the rage. 

I’ve had a few people ask me about my anti-plagiarism comments. They stem from this message, which several people received in their inbox a little over a year ago.

Dmcreif had been a slight annoyance pre-plagiarism explosion. He sent many of us dozens of asks, (frequently the same asks) and was clearly obsessive. He liked to mansplain things like “fridging,” “toxicity,” and why Matt Murdock was somehow not deserving of the fallout from the mistakes he made. That I could deal with because I enjoyed reading people’s differing ideas about the analysis I was writing. Dmcreif does not. He loves to argue. He loves to hear his points validated. And he loves to harass people.

Many of us didn’t see what he was doing until the anon message. I still feel like people are pissed about us validating him by answering his questions/talking to him, but if you weren’t following a ship, or you just missed it, you didn’t always notice this shit. I follow hundreds of people and didn’t see his harassment until a couple of weeks before it blew up.

You’d see a post where he made some asinine Kastle or MattxElektra comment and tag it. You’d see veiled comments about how a “certain Karedevil user” is back at it again. I messaged several people asking about what it meant and they were always classy, just referencing someone who upset their ship. I jumped into an argument he’d started about Elektra’s toxicity saying Matt Murdock was a grown ass man and defending Elektra and I got the nicest message saying the OP appreciated my saying it. They were dealing with this shit on and off Tumblr and I didn’t know it. Not until the anon bomb went off and I started combing through his tumblr and reddit posts.

I realized that I wasn’t the only one he was doing this to and it was much worse than I thought it was. I never received the message, but I found 1200+ word posts I’d written directly copied and pasted under dmreif on reddit, as well as other words I’d written reposted in the comments of other posts. I saw specific users directly pointing out that he stole entire posts without crediting people. Numerous times. My blog name was mentioned in one of these comments on a site I had never used. He knew what he was doing and he kept doing it. It was infuriating. I was shocked.

Here are some examples posts that he stole from:

Mine    “His” Trombonesinspace’s    “His”

Those are the easiest examples and are just a drop in the bucket (dude posts a lot, so don’t waste too much time.) 

After being confronted (and this wasn’t the first time, apparently,) he wrote this “apology” which had been forced out of him when he came to a justifiably pissed individual with his tail between his legs.

There are some wonderful users who noticed these things pre-“apology” and post-“apology”, but he ignored them (once he apparently added quotes, but that doesn’t make it better in my opinion.) People also reported him for copyright violation, but reddit only allows you do that after so long, so in my case, I was out of luck. Check this reddit user’s comment history for some enlightenment.

After this blow up, people stopped talking to him. And responding to his asks. And many blocked him. It didn’t matter. He created a new blog (georgiakaredevilfan) and started sending asks from that. And if people didn’t respond, he’d send anons. His questions are pretty obvious and many of us have recognized when it was him. 

Since you are the person who sent this message, @evs14u , I will give you an example. Here are three of your anon asks with a link to a VERY similar question he asked on reddit.

Your “anon” ask    His post

Your “anon” ask    His post 

Your “anon” ask    His post 

Here is one specific thought he took from you and re-worded - you can find it in the coments of the first “’his’ post” link above. Yours:

“his”

Maybe it seems small, but that only took me twenty minutes to find. He posts to reddit like crazy and I don’t have your words memorized. So it’s more difficult than say, finding 1000+ word posts I wrote and he stole in their entirety.

It’s gotten easy to figure out when a new blog is his. Obsessed with Karen Page? Check. Obsessed with the core three getting back together and Karen having to be their secretary (thanks to DDS3, he’s upgraded that role slightly)? Check. Obsessed with hating Olicity. Elektra being “toxic.” Matt Murdock’s mistakes being somewhat his fault, but mostly the fault of the people he wronged over and over again? Getting the group together sooner? Everything coming around to Karedevil? Check, check, check. And finally: false-ignorance when it comes to harassing people who aren’t in his ship and at the same time blatant harassment and baiting to get reactions while still thinking he’s a good guy. Check.

He makes comments about wanting the ships to get along and how certain “bad apples” spoil the bunch. He is the bad apple. He is the one who stirs up shit when he disagrees. He is obsessive. He makes people hate Karedevil shippers (and we’re a lovely bunch), and he made people want to leave this site altogether (me included.)

He needs your validation. He needs your thoughts so that he can repost them - as @significantowl pointed out, it seems like he’s harvesting opinions that he can use. He’ll send you asks where he tells you something instead of actually asking something. Sometimes there will be a question attached to a tangent (which he likely stole), but most of the time it’s just a statement. He wants you to tell him he’s right. There isn’t much of a way to escape him. He is obsessed. It doesn’t matter when you join this fandom, if you have views that are similar, or if you have the complete opposite, he will bother you.

So yeah, this isn’t just about plagiarism, it’s also about harassment. I care more about the latter, to be honest, so I’ve paid attention. I’ve stopped writing meta because of him, but I’m not going to ignore the blatant crap he’s continuing to pull. He is a gaslighting sonofabitch and he makes us all think we’re paranoid. We aren’t.   

[vibefrost]

Killervibe Week - Day 5: Villains

Posting a bit late, but I finished nevertheless. Basically just a fluffy fic about Cisco going rogue and Caitlin having to help him remember himself again. Anyway, enjoy :)

Caitlin Snow was not one to panic easily. Sure, she became a little frazzled every now and then and constantly worried over both miniscule and major situations, but she knew how to keep her head in a desperate situation and stay calm in the face of danger.

However, when the danger was wearing the face of her best friend, she found it was a lot harder to keep her cool than it normally was.

Why did it have to be Cisco, of all people? Caitlin thought with dismay, yet it never would’ve happened to him had he not pushed Caitlin out of reach of the meta, therefore saving her from the fate that ultimately befell him. She’d been unnerved by Reverb on earth-2, but Cisco’s doppelgänger was nothing compared to how Cisco was now—an evil, cunning, bloodthirsty super-genius bent on destroying the Flash.

They’d already apprehended the meta who caused all of this, Rage Runner, as Cisco had dubbed him before getting struck by his powers. Caitlin and the rest of the team had finally gotten him to describe how his power worked, and he explained that it simply enhanced the negative emotions inside a person to a point where they no longer had any good left in them. They continued to question him about how to reverse the effects of his powers, to which the meta simply shrugged at them, a malevolent gleam glinting in his eye at their obvious distress.

“Looks like the effects are permanent,” he cackled in a typical villainous fashion. When it became clear Rage Runner wasn’t going to be of any further help, Barry simply rushed him over to Iron Heights where he wouldn’t be a hindrance to them anymore.

“So how do we save Cisco from permanently becoming a cold-hearted villain?” Barry asked.

It was a question all of them were pondering, yet no one had a solution.  

“We just need to find him first,” stated Caitlin, although she was dreading their confrontation more than anything. How could she look into his eyes, eyes that used to be so full of wonder and happiness and love, knowing that he now hated team Flash with his entire being?

“Good point,” Iris agreed, and together they began forming a plan to lure Cisco to Star Labs, with Barry as the bait once again.

However, Cisco never showed. They waited and waited, Barry running around in plain sight in front of Star Labs, waiting for Cisco to come and fight him, but Cisco never appeared.

“You don’t think he’s hurt, do you?” Caitlin couldn’t help but fret to Iris, after Barry came back inside with a disappointed shake of his head.

“Right now, I’m honestly more worried about if he’s hurt other people,” Iris responded truthfully, and then left to call her dad to tell him their plan failed.

All throughout the night Caitlin slept fitfully, her thoughts anxious and unsettling as they all revolved around Cisco. She decided that he must’ve known about the trap they were trying to set and purposefully didn’t show, which only worried her all the more that he was cleverer than most villains they faced.

No, he’s not a villain, Caitlin corrected herself, but she knew that if they couldn’t save him, he may just turn out to be the most formidable villain they’d ever have to face.

The next morning the team decided to extend their search, using their satellite to pick up every little variance in any vibrations it could detect. It came up with nothing, which led them to draw the conclusion that Cisco was lying low, biding his time, and there was nothing they could do. Yet that very afternoon he breached right into the middle of Star Labs and kidnapped Iris from right under their noses.

Caitlin couldn’t stop kicking herself for not seeing it all sooner. If he was after Barry, the best way to defeat him was to attack his heart, or in other words, kidnap Iris and threaten to kill her. They should’ve been more prepared, more cautious, but she had a feeling that none of them had really considered Cisco a real threat.

Until now.

He sent a video transmission to them just a few hours later after the abduction. It was short and to the point, and as he made the demands that Barry give himself up to him, Caitlin found her eyes filling with tears at the cold, listless look haunting his face, so much different from the friend she knew and loved. Is the old Cisco still inside somewhere? she wondered with desperation.

Once the message was over, Caitlin knew that they had to listen to his requests—no one wanted to take the chance that he would actually kill Iris. But as Barry prepared to go to the meeting point Cisco had given him, a sudden idea began to form in Caitlin’s head.

When Killer Frost had taken over the first time, it was Cisco who had helped her remember her humanity and what it felt like to love again. What if she could do the same thing for him, too?

“Let me come with you,” she pleaded, catching Barry by the arm before he could leave.

“What? Cait, I can’t let you do that. He said just me—I don’t want to gamble with Iris’s life,” Barry protested.

“Yes, but I was thinking that maybe I could save him.” She then proceeded to explain the epiphany she’d come to just seconds before.

Barry frowned when she finished speaking, his expression full of uncertainty. “You really think the old Cisco is still in there somewhere, and you can bring him out?”

“We have to try—this may be the only way we can save both Iris and Cisco,” Caitlin implored.

It didn’t take too much longer for Barry to heave a weary sigh. “All right, let’s hope this works.” He scooped up Caitlin in his arms and took off running, arriving at their destination in only a matter of seconds. The place they were meeting Cisco at was an open field on the outskirts of Central City, completely secluded and isolated from the rest of the town, yet Iris and Cisco were nowhere to be seen.

“Where are they?” Caitlin heard Barry murmur anxiously beside her. No sooner had he spoken the words when a large breach opened up right in front of them that Cisco and Iris walked through.

“Barry!” Iris cried with relief as soon as she saw him.

Cisco, however, barely gave Barry a second glance. “Why are you here?” he snarled at Caitlin, his eyes flaring with an emotion Caitlin was unable to identify.

“I…I came to talk with you,” Caitlin answered, taking a tentative step toward him. “Please, just let Iris go and listen to me.”

“No.” He held out his hand as though he was going to blast her off her feet, but he didn’t—at least not yet.

               “Cisco, please,” Cailtin pleaded as she took another step. “This isn’t who you are—you’re a kind person, one who cares about others and loves helping people. You don’t want to hurt Iris.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Cisco agreed. “I want to hurt the Flash.”

“But you won’t,” insisted Caitlin. “Because he’s your friend, and you’re our friend Cisco.” She walked just a little bit closer, tears beginning to sting her eyes as she clearly saw how ragged and lifeless he looked. “Don’t you remember all the good times we’ve all had together?”

“I don’t want to remember,” he growled, and then cringed. Cailtin frowned at his unpredictable response, but was then struck with realization. The emotion she had seen in his eyes earlier was fear. He was scared of her, which must’ve meant he knew she could help him overcome the meta’s power and be good again, and it was working.

“We need you Cisco,” Caitlin continued with confidence. “You hold the team together, plus who else could come up with as creative names for villains and new gadgets like you?”

“I-I can’t…” Cisco’s chest was heaving and his eyes were closed tight. “That Cisco’s gone.”

Caitlin took another step forward, so that his outstretched hand was nearly pressed against her chest. “No, he’s not. You’re still him, Cisco, you just have to fight it. Fight it, please!”

Cisco finally released Iris as he brought both hands to his head, as though it was about to split open.  “Stop!” he cried, not even noticing how Barry swooped in and took Iris away.

“No, I can’t stop, because I need you Cisco,” Caitlin responded earnestly. “You’re my best friend, and I care for you so much. Please, come back to me Cisco, please, come home…” Caitlin kept softy repeating her plea as she took the final step forward and hugged Cisco tightly, determined not to let go.

At first he struggled, trying to push her arms away, but he then eventually gave in and began to sob, his arms winding around Caitlin.

“What have I done?” he whispered in horror. “I’m such a terrible person…”

“No, you aren’t,” Caitlin was quick correct. “This is the meta’s fault, not yours.” She wasn’t sure if Cisco fully grasped or understood the meaning of her words, but he hugged her tighter, and Caitlin knew that he was finally his true self again.

Later that night, Cisco profusely apologized to all of them over and over again, to which they all immediately forgave him. He then pulled Caitlin aside, and told her with sincere gratefulness, “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Caitlin couldn’t find the words to express just how grateful she was that he was back to normal again, so she simply hugged him tightly, taking comfort in the knowledge that no matter how dangerous or unpredictable the situation was, they could always find home in each other.

[blue-mint-winter]

SW prompts -- I enjoyed very much your twisted Daala and Kyp thing. So perhaps more of that? Or generally something with Daala being not incompetent for once would be nice.

After so long, I finished this story! Thanks for the prompt!

FFnet link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12777283/1/Night-on-the-Knight-Hammer

Summary: AU of Darksaber. Kyp is captured by Daala’s forces again.

It’s long and contains torture and other dark stuff, so I put it under the read more, if you prefer reading on tumblr. I can also post on ao3 if anyone requests it.

Night on the Knight Hammer

.

Even before his formal training, Kyp Durron followed his instincts, the subtle nudges that saved his life countless of times in the mines of Kessel. After he became a Jedi, he heard Master Luke always saying to trust in the Force. Kyp felt and believed that the Force had some destiny in mind for him, so it was only natural that he followed its call.

Now it led him and his closest friend, Dorsk 81, into the Deep Core systems. Rumours were floating around about the Empire mustering its forces and preparing another attack and as the Jedi, they had to get to the bottom of this.

That’s how they found the nexus station where the Imperial troops gathered. Kyp and Dorsk 81 blended in the crowd at a rally to gain more information on the enemy’s plans before they returned to the New Republic with the warning. At least that was the plan before the one behind the attack was revealed.

Kyp saw that angular, cruel face multiplied around him on the vidscreens, the face that still haunted him at night, and then he saw red. Admiral Daala couldn’t possibly be alive!

But, against all odds, there she was—standing proud, looking over her cheering troops as she delivered the speech that declared the New Republic’s imminent destruction at her hands.

Kyp couldn’t take it. He shouted—out of disbelief, shock, and sheer revulsion—and drawn attention to himself and Dorsk 81. The stormtroopers swarmed the two Jedi, who tried to run, but soon their path to the docking bay was cut off. Kyp slashed around madly, causing carnage among his enemies.

“Run! I’ll hold them off!” he yelled to Dorsk.

“Kyp, I can’t leave you behind!” his friend protested.

Kyp used a Force push to clear the way. “Go! You have to warn the Academy!”

Dorsk reluctantly ran off. Kyp stayed behind to prevent the stormtroopers from going after his friend. He grinned ferociously and used the tip of his lightsaber to make a circle around himself, keeping the enemies at bay.

“Come on! Bring it on!” he challenged them.

They didn’t charge at him. The Force warned him about an incoming attack and he turned around to block it, but instead of a blaster bolt, he was caught in a net. He cut through it, but more came at him, binding his limbs. He trashed like a fish out of water, trying to free himself, then he felt a prick on his neck. Tranquilizer! He realized as his body became sluggish and unresponsive and he fell unconscious.

The stormtroopers quickly took his weapons and commlink. They slapped the binders on his wrists and ankles and gagged him. One could never be too cautious with those crafty Jedi.

“The Jedi was taken into the custody, Admiral,” the Sergeant reported.

“Good. Bring him to me,” Daala replied. She changed the channel on her comm. “This is Admiral Daala to all the ships—catch the other Jedi! I don’t want him to leave this system. Shoot him down if you have to, just don’t let him leave! Daala out.”

Her attention was drawn to the group of stormtroopers carrying the prisoner towards her. Daala easily recognized the boy who had once gotten away from her. A full-blown smirk appeared on her face. It seemed the fate was in her favour today. She wouldn’t have to pick through the ashes of Yavin IV to find his remains. Instead, she would exact her revenge on him at her own leisure.

Daala licked her lips and ordered the young Jedi to be shuttled on board her Super Star Destroyer, recently rechristened as the Knight Hammer.

.

A boot in the gut revived him instantly.

Kyp groaned and reflexively tried to curl up, but the tight restraints didn’t allow him to. He opened his eyes, disoriented, and saw the ceiling of the Imperial holding cell.

Must be a bad dream, he thought groggily.

Another heavy stomp to his stomach had him gasping for air. The pain took away his ability to think for a short while as he fought through it. He was going to have a big bruise there, but at the moment that was the least of his worries.

“I assure you all of this is real, Jedi. Or would you like my men to kick you again?”

The sound of that woman’s voice had a better sobering effect than a thousand kicks. Kyp whipped his head to the right. Daala was standing there flanked by two stormtroopers, her lips crooked in a cruel amusement as she gazed at her helpless prisoner.

“You,” he ground out with loathing.

“That’s admiral Daala to you, Jedi scum,” a stormtrooper said and made to kick him again, but Daala raised a hand to stop him.

“It’s fine. We know each other,” she said. “Don’t we, Kyp?”

Hearing her say his first name so familiarly filled him with disgust which in turn made him angry.

“You tortured me!” he spat out. Daala quirked an eyebrow.

“It was only questioning. Believe me, you haven’t seen any real torture… yet.”

Kyp gave her a scorching glare as he simmered in his rage.

“How are you even still alive?” he asked sourly.

“I could ask you the same,” Daala neatly deflected. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I have you in my hands now.” And that she decided about his life and death went without saying.

“When’s the execution?” Kyp cut to the chase. “You can ‘question’ me all you want, I won’t tell you anything, so you might as well stop wasting both of our time.”

Daala put a cold hand on his cheek and stroked his skin lightly. Like he was a fucking house pet. “Don’t be so sure of yourself. There are many other methods of… persuasion,” she said silkily as her thumb rubbed at his lower lip.

Kyp glared but she held his gaze easily, showing that she wasn’t scared. After a long moment, she deliberately stepped away.

“Get him up,” she signaled to her troopers. “We’re going for a walk.”

The Jedi couldn’t quite bite back a groan of pain as he was forcefully stood up. He was frogmarched out of the cell into the stark corridors of a star destroyer.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked when he recognized they actually left the cell block. He turned his head back to see Daala who was right behind him, but the trooper on his left ‘corrected’ his posture with a smack.

“No moving,” the guard warned.

“Walking is moving!” Kyp protested.

A hard hit on the ribs was the answer.

“No talking back.”

Kyp kept silent, having learned his lesson.

The ride on the turbolift was uncomfortable. The space was too small and Daala breathed down his neck. Kyp tried to inch away from her, but quickly gave up when the guards noticed. He definitely didn’t want to get punched for nothing. He was smarter than that!

He could have attempted meditation, however a hand on his back deprived him of all the serenity he could muster and replaced it with a growing dread. His heart thudded in his chest as the hand slid down along his spine teasingly. It stopped at his lower back and his fervently hoped this was the end and she only meant to scare him�� but then the hand moved down and pinched hard. Kyp yelped in surprise.

“Quiet!” the stormtrooper barked at him.

Kyp nodded, wide-eyed as the hand felt him up, grabbed and squeezed aggressively until the turbolift stopped the ascent and the door opened.

They arrived on the bridge.

Daala smoothly passed by him and took the lead. Kyp knew he didn’t imagine that smug smirk on her face.

“Admiral,” the captain greeted her.

“At ease,” she said and gestured for the guards to bring Kyp closer.

They were at a viewport overlooking a green-blue globe with a very familiar shapes of landmasses.

“Do you recognize this planet?” she asked.

Kyp swallowed thickly.

“No, not really.”

Daala gave a signal to the guards and one of them swiftly hit him while the other kept him upright.

“Even if you weren’t lying, it would interest you that we tracked your Jedi friend’s ship here.”

Kyp didn’t take the bait and stayed resolutely silent, focused on breathing evenly as he managed the pain in his center.

“Khomm… Such a pathetic little planet, full of pacifists and cowards. What would a Jedi need there?” Daala tapped her chin in a mock-consideration.

If Dorsk 81 is on the planet, he can hide. Stormtroopers won’t be able to tell him apart from the other Khommites, Kyp thought hopefully as he reached out in the Force to his friend. He got a vague blip of a presence but it was enough to fill him with relief. As long as Dorsk 81 was free, he could send the message to the Academy and the New Republic military.

“You won’t find him,” Kyp said with renewed confidence.

Daala’s eyes lit up, like she was just waiting for this moment. “Give me the mayor,” she ordered the comm specialist on the bridge.

The screen was turned on, showing the face of Kaell 116, the political leader of the Khomm capital.

“Admiral,” he said with a respectful bow.

“Did you find the criminal?” she asked immediately. Of course she wouldn’t be interested in exchanging pleasantries with those beneath her.

The Khommite didn’t look happy about the small snub, but wisely didn’t react. “Yes, he is transferred into the hands of your men as we speak.”

Kyp couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Khomm willingly collaborated with the Empire! They gave up one of their own, their only pride, just like that?

“You traitor!” Kyp blurted out with utter disgust.

“We’re merely protecting ourselves from outside interference in our way of life, Jedi Durron,” Kaell 116 rebuked the accusations stoically. “Our planet is neutral in galactic conflicts, so we’d like your fleet to leave as soon as our business is concluded,” he addressed Daala, who gave a short nod.

“Oh, we will leave as soon as possible, Mayor, you can rest assured.”

“Then thank you, Admiral, and good day to you.” Kaell 116 gave another bow and the transmission ended.

Daala looked at Kyp with gloating. “You were saying?” she asked and he just glared at her darkly. She won this round.

The admiral pivoted on her heel and marched smartly to the command chair, arms behind her ramrod straight back. The catwalk in the center of the Star Destroyer’s bridge must have been built for the sole purpose of the Imperial command taking walks above the heads of their officers and basking in the sense of power granted by the elevation. Daala certainly took full advantage of the ship’s architecture to exert her complete authority.

She sat in the command chair and crossed her legs. Her boots were polished to the highest shine, which could have blinded Kyp when he was brought by the guards to stand next to her.

Why didn’t she send him to his cell? Staying there in silence, surrounded by his enemies, the young Jedi swallowed down the rising uneasiness. He touched the Force, but it only carried a vague sense of threat. His connection was only tenuous after the beating he had received and he suspected they might have drugged him to dull his extra sense.

Finally, a comm officer turned around. “M'am, the shuttle with the prisoner has docked. He is unconscious.”

“Very well. Put him in the brig. I will deal with him later.”

“Yes, m'am.”

Daala caught Kyp’s stare and smirked knowingly. He was hanging onto her every word and while he was unsure of what she was planning, except knowing that it had to be nothing good, he was relieved to hear his friend was alive.

“Now then,” Daala said in a pleasant, light tone that gave Kyp chills. His bad feelings intensified and the Force swirled in foreboding.

Daala stood up fluidly and activated the comm.

“To the Imperial fleet: this is Admiral Daala speaking. Our time of revenge has come. The weak New Republic and its pathetic allies won’t be able to stop our march of fire and blood as we retake the stolen territories and return them to the Empire. This is the place of the first strike, the first victory. Prepare to commence the orbital bombardment. Target: Khomm.”

“No!” Kyp jolted forward, but the guard’s strong grip restrained him. “You said you’d spare them! You can’t do this!” He would have said more but two merciless punches took out his ability to talk. He sagged in the crushing hold of his captors.

Daala gripped his chin and made him look up at her. “You have no idea what I can do, Jedi. But you will learn,” she spoke with a dark promise in her tone, then let him go.

Kyp glared a hole in her back. “Imperial… liar…” he wheezed out.

She turned to him, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I didn’t lie. I just never said we’ll leave after destroying the planet,” Daala corrected him. “Besides, isn’t this something you would do? I know how you treat your enemies.”

Kyp bristled in outrage. “I’m not a sadistic monster like you,” he spat out.

“Tell that to Carida.”

The words lashed him like a whip to the face. Kyp broke the eye contact and folded in himself.

“It was different,” he said stubbornly.

“You mean more destructive? Causing the star to go supernova was a bit of an overkill, but all in all it was an effective measure. You wiped them all out in one hit. Aren’t you a good little Jedi?” Daala patted him on the shoulder in mock congratulations.

“Khomm doesn’t have any military defenses. They aren’t a threat to you. You don’t have any reason to destroy it, just your own desire to kill,” Kyp accused, finally looking up.

“They are a bunch of cowards and backstabbers. They didn’t even blink when they sold out one of their own. I have no doubt they would do the same to me as soon as the fleet makes the jump. And I will not risk this whole military campaign by showing something as useless and dangerous as mercy.” She said the last word with a contemptuous sneer.

“Admiral, the fleet is ready to fire,” her aide informed.

Daala nodded. “To all ships: fire on my command.”

Kyp cast a desperate look to the green planet visible out of the viewport and grasped at the Force, but he was too weak. The harder he tried, the easier it slipped from his grasp.

“On my count: three, two, one, fire!” Daala gave the order and the turbolasers of every ship in the fleet answered her call. Kyp watched helplessly as the deadly beams pierced the atmosphere and rained on the planet’s surface.

Khomm burned beneath his feet and he could do nothing to stop the carnage. Kyp could only look down with his fists clenched so hard he was bleeding. He felt the tremors of the thousands of deaths tear through the Force as he bore a silent witness to the massacre. It was different than Carida—there had been only a short while of panic, the heightened sense of fear among the Imperials, then a flash and a terrible silence. Here the screams of pain, fear and confusion never stopped echoing in the Force. Every second, Kyp heard new voices as the kill count grew.

His vision blurred and he realized he was crying. But these were the tears of anger, of frustration. He failed as a Jedi and as a sentient being. Khomm was on his conscience just as much as Carida. If he’d only been more careful, he wouldn’t have been caught, wouldn’t have alarmed the Imperials to his presence at the rally. Then they wouldn’t have followed Dorsk 81 to Khomm. The planet was attacked because of Kyp’s incompetence, because he didn’t learn serenity and when he’d seen Daala, he hadn’t contained his reaction like a Jedi should have done.

“M'am, the infrastructure of Khomm is destroyed in 82%,” the aide spoke.

“Can they send a hyperspace transmission?” Daala asked. She tapped her fingers on the armrest of her chair as the officer checked in the data stream from the sensors.

“No, m'am, all the centers capable of the off-world communication were annihilated.”

“What about ships, do they have any they can send with a message?”

“We destroyed the cosmoport. The inhabitants didn’t travel much outside of the system and all the ships equipped with a hyperdrive were registered and assigned a spot in the hangars. They should be under the rubble and if any can be repaired, it would take months.”

“Good.” Daala received the report with a pleased nod. “Stop the fire. Let’s save the energy for worthier opponents,” she commanded.

“Oh, so next time you’ll attack a kindergarten?” Kyp asked loudly.

The whole bridge stilled in silence, gaping at the Jedi and his audacity. But he was beyond caring. He might be called suicidal but he just no longer cared. He glared at the admiral fiercely and caught a twitch of annoyance on her stony face. It was gone in a flash, but he still basked in the immense satisfaction at causing it.

Then Daala threw back her head and laughed. It wasn’t forced, just an outburst of pure amusement at his expense and what was worse, he had no idea what she found so funny. It was Daala, after all.

A creeping worry came over Kyp and stripped him of his short-lived bravery.

“As a matter of fact, yes, this is exactly what I am going to do, little Jedi,” Daala finally told him. “I will attack the kindergarten you came from. The Jedi Academy on Yavin 4. And you will watch it burn just like you watched Khomm.”

The horror shone in his eyes and filled her with a sadistic delight. She gestured to the guards.

“Escort the prisoner back to his cell.”

Kyp didn’t struggle when the stormtroopers pulled him to the exit. They retraced the path from the bridge to the jail area, then threw him inside his cell. Kyp stumbled and didn’t catch his balance because of the stuncuffs. He fell face-first on the floor. The door hissed shut behind him, plunging him into the familiar darkness.

The young Jedi rolled on his back and sat up. He felt around for the wall, scooted closer and leaned against it, pressing his throbbing temple to the cold panels for relief. He was sapped of energy, physically and mentally, but too afraid to sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, the images of Khomm’s destruction haunted him. He still heard the pain in the Force, tasted the copper of blood and bitterness of ashes left by Daala’s rampage. The sensations were even stronger now…

It took Kyp an unknown amount of time (in the dark-shrouded cell it lost its meaning anyway) to realize what this meant. The Jedi let out a surprised soft gasp, then smiled and stretched his thoughts in the Force. It felt more tangible, even if his hold was tenuous and clumsy. He used it to search for Dorsk 81 and to his relief he detected the sleeping presence of his friend nearby. He nudged it, but it remained placid, so he concluded that Dorsk 81 was most likely heavily medicated. On the other hand this meant the other Jedi was still unharmed.

With a renewed hope Kyp put his concentration on the binders.

After a few failed attempts, he slumped over. He was still too weak to open them. But he got nothing else to do, so after a period of rest he went back to trying.

The door hissed open and Kyp shielded his eyes from the bright light that spilled into the cell from the hallway. He heard a droid buzzing. A cold shudder went through him.

“No! Stay away!” he shouted, scrambling back as the Imperial interrogation droid floated closer to him. It was a black ball, just like the one they used on him when he’d been captured in the Maw and, according to Daala, 'questioned’ him. He remembered the injections, electroshocks and the paralyzing pain in every part of his body like nothing he’d ever experienced…

“Get away from me!” Kyp screamed and kicked out at the droid when his back touched another wall. He was backed into the corner, with no way to escape.

The droid clicked menacingly as it dodged the blow, then flew even closer, extending an arm with a needle. Kyp was afraid if he punched at it again, it would not hesitate to jab him with whatever drug it had there. Instead, he reached for the Force desperately. If he managed to shove the droid hard enough, it could get destroyed. Force push was so much easier than taking off the binders, it didn’t need any precision, it could work if he just concentrated…

As he thought that, the droid emitted a high-pitched sound that stunned him for a few precious seconds. Kyp saw the needle coming for his neck, felt the prick on his skin…

Then there was only an excruciating pain.

Something soft was pushed into his mouth and muffled his howling. He barely noticed the stormtroopers grabbing him by the arms and dragging him out of the cell. Everything became a blur of light and dark and the neverending hallways, but above that was always the pulsing, unrelenting agony.

At some point he must have passed out, because a torrent of icy water woke him up. He coughed and sputtered, shivering as the coldness soaked him to the bone. Kyp was bound to a chair in a dark room. The only lamp inside shone right into his face.

“Too bright,” he croaked and licked his lips. His throat was parched.

“Good. We’re not here to make you comfortable, Kyp. By the way, how are you feeling? Any pain?”

Kyp focused and realized that the pain was gone. “Just thirsty.”

“Let me get you some water.”

There was a sound of turning a tap and pouring water into a cup for a few seconds, then footsteps getting closer.

“Here, drink.” The cup was pressed to his mouth.

Kyp opened his lips, but before he could get a sip, the cup was taken away.

“Sorry, changed my mind. I can’t make you too comfortable.”

“Give me my water,” Kyp growled. The guy was playing games with him and it was pissing him off.

“Your water? You must mean the Empire’s water. My water. Nothing here is yours, Jedi scum,” the man sneered. Then his voice turned contemplative. “But, I suppose this water could be yours. A trade. What will you give for it?”

Now Kyp understood his angle. “How about my undying gratitude?” he tried sarcasm.

A hard slap was his reward. “Wrong answer. Where is Luke Skywalker?”

The question surprised the young Jedi. They wanted his master?

“You’ll never beat him,” Kyp said confidently.

“If you’re so sure, then no harm in telling us and getting the water.”

Kyp considered for a moment, but he was distracted by a loud gulping.

“Aaahh, this was refreshing! You sure you don’t want to drink? I think I’m going to get another cup.”

The sound of water so close by, but still outside of his reach, was maddening. Kyp’s throat was as dry as a sandpaper and with every second the Imperial’s suggestion sounded more logical. Really what was the harm in telling something insignificant if it could get him something he needed to survive? Even Master Luke would understand, he was from a desert planet, so he knew the importance of water.

“He’s travelling, I don’t know where.”

“Interesting,” the Imperial said, but didn’t come with the water.

“Hey, I told you!” Kyp raised his voice in frustration and it made him erupt into a fit of dry coughing.

“You didn’t tell me anything, so you don’t get anything.” The interrogator’s boots scuffed the floor as he walked up to Kyp. “The question is: where is Luke Skywalker?” he whispered into Kyp’s ear.

“I don’t know! He was going to different places!”

“Where? Try to remember. You can do it. Where did he go?” the man encouraged him.

“I think… Dagobah. It was days ago.”

“And then he will return to Yavin 4?”

“No… he was going to more places strong with the Force, but he didn’t say where.”

“Come on, where do you think he would go? Think.”

Kyp thought. His head felt warm and fuzzy, but he thought.

“He had a vision on Hoth once. He told us.”

“Dagobah, Hoth… where else would he go?”

“I don’t know. Byss maybe? There aren’t many places like that. Please, just give me the water. I really don’t know anymore.” Kyp pleaded with a scratchy voice and coughed. He tried to swallow, but it was painful because he had no saliva in his mouth.

“Alright, you earned your drink. Bottoms up!”

Finally, finally the cup was pressed to his mouth. Kyp greedily took a huge swallow of the drink. The warm wetness slid down his throat turning it into a burning inferno. Kyp spluttered and spat it out.

“What is this?!” Kyp cried out.

The liquid left a bitter and salty aftertaste in his mouth. It was simply disgusting.

The man burst out laughing. “I told you, this is my water.” The amusement in his voice was driving Kyp crazy.

“It’s not water!”

“It was when I first drank it.”

“What do you-” Kyp cut himself off as the realization finally dawned on him. The bile rose to his throat and he swallowed painfully. “Oh, kriff no… You’re sick!”

The officer didn’t take offense this time. He seemed downright cheerful, in a sadistic sort of way.

“Want to finish it? You won’t get any real water… unless you talk.”

After that the interrogation continued, but Kyp learned his lesson. He fell once for the Imperial’s games and he’d be damned if it happened again. He didn’t trust himself to speak, the risk of something slipping out was too great, so he chose to clamp his mouth shut. He ignored the insistent questions as he tried to connect with the Force and gain strength from it despite the punishing blows he received. Not even the interrogation droid got anything but screams from him as it put him through all kinds of excruciating, inhuman pain known to humans.

Kyp steadfastly refused to speak.

He didn’t know how long he was tortured. He almost passed out a few times, but the interrogation droid wouldn’t allow it, jabbing him with stimulants whenever he started drifting away. The only brief moment of relief happened when the Imperial decided to move him out of the chair to a standing position.

At some point the lamp was turned away and he could see the room. It was drab and the furniture was bolted to the floor, so he wouldn’t have been able to throw it using the Force. The face of the Imperial was entirely unremarkable. He wouldn’t turn heads on the streets of any world. The only thing that set him apart was the sadistic glint in his mud-coloured eyes.

In the middle of yet another session the door was unexpectedly opened. Kyp looked up, hoping against hope, and for a second it seemed to him like a scene from a dream. It appeared as though his prayers were finally answered and the powerful silhouette framed by the light in the doorway came to save him.

The officer turned around too. “What is this disruption? I am doing a delicate work here…” he began saying irately, then caught himself as he glimpsed the person that strode inside confidently. In the same moment Kyp recognized her too and his hope shriveled up and died.

“A-Admiral! Please forgive me, I-I didn’t expect,” the Imperial stammered in a fluster.

“I don’t expect you to have the ability to anticipate my comings and goings, Lieutenant.” Daala waved away his apologies. Genocide put her in a good mood.

“No, of course, m'am.”

“Bootlicker,” Kyp rasped.

“You speak only,” the man said deceptively calm as he came closer, “when you’re spoken to!”

The punch almost turned off the lights for Kyp, but he didn’t lose consciousness. His brain was rattled from the blow and his hearing resembled an old commstation with constant buzzing and losing signal for a while before it stabilized and he could listen to the conversation again.

“I need results, Lieutenant,” Daala said sternly.

“Admiral, this Jedi is very resistant, but with enough time I’m sure I can get him to talk.”

“Your methods are insufficient. There must be a change in our approach,” Daala mused as she took in the sight of the prisoner. He was standing, stripped down to his undergarments, the rest of his clothes laying around him in tatters. His arms were pulled taut upwards and chained to a durasteel bar in the ceiling. His ankles were also chained to the floor. The middle of his body was mottled with dark bruises, welts and cuts and his back wasn’t in any better condition as she found out when she circled him slowly.

Daala came to a stop right in front of the Jedi. Kyp returned her gaze.

“Admiral?” the lieutenant called.

Daala ignored him. Her hand turned Kyp’s face and she examined the black eye he now sported.

“Does it hurt?” she asked mildly, even though they both knew that she didn’t care about it.

“Not as much as the sight of your face.”

Kyp’s whispered insult met a retribution when Daala drove her sharp nails in his sore flesh. He hissed from the sting. She released him after a few seconds and returned her attention to her underling.

“Lieutenant, please remind me, did I tell you to hit the prisoner in the face?”

“No, m'am.”

“Then what were my orders?”

“… To hurt him only below the neck.”

“Are you not able to follow such simple instructions?” she asked scathingly.

The man gave a flurry of apologies and justifications, but she didn’t seem interested in hearing them. “No excuses. You are dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“If I may ask, who will continue the interrogation?” he dared to question, apparently worried about someone else getting his job and doing it better.

“None of your business,” Daala replied but she was looking at Kyp in appraisal. “Now get out.”

“Admiral,” the officer saluted and hurried out of the cell. He didn’t want to risk angering her any further.

“Finally alone, just the two of us,” she said to her prisoner. “Just like in the old times.”

Kyp grimaced at the reminder of his last stay in her cells. The expression pulled on his aching skin, so he stopped.

“Do you remember my offer from back then? It’s still open.” She slid her gaze down his stripped body, clad in nothing but underwear. It felt like she was touching him, sliding her mental fingers all over his skin. Kyp squirmed, wishing for clothes to hide him from her predatory gaze.

“And my answer is still no,” he said.

“I can change your mind. Teach you obedience,” she remarked with a smirk like she knew something that he didn’t and put a hand on his abdomen. He tried to back away from the touch, suck in his stomach, but she just pressed it a little harder. Her hand rested there like a brand. Then she stroked down to the hem of his underwear. Kyp tensed, dreading what she would do next. Daala looked at him piercingly. His fear spurned her on.

“I remember what you liked,” she said and moved her hand lower, cupping him possessively.

“No! Stop it!” Kyp cried out, thrashing in his shackles, not caring how much it hurt, as long as it would get her hand off him. But instead she grabbed him by the balls so hard that he yelped like a beaten dog and stopped struggling. He was panting harshly, tearful eyes wide with fear as he was aware of her crushing grip.

Daala leaned in. “Last chance. Surrender to me.”

Kyp gulped. “No,” he said, holding his ground, but only because letting her win was ten times more terrifying than any other fate she’d come up with for him.

“Then you will suffer,” she sneered and twisted her hand.

Kyp yowled in pain as he saw dark spots. His body tried to instinctively fold in and protect itself, but the restraints didn’t let it. Even after Daala let go, the pain stayed and even intensified for a while before it began to dull. His eyes were stinging with tears as he looked at her in defiance.

“You can torture me… all you want, Daala… but you won’t get anything from me,” he said.

“I have other means of persuasion, Kyp.” Daala clicked on her commlink. “Bring in the other prisoner.”

Kyp’s heart dropped.

The stormtroopers dragged Dorsk 81 into the cell. He looked like he went through hell, his face was covered in dried blood from the huge cut in his forehead. He was limping on his right leg. They strapped him to the same chair Kyp had woken in.

Daala paced before her prisoners, assessing them. They were both softened up by now. They might claim they could resist her forever, but their spirit was already weakened.

She stood in front of them, Kyp to her right and Dorsk 81 to her left.

“The rules are simple. I will ask you questions and you will answer them truthfully. Disobedience will be punished.” She nodded at the two stormtroopers and they took places behind the prisoners. Kyp heard the buzzing and felt the current that made the hair on his back stand up. He could guess what would be done to him if he didn’t answer.

Kyp looked at Dorsk in desperation and saw him try to smile. He took strength from his friend. They were in this together and they wouldn’t say a word no matter what happened.

“First question is: how many Jedi are there?” Daala began the interrogation. The prisoners remained silent. “Durron, answer me,” she ordered. Kyp didn’t reply.

“I see you are eager for your punishment. Shock him.” Kyp tensed in preparation of another dose of pain but to his horror Daala pointed to her left.

“No!” A surprised scream tore out of Kyp’s throat when the electricity surged through Dorsk 81’s body. He watched as his friend screamed himself raw, overtaken by mad convulsions. Dorsk 81 was like a puppet on a string, contorting unnaturally depending on the whim of his torturer.

Kyp glared fiercely at Daala. “Stop it! I didn’t answer, not him!” he shouted in anger.

“And he’s paying for your disobedience,” she replied.

After a few more seconds she gave a sign and the electricity stopped and fizzled out. Dorsk 81 slumped forward as if his strings were cut. If not for his harsh, nasal breathing, Kyp would have thought the worst.

“That was just a little demonstration. A few more shocks like that and he will die,” Daala explained. “Now talk.”

It was more than clear that she would be glad to administer the shocks herself if Kyp didn’t comply. And yet, he couldn’t just break his loyalty to the rest of the Jedi. He found himself trapped between two terrible choices and no way out. Despair settled over him.

“Well?” Daala prompted.

Kyp slowly opened his mouth.

“Don’t! Don’t… tell her…” Dorsk 81 suddenly rasped.

“But you’re hurt! You’d die!” Kyp protested.

“Don’t worry… I can take it…” Dorsk 81 raised his head slightly and attempted a crooked smile.

“Let’s test that theory,” Daala interrupted. She nodded to the stormtrooper who activated the torture mechanism in the chair.

For ten seconds Kyp watched in horror as his friend was suffering unimaginable, cruel torture. He felt Dorsk 81’s pain through the Force, waves after waves of agony crashing into him and his own nerves responding in a sympathetic reaction. When it stopped, he was on the verge of tears.

“Dorsk 81!” he called out.

“I’m… fine…” his friend replied weakly, like it took all his strength to say so little.

Daala chuckled. “So deluded. You Jedi greatly overestimate your abilities. This is why you’ll get wiped out again.” She turned to Kyp. “Are you going to give me the information or do you prefer to watch your friend’s brain frying? I can do this all day long but I doubt the Khommite will survive it.”

The overwhelming helplessness threatened to overtake him. He destroyed so many people’s lives, killed his own brother. Letting his best friend die like this made less sense with every moment.

“No matter what you do here, the Jedi Academy will be destroyed. The only one you can save here is your friend here. Choose,” Daala pressed.

“No!… Kyp… trust… the Force…” Dorsk 81 said with difficulty.

Kyp reached out. The Force was shifting around him restlessly and slipping from his grasp like an eel. He realized there would be no miraculous rescue this time, no daring smuggler would bust the door open and let him out and no Jedi Master would hear his cries for help. He looked at his mangled, barely clinging to life best friend and swallowed thickly.

“Okay… I’ll tell you what you want, just don’t hurt him,” he said quietly.

“Kyp, no!” Dorsk 81 stared at him in disbelief and betrayal.

Kyp lowered his head in shame. “I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t let you die here.”

“Betraying the Jedi for a friend. How sweet,” Daala mocked.

Kyp didn’t have the strength to answer. Daala looked him over.

“Very well. If you lie, he dies.”

Kyp nodded sharply. He knew she would execute Dorsk 81 without hesitation.

“Start talking,” Daala ordered.

And to his eternal shame, Kyp broke for the second time under the Imperial interrogation and told her everything he knew.

At first, he grappled for words and stumbled over them a lot, but the longer he talked, the easier it became. Sometime during his interrogation, Dorsk 81 was carted away to a different cell because he was protesting too much. Kyp was glad—he couldn’t stand his best friend witnessing this.

Talking so much wasn’t good for his throat and he was wrecked by a dry cough.

“Can I… have some water?” he requested between coughing fits.

“You have to ask me properly,” Daala told him.

“Please, can I have some water, Admiral?” Kyp tried again.

She shook her head. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wicked way. “No, this is wrong. Repeat after me: Please, can I.”

“Please, can I,” Kyp said.

“A low, pathetic Jedi trash,” Daala said, watching him with cruel amusement. Kyp became red in the face, but repeated the insult obediently.

“Have some of the precious Imperial water.”

He had no problems with this part.

“Mistress Daala.”

His eyebrows shot up. She wanted him to call her 'mistress’?! Kyp couldn’t get out this word.

“Keep going, you were doing so well,” Daala encouraged him.

“I’m not calling you that,” he rasped.

“Too bad. Then I’m not letting you drink.” She smiled predatorily, showing him teeth. “And I should probably check in on the other Jedi.”

Kyp lurched in his bonds as he realized his mistake. “Wait! No, please, no!” When she didn’t react, he gave in to the desperation. “Mi… Mistress!”

Daala chuckled, enjoying his degradation. “Not so stubborn anymore.” She sidled up to him and ran a hand down his side. Kyp shuddered in revulsion, but didn’t protest. “So you can learn. That’s a start.” She was too close, looking him straight in the eye. He saw the craziness lurking behind the toxic green of her gaze. “I have a lot to teach you, Kyp,” she whispered, stroking along his jaw with a fingerpad.

Imagining what kind of depravity she would subject him to had Kyp wishing for his death, only the concern for Dorsk 81’s fate stopping him from doing anything reckless.

So instead, the broken young Jedi bowed his head in defeat. “Yes… Mistress.”

Daala smiled widely.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Queen of the Crossroads

Masterlist

Chapter 13: No Going Back

Sarah stretched out her neck from where she tied to a chair, grinning as she spat out a mouthful of blood. "Is that really all you got bad boy?"

The man in front of her scowled before swinging in with another punch, the brass knuckles biting into her as her head snapped to the side.

She tuts, looking back at him with bored interest. "Really? Surely Jeremiah, all those years have made you better than that."

Jeremiah's face contorts in rage and her takes another swing, the crack of flesh being hit loud in the room, just as another man, Paul, steps forward to grab his arm.

"She's baiting you man." Paul said quietly. "She's getting satisfaction out of it."

Sarah gives a bloody smile at them. "Aww, you're ruining my fun."

"Keep laughing bitch, when Hugo gets back with what we need, we'll gladly send you back to Hell." Paul snarls.

She shrugs. "Won't make much of a difference to me, I won't be left down there long."

"We're going to send you down permanently bitch." Jeremiah tried to get out of Paul's grasp. "And make sure you stay there."

"Oh, an exorcism?" Sarah gives a mock shudder. "Boys, you do know how to get a girl all tingly." She rolls her eyes as they both stare at her with disgust. "In all honesty, what did you guys expect me to do? You killed me. Of course I was going to come back with a hell of a vengeance."

"You made us torture our wives!" Jeremiah spat, breaking free from Paul and laying into her again. "You made us watch, unable to do anything! You tore out their hearts!"

Paul grabbed him again and pulled him back as Sarah started to chuckle lowly from the chair, licking the blood from her lips as she looked back up at them.

"I just thought they'd like a taste of what you'd been doing to other women." She said casually. "They just loved it by the-"

Water splashed down on her head and Sarah screamed, the water burning her skin as she fought against the ropes that were holding her down.

Hugo stepped around, a canister of water in his hand, his eyes cold. "How did you like that?"

Sarah looked back up at them, her eyes black. "Well, thanks for the cleaning the blood off me."

He throws more water on her and she screams again, trying to fight away from it, breathing hard, her head hanging for a moment.

"Keep joking," Hugo said. "It'll be the last thing you do."

As he joins the others, Sarah begins to laugh, low at first before it began to slowly fill the room, all three men glaring at her.

"You think you understand." She said quietly. "It's so amusing. Little boys trying to play in the big boy world." Her blue eyes are cold as she looks up. "Do you really think that these ropes are holding me? That your plan to exorcise me will work? Do you think that I simply just walked into your trap?" She continues to laugh, making Paul and Hugo share a worried look, Jeremiah growling as he stepped forward again.

"Shut up!" He shouted. "You are all talk!"

"Demons are good at that." Sarah smirked. "Some come on, have your fun, because once I'm out of here, once I've killed all three of you, I'm going to take great pleasure in finding you in Hell and torturing you myself." She licked her lips slowly. "And I promise there won't be any chance that you three will be turned into demons, I promise that I'll make sure you relive what you've done every hour of every day."

Hugo rested a hand on Jeremiah's shoulder. "Leave her, she is all talk."

Sarah grins. "Oh, the smart one speaks sense. It may be all talk but it's all true."

"Right, just as you saying you can easily get out of Hell is true?" Hugo steps closer to her, bending so he's eye level. "Everything we've read says you'll be stuck down there."

"Well, all those books don't account for me having the King of Hell on side do they?" She asked lightly. "You take out his best man and I promise, he'll be even worse than me."

Hugo laughs. "Sure. You keep spewing those lies demon, because they weren't work on me."

Sarah watches him walk over to a table and pull things out of a bag, her expression amused. "How about a deal then? If you don't want to listen to promises?"

"A deal?" Paul asked. "Seriously?"

She shrugs a little. "Sell me your souls, get ten more years on Earth, then go to Hell."

"What would we sell our souls for?" Jeremiah growled. "You already took everything that we cared about."

Sarah's grin didn't meet her eyes. "Anything you want."

Jeremiah and Paul frown as Hugo turns back to them. "Don't listen to her, she's just trying to get out of this."

"So you don't want power?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "You don't want money? Fame? New love? Surely there must be something that tempts you besides revenge on little old me."

"No." Hugo said firmly. "Now it's time to go back to Hell."

Sarah grinned. "All it takes is a kiss, surely you boys want to live past today?"

Crowley watched from a vantage point in the warehouse as Hugo started the exorcism, watched as Sarah got increasingly uncomfortable in her seat before starting to struggle.

He couldn't fault her, the performance on the men was working, they clearly believed that she was being exorcised, satisfaction crossing their faces as the man speaking got louder.

Crowley smirked. They truly had no idea.

Sarah's screaming suddenly turned to laughter, just as loud, her head still thrown back on the chair, making Hugo pause and the other two to look at each other. It took her a moment before she could settle enough to relax her body and look back at them. "Now, this has been fun and all, but I'm getting rather bored of watching you try."

"It's not possible." Hugo hissed, flicking through the pages. "This should be working."

The ropes fell from Sarah's wrists and she easily leant back, resting one leg atop the other as she rubs them, smiling. "I tried to warn you, I'm no ordinary demon boys, those little words don't work on me." Her eyes flick between them. "The question now is, what do I do from here?"

Hugo leaps back for the table, for the canister of holy water only to be frozen just short, his fingers just unable to reach.

"I will admit, that stuff burns like a son of a bitch," Sarah said, now examining her nails. "So forgive me if I can't let you take it back." She stands, stretching and letting out a yawn. "Now, this has all been very entertaining, but I've got important work to get back too, so I'd appreciate it if you made your decisions quickly."

Jeremiah leapt for her but with a small tilt of her head, he went flying into a piece of machinery, groaning. Paul swallowed, frozen in place.

Sarah shrugs. "Well, I guess if it's any consolation, I had no intention of allowing any of you to make a deal. Giving you ten more years to carry out those sick little fantasies? Yeah, right."

She slowly begins to walk towards Paul, who backs away until he hits a wall.

A voice stopped her. "Sarah!"

Sarah smiled over her shoulder as Sam and Dean entered the room, guns drawn. "Come to see the show?"

"Sarah, let them go." Dean said, his gun trained on her. "The authorities can deal with them."

She snorts. "Yes, because they did such a good job last time. Sorry Dean, these boys need a different kind of justice now."

There was a sickening crack as Hugo's neck snapped, his frozen body suddenly slumping down to the floor, motionless.

"Hugo!" Jeremiah shouts, scrambling up as Sam and Dean had frozen, Sam swallowing hard. He was thrown across the room again, Sarah sighing.

"Look, if you two don't want to see this, I suggest you leave." She said to Sam and Dean. "Because this isn't going to get any prettier."

"Revenge isn't the way Sarah!" Dean shouts. "You of all people should know that!"

"Oh, I should know that?" She faced Dean, ignoring Paul for a moment. "Dean, in case you hadn't noticed, our entire upbringing was raised on the idea of revenge, so forgive me if I don't give a damn about what you say."

"This is how you got into this in first place." Dean continued. "This is how you got turned into-"

"I got turned because Lucifer was an arsehole." Sarah cut him off. "Because he wanted dear Saphie to have the best little vessel possible, one that was compliant and under Lucifer's control. If I didn't accept it, then I would've been a sniveling mess, no doubt licking Lucifer's boots." Her eyes shifted black. "And it's all because these three messed with the wrong person."

"If you didn't hunt on your own-"

Sarah growled and actually took a step towards Sam and Dean, making them shift uncomfortably. "I gave everything to you two, I never once complained that Dad would look after you more than me! Never complained that Dad would only ever see me as the young version of Mum! I hunted on my own to escape that, to keep away from this fucked up family as much as possible! I wanted to stay out of the family mess because I knew it would get me killed!"

Sam stared at his feet. "Sarah..."

"Don't." She growled and flung Jeremiah across the room again, where he coughed up blood this time. "I don't care what you two think anymore. You have no idea what it was like to hunted by these three, to have them toy with you, multiple stab wounds across your body, knowing that no one was coming to save you." She blinked, once, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I tried to send you a message that day, but it was already too late."

"Guess we should've sent it for you huh?" Jeremiah spat from the ground. "Instead of just crushing the phone under my boot."

He started screaming, Sarah's eyes cold as she turned her head towards him.

"Sarah stop it." Dean said, both he and Sam uncomfortable as he kept screaming. "Dammit, they've had enough!"

"No, they really haven't." She said.

Jeremiah's body arched, Paul whimpering behind her, still pressed against the wall, and blood started to foam from his mouth as his body convulsed, writhing away until he collapsed, twitches continuing as his eyes went glassy on the roof.

Sam actually turned away, gagging.

"I told you to leave if you didn't want to watch." She said quietly. "But you can give up on stopping me."

Sarah spun so quickly that Paul got a yelp strangled in his throat as she pinned him by his neck against the wall, her black eyes staring at him as he struggled.

"It's a bit different faced with you're death now isn't it?" She asked. "And do you know what I'm going to do to you Paul?"

Paul's eyes were wide with terror, going even wider as held up the knife suddenly in her hand, wiggling it in front of his eyes and he started to struggle more.

"You enjoying watching the light leave my eyes," She said coldly. "So I think it's about time I return the favour."

Paul gasped, the knife sinking into him slowly, his hand trying to stop her as his cries were strangled in his throat as the knife slowly kept going, Sarah holding his gaze.

Once the light was gone, once Paul had stopped moving, Sarah let him drop, the knife still in his chest and she stepped back, breathing hard.

"I told you boys from the start," She said quietly. "You can't help me anymore."

Sarah vanished and Dean cursed, running a hand through his hair as Sam's hands shook. "What do we do Dean?"

Dean sighed. "I don't know Sam, I really don't know."

Neither of them notice as Crowley vanished from the room too.

Taglist

@sunshineistoofuckingbright | @everyjourneylove | @wholita | @darthcastiel | @thelazybamf | @gettinjoyful

[svartalfhild]

2 Morath @ her dad

“After everything you did, you’re asking ME to apologize for snapping at you ONCE?” 

Mornath,

If this letter manages to reach you, I’m sure it is with no small amount of difficulty as it seems that you never stay in the same place for long.  I write to inform you that your mother is gravely ill and has requested your presence.  You needn’t bother with a reply.  Your answer will be evident in your arrival.  Make haste if she still means anything to you.

-Dragglys Sparrowswood

It took a great deal of willpower on Mornath’s part not to incinerate the parchment in her hands the moment she’d finished reading her father’s letter.  It had arrived in the clutches of a rather large and exhausted sparrow, a plump and haughty creature like all the sparrows that nested at the top of the tower where she had grown up.  The very sight of it had told her the origin of the message before she had even opened it, filling her with dread for what she had been about to read.

The news that her mother was ill was not a shock.  Sekehra was in her later years as a human and had never been the heartiest of her people.  What surprised and disturbed Mornath was that her father had been attempting to track her down, potentially even before Sekehra had requested her return.

“Mornath?”  The sound of Heliodoro saying her name jolted the mage from her troubled thoughts and she looked over to see him emerging from the smithy outside of which she had been waiting, perched on a short fence.  He sheathed his newly sharpened sword as he approached her, a look of concern on his chiseled green features.  “What’s wrong?  You look as if you’ve been slapped.”

Mornath did not trust herself to give a coherent and even-toned reply, so she simply handed Heliodoro her letter for him to read and remained silent as he scanned the page and she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the ground.

“Dragglys?  Your father?” the paladin asked when he’d finished and she nodded.  An uncharacteristically dark look came over him as he continued, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“My mother and I…we were never close.  But…she was not unkind either. ��If my father claims she wants to see me…then I will go for her sake and no one else’s,” Mornath replied after taking a moment to breathe and organize her thoughts.

“Do you want me to-”

“Please come with me,” she blurted out before he could finish his sentence.  “I-I mean…you don’t have to.  Silverymoon is at the heart of anti-orc sentiment and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to subject yourself to that, but…I…I would prefer not to go alone.”

“Then you won’t.”  The look of deep concern on Heliodoro’s face was replaced with a reassuring smile as he said this, giving Mornath some sense of comfort in the prospect of seeing her family again.

They soon made plans to travel north to Luruar, to Mornath’s hometown of Silverymoon, with all due haste.  Horses were a luxury in their present financial situation, but with some haggling, they managed to procure a single hearty steed, capable of carrying them both as well as their meager supplies.

Journeying back through the High Forest was a strange experience for Mornath.  She remembered how she had come south this way and met Heliodoro and now it felt as if she were regressing somehow, going back to the place from whence she had come.  

Anxiety consumed her more and more as their journey progressed, causing her to be even quieter and more brooding than usual, a fact which Heliodoro seemed to pick up on, because he made every effort to distract her from her thoughts without forcing her to speak.  He told stories and sang ballads and for a time it worked a little, but then she would often spend the rest of the daylight hours with her head rested against his back, trying to sleep away the days before she would see her birthplace again.

The first Luruaran town they stopped in showed them just how nasty things could get for a half-orc in this country.  The war with the Kingdom of Many-Arrows was nearly four years gone, but the shocked and angry looks people shot at Heliodoro were ripe with lingering anti-orc resentment.  Mornath had to pay double just to get one lousy room at the inn.  The innkeeper wouldn’t even spare another.  They had to climb out the window not long after midnight when she heard someone trying to pick the lock on their door.

“Perhaps I should make you look different,” Mornath suggested as they put the town behind them, wiggling her fingers to indicate she meant by magic.

“I refuse to hide what I am.  If people have a problem with my tusks and green skin, they are free to meet me in the pit,” Heliodoro answered fervently.

They didn’t stop at the next town after that; they just kept going until they reached Silverymoon.  The city was just as beautiful as Mornath remembered, with its nature-inspired architecture and bustling streets, though people still stared unpleasantly at her friend.  

It wasn’t until they reached her old neighbourhood near the Hunter’s Gate that she became truly uncomfortable.  The brown and gray stone of Sparrow Tower stuck out like a sore thumb between the squat little bakery and the pawnshop on the lane where she had grown up.  Everything seemed exactly as it had been when she had left and yet so different somehow.  Maybe it was that she was looking at everything with very different eyes.  It was a strange and disorienting feeling, but she pressed on, leading the way to the oaken front door of the tower with its rune-carved surface and sign which proclaimed the place The Sparrow’s Library.  Another sign beneath it stated that the shop was closed indefinitely.

Taking a deep breath, Mornath drew her palm across the symbols that would notify the owners that a guest was here and they lit up briefly with a faint green light under her touch.

A moment later, the door opened to reveal a very mature-looking elven man with a long, immaculate mane of strawberry blond hair and a pair of blue eyes so cold that his already severe features seemed to draw the life out of the very air.  The brown robes he wore were at least two centuries out of fashion, but no one with a measure of sense in their head would dare call him on it.  He did not visibly react to the sight of Mornath on his doorstep, but when his gaze fell on Heliodoro, his expression became something between disapproval and disgust.

“Who is this?” he asked in a deeper, flatter version of Mornath’s brogue.  Hearing his voice again suddenly filled her with a paralyzing panic and she could not bring herself to answer.  Fortunately, Heliodoro stepped forward to take care of it himself.

“The name’s Heliodoro.  I’m a friend and colleague of Mornath’s.”  He offered his hand to shake, clearly hoping for some measure of civility here, but the elf blatantly ignored it.

“You’re associating with savages now.  How predictable.  If you think he is welcome in my home, you are sadly mistaken.”

“I am no savage, sir.  I’m a servant of Corellon, a paladin of the Order of the Protector,” Heliodoro responded in Elvish, drawing himself up to his full height and revealing the holy symbol around his neck, though Dragglys seemed unimpressed.

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing is still a wolf, boy.  I was talking to my daughter, not you,” the elf shot back sharply before turning back to Mornath.  “You’re not to bring any of your nonsense into this tower, understood?”  Mornath remained frozen in the face of this question, too afraid to speak.  “Answer me!” her father snapped and she jumped like a startled mouse, her arms coming up to her chest defensively.

“That’s enough!” Heliodoro growled with an anger Mornath had never seen in him before, stepping in front of her and shielding her from Dragglys.  The elf open his mouth to reply, right hand making a strange motion, but Heliodoro had seen Mornath cast enough spells to know when one was coming and decked him before he could finish, knocking him to the floor in a single blow.  

Dragglys tried to cast his spell once more from his position sprawled across the stonework, hitting Heliodoro between the eyes with a burst of orange light, but what Mornath recognized as an attempt at paralysis did not seem to take hold and Heliodoro rushed forward to lift her father by the front of his robes and slam him against the wall.

“You don’t get to treat her like that anymore,” the paladin snarled.

“Are you going to call off your guard dog or just stand there looking dumb?” Dragglys asked Mornath and Heliodoro slugged him again.  Her father spat blood onto Heliodoro’s golden chest plate with a sneer.  “Happy now that you’ve spilt elf blood, savage?”

“Stop it!” she snapped at Dragglys, finally able to overcome her panic at the sight of him restrained and bleeding.  “I came to see my mother, not listen to your judgement.”

“Don’t you dare use that tone with me, girl.  I’m your father.  Show some proper respect and apologize.”

“After everything you did, you’re asking me to apologize for snapping at you once?”

“Everything I did?”

Mornath didn’t take this bait.  Instead, she simply turned on her heel and headed for the stairs, saying nothing more.

“I go where she goes.  Get used to it, coward,” she heard Heliodoro declare behind her, followed by the rustle of him roughly releasing Dragglys’ robes.  For once her father had the good sense not to try to get in the last word.

Mornath ascended the spiral staircase, Heliodoro soon following, and she noted that he had left much of his anger behind with her father, now bearing the sympathetic smile of the young man she knew, a comforting hand on her shoulder as they climbed the steps.  It was a relief, seeing as anything to do with her father seemed to turn Heliodoro into a font of righteous rage.  Witnessing that side of him for the first time had been a little alarming, if she was honest.  Then again, she supposed it was silly of her not to consider that he had a serious side, given that he had made it through paladin training in service of a god directly in opposition to his mother’s people and their god, Gruumsh.

Her own mother’s people were similarly not so charitable of their attitude towards elves, but Rashemen was far to the east, too far for their judgement of her marriage to an elf to mean much here, but if she was truly as ill as Dragglys seemed to think, then she would never again see her homeland and something about that greatly saddened Mornath more than she cared to admit.

“I’d like to see my mother alone,” she told Heliodoro as the reached the appropriate door.

“Of course.  I’ll be out here if you need me,” he assured her softly before she went in.

The room was dark but for a few candles, though Mornath could still see her mother clearly.  She barely recognized the human lying on the bed.  Were once this woman had had full, round features, she was now thin and gaunt, her spectacles ill-fitting.  Still she could see the familiar unassuming grey eyes and wild steely curls, which were splayed across the pillow like a dark halo.

“Mornath?” Sekehra called, voice barely audible in her weak state.

“I’m here, mother,” Mornath answered as she came to sit at the bedside and put her hand over Sekehra’s.  The woman’s sunken cheeks stretched taught in a smile.

“It’s been so long.  Where have you been?”

“I’ve been traveling.  I made a good friend and become an actor.  I’ve seen so many wonderful and terrible things.  I’ve…I’ve been…happy.”

“That’s good.  This friend, you trust them?”

“With my life.  He and I even joke that we’re twins, so joined at the hip are we.  He taught me about acting and just living life to the fullest.  Father doesn’t like him, though.  He’s a half-orc.”

“He could be a rich elven scholar and your father would still hate him,” Sekehra said with a dry laugh that turned into a cough.  Mornath reached for the glass of water at the bedside table, but her mother waved it off.  “I have something to ask of you- and your friend, if he’s willing.”

“What is it?”

“I never completed my dajemma, which is something I’ve come to regret.  It’s far too late now for me to do it, but if you took my staff back to Rashemen and presented it to the hathran of my village on my behalf, the matter would be settled at last,” Sekehra explained, growing quieter with each word.

“I will do this for you, mother.  I promise.”

“Thank you.”  With these last shuddering words, the final breath left Sekehra’s body, never to return.  Despite never having really known her mother, Mornath felt a hollowness at this sight.

“Sleep well,” she said as closed her mothers eyes.  Seeking focus, she looked around for the staff and spotted it propped up against the wall in the far corner.  A moment later, she emerged from the room with a look of determination in her eyes.

“Is everything alright?  What’s that?”  Heliodoro asked, pointing at the staff.

“A promise,” Mornath answered.

[ankyouweek]

Second Time Around

5 - Bonds

In another change, Nagisa went straight for the kill. Terasaka wasn’t able to give him the stun gun (“my hands feel like lead…”), so the knife was all he had. Takaoka wasn’t able to land a hit. It was earlier than he expected, but the Nagisa from their civil war had awakened.

Takaoka had been felled by the knife. A seasoned warrior against one weapon. He wasn’t dead, but Nagisa had bluffed, going for the eyes before flipping it, smacking the man on the temple. As far as Karma was aware, the man was still unconscious when he made it to a Tokyo hospital.

Karma thought Nagisa should have just stabbed the fucker. Terasaka was in hospital for over month, having had a bad reaction to the chemical - instead of food poisoning, it was a variation of the flu, faster acting and more destructive, but lasting for a shorter amount of time than it’s regular counterpart. Karma never wanted to see an ICU ward again.

Smog and the others had gone against Takaoka’s plans as expected, but since the bug was flu like, getting everyone recovered took much longer. They skipped on their free day in Okinawa and headed home as soon as possible.

(“Do we get a refund?”

“We didn’t pay anything…”

“Okay but our ‘study time’ was ruined.”

“The Principal knows you wouldn’t have studied anyway…”

Okajima had nothing to say to that.)

On the other hand, Karma had been wrong. His knee was broken. He lay in his room while the others attempted to hook up Irina and Karasuma. 

He hoped he’d done enough, because he was tired, and he just wanted a very, very long nap.

—

Karma stayed away from making the pudding, too. He was still kind of bitter toward Kayano, for playing dumb when she didn’t need to. (He wasn’t bitter in his own time, but now that he knew what he did, and had to hide it, he was more irritated than he imagined. He wondered why he and Karasuma hadn’t counted for his ego when they discussed his ‘emotional stability’.) 

To be fair, Kayano was being careful as anyone with half a brain would, but Sensei hadn’t figured out her game and she could have been acting like she’d gotten stronger due to being in this class. He’d prodded at her more since they returned from Okinawa.

“Bet you girls would have walked right on in that club if one of you had tentacles, huh?”

“That’s a weird thing to say!” She laughed, but her tone had been full of ice. He was getting closer to make her burst, though Karasuma was warning him against it. Karma was finding it hard to care. He was tired and didn’t know the game as well as he thought he did. Time he should have spent working towards a good future were spent in rehab, getting his knee to heal right. Time he should have spent encouraging others in class was spent being driven around or helped out because “this must be really hard for you, right?”.

If only they knew just what was really hard.

He hated being useless, hated not knowing things. He hated that he and his Karasuma had been found out and didn’t know what was happening in his world. He hated having so many choices, chances, and having no answers, no idea of where to go. He felt like he was going mad and he just wanted things to stop.

Do I need to keep changing things? Without being able to talk to the Karasuma of my time, I can’t know if I’ve changed too much or too little. Can’t I just live this again? The future is bad, but I know what’s coming. Karasuma knows. We can tell Sensei. We can still avoid the bad with all that, right?

What if, no matter what I do, we can’t avoid our fate?

—

Apparently Itona had been having second thoughts about Yanagisawa. Or maybe Yanagisawa was just that much of an asshat to use Itona as bait, Karma didn’t know. (He was just glad that no underwear was stolen this time around.)

Sensei had been lured into the same trap. Itona still lost control and Yanagisawa still ditched him.

The operation to retrieve the recaptured Itona and Sensei went much smoother than last time (Karasuma had agreed earlier on to teach them about escape manoeuvres thanks to Karma’s insistence, even though escape wasn’t normally an assassin’s top priority). Itona’s motive was the same as last time and Karma again wondered who just ditched their kid like that. 

This time, however, Terasaka and his crew weren’t alone in trying to help Itona. Kayano was soothing him, getting him to calm down so Sensei could remove the tentacles. Karma was a bit disappointed about losing Itona’s tentacles, but he was more curious about Kayano and Itona. Kayano kept mostly to the girls or Nagisa - she wasn’t rude or cold to anyone else, but those were clearly the people she felt most comfortable with, so going for someone outside of her comfort zone was strange. Everyone will put it down to her being nice though.

He wondered what her motive was, why she was being so kind with someone who was disowned by a crazy scientist and tentacle-less. 

—

“Sergent”

He wasn’t sure if it was a better nickname than his last one or not. He felt more attached to the last one, since he was more attached to the last, but this new one suited him well.

He was the only one with a name change.

If I go back home, will they remember everything? Will they remember our world and the new world? Will they laugh about my new name and whoever gave it to me? Or will they only remember this world and this me, forgetting everything else?

Spending time by himself was fine. He wasn’t incredibly extroverted, but he wouldn’t class himself as an introvert either. But being the only one in the group to remember all these events, these life changing moments… That type of loneliness scared him.

—

Karma had had a lot of fun at the last sports festival, but this time his knee kept him from participating. Isogai got his screen time and E Class managed to win, but Asano had pulled out the stops. The redhead was pretty sure it was against some type of rule that the entire team bar Asano was made of foreign wrestlers and martial arts specialists who had never set foot on the school grounds before, but the principal certainly wasn’t going to say anything. They were all a bit beaten and bruised afterwards (Yoshida sported an ugly bruise that was judged to be from when he fell, but had clearly been from a punch) but Isogai wasn’t going to be expelled, so that was the main point. Unfortunately the staff had found ways for them to stay later after school (“jumping into the crowd like that shows you have no respect for your classmates! You can take over their cleaning duties for a month!”) but you couldn’t have everything in life.

E Class needed all the time they could get, for assassination planning and for studying, so the detentions were a blow. Of course, they chose not to listen to Karma and ended up injuring Matsukata. Karma groaned, but at least he wasn’t guilty of being an idiot.

Karasuma was irritated as well. “Told you so.”

“Just shut up, Akabane.”

Sensei didn’t care to scold Karasuma for being rude to a student (though Irina did it all the time without reproach - guess boobs really did make a difference). He was furious. Karma always wondered why. Sure, he understood they needed to learn respect and they’d disobeyed his teachings and were being arrogant, but he always thought that making them not study had just overkill. If there’s an underlying reason, what could it be?

If he had time to spare, he’d look into it, but he was busy being gnawed on by the little goobers they were looking after. He much preferred acting with Okuda, but he was reduced to reading books. Considering half of these kids couldn’t read, he was just making things up by looking at the pictures (at least until Megu decided his stories were inappropriate).

—

“You know how my knee was. Of course I couldn’t practice sports or participate! I had nothing to do but study. I’m sure you understand my results, Asano-kun~”

Asano was furious, having being beaten twice in a row. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t the only one. Karma had given Takebayashi and Okuda his science notes and had messaged Rio about English almost daily. A Class had taken another hit. Even Okajima had risen up through the ranks, thanks to Karma’s study notes. Seeing Okajima of all people do well made everyone else want to study (well, they really just wanted his notes, but Karma had forced Okajima into tutoring sessions and the like to prevent it from being easy). 

“Next time we really could beat A Class!”

The class was cheerful and determined. It felt like what Karma remembered. 

Sensei and Karasuma lectured them on using their strength for themselves, versus using it for others. Karma wondered still wondered why Sensei had been so mad, considering he had lived his life for himself, his power to snuff out others. Sure, in the end he hadn’t saved Aguri, so maybe it was bitterness being reflected outwards on his part?

Karma had always been confused as to how Sensei had turned from a murderer without regret to the goofy teacher he knew. Aguri had her influence and he’d never doubt that, but he would always doubt that it was her and her alone to bring the world’s most renowned assassin to do a complete change. The redhead doubted that he’d ever know the answer.

Well, everyone has their secrets.

— 

Karma had refused to get involved with the ‘hook up Karasuma and Irina Sensei, part 2!’ plan. He’d left her a small, unsigned card, which she’d displayed on her desk, probably in equal parts happiness and bitterness in trying to get Karasuma to notice.

He certainly noticed when she left campus in a fit of rage, and Karma couldn’t blame her. Rejection never put people in the best mood, and despite his growth over the last few months, Karasuma was still about as tactful as a raging bull. 

After a day, Karma told Karasuma where Irina really was.

He wasn’t expecting the “I know” that followed. How much did the future Karasuma reveal in that letter?

“Why the hell aren’t we going after her then?”

“Even though things in your world and this world have changed, we should follow the steps that led to your world as close as possible unless we know a better way. This has no better way-”

“Are you kidding me? She’s only there because she feels like she’s been forgotten! She feels like you don’t care, when at the very least, you should have said ‘happy birthday’ or let her down gently! Rescuing her early may not change the outcome, but it will change her outlook and isn’t that worth it?”

“We need to-“

“Fuck you and fuck your plan! 3-E is going to get her and you can damn well join or stay the hell out!”

“Akabane, your mission is to save your world! Don’t get so hot headed about one person!”

“Don’t know if you noticed, she is a part of my world! She’s family! And in my time, so are you! But if you don’t want to be involved with that, that’s your choice, but don’t you dare interfere with mine.”

Karma let Isogai in on the details. Isogai was better at organising people, and Karma was too riled up to do a good job of it now.

“How did you figure all this out? I get you’re smart Karma, but-“

“Now isn’t the time. It really isn’t.”

“Will you explain later? It’s important, isn’t it?”

“Yeah yeah, let’s just get to it, can we?”

Karma had hoped this round would be a little different, since he was able to warn everyone of what they were up against, but he hadn’t guessed that when they all fell, only Kayano would be standing on the Reaper’s side.

“I guess I got stronger, huh Karma-kun?”

—

When Karasuma came to rescue them, Isogai mentioned Kayano’s defection. Sugino it was declared it was due to Karma’s bullying, though Sensei shouted over the enraged agreements that they’d discuss things later.

“Getting out of here safe, as a whole class, is our priority right now. I’m sure both Karma and Kayano have many things they’d like to discuss later, right?”

Karma nodded, biting his tongue. This was a big change and not a good one. Not talking to people had gotten him into shit. Now it was time to pay the price.

The explosions set by the Reaper were shaking their cell, causing dust to float from the ceiling in waves and the walls to groan. The class encouraged Karasuma to protect Irina, and while he did save her, he didn’t bother listening to her any more than usual. She wasn’t dead, time to move on to getting Kayano back on their side and getting the Reaper the heck away from them.

The cell was cold. Karma’s head hurt from getting his ass handed to him by the Reaper. Some of the class kept sending him dirty looks, since it was clearly his fault Kayano ditched them. Itona and Terasaka were on his side though.

“Why would someone as strong as that dude want someone as weak as her? She’s hiding something! It ain’t got nothing to do with Karma!”

Isogai stood up for him. “Terasaka is right. Karma may have been a bit harsh on occasion, but how would the Reaper know that? He probably knows of Irina Sensei since she’s an assassin. How would Kayano know of him? This is much deeper than classroom bickering, guys. Let’s do as Sensei says and wait it out. We’ll talk as a class later on.”

Thankfully, Isogai’s word was as good as law and the matter was dropped.

After knocking out the Reaper (Karma definitely heard more gunshots than last time) and returning with both missing class members, Karasuma glared at him.

“I know you’re all tired, but we’re going back to class. We need to talk.”

[jedicreed-fr]

The Turning Point (part IV)

General Lore Pinglist: @tunnel-hydra-fr @cityofinoue @fr-lutielle @tackysnaps @fr-owlistuff @shadowdrac-rising @tacticianlyra-fr @mirrorseveryday @thewindbloom @magikarprising @arctic-rising @gardenweyr @frxemriss @moon-eye-dragon

And pinging @gainstrive for Valda’s appearance and @lady-innocence for Aiton playing a big role!

(If you’d like to be added/removed from the pinglist, please shoot me a message!)

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

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey, Aiton. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Heeeeeeey--”

Aiton sighed heavily, ears flattened against his head in annoyance. Most would say he had the patience of a saint...but right now, a certain Mirror bounty hunter was pushing his limits.

After getting information from Khan about a generalized area of Mereda’s whereabouts, the two staked out along the Wandering Contagion. It felt like home to Aiton, a native Plague dragon. The smells reminded him of his former clan. The sights, the sounds...it was home. No doubt Mereda felt at home here too, thus why she hadn’t returned to the Windcurrent Clan, along with Cynfair.

And yet, despite being out of his element, Malachias didn’t seem to mind the Plague territory much. Mostly because he kept to the shadows, melting into them and hiding away, keeping his ears to the ground. Even now, he was within the shadows...and currently poking at Aiton’s leg.

“What is it, Malachias?” he asked, voice terse as he glanced down at his own shadow. He could see small blue lights within his own shadow, along with a pair of floating purple eyes, and right below them a face-splitting grin. The ‘shadow’ chuckled, before Malachias poked his head out, looking like he was just coming up to the surface of a body of water. Even Aiton found it a bit...disturbing that it simply looked like Malachias just had his head sticking out of the ground, without any signs of his body.

“Think we’ll get her, now that we have information?” he asked, surprising Aiton with his on-task question, as the Mirror glanced around, “I mean...this is a pretty  big area. We got a location from the brat, so hopefully she’ll show up. We’ve been here for a few days, she’s gotta show up eventually, right?”

“Be polite.” huffed Aiton, referring to Malachias calling Cynfair a ‘brat’, “And according to Cynfair, she won’t simply leave. She values his knowledge of poisons too much, to just let him free. So she should come looking for him in this spot.”

Malachias nodded, before grinning, “Especially since I sent out a letter.”

“Especially since you sent out--” Aiton paused mid-nod, before whirling around at Malachias, “Wait, what?!”

“Its a trick I like to use to catch my bounties.” grinned Malachias, shrugging, “Set out a bait, thinking it’s from a family member, loved one, whatever. Mostly it’s a letter. ‘Wait for me, my love’ or ‘Come to the tree, I have a surprise for you <3′ kind of bull. They fall for it all the time. Then, when they get to that secluded place, and they find no one’s there...BAM! I pounce.” He grinned even more, seeing Aiton looking rather stunned, “She’ll fall for it, I’m sure.”

“...I’m not even going to ask how you managed to deliver a letter, much less than do it without telling me...” started Aiton, feeling his frustration rise, “But this is Mereda we’re talking about, she’ll be smart--”

He froze.

Even Malachias paused, his horns raising slightly in alertness as they both heard something. Footsteps. Heavy ones.

Immediately Malachias ducked back into the shadow, while Aiton hid behind a nearby rock, flattening himself to the ground, using his cape to cover his brightly colored wings. Even Malachias had to hand it to the spy, he knew what he was doing to stay hidden. The two kept silent, the footsteps getting closer...until the owner of them finally came into view.

It was Mereda--the dragon they’d been searching for this entire time...

++++++++++

“We’ve located Mereda’s position.” said Commandant, as he approached Khan, shortly followed by Yomigami, “We got word from Aiton and Malachias that she is, indeed, in the Wandering Contagion.”

Khan nodded curtly, “Then we need a hunting party. I know she won’t come willingly...so we’ll have to subdue her, and bring her here. Bring her back alive.”

Yomigami nodded, “I’ll assemble a team. Though we’re going to need dragons that can handle her poisons. After all, we’ve seen what they can do...” The others went silent, nodding solemnly. Many saw the aftermath of what happened to Plagueis. And what happened to Issak’s eyes...

Though speaking of the Skydancer...

Nuoenii--Issak’s mate--suddenly came forward, easily brushing past Yomigami to stand in front of Khan. Normally cool and collected, she looked on the verge of snapping at the nearest dragon if they dared to get in her way. Even Khan had to regard her for a moment, before allowing her to speak. Nuoenii took in a calming breath, before letting it out.

“I want to join the hunt.” she said calmly, her voice still trembling slightly, “I’ve waited too long to get my revenge on this bitch. I’ll make her pay for taking away Issak’s eyes, and forcing him to retire as a knight.” Her voice got slightly louder, her restraint falling away a little, “I’ll make her suffer! I’ll take her own eyes out, and see how she likes the pain!”

Before she could say another word, a large claw was laid on her shoulder, making her jump and stop as she whirled around at its owner.

“Calm yourself, little knight.” said Valda gently, “Rage will get you nowhere. And I’m sure your mate would not like to hear this talk from you.”

Nuoenii winced at that, before her crests and head lowered, nodding slowly. She was the head of the knights now, after Folant left. And she was acting out like this? Valda only smiled, using a claw to gently tilt Nuoenii’s head back up, giving her a smile, before turning to Khan, standing proud.

“I heard you’re forming a hunting party for Mereda.” she said, before pounding a fist to her chest, “Allow me to join. I’m a proud Plague Dragon from Clan Gainstrive--her poisons won’t have as big of an effect on me. She’s a disgrace to Plague dragons, being this cowardly. I’ll bring her in, so she can be charged for her crimes against the tiny Skydancer twins.”

Khan looked over them all, before nodding, “Yomigami, Commandant, Nuoenii, and Valda. All of you, plus myself--and Major--” he added, nodding to Commandant, wanting him to bring his mate, “--will go after her. We leave immediately, so gather what armor and supplies you need. I’ll inform Jay and Maelgwyn, in case they need to be prepared.”

The group nodded, before going their separate ways, steeling themselves for the battle to come. A battle against one of their own...

[uhohsabrina]

“I just can’t do this anymore”

I still feel those words shatter through my spine and shake the earth, they spin me around because the whiskey was wearing off. I guess I should start with the beginning.

“Do you think #$@^ is cute?”

I was annoyed hearing that question. “I mean yeah, but he probably has a girlfriend” “yeah I think they do. All of the girls are obsessing over him.” I sat and watched the computer not giving the conversation any of my eye contact. The last time I liked someone people obsessed over I ended up winning to my surprise and then let down. But that story will come later. 

“What kind of dog is that?”

Four months later you DM-ed me this. Although I obsess over it, I hate social media. I had started using it obsessively over the past week once we started following each other. I was casting bait hoping you would say something, anything. Earlier that day I said to the sky “I want #$@^” and the sky answered back. We stayed up until 1am sending silly jokes and entertaining the idea of us until you finally asked for coffee. I said yes and went to bed. I really like this one, I thought to myself. 

“I hate spiders”

We had just run across the freeway at my own demand. It was a mix of the coffee and drank to fast and my way to stall, to see how long I could make this date last. I had just been on set for 9 hours but there was no time to waste not being with you. I felt like I needed to convince you that I was the girl you wanted. Maybe I was, and maybe I even still am. We walked across campus until the sky went dark. We sat in the stairwell while I waited for you to kiss me. We flossed in my dorm room together after we got pizza. I got chicken in my teeth, you had spinach in yours. You left in a hurry but messaged me that night with a nervous apology and a cautious “”

“Confession, I don’t have anything to study for”

Two days had passed since I last saw you. I was sad and annoyed waiting for you to make plans with me. So instead I asked you and then put my phone away for a 3-hour lecture. I needed to write a paper about technology and it was nice outside. I slept on the staircase outside the museum waiting for you to show up until you peered at me, scaring the shit out of me. We sat by the flowers, they had just started to bloom. They were baby blue. You made fun of how I typed and we ran to the newspaper while I shoved my camera bag into your hands. That afternoon became that night, and we watched a nature documentary at your apartment. I wasn’t sure how it was supposed to be. You put your arm around me and suddenly all the questions I had before were answered. I felt right. This was a normal relationship. You walked me home and held my hand. We kissed in front of my dorm entrance which made me nervous that someone would see so it was more I dodged what should have been our first kiss. I walked into my dorm and screamed into my pillow feeling embarrassed and happy and excited. 

“That was better than the last time”

You remarked after I grabbed your face and kissed you. Fuck. That means he was just as aware of how awful our first kiss was as I was. Beforehand we had sat on a bench together and I kept looking at your direction, to send you a signal from a satellite in my mind. Kiss me for real this time, I thought. You said, “girls and eye contact makes me nervous”. We walked by the sculpture and I kept stopping so you could kiss me. You kept walking and I told you to stop being weird. I could that made you feel defeated and that you would never get the hint so I went for it. “that was very uncharacteristic of me” I warned you. You kept persuading me to hang out with you that night instead of walking me to my friends. Instead, you settled for a goodbye kiss in front of Hiro 88. I messaged you all night because I would have rather been with you. I hated being vulnerable. I hated it when people knew just how much I liked them. Fuck. I can’t believe I just did that. 

“Will it be actually good?”

you were asking about a dorm music festival. I laughed and said that we would find out. We arrived together and raced to the next dorm. I love, loved running with you chasing after me. We sat next to each other all night, I caught the way you looked at me during some songs. After you invited me to your friend’s house. I ate all the candy that tasted like cough syrup and was the worst at all the video games. We got back to your apartment late and you asked if I was leaving or not. I had never planned on leaving but I pretend to think about it anyways. We smoked off the fire escape and looked at the city, too small to be an actual city. We were in a relationship, too small to be an actual relationship. The night went on and on. We kissed in the lights, kissed into the dark. Right when one of us would stop we’d look at each other again and start all over. In the morning, you were afraid your arms were crushing me. It was snowing outside, still cold in mid-April. You gave me your clothes and walked me to my dorm. I stole some tortilla chips from your apartment. 

“Come up here”

I said that to you. You came to dorm fest late because of the snow, but I saved you a seat on the lofted bed. You walked in the snow to see me again, after saying goodbye to me just 7 hours ago. You held my hand as we walked from my parking spot to my friend’s dorm. I always forgot my gloves. After dissecting my party playlist with an aftertaste of PBR you walked me to my dorm, claiming you could stay for a little while. We laid on the couch until we became horizontal yet again, just like we were 24 hours ago. I took off my sweatshirt wearing only a cropped cami and jeans while the snow still raged on. I wanted to feel your hands skin to skin. You left but I didn’t get up from the couch. I laid there for an hour thinking of how things finally got so right for me, for once. 

“Am I wearing it right?”

Finally, it was Sunday. I wanted to keep this seeing-you-streak going and was going to make any time count. I only stopped by the art building to see you for an hour. You wore my beret until it covered your entire head. I had to leave and got up, noticing you were staying seated. Then you threw yourself at me, as a hug and kiss goodbye. I felt like the girlfriend I always wished to be in high school. 

“Which eye do you look at?”

I broke my seeing-you-streak and there was a whole day in which I missed you. This was a Tuesday, and I think this was my favorite night with you. I had shaved in my dorm 10 minutes after I was supposed to meet you. We walked to your apartment and went to your room while your roommates watched Drag Race. I was worried I had made a mistake. A girl in my class told you I was talking about you, and suddenly I became vulnerable. I felt like the obsessive girl I used to be, and always will be. You texted your roommates to leave after they were done, but I knew I was going to end up staying in that room. We kissed and made silly faces at each other after each one. We played pirate music and sugar ray. I showed you my favorite Christmas song. We kissed while my thighs pinned you down. I was wearing a dress that made me feel like a paper doll. It got late and you walked me back to my dorm. We walked in while my roommate and her boyfriend were watching tv on the couch. I brought you into my room to give you your clothes back. We laughed about how awkward we were walking in and kissed in the red light of my bedroom. I walked you to the side door and we made out in front of the entrance, in the stairwell, I think I even looked at the camera for a second. Except for this time, I wasn’t nervous if people saw me. I couldn’t dodge you like I did before. I didn’t even try to. 

“Stop looking at me like that”

I laughed. It was the look I gave when I pretended my mind was a radio tower, sending signals to you. This night made me upset and I still don’t know why. You were acting sluggish and played music I didn’t want to hear as I wove half a rooms length away from you. Still I enjoyed you there. We walked together in front of my classmates, and went to the other room to work alone. We ate gummy worms and shouted lyrics to the high ceilings. We gave a small kiss goodbye at the door of the classroom. Then you saw my look and I reached for your hand to come back in. We made out in the corner of the classroom, the classroom I had my first day of class in. I saw it as a symbol for me. When you left I thought I had done something wrong. There was no reason behind it but I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. What if I messed things up. I told you I was sorry for being psychotic. You told me to stop apologizing. 

“Let me help you draw a straight line”

I was too shakey to draw anything that precise. It had been about five days since I saw you last. You were sick and I was tired of waiting for you to say when exactly you wanted to meet up today. I walked to the art supply store listening to music that made me feel crazy. Then I saw you walking to me. We went to the art store together and worked on projects all night. You showed me abrasive music and I showed you 80s pop stars. When I left you decided to walk me to work. I was waiting for you to kiss me but then it was too late and we were in the office. I said okay well bye as I shook your hand. You laughed and gave me a quick hug saying you didn’t want to get me sick. My boss walked in on my smiling like a caricature of myself shaking your hand. I smiled during my work meeting. 

“I look like a doofus”

You weren’t opening your eyes enough as you should have been. I was taking your headshots for you after taking my friends. I played Grimes and made you laugh. Those were my favorite ones. We didn’t spend much time alone that night or much time at all. But it was nice just to have you there. After I took your photos you had to leave to write a paper but you kissed me goodbye. This was an actual goodbye kiss, quick and sweet. I took photos of the crazy words I write that night. 

“I just can’t do this anymore”

I knew I fucked up somewhere. But again, let’s start at the beginning of the night.

People looked at us went you went up to say hello. I did some weird arm movement because I was nervous. Not only was this a work-ish event you were, are, my boss-ish. But people had seen us walk for hours on campus together. I didn’t sit with you for dinner but talked to you non-stop after. We ran together again, across the street like we had on our first date. We played really bad beer pong together and we smiled a lot. You drank jungle juice and I drank crown. I had enough to be stumble-y but not enough to be drunk. You monitored me all night, making sure I didn’t make the same mistakes. You smoked out of a bong and I just sat there because I don’t listen to directions very well. When we went back upstairs I spoke, and then you even spoke, to the person I was obsessed with, the boy who I was infatuated with, the boy who broke a heart that was made of glass. He ended it by saying he “couldn’t right now, I’m too crazy for this”. Foreshadowing. 

Standing against the wall you said I looked good. I think that could have been the first time you complimented me. I told you I didn’t hear it and you had to repeat it but you wouldn’t. I thought this was the start of another game, another joke that only we would understand. Somehow, we found each other in the laundry room. You wouldn’t kiss me so as a joke I gave you a quick peck. You said you couldn’t do this right now. 

I was freaking out. I heard those words before. I went to a room and wrote nonsense on a coloring book writing out all my worries, spilling my guts outside the lines. I found you again and made the same joke, sorry I was psychotic. You wanted to talk in another room. It all came crashing down at once. I leaned against the door because I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold myself up. It happened again. You were pacing and crying saying things like you couldn’t do this anymore, and you were crazy and had things to work on, and that you really liked me but it wasn’t my fault. I was looking above you the whole time trying not to let the tears stream to fast because if I started who would know if I could stop. I whispered to the sky, to you that this happens more times than you know. That I’ve gotten the same talk before. You looked startled as if you thought I wouldn’t be cruel back. You were hurt saying that made you feel bad. People had started knocking on the door they wouldn’t stop, wanting us to leave, thinking we were having sex in someone’s room. I had a question for you. I asked you what was wrong with me. What made me unlovable. I called you a liar, saying if you really liked me like you said you did you wouldn’t be doing this. You sobbed and we hugged goodbye and I kept whispering something is wrong with me. I went to the car and didn’t cry until I got to my room. I fucking wailed. 

“I guess I thought I was ready”

 The next morning, I drank tea while you came over to talk. You got up from the couch to get a tissue. I felt like I couldn’t be mad at you anymore. I felt everything still even after you left. You talked about being friends but I told you I’ve tried that before, it doesn’t work out. This was the worst I ever saw you it felt stiff and cold even though it finally got warm outside. 

“Can I call you?”

I called you the next day because I felt like I had more things to say. I called to tell you I really liked you and that I wasn’t sure if it would just go away. That if you got better I would be here. You said you couldn’t be sure. You had all these thoughts but you couldn’t put them into words. I told you I leave on Friday. 

“Peace be with you”

I saw you Thursday night before I left. It was my own plan, stopping by at work accidentally knowing you would be there. Checking to see how things were doing. It was refreshing pretending as if nothing ever happened. I wanted you to call me but you never did. And now it’s been almost a month since it all came crashing down. I ask you what philosophy class you took. I’m still waiting for a call that will never come.