#i now have motivation to do my final requirement for this SY

[sanguinehu]

LORD I'LL TAKE YOUR PLACE IN THE TOMB THIS BLACK SATURDAY I CAN NOW [REST]

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter Five

(Gif’s not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Five starts after the cut. (Chapter Four can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

A/N: I am aware of the neutral, perhaps positive, portrait of the police I painted in this chapter. I am fully conscious of the recent (and not so recent) instances of police brutality happening all around the world, many – if not most – of them motivated by racism and other despicable ideologies. With this chapter, I did NOT mean to express support for the police forces. I simply had this ‘plot’ idea come to my mind and decided to write it. There is no ulterior motive.

While all my personal experiences with the police have been positive, I am aware that my ethnicity gives me privilege and that many people are not as lucky as I am. This both angers and saddens me. It has to change.

Black lives matter. Minority lives matter.

Chapter 5

Chapter warnings: Cockwarming, irresponsible driving (kind of), car accident (not serious), police (but no police violence), very mild violence, language (perhaps a little bit worse than in previous chapters but nothing you don’t hear in real life, I guess), mentions of mysogyny.

Ada yawned with Sy quickly following suit. “You can drive my car if you want, Sy. It’s not that new anymore, you know.” She offered, gracing him with the most angelic smile she could muster. It was the first time she was granting him the opportunity to drive her car.

Sy laughed next to her, his left hand moving over the center console to rub her thigh. He had that stupid grin again, that looking endearing with his current droopy eyes. “It’s your car, darlin’. Besides, you’d kill me if I ever so much as got a scratch on it.” He chuckled, suppressing another yawn. “And I know you’re only offering because you want to sleep.”

His wife gasped, a look of mocking offense on her features. “They’re your nephews!”

“But you were the one who said yes,” Sy countered, his eyes closing again as he made himself more comfortable on the car seat. The drive home was only about one hour and a half, but it was the perfect length for a nap.

“What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh?” Ada laughed, gesticulating wildly as was her habit. “Yes, Joshua, I understand you’re taking my pregnant sister-in-law to the hospital. No, I will not look after your kids for the night. It’s our date night.”

Next to her, Sy grimaced. She did have a point, even if he had been looking forward to going bowling with her: Ada was a sore loser which always ended with lots of fun for him. At least, his sister and the baby were okay. Just a normal case of Braxton Hicks, apparently, whatever that was supposed to mean. Perhaps it was good thing Ada didn’t want children because he’d freak out if she started having contractions four months in. “You fell asleep on Luke’s bed at one in the morning when you tried to get him to sleep for the third time and I had to spend the whole night entertaining them with tea parties because they wouldn’t tire!”

“Hey! That’s not cool!” She protested accusatorily, her eyes on the road as she switched lanes to take the next exit. “I didn’t know you couldn’t give kids sugar after a certain hour!”

Sy huffed, shaking his head. They’d had the great idea to bring donuts because according to his dear wife, sugar always made you feel better when you was anxious or down, and the kids had been aware something was off with their mom. “We suck at this parenting thing.”

“You don’t say!” Ada laughed, before loudly cursing at driver who’d just cut her off, something which never failed to make Sy smile. “The nap’s going to feel heavenly once we’re home.”

Sy hummed in agreement, his head falling back against the headrest as he drifted off, hiding his eyes from the sun with his cap. Ada glanced sideways at him, shaking her head. Part of her wanted to shake him awake. If she had to suffer, so did he. But he was right, she had slept more than him and he looked too peaceful to disturb, especially with some leftover glitter still on his cheeks.

Suddenly, there was a mild thump and the car stuttered before stopping, startling Ada who jumped on her seat.

"Shit!" She cursed. "Did I just...?" She began to panic, her eyes moving to the red car in front of them, too close. She had bumped it while she had been distracted by her husband’s stupid, sleepy face!

"Yes, yes you did," Sy laughed next to her. Ada was a good driver and she loved driving, but she was easily distracted and Sy never failed to tease her about it. This time, however, he could tell she was scared from the way her chest was heaving with her shallow breaths. "Want me to deal with it, darlin'?" He offered, tilting his head at the other driver who had just come out of the red, broken-down car.

"No!" Ada protested all too quickly, taking off her seatbelt and grabbing the necessary documents from the glovebox, accidentally hitting his knees in the process. "I am an independent woman who don't need no help," she muttered, trying to convince herself of her own statement. In the eight years since she’d had her gotten her licence, she had never given any of her cars a single scratch, let alone gotten into an accident.

Sy grinned at her antics but tried to hide his amusement, not wanting to make it worse. "All right. I'm here in case you need me, okay?" With a determined nod in his direction, Ada stepped out of the car and attempted to summon the Annalise Keating or the Olivia Pope inside her, whichever she could find in herself.

The man from the red car, who seemed to be in his early forties and balding, was already inspecting his vehicle for damage – looking mighty pissed as he did so. Ada approached the impact point from the other side, noticing the bump on the man’s old car. It didn't look too bad, she sighed with relief. Her own car barely had anything. Ha! She would have to use this as an argument next time Sy and her started discussing cars. Her black Citroën DS5 was sturdy and not just fancy looking, unlike what he said.

"Hello, sir," she said calmly, the man instantly looking up at her. Damn! He really looked furious, seething even. "I am so sorry for this. I was a little distracted- Anyway, it doesn't matter. My insurance will cover whatever repairs your car may require."

"You stupid little bitch!" The man shouted, out of the blue.

Ada gasped, backtracking. The muscles in her jaw twitched. What the fuck was wrong with him? "I understand your anger, but there's no-"

"What were you even doing behind that wheel?" He snarled, gesturing at her car, her baby. "Who the hell lets women like you drive cars like that?!” The man cursed, aggressively waving his hand in the air.

She just stood there, still in shock. Did... did he just bring misogyny into a fender bender situation?! "Women like me?!" She repeated, quite stunned.

"Aye! Bitches like you have no business driving-”

Ada flinched at the man’s words. He was starting to breech the distance between them, moving too close to her. Ada jumped again when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder before realizing it belonged to Sy and letting herself exhale slowly. Thank God he didn’t listen to her and stayed in the car!

"I get that you’re pissed, but that's no way to talk to a lady. You should to apologize," Sy told the man, making it sound very much like an order and very little like a suggestion. The driver huffed before coming closer, his face about as red as the car as when he started laughing. Ada instinctively hid under Sy's arm, though she aware of the ridicule of the whole situation.

"That's your whore? You let your whore drive your car?!"

Okay, this was going too far. It left her lips before she could help it, "that's my own goddamn car, you wanker!". Maybe it was time to stop borrowing insults from Tom.

Ada could almost hear how his jaw clenched when she felt Sy's whole body tense up against hers. "Call her a whore one more time and you're gonna wish she had run you over instead."

This was escalating. Ada bit her lower lip. She was going to have to be the bigger person here. "Look, I'll just go grab my phone from the car and call the police. They'll deal with this." Ada announced, dislodging herself from Sy’s grip before turning around to get to her car.

Her hand had just wrapped around the car door handle when there was a clouting noise, quickly followed by a loud thump, this time. Ada immediately turned around at the sound. The angry driver was out cold on the ground, blood rushing out of his nose and forehead, with Sy looking down at him, the same blood tainting his fist.

"Oh shit!"

°°°

A lanky guy, smelling heavily of pot, was thrown inside the almost full holding cell by the same officer who had arrested him. Sy was amused at the sight until the guy, after a full survey of the room, started walking him up to him before sitting down on the bench far too close for his liking.

Exhaling through his nose, Sy tried ignoring the smell and closed his eyes again. He didn’t expect the nap he had been looking forward to, to be in a stinky cell with stinky men but it would have to make do. At least, after the man sitting closest to the entrance had commented on the leftover pink glitter that still shone in Sy’s beard, nobody had bothered him anymore – not after he quite literally made the man piss himself with just one stare. That man wouldn’t have survived a single day in Baqubah.

"It's cramped in here," the new guy commented nonchalantly though his eyes were fixed on Sy. Out of politeness - damn Ada and her insistence on good manners! - Sy acknowledged his useless statement with a noncommittal hum.

"Name's Ben, by the way," he said, stretching out of his hand but Sy didn’t move a muscle. What was it in his current posture - crossed arms and spread legs - that made him appear friendly enough for a chat, he wondered, rolling his eyes behind his closed eyelids.

"And you are...?"

Sy groaned out loud time. "Not interested."

Ben didn’t get the hint and proceeded to ramble off about how he got caught selling pot near the university. Sy was actively working on drowning out his voice when the sound of fast and angry clicking heels on the concrete floor caught his attention. He smiled. Ada. Apparently, she hadn’t changed and was still dressed for date night, wearing a dress and stilettos, even though they had only meant to go bowling and eat at a steakhouse.

Somehow, everyone in the holding cell must have been intrigued by the same sound because all conversation suddenly stopped, the men all hoping to eavesdrop.

"I am here for Syverson. I wish to talk to him."

"Ma'am, I apologize but we are not allowed to let him out of his cell."

"Not a problem. Just give me the keys and I'll let him out myself!"

Every person in the holding cell laugh with Sy grinning quietly, amused at how she sounded distinctively more foreign when she was mad. He was used to her accent in more intimate settings, but he was enjoying the sound of it during her current outburst which was followed by an uninterrupted string of curse words and insults alike, all coming from her delicate mouth. First, in English, then French. Spanish. Portuguese. Italian. Sy frowned at the last one, he didn’t recognize it. Was it German? He'd have to ask her.

"What a woman, huh," the guy next to him deadpanned, still not giving up on a conversation.

Silence fell again as everyone attempted to listen to the rest. “I swear to God I’ll hang your heads up in my living room if –“

Sy only huffed, leaning back against the cold wall. "You can't even begin to imagine."

"You know her?" The pothead quipped up.

"Yeah," Sy replied. "She’s my wife." He said it loud enough to make sure everyone was able to hear it.

“Oh,” came the nasal voice next to him just as they heard heavy, resigned footsteps become louder.

A different policeman stopped just behind the door, a colleague just behind him as he fished out the right key from his pocket. “Syverson,” he called out loudly. “There’s a woman here for you.”

Sy got up at once, unable to hide his smug smirk. Ada always got her way.

°°°

“What the fuck were you thinking, Sy?!” His wife blurted out as soon as she was let inside the interview room, the young officer locking the door from the outside. Then, turning around, she caught sight of her husband handcuffed to the table and her shoulders instantly slacked, her anger vanishing almost instantly. “What you did was disproportionate,” she sighed, her voice calmer as she took a seat in front of him, the cold iron table separating them.

"He called you a whore, I just punched him!" Sy protested, leaning back on the chair. "My response was disproportionate - disproportionately small."

"You knocked him out cold!" Ada reminded him, her voice pitching higher than usual but the only response she got from Sy was a smug grin. "He might press charges, you know. It's battery."

Sy rolled his eyes, sitting up straight. "He’s an asshole."

Now, it was her turn to roll her eyes although she knew he hated it when she did that. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm down. Sy was looking entirely unbothered, but she was freaking out at the situation. "I'll try to convince him not to press charges and offer to cover the medical bill on top of the car repairs in return."

"Medical bill?" Sy asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Yes. After the police took you into custody, he was brought to the hospital. From what I heard, he has a broken nose, needed stitches on his forehead and got a concussion." Sy only huffed with a smirk. "This is not funny, Syverson!"

"It wasn't funny when he called you a whore either," Sy countered. He was right. It was also very pleasant to see that dickhead in pain, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

"Look, my friend, Gale, who's a lawyer, is on her way. I'll get you out of here tonight. He’ll either agree to drop the charges or I’ll bail you out."

The corners of his lips twitched. He moved his hands as much as the chain allowed, to grab hers and squeeze them in his large ones. "Are you worried about me, darlin'?"

What a teasing little shit he could be! Of course, she was worried about him! He was in a cell! Feigning innocence, Ada smiled, running her thumbs over the back of his hands. "I am not. However, seeing what you did to that prick just got me really horny and I would like to have you back in my bed tonight," she whispered, watching as her husband’s smug grin slowly disappeared as she got up and grabbed her purse, heading to the door.

"You better get me out of here quickly!" Sy called after her.

°°°

He was returned to the holding cell, the officer uncuffing his wrists again once the bars closed behind him. There were two new faces, but he also recognized that at least three men had left already. Unfortunately, pothead was still there.

“I saved you your spot,” Ben smiled wildly, gesturing at the vacant portion of the bench next to him. “The guy in the red shirt was going to sit here but I told him it was occupied.”

Sy merely hummed, taking the seat that had so generously been saved for him. Hopefully Ada would get him out quickly because he didn’t know how much longer he could deal with his chatty neighbour.

“Was she mad?” Ben asked, whispering loudly and defeating the entire purpose of a whisper in the first place. “Did she yell at you?”

Despite his closed eyes, Sy could feel Ben’s stare on him as he awaited an answer. “No.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully, shaking the uneven bench as he did so. “If we go to prison, I want to share a cell with you.”

If Ada didn’t get him out of there quickly, he was soon going to get charged for battery again.

°°°

Sy stood by the counter, his attention on the ugly Christmas decorations he hadn’t noticed when they brought him in hours earlier. Somehow, he had managed to forget all about it. And fuck, he still needed to get Ada a present!  

“Here are your things,” the young officer told him as he slid over a transparent plastic bag.

With a curt nod, Sy ripped it open and fetched his wedding band first, before looking for his wallet and belt. He was already heading to the door when he turned around at the last minute. “Did Mrs. Syverson post my bail?”

“No, the charges were dropped.”

Huffing with amusement and a hint of pride, Sy zipped up his coat and headed to the front door. He swiftly descended the stairs in front of the precinct, his face illuminating at the sight of her. She was still wearing the black dress and the fancy shoes, her makeup now lightly smudged around her eyes.

As soon as he was close enough, his hands moved to Ada's waist and he leaned down to kiss her, only for her to pull away at his touch. "Not so fast, big guy," she teased, a glint in her eyes as she grabbed something out of her coat pocket he couldn't yet identify. "You're still in trouble."

Sy threw back his head, his laugh booming through the night sky as he finally saw what she was holding up in front of him. Handcuffs, and not the fluffy ones either.

"Now gimme your hands," Ada demanded, making him cock his brow at her authoritative tone.

With a chuckle he obeyed, presenting her his hands. "Yes, ma'am."

Sy watched keenly as she fumbled with the cuffs to get them around his wrists, and then seized the right opportunity to take the upper hand, easily taking the cuffs away from her small hands.

With a shriek, Ada found herself bent over the black hood of her own car, her cheek pressed up against the slick surface and her husband's body pressed up against hers. She could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke. "Mrs. Syverson, you're under arrest for unlawful teasing back in the questioning room." Ada scoffed, the sound weakened by his heavy weight on top of her. "You have the right to remain silent. Everything you do say can and will be held against you in-"

"Your dick!" Ada suddenly blurted out, a little too loud given where they were, and Sy immediately stopped, clearly surprised, but she quickly felt him laugh against her back.

Before she could join him, Sy smacked her ass, effectively silencing her. "Guess I'll have to fuck that attitude out of you," he grunted before pulling away and fastening the cuffs around her wrists.

Ada kept complaining as he carefully dragged her inside the car. Despite her struggling, Sy easily opened the right backdoor and threw her on the backseat, mindful to fasten her seatbelt before closing the door. Her eyes widened and her mouth went agape when Sy sat down behind the steering wheel and proceeded to push back the driver’s seat and readjust all the mirrors.

“Are you shitting me?” She exclaimed, leaning forward on her seat as much as the belt would allow. He was messing up with all her settings and the grin on her face made it very clear that he was doing it all on purpose just to get her riled up.

“Language, darlin’,” he chided, turning on the engine. “Didn’t you ask me to drive earlier, anyway?”

Ada groaned in response, shutting her eyes tightly before opening them again. “You know very well that was-“

Sy didn’t let her finish, the tires squealing on the tar as he sped out of the parking lot all too fast. Ada involuntarily cringed at the noise. “I’ll make you pay for this!”

“We’ll see, kitten. We’ll see.” He was entertaining by her determination even though her eyes were already closing.

As expected, Ada fell asleep within five minutes despite the handcuffs keeping her arms in an uncomfortable position. Her head lolled before it finally came to rest against the window. He watched her though the central mirror, an adoring look in his blue eyes as she sighed contently the very moment she had fallen asleep. While he had managed to rest while in the cell, though not as much as he had hoped, he knew Ada had been up all afternoon trying to sort everything out and get him out. Sy had noticed her exhaustion as soon as she started fumbling with the handcuffs, her movements uncharacteristically clumsy.

He stopped at a junk food drive thru on their way home – night had already fallen and he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He doubted she had either. Her eyes didn’t even flutter under the bright neon lights and once he parked the car on their driveway and went to carry her inside along with their food, after undoing the cuffs, her body was completely limp in his arms. It was only when he accidentally let her shoulder hit the doorframe as he tried to lead them inside their bedroom, that she woke up again. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Sy murmured and kissed her forehead before laying her down on the bed and setting down the bag on the mattress next to her. Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air even as he helped her out of her coat and dress, and then the shoes. “Did you get us food?”

“Tenders and fries.”

Within an instant, she had ripped the bag open and was clutching the bucket of chicken to her chest, moaning as soon as she took a bite. He smiled knowingly at her– she had been hungry after all.

Hurriedly, Sy took off his clothes and slid in bed behind his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. They hadn’t slept together the previous night as they babysat the kids and he had missed the feel of her soft body against his. A content hum escaped him as his already partially hard cock nestled against the roundness of her ass.

Ada chuckled at his reaction, the vibrations of her body sending sparks of pleasure to his growing erection. “I have an idea,” she whispered, her voice becoming seductive again as she started rubbing herself against him.

Sy groaned deeply and tightened his grip on her waist, forcing her to still even though he was no longer sure for what he now hungered more; food or his wife. “We’re both hungry and exhausted,” he reasoned with her, his fingers moving some hair away from her neck so that he could kiss her there.

“Let me,” she insisted, a grin audible in her voice. Her hands disappeared under the bedsheets and she slid off her panties before retaking her initial position as the little spoon. Behind her, Sy groaned as her delicate fingers took hold of his cock, giving it a few pumps before guiding him inside her warmth. He muffled a soft moan against neck at the snug feeling of tight her walls, his arm tightening around her again. She let out a quiet gasp at the stretch, it hurt a little despite her still being sufficiently wet from when he had pushed her against the hood of the car. But once he was fully inside, Ada sighed at the pleasure of being again. “Now we can eat.”

°°°

There are two more chapters to go! Next chapter will include Christmas tree decorating. I am running behind on schedule so I cannot guarantee the last chapter will be posted by Christmas but I’ll do my best.

°°°

@colourmeinblue​ @hail-horror-queen​ @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl​ @kmuir1​ @madbaddic7ed​ @coffeebreathy​ @purplelove75​ @summersong69​ @helenaellie​

[danger-xylophones]

Sy Bisti Pt. 1 (Eli Vanto x reader)

{masterlist}

Warnings: Soft boi Eli deserves a warning of his own. I’m using sir as a gender neutral address, this is the first time I’ve written for Eli so please give me any tips you think might be useful for writing him in the future. No beta read

This is very much a ‘first meeting’ fic where I focused on dialogue and trying to establish how Eli and the reader would interact

Part 1/3

..........................................................

Eli isn’t Thrawn’s babysitter. He knows this. He isn’t in charge of him. He isn’t responsible for him. So what if Eli had no clue where Thrawn ran off to? What did it matter? Thrawn’s his own person; if he gets himself in a tight spot he’ll just have to deal with it. But that didn’t stop Eli from trying to find him. 

He knew he couldn’t have gone too far - the academy was big but not that big - and curfew was in a few minutes when all cadets were required to return to their dormitory buildings. So the chiss had to be in the dormitory. But he wasn’t in their room when he looked. And now Eli’d been running the halls for the past ten minutes in search of him. To say he’s annoyed would be an understatement. 

“<<I must confess, I have never encountered anything like that.>>”  The foreign voice caught him off guard more so than the foreign language. He stopped, mid-step with his foot awkwardly off the ground to listen again. “<<But you must indulge me, what do you believe the correct response would be to such a situation?>>”  The sy bisti was a bit clunky, Eli had to admit - just a little too broken to be from someone who speaks the trading language regularly but it was refined enough to hint at the person being fluent, just out of practice. Eli felt his mind begin to look for an answer. None of the other cadets spoke sy bisti to his knowledge, let alone at the level this person did. So, where was he? 

“<<You must remember, sir, that often your enemy is more like you than you may realize->>” Eli felt his brow furrow automatically as the voice of the one person he was looking for graced his ears. Thrawn’s voice was coming from up-ahead, around the corner of the hallway with an ugly, abstract painting of the capitol. Eli felt his stomach plummet - he knew where he was. He was in the hallway reserved for the officers, the teachers, and the guards. What in the blazes is Thrawn doing here? Eli’s feet were moving before he realized it. “<<-the better you understand yourself, the better you will understand them. So, the first step would be to ask what you would do in your enemy’s position.>>” 

He rounded the corner and froze again. Thrawn was sitting at a small kitchen table (in the communal kitchen meant for the officers), hands wrapped around a plain white mug across from someone in a crisp grey uniform whose back was to Eli. Thrawn spotted him over the rim of his mug. “Ah, you made it.” The officer turned in their seat, tossing an arm over the back of their chair to fix Eli with an analyzing gaze. Eil felt his throat tighten up the longer he looked at the officer’s face. 

“Ah,” a small smile stretched over their lips, “You are Cadet Vanto, then?” Eli nodded before his brain started to catch up to him and he snapped to attention. 

“Uh, yessir, that’s me.” He coughed out. “Eli Vanto, at your service.” Eli was careful to meet the officer’s e/c eyes but struggled to hide the nervousness that suddenly raced through his system. The smile on the officer’s face grew a little brighter. 

They turned to Thrawn. “<<He’s later than you predicted.>>”

Eli watched as Thrawn quickly cast his gaze to the chronometer on the wall. “<<Only by a minute.>>” 

With a poorly hidden huff, the officer turned back around to face Eli. “<<Lieutenant Mitth’raw’nuruodo has told me much about you.>>” There was a gleam in the officer’s eyes, almost teasing in nature, and it was accompanied by that damn smile. Eli’d dealt with officer’s that liked to smile - but they only smiled to be condescending. This officer seemed genuine. They had a nice smile. On an even nicer face. And it made Eli’s face warm. 

“Uh...<<I-I hope it was all good.>>” 

They hummed, “For the most part,” and made to stand. “Would you like any tea?” The question was asked with an innocent tilt of their head, while the officer was hovering between getting to their feet and sitting, as if the question was a bit of an afterthought. But their body language suggested that they had intended to get him a cup anyways and almost forgot to actually voice the question. It was cute, if Eli was honest. But he shook his head to which the officer shrugged and gestured for him to take a seat. “Thrawn?” 

“I wouldn’t mind another cup, Y/n.” The chiss answered calmly as he slid the mug over to the officer. Eli felt his face scrunch at the informality. But, Y/n didn’t seem bothered by it at all as they quietly filled another kettle and set it on the tiny stove. Though while they walked between the table, sink, and stove Eli couldn’t help but notice that they walked with a heavy limp. With the kettle filled, they set it down on the stove and turned around to face Eli and Thrawn with crossed arms. 

“‘Spose I should introduce myself, huh?” They hummed more to themselves before standing at their full height which Eli speculated would barely meet his shoulder. “I am Admiral Y/n L/n of the 26th, I command the ISD Hydra, pleasure to meet you, Cadet Eli Vanto.”

Eli sprang to his feet, harshly smacking his knees on the way up, with back ramrod straight as his hand shot to his face in salute. “I-I, Ap-apologies, sir, I had no idea you were-” Dank farrik, why didn’t he look for a plaque? He could tell they were a commanding officer from the uniform so why didn’t he think to look for a plaque?

“At ease, cadet. You had no way of knowing,” They carefully gestured to the spot where the plaque should have been, “’Nless you stalked my records like your friend here.” Y/n gestured to Thrawn who merely tented his fingers beneath his chin at them. 

“I prefer to call it ‘doing some digging’, sir.” Thrawn stated simply. 

“Don’t say that, you sound like me.” Eli huffed as he carefully lowered himself back into his seat. 

“And why is it so bad to sound like you, Eli?” Y/n’s calm query shook Eli to the core, or maybe it was the use of his name first name that startled him. 

Either way, he still stuttered when he spoke. “B-because it makes him sound like he’s from Wild S-space, sir.” 

“Krayt spit, cadet.” Eli felt his face fall but when he looked up at Y/n they were grinning at him. “Wha’s so wrong abou’ soundin’ like yer from Wild Space, anyways?” Eli couldn’t help but gape at the sudden strong accent slipping from the admiral’s mouth. “’S’where I’m from.” 

“Y-you’re-?” Eli began but Y/n cut him off. 

“Yep. Pa worked for a shipping company based outta Lysatra. Grew up on his freighter, flyin’ between planets all over Wild Space and what not. It’s how I learned to speak sy bisti.” The whistle of the tea kettle cut them off. While they were busy preparing themselves and Thrawn another cup, Eli began to fidget in his seat. He hadn’t heard of anyone with any ties to Lysatra rising up the ranks like Y/n. 

“Forgive me if it sounds off, admiral, but how did you become an admiral?” Eli finally, quietly asked. Y/n answered as while they limped back to the table. 

“Well, ma was an admiral herself during the Clone Wars, guess I inherited some of her skills.” The h/c officer shrugged as they sat down again. 

“More than some, I should think, if insurgents deemed you a big enough threat.” Thrawn stated with a slight lilt in his voice that hinted at him being amused while he dipped his head to gesture to the foot Y/n was favoring. In retaliation, Y/n lifted their mug of tea and muttered something Eli didn’t catch into it. 

“Is...is that why you’re here? The insurgents?” He hesitantly asked. Y/n’s full attention turned to him and Eli almost regretted asking. But their gaze wasn’t condemning or judgmental. It was intrigued. 

“Yes, actually. Very astute, Eli.” From anyone else, it would have seemed condescending to the cadet but Y/n sounded genuinely impressed. “I make it a habit to welcome a handful of newly graduated cadets from this academy on my ship. I find it’s a good motivator for them to give their all. But, a couple of weeks back, I, uh, picked up a saboteur instead. Son of a bitch broke my damn leg when they sabotaged our hyperdrive and nearly blew us all to smithereens when we made the jump. Damn lucky Hydra’s sister ship was close enough to stage a rescue and get my crew, ship, and I back to Coruscant.” 

“So, you’re here to find more?” Eli’s mind was already scrambling for names to hand over. 

“Not openly.” Y/n reached over to grab Eli’s forearm while they dropped their voice low, like they didn’t want to be overheard. “To the rest of the cadets, I’m here to give first hand accounts on what it’s like to lead and to look for the next five to serve on my ship when it’s repaired.” They released his arm but the ghost of their touch remained. “I wouldn’t mind some help, though.” 

Eli’s mouth moved before his brain could catch up. “I’d be happy to help.” 

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[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 11: Discharge Plan

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Dawson)

Summary: The highs of Shane and Sy’s first weekend as a couple are followed up by some big news from Sy, leading to our couple’s first fight.

Don’t miss a session! Click here to catch up on this story or explore my other works!

Word Count: 2.7

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, smut, sort of unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, angst, alcohol consumption,

Author’s Note: First off, I wanna talk about the word “victuals.” I’ve loved this word for a long time, even though it makes no sense, phonetically as it actually rhymes with the “fiddles” or “riddles.”(It’s true, look it up!) It’s very pastoral and somewhat archaic, so you don’t hear it too much anymore in current writing about the present, but I just felt like Sy would say it. Secondly, it was really hard for me to put my darlings through the argument in this chapter. I want them to have only happy times…but that provides no tension or motivation for story development…and I want to keep writing them more than I want them to be happy… I guess I finally understand why authors torture their characters! Lol! It might take a bit of time for me to sort out what their relationship looks like adding the distance factor, but I have some ideas that might work. Also, it might be an opportunity to do a bit more of Sy’s perspective, which I thoroughly enjoy, and may go back and fill in some blanks for him in between chapters I’ve already done. I hope you all enjoy this installment of the Treatment of Captain Syverson! Feedback in any form is always appreciated!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

The rest of the weekend was spent in blissful relaxation. Sy went to his place to feed Aika and bring her over at Shane's insistence. The dog had been slightly standoffish with her, but Sy assured her that it was in her nature to be aloof, and that she needed to be engaged or instructed to behave more doglike.

"It's her training. She's still a soldier. It's hard for us to shake those habits. Like me calling you 'ma'am' at first."

"She's another die hard. I respect that." she chuckled, scratching Aika behind her perked ears, and eliciting pants of contentment from her.

Sy's skills with a spatula were unmatched. That was to say, he made the best pancakes she'd ever had. They almost didn't need syrup…almost. They ordered an obscene amount of Chinese takeout which lasted them about three meals each. Sunday evening, though, which had a gloom to it no matter the circumstances, required some comfort food. They agreed on pasta, so Shane made up some of her famous alfredo sauce and probably twice the recommended portion of pasta for two humans to consume. There were no leftovers. Sy had three helpings, himself. Three heaping bowls of it. Shane couldn't handle more than one and a half servings, even though she wanted to gorge herself. She knew too much would make her ill.

When they weren't eating, the were cuddling on the couch, or in Shane's bed. They watched more Parks and Rec, and a few other films and shows that Sy requested, just to break things up. Their bodies were constantly wrapped in each other, leading to frequent bouts of making out, fooling around, and sex in almost every room of the house.

Her favorite had been the shower. She insisted on getting cleaned up, but Sy had objections.

~~~~~~~~

"I'll be less than ten minutes, come on, I reek! You can't wanna kiss me when I smell like this!" she said, trying to shut the bathroom door on the human mack truck before her. Broad and formidable.

"You smell like sex, and…me, darlin. I've never wanted to kiss you more," he said, backing her up toward the shower doors. "but I guess if you must. Lemme help, though." he pulled open the glass door, forcing her into his captivating kiss, and maneuvering her backward into the walk-in, stone tile shower. He pulled off her tank top, capturing her breasts in his hands and mouth for a moment before kneeling to remove her shorts and kiss her thighs. He pulled himself away too quickly and started the water flowing.

"Sy, you're fully dressed!" he was barefoot, but otherwise, in jeans and her favorite of his tees. The letters DILLIGAF across a skull, black on red. She always laughed on the inside when she saw it. Because although Sy often had to put on a calloused and brusque act when he'd been an officer in the Army, he was terribly soft and sweet when the occasion called for it. The irony being that although he didn't look like he gave a fuck, he actually did.

"I've got more clothes in the truck and you've got a dryer." he maneuvered her under the pulsing stream of the showerhead. "Gotta get you wet." he let the water run through her hair as he reached for her shampoo, a coconutty concoction that reminded her of summer, squeezed a bit into his hand, and lathered it up. He worked the suds into her wet hair gently, raking his nails across her scalp in a way that excited and ignited every atom in her. She sighed at his touch which made him groan with need.

He tilted her head back to rinse the lather out and reached for the conditioner. He was a bit more generous with it than strictly necessary, but she didn't protest. He pulled her hair forward in two sections, one over each shoulder and worked the emollient into the strands. His hands slick from the product, he ran them over her breasts and her abdomen and hips…between her legs. There her own arousal was primed to combine with the tropical unction. She gasped as he worked his fingers over her, slow at first, but speeding up, only to slow again. When she finally whimpered in frustration, he undid his jeans, and backed her up to the stony grey wall, not giving a fuck, as his shirt had suggested, that he and his clothes were getting soaked. His only care now apparently, was to satisfy the simpering cries of "yes, please." from Shane.

His first few thrusts were slow and measured, knowing that she was still adjusting to his size. But it didn't take long for him to lose control. She wasn't sure what was making him like this, but she was not complaining in the least. The texture of his jeans on her bare, wet thighs was a sensation she wouldn't soon forget. She gripped at him, holding onto his shirt for dear life as her climax built to impossible heights.

She was loving the way he lost himself in the ferocity of the act. And his release led to hers immediately. She wrapped herself around him in blissful embrace, and whispered his name as a prayer.

"Sorry, darlin,' I meant to…"

"It's okay. I'm on the pill and I'm not at a particularly dangerous time in my cycle."

He kissed her tenderly and reached for her bath puff and some body wash. "Well, let’s get ya cleaned up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The only good part about Monday was that she'd be treating him. Although, he was scheduled in the afternoon. Her morning would drag on eternal.

He greeted her with a typical "hey, susnshine" and she led him into the gym, feeling his gaze on her ass, wanting, even though they'd just left each other quite satisfied that morning. He was freshly showered, beard well groomed, and his hair growing back in very nicely. He'd asked her weeks ago whether he should keep the buzzed look or not, and she had been entirely for growing it out. She wanted something to run her hands through. She'd be fine if it was at least shoulder length, but she wouldn't push that on him.

They did their normal warm up on the bikes, followed by some plyometric drills, which made him scowl at her in a way that lit her up like a firecracker. But the fact that he was able to jump up onto the box was encouraging. He couldn't have done that a month ago. He was progressing so well and was so close to his long term goals and discharge. It almost made Shane sad. It wasn't as though they wouldn't see each other, but having him break up the insanity of her day three times a week for just an hour was invaluable.

As they were doing their usual end of the session stretch in her treatment room, and she noted the improved range of motion he was getting, he broke the amiable silence with a question.

"Hey, can I bring a pizza or somethin' over for dinner tonight after you get off?"

"Sure!" she could tell there was something he wanted to say, but was holding back. She prodded. "Everything okay? You've been a bit…off today."

"I'm good. Just a little distracted." he deflected by touching her hip, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. She swatted him away.

"Not here, Sy."

"But that makes it fun!" he pouted.

"No, that really could get me fired! Getting frisky on company time!"

"Mmmm, I'd love to frisk you right now." he reached between their legs to try and grab her again, but she thwarted him and pinned his wrists at his ears.

"Cool it, cowboy, or your last two sessions are gonna make you wish you'd never met me." she threatened.

"Ain't nothin', nothin' on God's good green earth could make me wish that, sunshine." His stunning blue eyes softened her resolve and she let go, continuing to stretch him.

"Still…cool it." she grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She'd just had time to change into some comfy clothes, wash her face, and put her hair up when her doorbell rang.

Sy stood smiling under the porch light, a modern white knight, carrying a large pizza from Pizza Hut and a six pack of Miller High Life.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! And it's nice to see you too, Sy!" she laughed, teasing him.

"Should I leave the victuals and go?" he asked, mock concern on his sarcastic brow.

"Get in here, soldier."

She got out napkins and paper plates because as horrible as it sounded, she just couldn't think about doing dishes tonight. She was even glad Sy had brought drinks in disposable or recyclable containers, and not wine, which she tended to prefer. She was exhausted, but not upset, which made the silence they ate in bearable. Sy still seemed to have something on his mind, though.

"Did you have something you wanted to talk about tonight, Sy?"

"Kinda, yeah, uh…it's kind of a big thing for me, and I know this is new, what we have, but…well, I'll just tell ya."

"Go on." she encouraged, worried.

"I…I talked to my old CO about jobs in the private sector. He referred me to a company that…well it's sort of an employment agency for vets. Mostly security for private companies and individuals. I had a phone interview with them this past Tuesday. I just got a call this morning that they want to meet me in person to finalize everything. Mostly a formality. When I go for that, I'll also have to stay there a couple of weeks to a month for training."

"Where is this…gig?" She said, flat affect hiding the feelings brewing under her skin.

"The offices are in Charlottesville…Virginia. And there may be some cross country training there in Shenandoah National Park."

"Cross country…by that do you mean survival training?" She was still cool, but getting more livid.

"You could call it that, I guess. But it won't be a challenge for me. I'm more worried about the technical stuff." His bravado and flippancy about the whole endeavor was enraging her. The thought that he'd be in the wilderness alone, was only a fraction of the big picture. He was going away for a month? And he had known about the job for a week now. A week in which so much about their relationship had changed, and shifted. How could he think she'd just accept this without a bit of raging.

"You waited until after we slept together to tell me this. You did it on purpose, Sy." that was the biggest problem, she thought. The fact that he seemed to be hiding it from her. It brought back old trauma that she thought he'd never have subjected her to.

"Yes and no, Shane. I wasn't intentionally keeping anything from you, I just didn't wanna bring it up until somebody bit."

"You wanted to keep me in the dark about something you were excited about? How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I didn't wanna get your hopes up or mine. Honestly."

"Saying 'honestly' doesn't make it honest, Sy. I've told you about everything that Elliott put me through. The lies. The secrets. This puts a bad taste in my mouth. You have to see that. Can't you?"

"Oh, sunshine, I--"

"No, please. Do not do that right now. Don't call me sunshine when all I can see is the night."

"I'm so sorry. My intention was not to make you feel in any way like that asshole ever did. Please hear me when I say that. I want to be the opposite of him in your mind in every way, darlin.' Please believe that."

There was so much sincerity in his voice, now nearing tearfulness that she felt he must be telling her the truth. She nodded. But was still apprehensive about the nature of the job and the training.

"But…what if you get hurt again?"

"I won't. You've all but fixed me, Shane. I'm stronger than ever."

"Can't you just…find a safe job? Here?" She was being selfish. She couldn't help it. Even though she knew she might regret it.

"Sit at a desk, ya mean? Deliver pizzas?" he indicated the box between them on the table. "Call people and ask them if they're happy with their cable services, Shane? Is that all I'm good for now?" he was angry.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"No, of course not. You're a PT. That's what you were meant to do, right? Well, imagine if you couldn't do that no more. Something or another, an injury, perhaps, or just plain ol' shitty situation, left you in a position where you couldn't go back. Couldn't do your dream job. Couldn't fulfill your purpose." he spat. "Wouldn't you do anything you could to be some shadow of what you were meant to be?"

She couldn't speak. Because he was right in so many ways.

"Because right now, I'm nothin'. I'm not doin' anyone any good. I'm a drain on my country, the one I swore to protect with my very life. It's like I've broken an oath. And it's fractured my soul."

"I see that. I truly do. But I need you here. You do ME good, Sy. I'm already half dreading d/c'ing you. I don't wanna have to say a goodbye, too." it was her truth. But it hit him very much sideways.

"So…what is it, Shane? You only want me when I'm broken? You only want me so you can fix me?"

"No, of course not! That's not what--"

"Am I a charity case to ya now? Is that why ya finally gave in and let me in your bed?"

"Sy, no!" she was crying now. It had hurt so much to think that he could have gotten that from what she'd said.

"I think if you can have feelings hurt about this situation then so can I."

He stood to leave, but she caught him by the wrist.

"Shane…you know I would never, ever harm you. But please… don't test my limits. Let… go." She did.

She was still quite a bit faster than him, so she ran ahead and blocked the door.

"Move." he insisted. She didn't.

"Hear me out, and then I'll let you go."

He crossed his arms and nodded, his gaze still one of cold steel.

"Sy, I didn't mean to make this job that you're clearly excited for into a source of anguish or to make it about me. I'm thrilled that you're going to get to do something you want in another field. I really am. I just…being with you has made me realize how good life can really be. And even if you'd told me before we slept together, I would have said the same thing. It was selfish of me to haul my baggage into the conversation when you aren't, have never been, and could never be Elliot. His best couldn't compare with your worst. And I will do my best in the future to think about who you are before I complain about the work you find to do."

"It's like I said about Aika before. She's a soldier. Hard trained. And so am I. It took a lot of hard work for me to get where I am, so much that it fundamentally altered who I am as a person. Now, in my opinion, those changes were for the better. I was kind of a shit before I became a soldier, thought the sun rose and set with me. I got some perspective and met some good people…lost some, too. Saw some shit I can't unsee. Some of it haunts me to this day, and I figure it always will. But I reckon if I can keep fighting the fight somehow. Keep protecting people in whatever way I can, my training and experience won't be a total waste."

"I understand and respect that, Sy. And I will back you in any way I can. I'll water your plants, I'll keep Aika whenever you're gone, I'm here for you."

"Oh, shit! I wasn't even thinking about having to leave my dog behind! Maybe this WON'T work!" he chuckled.

"Second fiddle to another woman already. I knew you were gonna break my heart, Captain Logan Syverson."

"Never intentionally, sunshine." he hugged her, tight, and with his whole body. Their argument in the past and their future an exciting mystery. Shane had never felt so safe and loved.

Up Next: Chapter 12: Final Home Exercise Program

[mypoisonedvine]

Double-Edged Sword: Capt. Syverson x Reader (Chapter 2)

(read the first chapter here)

Word Count: 5.5k (oh lordt I need to be stopped)

Taglist: @fantasygirlsuniverse @agniavateira @fcgrizi @stillreadingfantasy @itsjusttaralove @radaofrivia @p3nny4urth0ught5 @mary-ann84 @snatchedbylele @cheyentjj @maan24 @littlefreya

(emetophobia tw for this chapter)

You had no idea how you were going to survive meeting with him alone after this.  Of course, you realized now that this was one of many reasons why what had happened was against the rules, but the realization came just a bit too late.

“Good morning, Captain,” you nodded.

“Call me Sy,” he requested.

“I’d rather not.”

“Alright, well, just know that every time you call me ‘Captain,’ it reminds me of the way you said it when you were bent over that desk,” he explained simply.

“Right,” you nodded. “So, Sy, tell me what you want to do with this mission.”

“You know what I want to do,” he shrugged, and for some reason your mind interpreted that very differently than he meant it. “Divide and conquer.”

“Of course,” you agreed. “I suppose that works.”

“I thought you hated that idea,” he recalled.

“But I really hate having to argue with you about it.  Normally I’d fight harder for what I think is the best way.  But I’m losing that motivation, suddenly.”

He gave you an over-dramatic pouty look, as if he was mocking you, and you frowned in return.  “Aw, you don’t want to argue with me?  Is the magic really gone so soon?”

You rolled your eyes.  “The idea of any romantic sentiment between us is so outrageously implausible that it doesn’t even work in a sarcastic context.”

“Do you always talk like you’re readin’ an essay?” he frowned.

“You’re making fun of the way I talk?” you responded with an incredulous laugh. “You can’t see it, because it’s clear, but you’re currently sitting in a glass house.  I would recommend against throwing stones.”

He laughed, and it sounded halfway between genuine amusement and mockery.  “Were you up all night studying your vocab words, so you could better insult me?”

You know what I was doing last night, you instantly thought.

“Insulting you is so painfully easy.  I don’t lose sleep over it, in fact, I bet I could do it in my sleep,” you said instead.

“I’m not sure you should be so proud of that.  It’s like you go out of your way to make my life miserable,” he groaned.

You sighed, rubbing your temples in frustration.  How had it only taken thirty seconds for the conversation to turn into mud-slinging once again?  It seemed like no matter how hard you tried, you fell into this dynamic with him.  Considering how it went last time, you wanted very much to end it here.

“I apologize.  That’s not my intention,” you clarified.  He seemed taken aback by that, clearly having prepared for another witty comeback (or at least, an attempt at one).

“Well,” he began, but then trailed off.

“Well?”

“Well, alright,” he finished.

“Well, alright, what?”

“Let’s discuss the mission,” he further explained, saying it as if it were obvious what he meant.  You ignored the condescending tone and sat across from him at the table.

“Sit closer,” he offered.

“Not necessary,” you rebuffed.

He unrolled a map of the area for review, and it was incredibly small, so small that you couldn’t see it at all from your seat.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come closer?” 

You got up and moved, closer but still a seat apart from him.  Suddenly you felt very aware of his presence-- not to say you somehow weren’t before, just that it was overpowering, that you felt like you could feel heat radiating off of him even though he wasn’t actually that close to you.  You were also very aware of how large this room was, and how empty.  It was just the two of you and a table, one clearly intended for larger conferences.

You had a somewhat civil discussion of the mission, but you were struggling to focus more than you possibly ever had before.

“You listenin’?” he prompted, and you jumped out of a daydream.  The content of the daydream was irrelevant, of course, but it was thoroughly distracting.

“What?  Um, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled.

“I’ve never been lost in thought about a mission before,” he chuckled.

“Well, it’s a complex issue…” you trailed off.

“What’s a complex issue?” he pressed.

“From which side to enter the compound,” you remembered. 

“Almost had ya,” he frowned.

“I was paying attention,” you defended weakly.

His hand suddenly brushed against your waist and you jumped.  You turned and realized he had leaned towards you, though you had no idea why.

“Don’t-” you began, and instantly he moved away.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and you were a little surprised at the complete lack of sarcasm, and the apparent presence of guilt rather than guilt-tripping.

“It’s alright,” you soothed.

“Is it?” he asked with a slightly confused expression.

“It is.  It shouldn’t be,” you smirked, “but it is.”

“That describes a lot of things these days.”

You decided not to investigate that topic.  

“Anyways, the method of entry…” you redirected the conversation, and even that triggered some gutter-brained aspect of your psyche.

“Right, of course,” he nodded, turning back to the map.

~

The open-air “gym” (more like a bunch of random benches and assorted free weights, not much of a gym by your standards) was usually housed by only a few soldiers at a time, but as you walked by that afternoon, it was pretty busy.  Getting closer you observed that nearly everyone was watching two guys- one Marine, one Army- do push-ups.  Each group was cheering on their own, and you realized it was a competition of sorts.  And nothing got you excited quite like a competition.

“I can’t, I’m out,” Private Jones, one of yours, weakly announced as he fell to the ground.  The Marines booed and groaned but the Army soldiers cheered.

“How many was he at?” you asked one of the Marines.

“Just over a hundred,” he told you.  You nodded in approval, even if he’d lost.

“Looks like Army takes the lead, again,” one of the soldiers announced to the crowd.  “Next up, sit-ups.”

“There’s so few of us compared to them,” the Marine told you, “we are going to have to start sending in people who already competed.”

“I’m too tired, I don’t think I can go again,” Private Cooper sighed in exhaustion.

“There’s no way I can beat them at sit-ups, that was my weakest category at boot camp,” Private Jones added to the discussion.

“I can compete,” you offered.  Everyone, including the Army guys, turned to you.  “Are officers allowed in?”

The soldier you were supposed to go up against-- Private Hess, you were pretty sure was his name-- seemed incredulous.

“Fine by me,” he encouraged, clearly seeing it as a perfect opportunity since he was confident he would beat you.

“I need someone to hold my feet down,” you requested.

“I’ll do it,” you heard a Southern-twanged voice behind you, and lo and behold, there he was.

“I’m shocked you’re willing to help me,” you admitted.

“You’re going to get your ass handed to you,” Captain Syverson grinned, “and I want to see that up close.”

You and Hess laid on the ground a few feet apart, and the Captain took his spot in front of your legs, a hand on each boot.  You hoped they were extra dirty just to spite him, but then again, he didn’t seem to mind getting dirty very much.

“Sy, you mind counting hers?” the apparent referee asked.

“Sure,” he grunted.

You saw Hess start so you did too, and the Captain counted them for you.  You tried not to worry that he would miscount to try to set you back- you liked to think a guy like that believed in the sacred nature of exercise, even if he was a bastard.

It was weird to feel his touch on you, even through boots.  It was much, much weirder that each time you sat up, your face was so close to his.  Perhaps weirdest was how it made you feel to lay on your back and look up at him basically between your legs. 

It was about 50 that you really started to feel it.  At 100, the jeers of the crowd fell to silence as they watched closely for any signs of faltering.  You heard Hess beside you, and he seemed to be staying pretty consistent, not even breathing that hard.  Meanwhile, you were starting to remember why the requirements for men and women were different in this category.  

150 was a turning point.  You had a pretty good poker face, so everyone else seemed sure that the two of you were still neck-in-neck, but you knew Sy could see the cracks.

It must have been 200 that you heard yourself start to whimper and groan, while Hess was only just beginning to breathe heavily.  You didn’t want to make noises of stress but at a certain point you had no choice.

You fell back to the ground at 237 and even though you were barely there a second, somehow the Captain figured out you were considering quitting.

“Keep going,” he whispered to you.  You wanted to ask him why he was encouraging you but you didn’t want to give him away, since you could tell he hadn’t wanted anyone else to hear.  You fought harder to keep pushing, though each time you came up was a little shakier, and accompanied with a louder noise of pain.

“Come on man, she’s about to quit,” you heard someone say to Hess.

“I don’t know, I’m starting to cramp up,” Hess told them in reply, and you almost laughed because you had been cramping up since 145.

You pushed through the pain and you were afraid your body would fail before your mind did, that you would reach the point of being physically unable to lift yourself.  Your core muscles were so tired that pain began to radiate to your thighs and back, and you forced your eyes shut so you wouldn’t have to see your vision go spotty.

You tuned out all the noise except his voice counting.  263, 264, 265…

“I can’t,” you heard Hess groan.

“Come on, she’ll give out any minute!”

“Dude, it hurts!” he complained.

“You can take him,” Sy whispered to you.

“I know,” you whispered back.

It was 300 that he finally gave up.

“What the hell?!  You were so close!” the Army boys protested.

“Fuck off,” he groaned as he stood up and pushed them away.  

The Marines clapped and you smiled, falling back onto the ground and letting your arms rest.

Sy stood up, extending a hand to help you get up as well.  You made a point of standing up without his assistance, even though your entire midsection was literally shaking.  Thankfully it didn’t show through the loose-fitting fatigues.  He looked like he had something to say, but apparently he didn’t, as you two just stood there in silence for a second.

“That was amazing, Major!” one of your Marines said, and you turned to him.

“Oh what?  That was nothing,” you pshawed, even though you were beginning to feel dizzy and a bit nauseous.

In fact, you were suddenly feeling a lot nauseous.  You made an excuse to get out of the conversation and slipped out of sight, finding a nearby building to duck behind.  Instantly you fell on your knees and retched: you’d heard of this happening to poor enlisted at boot camp, where the constant movement of the abdominal muscles disturbed the stomach to the point of vomiting.  Thankfully it wasn’t that severe, though you were very much looking forward to drinking some water and not moving for an hour or two.

Just as you wiped your mouth and stood up, there was Sy-- of course.

“Are you following me or something?” you asked him.

“I just came by to tell you you did a good job,” he explained, “but seems like it took a toll.”

“Sorry I’m not as strong as you expected,” you sighed.

“If you kept going long enough to lose your lunch on the ground… then you’re actually a lot stronger than I expected,” he disagreed.

You paused, not sure how to respond.  

“What you think of me isn’t something I prioritize.”

“I know,” he replied. “I didn’t say that it was.”

“And yet, I’d guess that your caveman brain can’t comprehend that what I do has nothing to do with you,” you frowned.

He laughed and you fucking hated that.  He never seemed to take you seriously, and he must have been able to tell how angry that made you.

“If you think that what you do has nothing to do with me,” he countered, “then you are much, much dumber than I expected.”

“You are so self-obsessed,” you groaned as you rolled your eyes.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” he shrugged, and walked away.

~

As you grabbed your tray of dinner and turned to face the mess hall, you suffered the same dilemma that you’d had basically every day since high school: is there anywhere I can sit?

You were never the sort of person who had a welcome seat at a table.

You saw room next to some of the women in your unit and figured it was the best you could do.

“Hey, I heard you out-crunched Hess today,” Private Feng greeted you, “congrats!”

“It was sit-ups, and he’s a pussy, but thanks,” you smirked.  She smiled back.

The two Marines across from you were whispering to each other and giggling.  “What are you two talking about?” you asked them as you sat down.

“Oh, nothing,” Private Gonzalez answered, but she couldn’t even keep a straight face and started blushing.

“The hell is this, summer camp?” you groaned.  “Seriously, you two are Marines, not Girl Scouts.”

“Fine, fine,” the other-- Private Matthews-- relented, “we were talking about the hottest guys on base.”

“Maybe you actually are Girl Scouts,” you scowled.

“Stop being a Major and just be a woman for five seconds,” Gonzalez requested.  Feng and Matthews seemed to react strongly to that, like they were afraid to get in trouble for speaking freely.  You sighed, and motioned for them to continue the conversation.

“What do you think of Captain Syverson?” Matthews asked Gonzalez, but somehow you found yourself butting in.

“Syverson?!”

“Yeah, he’s totally sexy, right?” Matthews prompted.

“He’s totally an asshole,” you frowned, putting on a slightly-condescending impression of Matthews’ voice.

“Okay, yeah,” Gonzalez admitted, “but aside from that.  I mean, look at him.”

“Aside from that?  I’m supposed to just ignore his personality?”

“Honestly,” Matthews began, looking over to where Sy was sitting and looking at him with eyes that were hungry for a lot more than what was on her plate, “with a body like that, he doesn’t need a personality at all, let alone a good one.”

The other girls giggled but you felt an unfamiliar sensation burn under your skin.  Jealousy?  No, never.

“Don’t you agree?” she prompted you, and the girls looked to you for a response as if it were something deeply important.

“You didn’t hear it from me,” you whispered, leaning in so as not to be heard by others, “but I’m pretty sure he’s gay.”

The girls all sighed and slumped down, going back to their food with a lot less joy than they’d had before.  You, meanwhile, enjoyed your food in silence.

~

Normally you were the sort of person who worked late into the night, but after such an exhausting day, you wanted to get back to your quarters and slip into bed as soon as humanly possible.  

The one thing you probably hated most about deployment was the showers.  Normally a hot shower sounds great, but when you keep in mind that the water for the showers was heated simply by the outside temperature, you realize that it’s not refreshing at all.  Very rarely did you feel truly clean out here.

Your strategy was to let yourself air dry, something that only worked when you had a private bedroom which, thank the heavens, you did at this base.  

Of course it’s when you’re naked and dripping all over the floor that there’s a loud knock at your door.

“Gimme a sec!” you shouted out, dashing to grab the nearest clothes-- a tank top and athletic shorts, more revealing than you would normally go for but significantly less revealing than nudity-- and throw them on.

You opened the door the second you were decent, and at this rate you weren’t even surprised to see him.

“Just can’t seem to shake you, can I?” you groaned. He looked at you with wide eyes.

“You look so different in civilian clothes,” he observed.

“It can’t be that different.” “I’m more flustered by this than seeing you naked,” he admitted.

“Is that an insult?” you asked.

“No,” he said quickly, and you nodded. “Can I come in?”

You honestly thought about saying no.  He still hadn’t said why he was here.  But the way he looked at you had apparently corroded your judgment.  You stepped aside and he entered; you let the door shut behind him.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he observed.

“Yeah, well, neither are you.  And your tits are bigger than mine,” you smiled.

“Touche,” he chuckled.

“Can I… help you?” you prompted.

“You did a good job, earlier today,” he congratulated.

“You already mentioned that,” you pointed out.

“I shouldn’t have volunteered to hold your feet down,” he admitted. “The sounds you made were… distracting.”

“Shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to you,” you smirked, “you’d already heard me sound like that.  Could’ve just searched your memory for it.” “Well, the memory is pretty distracting, too,” he smiled.

“Your poor attention span is not my problem, Capt- uh, Sy,” you mumbled nervously.

He stepped closer to you and you stepped back.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked.

“No,” you answered.

“Then why’re you runnin’ away?” he pressed.  You wondered if he was being literal or metaphorical.

“I’m not running away,” you explained, “I just don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

“I’m not so convinced it was a mistake,” he explained. 

“You can’t- ugh, you are so…”  You started over.  “You can’t just keep being a shit to me 23 hours a day, and then suddenly decide you have some love-hate crush on me and expect me to spread my legs.”

He stepped forward again and you were forced to press against the wall.  He leaned into you until you were pressed into the corner; It must have been a minute that you two just stood there in silence, his eyes scanning you with fierce intensity, and you looking back with what you hoped wasn’t the deer-in-the-headlights expression that you almost certainly had.  His body against yours was such a strange and addictive feeling, and the short sleeves of his t-shirt made it hard to ignore the enormous arms that blocked you into the cramped space.

“You want me,” he said, and you couldn’t tell if it was a statement or just a deadpan question.

“Yes,” you agreed with a raspy voice, squirming against the wall.

“You need me to fuck you, right now,” he continued.  You nodded.  “Say it,” he demanded.

“Please fuck me,” you begged, swallowing nervously.

He weaved a hand into your hair, his thumb rubbing over your cheek.  He leaned down to kiss you and you closed your eyes, but just a second later you felt him step back and his hand pull away.

You opened your eyes in confusion to find him grinning at you with crossed arms.

“Looks like I can,” he announced.  Realization dawned, and quickly turned to fury.  As always, it was all a part of some fucking game for him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“So, so much,” he smiled. 

“You get off on humiliating women, is that it?”

“Not women,” he corrected, “just you.”

“Well, congrats,” you frowned, “because you won!  Nothing could be more humiliating than being attracted to you.”

“You know, I really only just wanted to take you down a peg because Marines always act so high n’ mighty,” he explained, finally looking a little frustrated which was comforting for your own anger. “I wasn’t planning on taking it this far.  But it’s just too fun.”

You scoffed, but decided his backstory just didn’t add up.

“Hmm, I don’t think that’s it,” you announced, and he quirked an eyebrow in anticipation.  “I think you have some horrible achy feelings, and you’re just trying to prove I need you as bad as you need me.”

He didn’t say anything, but his jaw clenched.  You smiled.

“Well, newsflash, I don’t.  You’re just some underclassman to me, a very out-of-character blip in my sexual history.”

He started to speak but you spoke over him.

“I mean, good for you!  You get to say you lived the fantasy, fucked a higher-ranking officer, had some wild desert sex.  And me?  Well,” you grinned, “I won’t say anything.  Because you are just… humiliating.”

You saw the anger in his eyes and had to fight back the desire to laugh.  The upper-hand was always shifting between you two, and even if you knew it was temporary, it felt really good to have it back.

He stormed up to you and grabbed you by the neckline of your top, pulling you into an intense, aggressive kiss.  Your hands instantly flew to his hips as you pulled him closer by his belt.

Goodbye, upper-hand, you thought to yourself, it was fun while it lasted.

His hands roamed your body as if he’d been waiting a thousand years to touch you again even when it had only been less than a day.  The two of you stumbled back until you sat on your bed, but he stayed standing and towered over you, having to bend down to keep from breaking the kiss.  

One hand slipped down between your legs and even though it stayed outside your shorts, he still managed to find your clit instantly and press his fingers against it.  You whimpered, the sound lost into the kiss, and the fingers just had to push the fabric of your shorts to slide over your clit.  You were embarrassed at how wet you were, but somehow the embarrassment just made you feel even more aroused so it was a vicious cycle.

He pressed two fingers into you and you moaned, breaking the kiss.

“Humiliating?” he remembered. “You wish it was someone else doin’ this to you?” 

“Not someone else,” you corrected, “anyone else.”

He growled and pressed his fingers deeper into you until you whimpered.  His touch was rough but not painful, aggressive but not forceful, and it made you feel something you’d never felt before (or if you had, you’d forgotten).  

“Get on your knees,” you commanded him.  He raised an eyebrow but didn’t move. “Did I stutter?”

“Or what?” he asked.

“Get on your knees, or leave.”

He dropped instantly, kneeling on the floor in front of you.  You sat back as he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and pulled them off.  You spread your legs and he instantly dove into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, your head falling back.  His tongue explored you and his hands gripped at your thighs to pull you closer.  He moaned and grunted against your skin and the vibrations shot straight through you.

Your hand grabbed his head just as your hips bucked against his face, pushing his tongue deeper inside you.  

“Yes,” you gasped.  You felt him smile against you and his teeth grazed your clit sending jolts and shivers up your spine.  “Oh, god, fuck,” you groaned.

A few guys had done this to you before, but none of them had done it with this much enthusiasm, certainly.  He looked like he was having the time of his life down there-- he looked back up at you and your eyes met, and you wondered if you looked like you were having the time of your life, because you were.

His mouth worked you with such precision, taking you apart piece by piece with mastery and expertise, to the point that you couldn’t believe how well he knew your body already.  

“I-I’m close,” you whimpered.

He glared at you as if to say ‘I know.’

You felt your legs start to shake but his hands gripped them to keep them still.  Every sensation became so intense, too intense in the best possible way, and Sy showed no sign of stopping.

You weren’t sure if you came more than once, or if you just came for a really, really long time. What you were sure of, sadly was that this was going to make staying away from him so much harder.

His lips moved away from your clit and kissed the inside of your thighs.  It was a disappointment and a relief simultaneously, somehow.

He slapped your leg suddenly-- not very hard, but hard enough that you yelped in surprise.  He came up from kneeling and started to work on his belt.  You just watched him as you tried to catch your breath, and involuntarily bit your lip as he freed his cock from his jeans.

“Want me to fuck you?” he asked in a low growl.

“Last time you asked that, it was a trick question,” you remembered, “so I’m a little hesitant to answer.”

“Alright,” he whispered as he leaned close, his breath warm against your ear, “I’m going to fuck you, Major.  Would you like that?”

“Take your shirt off,” you demanded suddenly.  He growled, leaning back and quickly pulling it over his head.  You smiled.  

“Are you done bossin’ me around?” he asked with a frown.

“Just fuck me,” you begged.

“Well, I can’t say no to that,” he grinned, roughly pulling your hips forward and kneeling on the bed between your legs.  He used one hand to hold your face up, forcing you to look at him, as the other slid his cock into your folds.  He pressed into you slowly, excruciatingly slowly, in fact, and you felt very self-conscious as he watched your face closely.  

Even as you tried to suppress your reaction, you were sure you could feel every detail of him as he entered you and the effort was futile.

“You look beautiful like this,” he murmured, and you felt yourself blush.

“Like what?” you managed to ask through heavy breaths.

“Desperate.”

When he was fully inside you, you were confident there was none of you left to take, literally and metaphorically.  The way your body accepted him with just enough ease that there was no pain, and yet he pushed you to your limits until your head began to spin… it felt like you were made for each other.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and you hadn’t realized you had said the last part aloud.

As he moved inside you, you started to process that it was all a little too slow, a little too… sensual for your tastes.  Not to say you didn’t love it, because you did-- it was that you loved it too much, it made your heart ache in a way you preferred not to deal with at the moment.

“Faster, please,” you whimpered.

“No,” he sternly replied.

“Please,” you begged again.  You tried to give him your best doe eyes and pouty lip, a face nobody could say no to.

“Say my name,” he demanded in reply.

You still had some shred of defiance left, apparently, because you were trying to make this less personal and here he was turning it into something it wasn’t.

“Make me,” you whispered.

His hand wrapped around your neck and you uselessly gasped for air, already feeling your face tingle from the lack of blood flow.  He didn’t stay long though, pushing you back onto the bed and, finally, fucking you hard.

“Yes!” you yelped.

“Say my name,” he demanded again, grabbing your hips.

“Fuck you,” you growled.  He probably realized that he was giving you what you wanted by punishing you for that, but he didn’t seem to mind, roughly rubbing his thumb against your clit.

“Oh god,” you groaned, arching your back.

"So fuckin' good," he groaned.

You felt your orgasm coming on way too quickly, even when you’d already gotten off when he ate you out.

“Say my name,” he asked one last time,

“Sy,” you moaned, “Sy, baby, don’t stop.”

You started to lean your head back but he grabbed your face and forced you to meet his gaze.

“You’d better look at me when I make you come,” he instructed.

You obeyed but it made it so much harder to keep from screaming which was rather inconvenient with enlisted sleeping not too far away.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” he announced, and the severity of his tone was mismatched with the sensitivity of his words, “and all mine.”

Your gut twisted in the most delicious way.  “Yours,” you agreed fervently, “I’m yours, Sy.”

He smiled as if he was actually surprised, when you thought it had been pretty obvious.

"Sy, I- I'm gonna-" you stuttered.

"Come for me," he said darkly and you weren't sure if it was a command or if he was just finishing your sentence.  Regardless, it was very effective. 

You unintentionally held your breath and your orgasm hit you so hard that you feared you would pass out or something.  Instead your entire body quivered and jerked and you made a noise you were confident that you had never made before in your whole life.  He fucked into you as hard as ever, but leaned down, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close.  Your nails dug into his shoulders but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Inside me,” you managed to beg through the haze of pleasure, “please come inside me.”

He growled and held you so tight that you couldn’t breathe very well but it was worth it as you felt him flex inside you and heard him moan-- not a grunt, not a sigh, but a true, proper moan, and it was the best thing you’d ever heard.

His movements slowed to a stop and you just listened to the sound of his breathing.  He rolled off of you after a moment and you laid side by side, staring at the ceiling.

“Is this the part where you kick me out?” he asked quietly after a moment.

“I mean, it’s not like you can stay,” you replied.  He sighed and sat up on the bed, and if you didn’t know better you’d say he looked dejected-- heartbroken, even.  “But, you don’t have to leave right now,” you offered.

“That’s my reward?  I don’t have to leave thirty seconds after we fuck?”

You swallowed.  “I… I didn’t realize you wanted to stay.”

“I can take a hint, Major,” he frowned, looking back at you. “I’ll go.”

“No, Sy-” you began, and he relaxed a bit.  “I just meant that you couldn’t stay the night.  It’s just too risky, you know, we could get caught-”

“Right,” he nodded.

“But I don’t want you to leave,” you admitted.

He smiled and leaned down over you, brushing a hand through your hair.

“Do you want me to stay?” he pressed.

“Just for a while, we can just… talk,” you shrugged.

“Then say it,” he requested.

It wasn’t until that moment that you finally understood why he was always asking you to say that you wanted him aloud.  You had just assumed it was a dominance thing, one more tool in his “ways to piss her off and make her feel like an idiot” kit.  But you saw now that he was insecure, that he wouldn’t believe you wanted him unless you made it abundantly clear.  Now, what would make a guy like him insecure, that was a mystery for another day. 

“I want you to stay, Sy,” you said firmly.  He kissed you, and it was oddly sweet, sort of domestic even.  You had to force yourself not to tense up when you processed that this was a boyfriend/girlfriend sort of kiss, rather than a fuck-buddy kiss or an enemies-with-benefits kiss.  You let your hand reach up and wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him in even more.  Of course, that was the exact moment he decided to pull back.

“Don’t get greedy,” he scolded with a grin.

“Don’t get snarky,” you returned.

And when he kissed you again you felt that part of your brain screaming at you.  This is a terrible idea, you can’t come back from this, all your relationships get fucked up.

But there was another part of you, perhaps your heart, that responded, at least this one can’t get fucked up, because it started fucked up.

[cordessanglantesofficial]

          You’ve quickly learned that ignoring any notifications coming from your phone — other than the IM channel — was a bad idea, so when your phone beeps with the normal announcement, a silent groan vibrates in your throat while you grab for it. You figure this can’t be about the motive, since you had about five more days until the deadline. Once you finally fumble with your phone, fear and dread consumes you. The hologram that projects is not that of the SysAdmin — rather, Marionette’s visage faces you.

                   “Surprised? Good. Report to the PARK in fifteen minutes. Attendance is mandatory and mon minou won’t be happy if he has to round up stragglers, so I wouldn’t recommend testing him. SysAdmin has updated your phone with our exact location.”

          Her opaque body flickers out, leaving only the normal lock screen of your phone. The dread you felt before has formed into a weight in your chest. The first time you met the Wardens, the stood atop the General Store and told you of the game you would be playing. The second time was in the plaza, when their irritation reached a boiling point. The park, however, was far from any utilities of this damned prison.

                    ( No one could have caved — could they? )

           Your thoughts turn to the motive, and the weight in your chest just becomes heavier and a knot forms in your stomach. The motive was just a scare tactic, wasn’t it? A joke to get something to happen?

                    ( We still have time to figure this out...right? )

           You realize you don’t want to keep the Wardens waiting, partially out of respect, but mostly out of fear. You slip your shoes on and start to make your way to the meeting spot.

           Little did you know, the countdown had already stopped.

Current Time: 1450 hours

           You arrive at the meeting spot to discover the rather large group (to you, that is — to others it was overwhelmingly small) has gathered in a sort of circle. In the middle stood Marionette, Chat Blanc faithfully at her side. The glee that reflected in her eyes makes your blood run cold. You look around, trying to find the reason you’re here.

          It comes to you in the form of a human hand protruding from the ground.

                    ( Oh, God. Someone — someone actually did it! )

          Your stomach churns, a wave of nausea setting in. Someone was dead — someone you knew. Looking around, you can’t seem to pick out who’s missing from the crowd. You can’t tell who’s dead and the hand gives little away. Even worse was the knowledge that one of the people you saw was a murderer. You glance around again to study reactions. Many seem sick as you had, some mortified, but some stood with a neutral expression. Those were the ones who had been through this before, you assume, or were around death often.

                    ( This isn’t the first time for some of them. How horrible. )

          You force the panic rising past the sickness, because the last thing you want to do is lose your cool. A voice rings out, breaking you from your train of thought.

          “About time someone died. I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to do it myself.”

          Marionette glanced to her partner, happily smiling as she spoke to only him, instead of speaking up to the group.

          “I was actually looking forward to sinking my claws into someone.”

          There’s a whine and a pout from the white-clad Warden, but he’s quickly placated by a scratch behind the ears from Marionette.

          “You’ll get your chance eventually. Be patient, mon minou. So, shall we begin?”

         You are anxious to start this meeting, to advance to the next stage of this so-called “game,” but you don’t dare interrupt the duo. They leave you standing awkwardly, fidgeting until they decide to stop lounging around. After a minute that feels like an eternity to you, they finally give the crowd their attention.

          “You have a dead body, and now you have a killer to find. We’re giving you one day.”

          A few people protest Marionette’s time frame, but others remain silent. They stop completely when Chat Blanc’s irritated voice breaks through.

          “SysAdmin has updated your phone. I suggest you open them now, assholes.”

          Not wanting to risk angering them, you pull out your phone and upon unlocking it, you see a brand new application. Opening it, you see an organized list titled The Cat’s Notes — File 1. The implication that more people will die and more files will come send a shiver down your body.

          “We want you all to have a fair chance to figure the killer out, because we’re nice like that. Sys, hurry it up.”

          Chat Blanc’s irritation was now laced with excitement, a concerning thing within itself. Which Warden should you fear more — the cat that’s ready to pounce at any moment and rip you to shreds with his claws or the calculating, beautiful woman who stands tall and turns your blood to ice? You don’t think about it anymore as The Cat’s Notes app is forcefully shut down and Sys’s body projects from your phone. She groans and starts to talk in the singularly most bored voice you’ve ever heard.

          “The Cat’s Notes contain information my Masters have decided you deserve to know. The primary file will contain the information that comes directly from them. Now if you slide the fucking screen left like a normal person, you’ll see a blank document. It’s shared between all of you idiots and will update in real time. Feel free to jot down all evidence here — or don’t. I don’t really give a shit. Swipe left one more time and you get your own personal document, because you need it apparently. Whoop-dee-fucking-do, you’re big kids now. Oh, I have full access to all of these, private or not, so if you’re going to write weird smut, don’t. I’ll send it to everyone just to spite you.”

          With that, SysAdmin gives a sigh and an eyeroll, then flickers out. The file app was pulled up automatically and the hard truth finally sets in. What the Wardens said at the start was really true.

                    ( One person’s already dead, and someone else is going                       to be executed. Oh, God...this isn’t a cruel joke after all. )

          Marionette raises her voice one last time to address us further.

          “Like Blanc said, we want you to have a fair chance at cracking this case, so you might want to pay attention.”

          A sigh leaves her as she licks her lips, echoing SysAdmin’s previous boredom. Once she had our undivided attention again, she huffs and gives us some final words.

          “Neither I nor Chat Blanc will lie to you. The only people you can trust are us. Ironic, I know. You can ask us questions if you truly feel like it, but I won’t guarantee we’ll answer. We’re not going to hold your hands.”

          With that, Marionette turns and walks toward one side of the circle; your fellow prisoners part to let her pass. Chat Blanc follows shortly after, but stops short and throws a look over his shoulder. His lips are stretched into a grin that is reminiscent of a Cheshire grin.

          “I suggest you get started. Time is ticking.”

          And just like that, he walks away to join Marionette. A beep has you checking your phone. A new counter has appeared, reading 23:59:53. You suppress your nerves and look around to the crowd. You have just twenty four hours to find a murderer — or suffer the Wardens’ punishment.

           It’s time to get started.

Chuuya Nakahara (ofgravity)

Tessa De Witt (starsmusestation)

Brigette Cheng (ladibugs)

Clive Dove (iamclivedove)

Time of death was at 0030 hours.

The body was discovered at 1430 hours.

The cause of death is a snapped neck.

The Body

There is only a single hand visible sticking out of the ground.

That is all that is currently visible, you will have to find the rest.

The Location

There is still dirt all over the place like there was a rush to dig something.

The hand is sticking out of a mound of dirt and grass.

There seems to be one set of footprints around the mount, but the prints are smudged and overlapping.

There seems to be one footprint that is relatively undisturbed, the exact size is unknown but seems to be no larger than a size 9.

Outside of the mound of dirt, nothing appears to be out of place here.

Google doc, will be linked as soon as one is made.

You are free to ask Marionette or Chat Blanc any questions you may have. That does not mean they will answer you (really depends on their moods), however their answers will be 100% truthful.

The two wardens are not the only people you can ask questions to, there are various NPCs that you can ask questions to as well.

Marionette nor Chat Blanc will confirm or deny your alibis unless they are directly linked to them/involve their presence in some way.

ALL INQUIRIES SHOULD BE SENT TO THIS BLOG.

The investigation period is purely an evidence collection period. There are no special requirements / asks / whatever you have to send into us. You are left on your own to look over the evidence provided and put together what you believe is a motive, a murder scene, and a culprit.

The mod team will not help you here unless within reason ( read: confirming found evidence, witness accounts, etc. )

Do NOT inject your own evidence into the scene without asking a mod. If you have guesses to where items (such as weapons, clothes, etc) may be, you can ask one of the mods. Unless you get it right, we will not tell you or give you permission to find these items.

Once the investigation period is over (give it a few days to a week), you will collect all evidence and present it at the trial and duke it out with your fellow group members to either prove someone’s innocence or their guilt.

If a mod adds any evidence or if anything else comes to mind, we will post it to the tag. Same for if another muse discovers evidence. Do not rush us for responses to inquiries about evidence / etc. We will reply as quickly as we can!

PLEASE NOTE THE ONLY PERSONAL ACCOUNT OF EVENTS (SOMEONE SAYING THEY SAW SOMETHING / DID SOMETHING) THAT CAN 100% BE BELIEVED IS MARIONETTE OR CHAT BLANC’S. ALL OTHER CHARACTERS MAY OR MAY NOT BE LYING. YOUR WARDENS ARE THE ONLY ONES YOU CAN TRUST TO NEVER, EVER TELL A LIE.

[repwincoml4a0a5]

In Kansas City, A Mother Fears Her Children Could Be Next

KANSAS CITY, Kan. — Mahnaz Shabbir was 12 when a teacher walked into her sixth-grade classroom and asked her to come to the front of the room and explain why her cousin wasn’t eating. Mortified, Shabbir told the class that her cousin, who had recently moved to the U.S. from India, was observing the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which requires fasting.

When her friends played “cowboys and Indians,” Shabbir, whose parents came from Hyderabad, India, was always made to play an Indian. This felt different: Her teacher had singled her out in front of her overwhelmingly white, Christian classmates.

That was 1971. But it was a humiliating lesson, and one that she carried with her for decades: Keep quiet about your religion.

So Shabbir did just that. She didn’t wear a headscarf in public. She talked about Islam only to people she could trust. She moved across the country: First to Wisconsin, then to the University of Missouri-Kansas City for business school and finally to the Kansas City suburbs, where she settled down with her husband. 

Shabbir, who has kind eyes and a disarming smile, came to love the Midwest for everything the cities to the east were not. The people were nice. The spaces were vast. The stores were clean. She got a job doing strategic planning and business development at a hospital system. Her husband, an immigrant from Hyderabad like her parents, became a physician. They built a spacious home outside Kansas City, with wide windows, a winding staircase and a golden chandelier in the foyer. She had children of her own — four boys.

But after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, the anti-Muslim whispers turned to shouts, and Shabbir couldn’t shake something inside her. Kids called her second-oldest child, a high school student named Syed, a “terrorist.” A man told her eldest child, Ali, that Muslims should be locked up. When the man asked for Ali’s name, he said it was Al.

Shabbir spoke to the principal and counselors at Syed’s school. She started to attend talks to help combat stereotypes about Muslims. Then she went again, and again, and again. Women’s groups, churches and the NAACP asked her to help dispel myths about Islam. 

She published a column in the Kansas City Star. “[T]here has been so much negative information about Muslims and Islam, I knew I couldn’t be silent,” she wrote. “I had to speak out and let others know the truth. Thank God, for people who want to know the truth.”

In 2003, she quit her job at the hospital and started a consulting firm focused on combating Islamophobia. She led diversity trainings at middle schools. She became the chair of an independent citizen advisory board that investigated racial profiling by police. She worked on human relations at the school district and at interfaith groups dedicated to improving understanding between religions.

One time, a veteran told her he would help protect local mosques. A mother told Shabbir that her child, after attending one of her local “Meet a Muslim” programs, pushed back against one of his peers at school who said Muslims were “the problem.”

In 2006, her husband returned from his pilgrimage to Mecca. He appeared exhausted. Within a day, he died, leaving Shabbir to care for their four children alone. Four years later, Shabbir made her own pilgrimage to Mecca. She wore a headscarf. Afterward, she decided not to take it off. 

“Oh, isn’t it much better than [just after] 9/11?” people ask her now.

“No, actually,’” she tells them. “It’s worse.”

The attacks on her children haven’t stopped. Someone pushed down her youngest child, who is in high school, and told him he blended into the rug. People called her second-youngest, Abbas, a monkey and a sand nigger. Abbas got into the first fight of his life when someone told him the same thing another person had told his brother Syed: that their late father was a terrorist.

Today, Islamophobia is more than a sentiment in Kansas. It’s the law. In 2012, Gov. Sam Brownback (R) signed a bill to ban state courts and agencies from using Islamic law to make decisions.

It’s also a political cudgel: Last July, Shabbir opened her mailbox to find a postcard from U.S. Rep. Kevin Yoder (R-Kan.), who represents her district. On the front of it was an Arab man with a large gun against the backdrop of a smoldering city. “Terrorism,” it warned, “can strike any time, anywhere.”

In 2015, the most recent year with available data, hate crimes in the U.S. jumped by 7 percent, according to FBI data. In Kansas, they jumped 35 percent, mostly due to an increase in religiously motivated attacks.

Then, one day last month, a man entered Austins Bar & Grill in Olathe, Kansas, minutes from Shabbir’s home.

At the bar, the man noticed Srinivas Kuchibhotla and Alok Madasani, two 32-year-old Indian men who worked at Garmin, a technology company that makes GPS-enabled gadgets. He asked them if they were in the country illegally. He asked them what type of visas they had. He told them to get out of his country.

Some people say the bar kicked the man out. But he returned with a gun. He shot Madasani, Kuchibhotla and Ian Grillot, a 24-year-old who tried to stop him. Then he fled. Adam Purinton, 51, of Olathe, has been charged in the shooting. 

Madasani and Grillot survived the attack. Kuchibhotla did not.

He was 32 — roughly the same age as Shabbir’s oldest children. He was from Hyderabad, where her parents and late husband were born. 

“It could have been any one of our boys,” she said. “It could happen while we’re here. Right now. Right at this moment it could happen.”  

Shabbir wanted President Donald Trump to speak out. But for days, he said nothing.

That Sunday, four days after the attack, the India Association of Kansas City organized a vigil for Kuchibhotla in Olathe. Hundreds attended. Shabbir stood up and recited a Muslim prayer. “Namaste. As-salaam alaikum. Peace be unto you,” she said. 

At the vigil, Shabbir spotted Congressman Yoder. She walked up to him and looked him in the eye. There is a Pandora’s box of hate that has been opened, she told him. It’s the duty of elected officials to do what they can to close it.

The next morning, back in Washington, D.C., Yoder asked for a moment of silence on the House floor and shared what he said he had learned at the vigil.

“Last night, our community sent the strong message that love will overcome hate,” he said. “Thousands of concerned citizens in my district came together to support one another and our growing and vibrant Indian community in this time of great tragedy.

“We show the world that our diverse political and religious views are what make our community and our country great. Mr. Speaker, in addition to this moment of silence, let us renew our commitment to treating each other with respect and embracing civility in our public discourse.”

The next day, Yoder asked Trump to condemn the attack at Austins Bar & Grill. A few hours later, he did.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

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In Kansas City, A Mother Fears Her Children Could Be Next

KANSAS CITY, Kan. — Mahnaz Shabbir was 12 when a teacher walked into her sixth-grade classroom and asked her to come to the front of the room and explain why her cousin wasn’t eating. Mortified, Shabbir told the class that her cousin, who had recently moved to the U.S. from India, was observing the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which requires fasting.

When her friends played “cowboys and Indians,” Shabbir, whose parents came from Hyderabad, India, was always made to play an Indian. This felt different: Her teacher had singled her out in front of her overwhelmingly white, Christian classmates.

That was 1971. But it was a humiliating lesson, and one that she carried with her for decades: Keep quiet about your religion.

So Shabbir did just that. She didn’t wear a headscarf in public. She talked about Islam only to people she could trust. She moved across the country: First to Wisconsin, then to the University of Missouri-Kansas City for business school and finally to the Kansas City suburbs, where she settled down with her husband. 

Shabbir, who has kind eyes and a disarming smile, came to love the Midwest for everything the cities to the east were not. The people were nice. The spaces were vast. The stores were clean. She got a job doing strategic planning and business development at a hospital system. Her husband, an immigrant from Hyderabad like her parents, became a physician. They built a spacious home outside Kansas City, with wide windows, a winding staircase and a golden chandelier in the foyer. She had children of her own — four boys.

But after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, the anti-Muslim whispers turned to shouts, and Shabbir couldn’t shake something inside her. Kids called her second-oldest child, a high school student named Syed, a “terrorist.” A man told her eldest child, Ali, that Muslims should be locked up. When the man asked for Ali’s name, he said it was Al.

Shabbir spoke to the principal and counselors at Syed’s school. She started to attend talks to help combat stereotypes about Muslims. Then she went again, and again, and again. Women’s groups, churches and the NAACP asked her to help dispel myths about Islam. 

She published a column in the Kansas City Star. “[T]here has been so much negative information about Muslims and Islam, I knew I couldn’t be silent,” she wrote. “I had to speak out and let others know the truth. Thank God, for people who want to know the truth.”

In 2003, she quit her job at the hospital and started a consulting firm focused on combating Islamophobia. She led diversity trainings at middle schools. She became the chair of an independent citizen advisory board that investigated racial profiling by police. She worked on human relations at the school district and at interfaith groups dedicated to improving understanding between religions.

One time, a veteran told her he would help protect local mosques. A mother told Shabbir that her child, after attending one of her local “Meet a Muslim” programs, pushed back against one of his peers at school who said Muslims were “the problem.”

In 2006, her husband returned from his pilgrimage to Mecca. He appeared exhausted. Within a day, he died, leaving Shabbir to care for their four children alone. Four years later, Shabbir made her own pilgrimage to Mecca. She wore a headscarf. Afterward, she decided not to take it off. 

“Oh, isn’t it much better than [just after] 9/11?” people ask her now.

“No, actually,’” she tells them. “It’s worse.”

The attacks on her children haven’t stopped. Someone pushed down her youngest child, who is in high school, and told him he blended into the rug. People called her second-youngest, Abbas, a monkey and a sand nigger. Abbas got into the first fight of his life when someone told him the same thing another person had told his brother Syed: that their late father was a terrorist.

Today, Islamophobia is more than a sentiment in Kansas. It’s the law. In 2012, Gov. Sam Brownback (R) signed a bill to ban state courts and agencies from using Islamic law to make decisions.

It’s also a political cudgel: Last July, Shabbir opened her mailbox to find a postcard from U.S. Rep. Kevin Yoder (R-Kan.), who represents her district. On the front of it was an Arab man with a large gun against the backdrop of a smoldering city. “Terrorism,” it warned, “can strike any time, anywhere.”

In 2015, the most recent year with available data, hate crimes in the U.S. jumped by 7 percent, according to FBI data. In Kansas, they jumped 35 percent, mostly due to an increase in religiously motivated attacks.

Then, one day last month, a man entered Austins Bar & Grill in Olathe, Kansas, minutes from Shabbir’s home.

At the bar, the man noticed Srinivas Kuchibhotla and Alok Madasani, two 32-year-old Indian men who worked at Garmin, a technology company that makes GPS-enabled gadgets. He asked them if they were in the country illegally. He asked them what type of visas they had. He told them to get out of his country.

Some people say the bar kicked the man out. But he returned with a gun. He shot Madasani, Kuchibhotla and Ian Grillot, a 24-year-old who tried to stop him. Then he fled. Adam Purinton, 51, of Olathe, has been charged in the shooting. 

Madasani and Grillot survived the attack. Kuchibhotla did not.

He was 32 — roughly the same age as Shabbir’s oldest children. He was from Hyderabad, where her parents and late husband were born. 

“It could have been any one of our boys,” she said. “It could happen while we’re here. Right now. Right at this moment it could happen.”  

Shabbir wanted President Donald Trump to speak out. But for days, he said nothing.

That Sunday, four days after the attack, the India Association of Kansas City organized a vigil for Kuchibhotla in Olathe. Hundreds attended. Shabbir stood up and recited a Muslim prayer. “Namaste. As-salaam alaikum. Peace be unto you,” she said. 

At the vigil, Shabbir spotted Congressman Yoder. She walked up to him and looked him in the eye. There is a Pandora’s box of hate that has been opened, she told him. It’s the duty of elected officials to do what they can to close it.

The next morning, back in Washington, D.C., Yoder asked for a moment of silence on the House floor and shared what he said he had learned at the vigil.

“Last night, our community sent the strong message that love will overcome hate,” he said. “Thousands of concerned citizens in my district came together to support one another and our growing and vibrant Indian community in this time of great tragedy.

“We show the world that our diverse political and religious views are what make our community and our country great. Mr. Speaker, in addition to this moment of silence, let us renew our commitment to treating each other with respect and embracing civility in our public discourse.”

The next day, Yoder asked Trump to condemn the attack at Austins Bar & Grill. A few hours later, he did.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2n61gTc