#if someone lets it talk uninterrupted for a whole like thirty seconds

[lifeslines]

lijah can know exactly how it feels about something or someone but honestly have no idea how to communicate it and that really frustrates it. it always tries very hard when it comes to communication because it knows it isn’t the best at it, but it still struggles a lot. it only ever gets upset with itself though because it knows it is the one not conveying what it needs to and that it isn’t anyone else’s fault. when this happens it’s pretty easy to spot because lijah gets pretty antsy and most notably wrings its hands over and over more than showing and other physical signs. it will try to explain itself for a while-- mostly talking in circles before it gives up and feels embarrassed (this, too, is apparent with the way it won’t look anyone in the face for a while afterwards and distances itself from people as well).

[no-droids]

Mercy, Sabotage, and Dead Space

(gif credit to @redwyyne-archive)

Part One of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.7K

Summary:

1. No sex.

2. No touching yourself.

3. No orgasms.

Warnings/Tags: DUBCON/NONCON elements, fuckboy Poe (OOC), Enemies to Lovers, degradation/humiliation, mentions of oral sex, SMUUUTTTTTTTT also I’m not sorry for what I did but you’re not allowed to read if you’re gonna get mad at me okay byeeee

***

This.

This shit, right here.

If the question was ever, “What’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever let Poe Dameron somehow talk you into doing?” then the answer is this stupid shit, right the fuck here.  This is like.  You remember that one game, Mercy?  The one where you’d dig your nails in and twist arms and just needlessly inflict pain on each other as children until one of you cried uncle because someone somewhere once decided to turn torture into a matter of pride?

You always thought those games were fucking ridiculous.  Who can hold their breath the longest, who can handle a lit deathstick against their flesh the longest, who can take the hardest punch—who cares?  It’s child’s play.  It’s self-inflicted agony for the sake of bragging rights and even as a youngling, you refused to fall for it.

But then you met… fucking Dameron.

You know those people that… they don’t just rub you the wrong way, but literally every single aspect about their personality is sandpaper against wet skin and your whole entire being feels chafed raw just by existing in their general vicinity for an extended period of time?

You’re… you’re not usually a competitive—much less aggressive person.  You never have been.  It’s just not part of your nature.  If you ever excel at anything in life, it isn’t because of some secret, deep-seated desire to win or be better than anyone else.  You just… do you.  You do whatever you do, and if it’s good, it’s good.  And if it’s bad, it’s good.  Because at the end of the day at least it’s still you, and you’re okay with that.

But this?

This shit?  Right here?

“This is fucking dumb,” you say, because you know it’s what you both must be thinking so you may as well just get it out in the open.  “This is the dumbest fucking thing, Dameron.  What are we doing?  Why are we doing this?”

The grumpy, orange-jumpsuited figure sitting behind you just sighs heavily and slumps even further down in his bucket seat, as if it isn’t the first time you’ve tried asking this incredibly valid question (it totally is), bringing a palm down to thunk the top of the guidance controls between his legs in a quiet irritation you’re almost certain has everything to do with the very topic you’re trying to bring up. 

“Because,” comes that infuriating drawl.  You can only see his face from this angle by looking at his reflection in the transparisteel barrier directly in front of you, but even just imagining the way his mouth moves while he rounds out the words makes your jaw clench.  “The coordinates we picked up were scrambled and this rendezvous could be going down at any one of thirty-six locat—?”

“No,” you interrupt him with a scowl, “not why I’ve been floating in dead space in this Maker-forsaken ship with you for eight fucking hours a day since… fuck, what’s today?  Thursday?  Friday?  Nope, can’t be Friday, Friday’s our off-day.  Thursday, then. …Thursday?”  You shake your head.  “Ugh, see?  Time doesn’t exist when I’m not allowed to cum, life is like one never-ending nightmare.”

“Oh.”  He takes a second to think about it in silence, the calloused tips of his fingers scratching the side of his face while he considers.  It wouldn’t usually be as loud as it is right now.  Maybe it’s the haunting quiet of space surrounding the ancient powered down hunk of metal you’re both stuck in, inadvertently isolating and amplifying the sound—or maybe it’s because your copilot’s jaw is currently covered in a thick, dark beard that you swear barely took his testosterone-overloaded ass a fucking week or two to grow, if that.  Regardless, the dark bristles crunch loudly under his short fingernails and it takes you about a grand total of five whole uninterrupted seconds of the scraping sound to realize you’re grinding your teeth along with it.  “Well,” he finally says, “that was your stupid idea.”

“Hmmmmmmmno,” you contest firmly, wiggling your elbow back to poke at his shin with your index finger once, twice, thrice, until he finally slaps your hand away in quiet irritation.  To the misfortune of you both—and likely the other hundred or so pilots concurrently taking rotating shifts in these tandem x-wings in a glorified mass stakeout, the cockpit of this ship is just way too fucking small.  Your arm is squeezed uncomfortably against machinery and electronics to get to him from this angle and a light slap isn’t going to stop you now that you’re here.  “You—” (poke) “—have a superiority complex and decided to turn it into a competition, not—” (poke) “—me.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex, okay,” he scowls and nods in vehement, fake agreement, finally giving up and letting you poke at will, but the appeal is lost as soon as you realize he’s over it and your arm eases back into your lap.  You watch his reflection look out of the viewport and scan the empty void of space for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, clearly just as desperate to get back to base as you are.  “So what is it you call saying—wait, no no, not even saying, loudly declaring—‘Of course I can go longer without sex than “wham bam thank you ma’am” Dameron, you brainless fucks, it’s a simple fact!’”

“Alright—I don’t sound like that, fuck you very much,” you return, in reference to his shrieking, high-pitched impression of you surrounded by your fellow pilots in the rec room when you’ve had a bit too much to drink.   “Also, you don’t have to finger-quote literally every single syllable of my fucking sentence, Dameron.  First and last word, that’s all it takes.  And if it’s so superiority complex-ey of me to state simple facts, then what is it you call saying ‘betcha two weeks worth of pay you can’t, pretty baby’?”

“Uh, easy credits?”  He immediately asks, side-eyeing your reflection through the transparisteel.  “ Easy credits.  Just begging for it.  Two weeks of your slutty, sexy, easy fucking credits just begging to be taken and used— ”

“You need to get laid,” you cut in to tell him bluntly, scrunching your nose in what you hope looks like disgust.  As per protocol, the power to the x-wing was cut at the beginning of your shift—what feels like a fucking eternity ago—as a preventative maneuver in case the target falls out of hyperspace unexpectedly.  Avoiding the scanners of a fleet that may never actually show means it’s cold and dimly lit in here—just starlight in front of either you, but you’re hoping he can gauge the severity of your revulsion with your back to him.  “You just turned my money into a sex object.  It was vile.  I feel violated on its behalf.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to get laid,” he tosses carelessly back at you, and you roll your eyes with as much sass as you can physically muster, so tired of all the dodging.  You know this hasn’t been easy for him either, he just has too much pride to admit it.  “Besides, you’ve gotta be past the withdrawal stage by now.  Is it really all that bad?”

“The fuck you mean, ‘Is it really all that bad’?”  You snap at him, shuffling around grumpily in your seat, hating the way the bulky weapons controls sit right between your thighs and prevent you from closing them.  Withdrawal stage, ha.   “Of course it’s all that bad.  It’s horrible.  It’s the fucking worst.  And more importantly, how are you not having any trouble with this?  Oh, wait—that’s right,” you answer yourself before he has a chance to.  “Because you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Dameron’s reflection immediately challenges with an accusatory finger pointed at you.  “I did not.  When the fuck did I cheat?  I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half—all because you don’t believe in the honor system—just so you could tell me I fucking cheated?”

You scoff, feeling your annoyance spark even more.  He’s always been able to get under your skin, but the neglect you’ve been forcing your body to endure is just throwing gasoline on an already roaring fire.  “Okay, first of all?  Rude.  I am a fucking joy to have as a roomie, alright?  I put up with your snoring, your 2:00 AM dinners, you blasting your radio while I’m trying to sleep, I barely complain about your body odor—”

“My snoring is adorable, I get snacky at night, only sad people with fucked up lives hate music, I smell amazing,” Dameron casually lists off on his fingers, the self-confidence so easy and unshakeable that you swear he’s almost preening at the compliments he just gave himself by the time he’s finished rebutting everything you can think to throw at him.  And, while you’d never admit it, he does smell good.  He smells… unbelievably fucking good.  Always.  Something dark and woodsy, you can never quite put your finger on.  It pisses you off, so much that you’ve made a habit of pulling a face of disgust whenever the warm, rich scent noticeably reaches you, hoping it deflates his ego just a little bit.  No such luck so far.  

“Whatever.  The point is I’m a good fucking neighbor, alright, I’m neighborly as fuck,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.  “And don’t make it sound like I’m putting a chastity lock on your balls every night, because you can fuck anyone you want.  In fact, I strongly fucking encourage it—I just want to know about it when it happens.”

Dameron smirks and you groan, already knowing what’s coming.  “You wanna hear it?”

Yep, there it is.  “Second of all—”

“Feel the whole bunk rock with it?”  He goes on, completely ignoring you.  “Use the excuse that you’re trapped up top so you can just stay there the whole time and listen?  You know you can do a lot more than just—”

“Second of all,” you project over him, “you’re seriously telling me you haven’t had any wet dreams then, hm?  No snorgasms?  Hmmm?  No happy naps?  No captain midnights?  No mattress fracking?  Hmmmmmm???”

His voice very quickly sounds… shocked.  “How many fucking euphemisms—?”

“Wait wait, one more—” you quickly interrupt, too much momentum to stop now, “—sleepskeet.”

You watch in immense satisfaction as his expression seems to progress through all five stages of grief, before he exhales a long, unamused sigh and scratches his beard again.  You want to pluck each strand of it out of his face one by one.  “Anyways.  Wet dreams are totally different and don’t count.”

“It’s not different!”  You burst out, unable to help yourself, “it’s an orgasm, and rule number three is no orgas—”

“I know what the rules were, Gold-Ten,” he returns calmly, and it infuriates you, how he’s always able to make it seem like you’re the instigator who’s overreacting.  And he knows exactly what he’s doing by calling you by your flight designation, and it pisses you off even more because calling him Black-Leader in any other situation besides active warfare just feels like an unnecessary reminder of his skills.  Why he’s currently behind you manning the guidance controls and why you’re currently stuck in the front seat with the bulkier weapons systems.  “The question is if you’re seriously that bad enough of a sport to automatically disqualify me because of something that happens to any human with a dick indiscriminately when we blueball ourselves.”

“But that’s the entire fucking point, Dameron!”  You shrill, throwing your hands in the air in pure exasperation.  “There it is!  You need it more than I do, you just said it yourself!  Not to mention I said I can go longer without sex than you can— sex , not orgasms, but as it turns out I win at both.  Now can we please call this shit off so I can finally cum?  This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nope,” he says immediately, popping the P with a bit too much hard emphasis to be genuinely amused.  He’s frustrated, too—his voice is too pleased, too fake to not be masking irritation underneath.  “Sorry.  But this was also your stupid idea, so.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, anger flaring equal to his, just way more… verbal.  And descriptive.  “Wet dreams don’t count, fucking right.  Tell that to the oceans of Kamino I got going on down there, huh?  I move on this seat wrong and I’ll slide off it—”

A loud slam of a palm against the controls suddenly echoes throughout the small cockpit, causing you to jump slightly.  

“Don’t,” Dameron snarls, “... say shit like that to me.  Not right now.  Not right now, fuck .”

You go quiet for a moment, not expecting that much of an outburst at something you considered to be a throwaway remark, but then… oh.  Something occurs to you, something… sinister.  Oh, well, now there’s an idea.

Everything inside you immediately surges up and burns at the thought—the mere whisper of a way out of all of this, quickly, without giving in and letting him hold your surrender over you for Maker knows how long.  It’s so fucking simple, you don’t know why you didn’t think of it before.  You don’t have to wait him out at all; instead, you just need to… entice him into giving in first.

Neither of you say anything for a while, and you don’t know what he’s thinking (nothing, probably—a dry tumbleweed bouncing across an empty desert landscape, you imagine) but you take the dip in conversation to consider a plan.  You can’t go at it too outright, it’ll be too big of a turnaround and he’ll see it coming lightyears away.  A halfhearted joke about your pussy tossed out without thinking is what catalyzed the most substantial reaction from him you’ve seen, so… maybe you can keep steering the conversation towards the idea.

“How many wet dreams have you had?”  You suddenly ask, your heart beginning to pick up in your chest as soon as the words are out of your mouth.

“Excuse me?”  Dameron grunts from behind you, and you catch his reflection raising a thick eyebrow at you.

You take a deep breath and disguise it by stretching your back out just a little bit, lifting your shoulder blades and arching the sore muscles there, before settling back down in your normal crappy posture once more.  “Now many times did you cum in your sleep?  Had to at least been once for you to claim they don’t count.”

“Why does it matter?”  He asks, completely sidestepping the question for the second time.  “It was involuntary.”

You shrug.  “Just so I know how many freebies I can get tonight.”

“No,” Dameron instantly counters, his voice dead serious.  “Not fucking allowed.”

“Why not?”  You ask, and this time, there’s significantly less challenge than you’d typically deliver it with.  Instead, your voice is soft, questioning.  Not argumentative, but curious, and there’s just enough of your point left unsaid that it’ll seem like he conjured the rest of the image himself.

There’s silence while he considers his response to the perfectly executed bait.  You assume you’re both picturing the same thing, because it’s what you’ve pictured almost every single night spent in this celibate hellscape.  The cool darkness of your shared quarters, the standard-issue sheets that still feel crispy and rough on your skin no matter how many nights you’ve slept in them, with one of your hands pressed tight over your mouth and two of your fingers circle your clit.

“You only get to do it if I’m in the room,”  he poses instead, and you swallow thickly, feeling your body tighten with an unintentional drop of pure heat through your tummy at the thought.  Maker, it must be really bad if Poe fucking Dameron is getting to you like this.  The bane of your existence shouldn’t make your insides twist in on themselves—at least, not in a good way.

“Not like I’d have much choice,” you eventually respond, keeping it purposefully ambiguous.  “It’s your room, too.  Unfortunately.”

Stars, it’s been so long since you’ve done this, since you’ve walked the fine line between flirtation and seduction, wanting to turn on the charm slowly—gradually ease it up like a hyperdrive lever under your fingertips so that you’re at maximum by the time he realizes you’re even there.  You take a moment to glance at his reflection, watching Dameron look back at you curiously, a flash of interest in his eyes.

“By the way, how does that one girl feel about us doing this?”  You ask out of nowhere, suddenly remembering the existence of his pretty little number.  You’ve seen her under his arm around base at least a few times, which is more than you can say for the rest of them.  “Red-Six.  Tall brunette with the tattoos—I don’t bother learning names, they all come and go.”

“Nihla,” Dameron nods with a wistful sigh, tilting his head to rest against his shoulder.  “Or, wait… Neah.  No—it was… Nalal.  Yeah, Nalal, I think that’s right…”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter.  “One of the greatest mysteries of the universe is how many people get in line for you, I’ll never fucking understand it.”

“They just want me for my cock,” he tells you without missing a single beat, sounding like he’s not joking in the slightest.  “It was starting to get obnoxious.  Glad I finally have an excuse to turn them down.”

“Unbelievable,” you repeat, stunned by how truly, mind-blowingly full of himself he is.  “You’re… fucking…”

You end up just staring at him and making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, at a complete loss for words, and Dameron eventually shrugs and continues on after you fail to form a coherent thought in the allotted time frame he provides.

“Now I can just tell them I’m in a long-running bet with Gold-Ten over who can sexually deprive themselves the longest and weirdly enough, they don’t seem all that interested anymore,” he remarks, tilting his chin up and rubbing at his beard again, and for some reason… the sound of it bothers you somewhat less now, the way he phrased that resonating deeper inside you than it should.  Lower than it should.  You blink a few times, almost shocked by your body’s unprecedented response to his admission—Poe Dameron uses you as an excuse to turn down sex with pretty girls?  Happily?—and your mind goes blank for a second while he watches you through the transparisteel.  “It’s alright,” he eventually goes on, tilting his head.  “Sometimes a sabbatical is good.  I do really miss pussy, though.”

“Well,” you finally tell him, oddly not having much else to offer at the moment.  “I’m sorry?  And… you’re welcome.  I guess.”

Dameron shrugs once more and makes an apathetic sound without opening his mouth, and you drop your stare down to the machinery between your spread thighs after feeling like you were looking at each other for too long.  The position started uncomfortable and seven hours later, it’s still fucking uncomfortable.  At first the discomfort twinged at your hips and lower back, but now the sensation seems to be… centering itself a bit more, finding a spot right between your legs, especially when his words echo through your subconscious and make you naturally want to push your thighs together.  I do really miss pussy, though.

You try to snap out of it a bit, try to stop hyperfixating on the way your underwear has felt sticky and wet for fucking hours now, but it’s so fucking difficult to chill yourself out when your body already went into this whole situation with a month and a half long stumbling block.  He’s not really doing anything at all—he’s leant back in his chair and staring out the window into the black emptiness of space when you steal a look once more, but something about how his casual responses are affecting you makes it seem like he’s the one currently seducing you.

Maker, you have to focus.   You have to control yourself.  You’re starting to feel a little warm in your thick jumpsuit—a particular shade of orange that does not compliment your complexion but you normally rejoice in wearing regardless.  It’s baggy and uniform and hides most of your curves and most importantly, it keeps you toasty on missions like this.  Space is cold —especially this far out in the Cauper Void, and there’s no fucking reason this powered down hunk of floating metal should feel as muggy and stifling as it does in here.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you suddenly hear yourself say, spontaneously, no thought put into it whatsoever.  One last try, one last attempt to avoid it, a last-ditch go at flight before he gives you no choice and you’re left with this one remaining option.  “This isn’t a good idea.  It’s… not healthy.  I don’t want to do this anymore.”

This gets a small chuckle out of him.  “I know you don’t, pretty baby.”

“Then let’s just call the whole thing off,” you propose once again, trying to lighten your tone, make it a… a friendly thing.  It sounds so fake, even to your own ears—since when would you be desperate enough to let the dreaded petname slide?—but granted, you know what they say about time and measures and all that shit.  “We can call it a tie, just go back to the way things were befo—”

He cuts you off and pins you with his gaze through the reflection.  “You realize that you begging me to put an end to your suffering is—ridiculously hot, mostly—but also only an incentive to make me keep pushing until you finally give in?”

You groan and comb some of your hair off your forehead, not liking the way it’s getting just the slightest bit damp.  “Fine, we won’t call it off, but can we at least just stop—”  You immediately catch yourself, not wanting to unintentionally push this too far too quickly, but your hesitation is clear and compelling enough for him to prompt you.

“At least just stop what?”  Dameron asks, and though you don’t think it’s intentional or even noticeable from his perspective, something about the way his voice sounds… husky.  Low to the ground.

“Stop dragging it out,” you breathe, your heart pounding.  Why is your heart pounding so fucking fast?  This is a fucking sting op, a facade, so why are you getting so caught up in the lie you’ve spun for yourself?  “Finish it.  Sooner, rather than later.  Quit being masochists about it, just fucking put it to—”

Maker, your eyes instinctively snap to his at your poor choice of wording, having almost said bed on complete accident.  Genuinely, you didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but at the same time, the thought of it almost burns you alive.  Fuck.  Dameron, and you, in bed.  It could be mean.  It could be rough.  A fight for dominance more than anything.  He’s bigger than you and he could make it fucking hurt, especially after going without it for as long as you have, but something about how double-edged that type of relief would be isn’t really sinking in for you right now.  Like a person slowly dying of thirst that’s fantasizing about drowning.  Regardless, the idea of a night with him and the sudden assortment of vivid imagery it provides is enough to get you to shut up and take a deep breath, just wait with your mouth shut for whatever his response is.

Unfortunately, you don’t have to wait long at all.

“This is cute,” he suddenly tells you, and you jerk back and sputter a bunch of consonants stupidly like he smacked you.

“Fuck you?”  Are the first recognizable words that can be heard.  “I’m not—this isn’t fucking— cute?”

“It’s cute,” Dameron repeats, hiding a soft smile from you with a few of his fingers pressed to his lips.  “You,” he says as he points at your reflection, twirling his finger around in circles, “trying to be all sneaky about it, go about your little performance.  It’s like… watching a little kid just blatantly fuck up a magic trick but they’re naive enough to think it’s working.  Keep going, I’m enthralled.”

You hold still for just a second as ice suddenly sinks through your tummy and clears away any trace of warmth you may have once felt from before.  Of course.  Stupid.  Stupid, you shouldn’t have even tried something like that, you don’t know why you thought…

Horrifyingly, you go dead silent and the lack of an immediate response from you hangs awkwardly in the still air.  You’re usually so quick with him, so fiery, letting the things he throws at you just glide right off you, but for some insane reason, you’re actually fucking… embarrassed?  A little bit?

You should say something, but your whole body is just frustratingly blank, almost buzzing in mortification, and it gets worse and worse the longer you stay quiet.  You don’t usually put yourself in a position to be compromised, and you certainly didn’t think the place he decided to jab this time had particularly thin skin.

You… you’d forgotten what it’s like to have someone laugh at you when you’re genuinely trying your best to flirt.

Well, it’s too late to say anything now, you think.  Now it’s just uncomfortable in here—true discomfort, not the typical angry silences.  You’re used to that, you’re used to huffing and crossing your arms and ticking your jaw through the breaks in conversation, refusing to say a word because you’re beyond pissed off.  This is different.  This quiet sits different in the air, this emotion hits different in your chest, somewhere vulnerable.  A crack in your armor he found without even necessarily intending to, but at this point, the stupid way you can’t seem to hide the wound from him is just as much to blame.

“So, uh…”  Dameron clears his throat as you shut your eyes tight against the awkwardness, but you can still feel a strange little shift in the air from behind you.  There’s something about the enclosed space, the quiet darkness surrounding you both, you feel… too close to him.  Sharing his air, feeling the energy when it’s cramped and you’re not able to just get up and storm away from him like normal.  You don’t like it.  You don’t like that you can immediately tell something has changed without being able to see him, that type of intimacy between you is pushing a boundary you can’t quite pinpoint but know exists.

You snap your eyes open and look over at Dameron’s reflection when he’s quiet for too long, and though you try to glare as fiercely as possible at him while you do it, the look on his face almost stops you dead.  The pure intensity raging in his expression, the way he’s got his eyes narrowed, flicking back and forth between yours, carefully studying you, wondering if perhaps he may have gotten it all wrong.  “I mean, y’know.  Theoretically speaking, and all.  If I broke, you’d let me fuck you?”

You… aren’t expecting that.

You don’t know why but your heart suddenly starts to race again, but it’s not the same as before.  Before it was speeding up and at an angle, like a rocket trying to escape a body’s gravitational pull, to go somewhere, search for something.  This time it just feels like it’s ricketing downhill, unsteady and out of control, about to break apart with every single pothole that rattles and slams through you.  Shit.  You didn’t expect the ultimatum would be presented to you so up front like that—you thought there’d be… some resistance, at least.  

Fuck, you take way too fucking long thinking about it, and your face feels warmer and warmer the more you mentally pick apart his specific phrasing, wondering where you should even begin.  You still haven’t said anything, but the damage is already done.  What should've been a firm, instantaneous go fuck yourself is left suspended, unanswered, open for interpretation.  You miss your window of opportunity to shut him down, you overshoot it by a longshot, and then you feel that spark of a what-if flare deep down once more.

No, fucking stop it.  Stop it.  Maker, your eyes do everything they can to not look at him while you concentrate and work to tap into your anger, stoking the flames of your fire to avoid feeling… temptation.  How dare he?  How fucking dare he do this to you, especially when there’s no chance to get out of here, to abort mission and cut your losses?  You clench your jaw and isolate that fury, magnify it until it’s the only thing you can feel anymore.

“My turn now,” Dameron eventually breaks the silence to clarify, blinking at you, and by this point you’re so fucking pissed off that you don’t recognize that isn’t actually a question.

“No,” you immediately snap, strung far too thin to deal with this new, treacherous territory with him.  Defaulting to normal is best, it’s easier.  “No, it’s not your turn, and fuck no, you can’t fuck me, not even if it means I win this stupid bet.  No to everything that has anything to fucking do with you, alright?  Don’t talk to me.  You’re lucky if I agree to sleep in the same fucking room as you tonight.  And—and?—I think your beard looks dumb.”

Okay, so maybe the last part was just a little bit childish, but you’re in such a bad fucking mood and you want to insult something he’s clearly just trying out for right now, hasn’t yet solidified as part of his usual appearance and unshakeable confidence in it.  It’s a downright lie—you think he might look more attractive with it than he ever has.  Effortlessly rugged and masculine, framing his face and making his eyes all the more piercing.

You don’t think it works, but regardless, he heeds your sharp words and says nothing for a good few minutes at least.  You had hoped the break in interaction would allow you the ability to reset a little bit, give yourself time to work through it, but it’s like the pressure in the air steadily increases regardless of how silent it is in here—or perhaps, because of it.

You can’t help it.  You flick your eyes to the transparisteel in front of you once more and catch his reflection staring directly at you, unmoving.  It jars you as much as it sparks your anger, and you glare down at your hands and give him a few seconds.  A few seconds of grace, of mercy, before you try again.

Sure enough, he’s still got his dark eyes pinned to you when you go to check once more, like he’s actually fucking thinking about something right now, which is just… astounding, for obvious reasons.  Mainly, the nerve of him.  The fucking nerve of him to be able to look at you like that, like he’s just entitled to study your every feature, searching your eyes for things you’ve never looked deep enough to find within yourself, making incredibly loud assumptions with his mind that he has absolutely no right to be making.

“Shut up,”  You snap at him defensively, feeling like you’re sweating buckets even in the freezing emptiness of dead space.  You can’t figure out if it’s a cold sweat or if your body is legitimately just malfunctioning under his stare.  “Shut up.”

You watch as his reflection suddenly drops his head back against the seat and rolls out the stiffness of his neck, blinking his eyes shut and raising his eyebrows like you’re completely overreacting, like he has absolutely no idea.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not that dumb,” you challenge.  “You’re… plotting.  Evil plotting.”

A thick eyebrow drops so that only one is quirked up, and a grin pulls at his lips.

“You’re right,” Dameron admits casually after a moment with his eyes still closed, his voice pitched low in the cramped ship.  “I was thinking about what it’s gonna take to get you to lose.”

You swallow against the dryness in your throat, starting to unintentionally bounce one of your legs up and down without even realizing it.  Fuck, this ship is small, it’s too fucking small in here—you gaze wistfully out at the vast endlessness of space, wanting to grit your teeth at the irony of being surrounded by the one thing you so desperately wish you had.

“I just have to find a weakness,” he shifts forward in his seat and reveals to you, bewilderingly shameless in his honesty.  Like all of a sudden you’re an accomplice to this endeavor instead of its target, as if he isn’t spoiling the secret by letting you in on it.  “Something that you like, that gets you going.  Something that riles you up, gets you all hot and bothered down there—”

“So you can exploit it,” you huff, slouching over a bit and trying not to sound like you’re pouting.

“—so I can exploit it,” he finishes happily, collapsing back into his seat like he’s glad you caught on so quick and he doesn’t have to explain further.  “Now we can do the whole routine—the bickering, the tension, the undeniable sexual chemistry we have—or we can skip all that and you can just tell me flat out what it’s gonna take to rev that pretty little engine up, because I want it purring.”

And, it’s so fucking weird, because the specific verbiage that would normally make you cringe just hearing it spoken aloud doesn’t inspire the typical response, even though it feels like it should.  It feels like you should be grossed out, it feels like a moment you should screw up your facial expression and act offended, but you’re… not.  This is actually fucking working, it’s unbelievable.  The undeniable fact infuriates you just as much as it stumps you.

“You do realize that everything you say is a game that two can play at, right?”  You point out, not really sure where you’re going with this but feeling heated about it all the same.  “What’s stopping me from exploiting something you like?”

“See now that’s a great idea,” Dameron announces, clapping his hands together happily and sending you jumping a few inches in your seat at the sudden sound, your hand automatically shooting up to rest on your thumping heart.  “I can tell you what I like, and you can just listen.”

Alright, no, wait—backtrack—

“How about I tell you what I don’t like,” you snip breathlessly, tucking your hair behind your ear and feeling all the blood rush to your cheeks.  Default to normal, default to normal.  “Your fucking attitude.  Your demeanor.  The way you talk down to me.  You don’t listen.  You walk around like you’re such hot shit just because you’re a good pilot but none of that means anything when you don’t ever fucking listen.  You’re terrible at it, doesn’t matter who’s talking—you don’t listen to me, you don’t listen to people who actually like you, you don’t listen to orders, you don’t listen to reason—”

“You think I’m a good pilot?”  He suddenly asks, and you have to take a second.  This cockpit isn’t designed for anything other than sitting, much less turning all the way around, but you’re sure you can find some way to throttle him from here.  He chuckles as you let out the loudest sigh you’ve ever heard yourself make—which, is an incredible feat you think both of you should be congratulated for—before Dameron eventually carries on.  “You could tell me that,” he admits with a shrug, a hidden smile on his face that he’s trying to bite back.  “Or you could tell me the truth.”

You shouldn’t encourage him, but you just can’t fucking help it.  There’s something inside you, something you can only compare to a morbid sort of curiosity.  Maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment, even more so than agreeing to this bet has already confirmed.  “And that would be—?”

“That you use anger as a defense mechanism because I touch a nerve you didn’t realize you had,” Dameron replies breezily.  “Have since the moment we met.  And that you maybe want me to touch something else, but you’re too stubborn and proud and committed to hating me to ever admit it.  You can admit it, it’s okay, I can touch whatever you need me to tou—”

“How about the emergency eject button?”  You hiss, finally feeling your frustration peak.  “Pop the top on this bitch.  Put me out of my fucking misery, right now.  You’ve got such a big head that the blood flow will probably keep your tiny little brain warm enough as long as you strap yourself down beforehand, I’ll wait.  And then you can go back to base, alone , and find another poor girl to emotionally torture since you probably don’t get enough of it from the ones you work your way through but can never remember the most basic things about.”

Remarkably, that actually shuts him up.  You’re doubtful the jab really hurts him, but you’re not going to feel bad about it either way.  He deserved that.  You cross your arms over your chest and don’t even bother looking at him, huffing and flushed with the climax of your ferocity, now left feeling strangely exhausted in its wake.  Eventually your breathing evens out and disappears into the silence, until nothing at all can be heard.

It’s like that for a moment—only a moment, before the loud tearing of velcro suddenly shreds through the quiet in the cockpit, completely rattling you.  Automatically your eyes shoot over to his reflection, watching large hands pull the orange jumpsuit apart at his chest and then shrug it over broad shoulders.  It’s not sexual.  It can’t be sexual, because there’s just no fucking room to allow it—it takes him forever to pull the long sleeves down his arms, but the way he drags it out somehow just increases your anticipation for an event you should have absolutely no interest in spectating.  He’s wearing a white sleeveless undershirt underneath and the jumpsuit bunches at his waist, making him look all the longer and more defined as he finally collapses back into his seat and reclines in it, the distant constellations bathing his lean torso in dim speckles of starlight.

Your gaze catches on every good part of him—it falls down the muscular lines of his neck and follows the thin gold chain wrapped around it, disappearing into the white of his scooping neckline.  His toned body finds a place to rest and stretch out without looking awkward or uncomfortable, coarse hair darkening his jaw and dusting the strong lines of his forearms—but it’s his eyes that make your heart stutter.  They’re endlessly deep and dark and knowing , and you can’t seem to look away from him, not even when he opens his mouth to address you.  

“You’re always so fucking mean to me,” Dameron remarks, and for just a split second—just a split second, you feel a stab of regret.  “I should eat you out tonight.”

Fuck, he hits the nail right on the head on his very first try, and just hearing the words come out of his mouth so effortlessly makes your pussy clench in on itself in need.  Nothing about his inflection changed from one sentence to the next, nothing in his voice made it seem like he just flipped the fucking galaxy upside down with just a few words.  To an onlooker who doesn’t speak Basic, they’d have absolutely no hint as to why your face is suddenly radiating heat at an industrial capacity, blazing hot enough to warm the whole cockpit.  You feel like you’re literally burning up with it.  You have to put a palm to your cheek to make sure it’s not actually on fucking fire.  “What— what did you just say to me?”

“That’s what you need,” he drawls, unbothered by the sharpness of your tone.  “What you’ve needed, ever since I can remember.  Should’ve done it a long fucking time ago, now that I’m thinking about it.  How long’s it been?  Tell me the truth, I know it’s been awhile.”

You feel like you’re being roasted alive like one of those hairy little Kowakian monkey-lizards that you’re pretty sure have sentient designation but are the first to be skewered and cooked over the firepit regardless.  Your heart is slamming against your sternum and you scramble to come up with an even slightly clever response after such an ambush.

“This is your plan?”  You raise an eyebrow at him, feeling a bead of sweat drop down your temple and onto the corner of your lashes.  Oh fuck, be cool, be cool.  “You think this is gonna work?  Ask me if I want a weak orgasm and rugburn on my thighs?”

“I can shave,” Dameron proposes quietly, lifting his chin and gently scrubbing the side of his cheek.  The sound of the thick bristles against his fingers makes you swallow thickly and push back very vivid thoughts of how his face would feel between your legs.  How soft and wet his mouth would feel at the center of that thick, coarse beard.  “Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.”

Something inside you surges up to assure him he absolutely should not shave, and you actually have to bite your tongue to keep it buried at the last second.  Stars, that was a close one, what the fuck prompted that?

“I don’t give a shit what you do,” you quickly return, resisting the urge to wipe your brow.  “Beard or no beard, makes no difference.  Foreplay is overrated, I’m not big on wasting time.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he immediately laments—so quick , and the worst part is that the sympathy in his voice actually sounds sincere.  You’re having trouble looking him in the eyes right now, hearing the genuine pity come through in his tone.  “Who… who did this to you?”

“You said you want to figure out what I like, what turns me on,” you return, tucking your hair behind your ear once more and trying not to sound self-conscious.  Maker, how long until your shift is over?  You need to get out of here, this shit is… way out of your league.  “I’m not into it, so try again.”

“Really?”  Dameron takes a moment to look at you, furrow his thick eyebrows at you in barely concealed curiosity, before his head tilts sideways and drops to his shoulder.  “Normally I’d respect that, but I meant it when I said you need it.”

“We fucking hate each other, Dameron,” you hiss, a reminder to him as much as it is to yourself.  Fuck, you really don’t like where this is going.  “You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what the I n—”

“I bet you think we’d fuck hard,” he murmurs, low enough that you have to take an unsteady breath and physically brace yourself for whatever is going to come from that dirty mouth next.  “You think that maybe I’d throw you around a little, give it to you from behind, teach you a fucking lesson for always talking back to me.  But that’s primitive shit, Gold-Ten, that’s not for you.”

Resist.  Resist .  You’re part of the fucking Resistance, for Maker’s sake, you’re taught to hold out until death in torture scenarios.  Since when did this tin can suddenly become a new POW camp simulation you have to train for?

“I want to take you apart so slow that you can’t talk at all,” Dameron continues quietly, and you close your eyes, biting your bottom lip hard enough to sting.  “We don’t even have to fuck—I mean, I want to, but mostly I just want to taste you.  Go nice and slow.  I want you on your back, so I can look in your eyes and see all that anger just… fade away.  I want to watch you try to fight how fucking good I’ll make it.  How hot it’s gonna be when you can’t glare at me anymore, when your pretty doll eyes go all soft and sweet and you finally realize that I’ve never hated you at all.”

Maker.  This is a trick.  It’s not a question, it shouldn’t be presented like one—this is a dirty rotten trick , and you’re not gonna fall for it.  You can’t fucking fall for it.  It’s a low blow, and you refuse to even acknowledge he said anything at all.  He’s lying to get your guard down.  He laughed at your flirting.  He’s a shit person, he’s using you, this isn’t real.

Real or not, you still gulp loud enough for him to hear it.

“We could go back to our room after our shift is over,” he offers out of the blue, and you have no clue why, but when he pauses and lets it hang in the air for a second, you don’t interrupt him.  You stay completely silent while he waits for you, waits for your typical snarky comeback.  You have it in your head instantly, you know what you’d normally say.  Your room.  It’s not ‘our’ room, it’s fucking your room that you’re generous enough to let him bunk in, a privilege he’s this fucking close to losing—but you can’t find it in yourself to say it right now.  Your anger is gradually losing the war to your arousal and you’re forced to watch every single small defeat inside you happen from the sidelines.

His reflection blinks at you through the transparisteel, his eyebrows raising just slightly at your prolonged silence, before he suddenly sits up a little and leans forward.

“And I could lock the door,” Dameron continues, lowering his voice, both in volume and register.  “The lights in there are way too fucking bright but I don’t want to be in complete darkness, so maybe we can turn them off and open the port shade, let just enough light come through to see.  I could turn on the radio, find something quiet, easy to listen to.  Something you like, I’ll let you pick it out.  And then… Wait, hang on, which bed?”

You clench your jaw and purposefully say nothing even as your pussy squeezes, glaring right through his reflection into the black void of space.

“Mmm.   Your bed,” he eventually decides.  “I want you comfortable.  You shower at night.  Your hair will be wet and you’ll be in those baggy pajamas that you think I can’t see your nipples through, the ones that I know you take off under your covers and then put on in the morning when you think I’m still asleep.  That’s good, I want you relaxed, so that maybe… maybe you’d let me take your panties off at some point.  And you could lay back and open your legs, and I could go down on you for a little while.  However long you need.”

Fuck.

No, this isn’t fucking happening.  Your lower muscles aren’t twisting in so hard that it actually fucking hurts, your pussy isn’t leaking through two layers of fabric under your jumpsuit, your body isn’t outright revolting against the sheer neglect you’ve put it through.  Maker, it’s fucking painful.  You have to clench your hands into fists and dig your fingernails into your palms before you can open your mouth.

“You want to know what I need?”  You nearly wheeze, a drop of sweat sliding down the back of your neck this time.  Your body feels like it’s three sizes too big for this cockpit and your skin feels like it’s three sizes too small for your body.  “I need you to shut the fuck u—”

“What you need,” Dameron purrs, sliding up closer behind your seat and sighing soft against the worn material of your headrest, “is a warm mouth to cum in.  Don’t be shy, pretty baby, you can tell me.”

You growl out his last name as threateningly as you possibly can before he purrs yours right back in your ear, and fuck, you’ve never heard it sound so sexual before.  Last names allow pilots to maintain a respectful distance from each other.  Flight designations are Resistance-wide, but last names are just… allies.  Not friends, not companions, but a vast network of people brought together by a common enemy.  It hurts to lose a first name.  But the way yours sounds rolling off of Dameron’s tongue is just too sinful, too intimate when calling you that is meant to sever intimacy by design.  He says it slow and makes it dirty, muddies it in the back of his throat as he slides up even closer to you, until his face is right next to yours as you stare at each other through the transparisteel.

“I’m really…” he pauses, before exhaling through his nose and swallowing thick enough to make his Adam’s apple drop and bounce up again, his tongue coming out to wet his plush lips as he blinks slowly at you with a heavy gaze, “… really good at it.  Call me Poe and I’ll do it for you all night.”

Shit, your pussy is just a fucking mess right now.  It feels like it’s melting sweet and syrupy all over your thighs, throbbing and pounding and clamping up and screaming at you to do something, at least press your hand down there to alleviate some of the aching tensi—

No— stars, no touching yourself is rule number two.  You drop your hands to your thighs and squeeze them, trying to reign yourself back in.

“I think you’re—just projecting,” you try, but turns out responding in general is just an all-around bad idea.  Nothing about it comes out right.  The ‘just’ sounds like your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and your voice cracks on the word ‘projecting,’ but you don’t even have time to be self-conscious or embarrassed at how much you’re giving yourself away—all your energy has to go towards fighting the tightness between your open legs, how you’re so fucking turned on that you’re worried you’ll cum without even touching yourself.  Oh Maker, can you imagine?  How fucking proud of himself he’d be?  You can’t let that happen, but fuck, holding back something so appealing is so much harder than it sounds.

Tap into that anger, tap into that anger—only, you can’t suddenly find it.  Where’d it go?  Fuck, doesn’t matter, conjure it.  Quick, before it’s too late, get mad —don’t let him lure you into a… a false… 

Dameron tilts his chin down towards the line of your shoulder and then slowly turns his head towards your neck, breathing you in gently.

A false sense of…

His soft exhale makes goosebumps break out all the way down your arms.

… What?

“Maybe you’re right,” Dameron acknowledges, talking just under your ear.  You watch his eyelids dip and the dark beard brushes against your skin and you catch just a hint of that woodsy, spicy scent engulfing you.  Like… teakwood, maybe?  Stars, you don’t know, you think you’re starting to lose your mind.  What the fuck does teakwood even smell like?  “Maybe it’s just what I need.  You should exploit it, chances are I’ll still cum first.”

That rockets another painful spasm down low.  It hurts so fucking bad—fuck, maybe you could… rub yourself up against these weapons controls?  Just a little bit?  That joystick, right there, just ease yourself up against it just to nurse this wound a little bit…?

No, fucking— bad.  That’s bad, you have to stop—

“This isn’t real, this isn’t—y-you just…”  You flutter your eyelashes shut, digging your fingernails into your thighs like it’ll help break through the fog of his lulling voice, how fucking amazing he smells right now.  “You just want to win th-the b—”

“ Fuck the bet,” he tells you quietly, his head dipped low enough now that his lips brush against your neck, and you shudder so hard at the sensation that your shoulder almost knocks into his chin with it.  “You really think I’m doing all this for a fucking bet?”

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t—

Your deep breath is so stuttery and uneven that it’s technically just a series of shallow inhales all anxiously strung together, too desperate for oxygen to go about it legato.  It’s painfully obvious to him by now, it has to be, but you very quickly miss the shaky breathing as soon as he takes away your ability to do it all together.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking with how gentle it is, how it sounds like it flips in and out of his register when he speaks this low.  “Right now, let’s make it real, let m—I know you have to be soaking fucking wet, baby, just let me try a little bit of it, please—I’m… holy shit, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“You c-can’t,” you stammer, reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration.  At him, at the situation, at the painful throb of emptiness between your legs.  “Fuck, it’s not allowed, it’s against the rules—”

“It won’t be,” he assures you, and you hiccup when you suddenly feel his hand brush against your side, strong fingers branching out to curve against your ribcage.  “You don’t have to do anything, you can stay just like this.  Just a few seconds and then I’ll stop, I promise.”

Oh, Maker, it’s on the very top of your tongue, so unbelievably close to telling him something—but you don’t know what it should be.  You’re right at the tipping point, on a tightrope right between what you want and what you should want.  And, knowing you’re this close to giving in, Dameron slowly eases his hand down your side and starts to trail it inwards, and just the lightest brush of his warm tongue against your neck shatters any composure you have left.

You whimper and instinctively try to close your legs, but you fucking can’t— your knees are forced wide apart by controls and your whole body freezes when his hand slides down and folds gently along the curve of your pussy through the thick fabric of your jumpsuit.

The feeling of being held like this by him is just too good , cradled so perfectly in his palm as he opens his mouth and flutters his tongue out to taste your skin again, giving you a little more of it this time and letting you feel the roughness of his beard with the way his lips move.  Your breath catches, then he hooks his fingertips up just the slightest bit and pulls back, and you suddenly have to smack your whole hand over your face in a terrible attempt to stifle your loud gasp.

“Oh, Maker, I c-can’t,” you stammer against your fingers, not being able to trust him or your own body.  You continue to protest even after he moves back up, resting his palm low on your abdomen, letting the heat bleed through the fabric and transfer directly to your floor muscles as he lifts his head up from your shoulder.  “I can’t, we can’t, I…”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s looking at you.  He’s staring right at you through the reflection, studying the way you’re hiding your face from him, how you’re still melting, still losing your composure just from the warm palm pressed tight your tummy.

His touch leaves you for a second. But then the deafening sound of velcro ripping at the crotch of your jumpsuit has you dragging your hand down your mouth and your eyelids dipping.

“Dameron,” you breathe into your fingers, just as his carefully slip into the small opening and begin to work at the button to your pants. “Dameron, this isn’t—you don’t want—”

“You don’t get to tell me what I don’t want,” he grunts at you, and you try not to bite yourself at the sound of him unzipping things and yanking fabric to the side.  “What I really fucking want is the real thing, but I guess this’ll have to do for now.”

“I—”  Your mind whirs desperately, trying to process when his fingers wedge under your panties and down.   But he doesn’t give you a single fucking second.  As soon as the tip of his middle finger reaches your slit, he’s dropping it and sliding it through your slick, hot, unbearably neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” he spits, and you feel like you might be about to break your own fucking jaw with how hard you’re clutching it, trying so desperately not to make a noise.  The pad of his finger is rough and calloused as it drags against your clit in slow, tight circles, and you clamp your eyes shut and try to breathe normally, but it’s no use.  Fuck , it’s been so long .  You’ve been aching for it for a full fucking month and a half now and you know that even if he couldn’t feel it, he can hear how drenched you are right now.  It’s making an obscene sound as he steadily masturbates you with one heavenly finger, giving your body what it’s desperately craved for so many weeks.  “Fuck, baby’s pussy got fucking wet hearing me talk about how good I’d lick it, huh?”

That sends a bright flare launching through you and you gasp raggedly, both hands whipping out to snatch at his forearm where it disappears between your legs.  “No, shit, wait, stopstopstopstop stop , I—”

His hand slips out immediately and yet you continue to tremble like his finger is still right there, like your clit is just imagining it so vividly that it’s successfully convincing itself of the illusion.  The aching bit of flesh is burning, that good burn, the one that’s searing and bright that makes your muscles continue to chase the sensation long after the stimulation is gone.  Fuck, he almost made you cum.  He barely touched you for a few seconds and yet your fingers have to tighten into claws to slow your body down the fuck down, flexing against your thighs and trying your best to halt the impending climax.

By the time you’re able to wrangle yourself back from the edge and look at his reflection, his middle finger is already in his mouth and he’s blinking slowly at you, his pupils blown wide.  You’re breathing hard at him, staring open-mouthed at the way his lips are closed below his second knuckle, how he takes forever dragging it back out again.  You have to close your eyes.  You have to clamp them shut and keep them that way, knowing you won’t be able to look at him through whatever he’s going to say next.

Except, oddly, he doesn’t say much.

“Shit,” he breathes, dropping his mouth to your neck once more.  “Shhhit.  I…”

Your eyes snap open in sudden, blind panic when he doesn’t continue, horrified at the possibility that he doesn’t like it.  Dameron always has something to say, he doesn’t go speechless.  “Oh—Maker, is it not—?”

“Mmmfuck, just—” he grits, panting hot air against your skin, “—fuck.  Give me a second.”

You can only see the crown of his head with the way he’s angled, but you can see his shoulders a little further back.  They start… moving slightly.  Just the littlest bit, a smooth motion, like his whole body is slowly easing back and forth—

The nav controls are between his legs, you immediately realize.  He’s grinding up against them with how close he is to you and your seat.

And suddenly, it’s like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  A ray of sunshine that breaks through the raging storm.  Dameron might cum in his pants like this.  Which means you’ll win, and arguably more importantly, you’ll finally be able to cum.  You don’t even take a moment to consider the potential consequences—how you’re going to have to withstand the stimulation until he succumbs to it, how you’ll have to outlast—but you’re not thinking straight.  You’re not really thinking at all.

“You can…” you suddenly hear yourself whisper, and your heart pounds in your throat when he instantly stops moving.  “One… one more.  If you want.  You can put your finger inside this time, it’s where I’m the… w-wettest.”

“Fuck,” Dameron croaks into the crook of your neck, his voice scraping low and rough and sending a tremor through you.  “Fuck, okay, yeah—”

His hand slides across your hip and down, but you catch him just in time.

“But don’t touch my clit.”  You try to sound as firm as possible through the breathlessness, still trying to put your foot down even when you’re giving in, and Dameron’s teeth come out as he stifles a soft groan into your neck in response.

“Yes, baby,” he murmurs obediently as his hand sinks down once more, and so diligently, he avoids it altogether.  His fingers slide under your panties and fall straight down to your entrance, down to where you know you’re the hottest, where your pussy is flexing and pushing wetness out with a steady, wicked throb.  The pad of his middle finger presses gently against the tight muscles there, rubs just the slightest bit to feel that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you so slowly that your knees rattle against bulky metal.

“Fucking Maker , ” he hisses as he slides it in, his body making a sudden jerk against the controls.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling of something inside you after so long, after such a torturous buildup, and you grasp at his forearm again when it curls naturally up against searing pleasure.  Oh, it’s so good, it’s so good, your hands shake while he very carefully moves it in and out, the raw sparks of heat threatening to incinerate you as your muscles cling to every ridge of his finger.  He gets it sopping wet, bathes it so completely in your slick that you’re almost certain it’ll come out pruny and drenched.

“Shit, okay,” you pant, squeezing desperately around his finger, “o-okay, fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand pulls out… slower this time.  He slips his finger out of you quick enough, but he drags the tip of it through your folds as he retreats, just barely grazing your clit and making you jolt in your seat.  Shit, you don’t know if it felt intentional enough to fault him for it—mostly it just excites you, thrills you to have him edge you like this without really needing to put any effort at all into it.

Dameron lifts his head to sink his finger deep into his mouth once more, and you tremble as you watch him enjoy it, staring at the way his shoulders seem to relax as soon as your taste is on his tongue, how his face goes soft with it and he almost slumps.

Relief.  Genuine, not embellished.  He still doesn’t say anything after he slowly slides it out and blinks at you, no sugar sweet drawl telling you how amazing you taste, no candied words to make you give in and let him have another go.  You’re both breathing hard at each other, staring, waiting to see who will break first.

Stars, you… fucking like this.  You want him to keep going, but you can’t offer it again.  It’s just too exposing, too revealing to let him you’re actually really fucking enjoying this, you can’t—

“Do you w—?”  Your voice automatically comes out through the silence without your permission, sounding just absolutely fucking wrecked by this point, but his palm is already slithering back down as soon as you speak, and you make the softest little submissive noise in your throat at him taking immediate initiative like that.  He’s not as careful about it this time—his hand finds its target with less frill, his finger slides in quicker, sinking deep into your heat with little hesitation, lighting you on fire from the inside out, and you bite the meat of your thumb to stay quiet.

“Fuck, this is so hot,” he suddenly breathes next to your ear while your legs spasm and you gasp brokenly.  “This is so—fuck, pretty baby letting me do this to her, I can’t fucking believe—”

Dameron eases a second finger inside you this time, letting you feel that delicious stretch from this angle, unable to lift your legs or shuffle around to help and subsequently resigned to simply experience it the way he gives it to you.  Your teeth have probably permanently indented your bottom lip from how hard you’re clamped down, a testament to how much you’re trying to hold back the loud moan you miraculously haven’t released yet.  Somehow it makes it sexier, not letting him hear you, not having your own noises to drown out the spark of urgency in his voice beginning to peek through.

Shit, it’s too much.  You can only let him touch you a few seconds at a time before you feel that familiar tug towards mind-numbing bliss, and the more he does it, the more appealing that feeling then becomes.  It’s teasing you, floating right in front of you and calling into question what could possibly be so bad about just reaching out to meet it?  You could.  You could cum right now.  What’s two weeks of pay?  You could cum all night long if you want, that is a thing you can do—

Quickly snapping out of your hypnotic downfall, your trembling hands snatch at his forearm once more, and Dameron, the fucker, drags his fingers slowly over your clit on the way out— so not accidental, not even close to it this time, but the sensation makes your hips stutter upwards and chase it nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” you groan at his audacity, your chest arching as you drop your head back, “I said don’t touch my—” but two wet fingers slipping past your lips and onto your tongue muffle the rest of your sentence.  Your heart does half a somersault before slamming down early, the taste of your pussy filling your mouth as you automatically start sucking on them.

“None of that,” Dameron tells you softly, massaging his fingers along your tongue before pressing a sweet kiss under your ear.  “Be nice.  I’m being nice.”

You should bite him.  Instead, you just close your eyes and mphh weakly around his fingers, your body sagging as you give into it and let him explore your mouth with them, your lower muscles cramping up in painful desperation even when he’s not anywhere near that part of your body right now.  Your tongue even comes up to lick between them, swirl around them so soft compared to how hard you’re puffing through your nose.

Dameron slowly inches his fingers out, letting the tips of them rest against your bottom lip for just a brief moment, before his hand is moving again.  Not down, but back and around, so he can open his mouth and taste you another way this time.

Shit, you feel like you’re dying.  You need air.  Your hands clench into fists and you use the back of one to wipe the sweat from the bridge of your nose while he takes his time sampling you like this.  If anything, he looks just as blissed out as before, continuing to rub his crotch up against the solid metal between his legs and teasing you with it as much as he’s teasing himself.

“Maker, let me do this for real tonight, okay,” Dameron pants after dropping his fingers from his mouth, sounding like he’s fighting for his breath while you can’t find yours at all.  Your eyes flick down to watch the way his hand disappears behind the chair to grab the controls and push his cock up against them even harder, how he drops his forehead to your neck like he just can’t fucking handle it anymore.  “Fuck, I’ll shave, I’ll do anything you want, just let me—”

“Cum,” you gasp out before you can stop yourself, and there’s a moment after it where his hips suddenly stutter against the controls, and you both freeze.

Shit.  Shitshitshit, did that actually work?

No, you very quickly realize, his body isn’t spasming like it would if he finally emptied his load after a month and a half.  He’s just… holding there, his head buried in your neck, completely still.

You didn’t mean it like that.  Well… fuck, you did, but you didn’t realize you’d be that reckless about it, that upfront about reissuing the challenge.

Dameron pulls back to look at you from the side this time, but it’s too cramped—he keeps his head turned facing you even as his eyes flick up to the transparisteel to take in the finer details of your features, the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, and the slightly alarmed way you’re blinking back at him, worried you just shot your blaster at him in the midst of a mutual ceasefire and you fucking missed.

You see the understanding in his eyes instantly fall into place, and it’s not fucking good.  Ohhhhhh no, it’s not good.  Your chest starts rising and falling rapidly, suddenly registering the position you just put yourself in.  Fuck, you didn’t think—you saw your opening, so clearly, you didn’t have time to think about the consequences.

“D-Dameron…” you try your best to placate.

“Don’t touch your clit?”  He asks quietly, the raspiness of his voice ripping a hole through you while his hand suddenly shoves its way back down your body once more.

“Dameron,” you whimper, your heart stuttering in panic as you grasp weakly at his arm reaching between your spread thighs, “Dameron, this is—this is against the r-rules—”

“You keep saying that,” he comments, his fingers easily finding the opening in your jumpsuit no matter how hard you flex your thighs against bulky mechanics to try and close them.  “How clearly do you remember the rules?  What were the rules again?

You open your mouth to respond but his hand sliding under your panties and down just obliterates any chance you were going to attempt.  No words, nothing comes out but a shaky whine as his finger sinks into your soaking heat, going right for the kill.

“Come on, baby, the rules,” Dameron reminds you when you never give him an answer.  “Tell me.  No fucking, no jerking off, and…?”

You suddenly struggle forwards in a last-ditch attempt at preventing the inevitable, hoping you can scoot up enough in your seat to escape his reach from behind.  But fuck, your thighs have been shoved wide open for nearly eight hours—none of the muscles are working the way they should be anymore.  There’s just enough room in front of you to get there and you probably would’ve been able to do it at the beginning of the shift, even with his hand between your legs like this, but you’re sluggish and your thighs pull sharp and urgent with the movement.  The frantic maneuver enough to veer his fingers off course just slightly, moving one of your lips to the side at an angle, and you keep pushing against the pain no matter how useless it is.

“—No cumming,” he finishes for you, and his other hand is slithering up under your arm and groping one of your breasts through the jumpsuit before shoving you back tight up against your seat once more, totally helpless against it.  “Probably have another fifteen minutes or so before our shift ends.  Better hold it in, pretty baby, because this one is all you.”

“This—this isn’t fair, this is—”  The second the slippery pad of his finger presses hard against your clit, you’re biting your lip to cut off a breathless whimper that slips out.  “This is… is sab— sabotage— ”

“Oh, I know,” he moans next to your ear, mocking your high plea of distress with a fake, overly sympathetic whine.  “Feels so fucking good though, doesn’t it?”

Fuck, it does.  The build feels like an orgasm in itself, just working your way to it.  You’re already so unbelievably close after just a few seconds of direct stimulation, an obvious consequence of originally agreeing to such a hardcore edging workout.  You’re pouring sweat, so swollen and tight between your legs as you do everything you can to revolt against your body’s needs.

“Oh fuck, stop touching my clit—” you gasp raggedly, heart thundering in panic while your lower muscles start to immediately seize up, “oh—fuckfuckfuck— Poe, take your finger off m—”

Instead of doing it, his hand just slows down until the tip of his finger comes to a halt, maybe less than an inch over top of it.  You still can’t catch your breath though, not when you feel yourself throbbing against absolutely nothing, the calloused pad holding perfectly still over the bundle of nerves.  The swollen bud still arcs and flares at a steady frequency, building and building, and you choke out a wordless garble, absolutely fucking furious that this is what’s gonna make you cum.

“Don’t make me cum,” you switch up your sentence but not the terrified plead in your voice, the way it’s pitching up and out of control in the dead quiet of space.  He doesn’t even acknowledge it.  “Don’t make me cum, don—”

“Say it again,” he prompts instead, and lightning arcs up your spine.

“Poe,” you wheeze, the words coming from you without thought, your fingernails digging into his forearm even as your hips jerk up into his touch, “fuck, don’t make me cum, Poe—please don’t make me c—”

“But it’ll be so good,” he counters lowly, and your clit throbs in desperation at the richness of his voice when he speaks like this, saying things from deep in his chest.  “It’ll be so fucking good when it happens.  Stars, you’ll feel so much better, won’t you?  Cum right now and I’ll give you as many as I can until we have to go home.”

“N-No,” you whine, feeling his teeth scrape at the crook of your neck.  “No, I can’t—”

“Cum for me,” Dameron raises his voice, sharpening it into a direct order.  “Right now.  Come on— fucking make yourself lose.”

“But I—I—” you sob, starting to feel your body curl inwards, nearly about to succumb to the burning, the tightening, right on its last breath, “I-I don’t want to cum—”

“And I don’t fucking care,“ he hisses while your hands start flexing unintentionally, grasping helplessly at his immovable forearm where it disappears between your legs, the dark hair sliding under your fingertips as you claw desperately at it.  “You’ll fucking cum when I tell you to cum and you’ll like it, you disrespectful, cock-deprived, bratty little—”

And then everything goes dark.

No, literally.  The stars disappear.

The cockpit is suddenly shrouded in pitch blackness, and you’re almost certain it’s because you pass out, except then Dameron is all but ripping his hand out of your jumpsuit and cursing repeatedly in alarm.  You crumple in on yourself, eyes clamped shut and not hearing anything, right at the peak of your ecstasy and ready to soar into the light completely unassisted, your muscles doing all the work on their own—

“—shit, they’re way too close—” you hear his voice shout, “—we have to turn the engines on—Gold-Ten, baby, turn the fucking eng—”

You’re almost there, you’re almost there, you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna fucking—

Your first name, roared out in startling, blinding panic.

You don’t often hear it.  Just during roll calls mostly, but only if you’re flying with a different squadron and need a new temporary flight designation for the day.  First names hurt.  You can’t remember a time you’ve ever willingly told anybody yours.

Your head jerks up to look at his reflection but something else beyond the transparisteel takes immediate precedence.  Your brain takes about two seconds to catch up before thundering terror slams through you and halts your previously inevitable orgasm in its fucking tracks.  A runaway train about to launch off its tracks suddenly slamming directly into a megaton force-field of cold, hard fight or flight instincts.

A staggering fleet of First Order ships silently plunging out of hyperspace on all sides—your powered-down x-wing stationed right in the middle of the drop location.

***

Stay tuned for part two coming soon!!

[thebrotherssalvatore321]

Keeping Secrets Ch. 53

Keeping Secrets Masterlist

Katie laid in bed on her side, her eyes taking in Klaus who was sleeping on his side facing her. His lips were parted as slow quiet breaths slipped between them and his eyes were closed, but Katie could see them moving around behind his eyelids. When his brow creased she thought he might be having a nightmare. So in an attempt to soothe him she slipped her fingertips over his creased forehead and down the bridge of his nose. She was pulling her hand back when he jerked awake. For a split second the look in his blue eyes suggested he’d forgotten where he was, but as he fully woke up and saw her he relaxed. “Bad dream?” she asked quietly. He hummed a positive answer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” he shook his head and turned onto his back then held his arm out for her. So she scooted over and laid her head on his shoulder. He started playing with her hair enjoying the silence. “How high do you think the chances are of us spending the whole day together uninterrupted?”

“Not very if I’m being honest.” She answered. “At some point we’re going to have to deal with the fallout of last night’s attack.” Katie pointed out. “And my stomach has been growling for the past thirty minutes. I’m surprised that’s not what woke you up.”

“If you’re hungry, why haven’t you eaten yet?” he asked curiously.

“I was afraid you would wake up if I left the bed.” she answered with a look up at him.

Klaus heaved out a breath, not liking that she was going hungry for his sake, as he turned over to grab his phone off the bedside table. He called the kitchen maid and told him what to bring up for breakfast. “There, problem solved.”

“I forget there are people here being paid to wait on us hand and foot.” She sighed as he wrapped his arm back around her and resumed playing with her hair.

“You should utilize it more often.” He told her with a look down at her stomach.

“I’ll try, but it’s hard to get used to having people wait on me when a little over two years ago I was the one waiting on people for what little tips they decided to leave me.” she said as she looked down at his hand on her belly. “How does your little princess sound this morning?” she asked, missing the time when she could hear her child’s heartbeat.

“Healthy as ever.” He answered with a small smile. “Have you thought any more about a name for this little one?”

“I still can’t come up with a first name, but I have a middle name in mind.” She admitted.

“Are you going to keep me guessing or are you going to share it with me?” he asked with a bit of a smirk.

“Dorothy.” Katie answered.

“Like ‘The Wizard of Oz’?” Klaus asked. “You were named after a ‘Gone With The Wind’ character so you want to name our child after another iconic heroine?”

“No.” Katie laughed. “After my mother, Dorothea.”

“Your first mother or your second?” he asked curiously.

“Second.” Katie answered. “I wouldn’t name a dung beetle after my first mother, much less our child.”

“You don’t talk about your first mother much.” Klaus commented as he turned onto his side so he could see her face better.

“There’s not much to say.” Katie shrugged and Klaus gave her a look that told her he wanted to know more about her past, things she hadn’t written about in the journals he’d read. “She was…cold. My sister and I…we were just a wifely duty and one she considered a failure because we weren’t boys who could carry on the Easton name.” Katie answered, earning a frown from Klaus. “Not once did I ever see a glimmer of love in that woman’s eyes. Not even for my sister.”

“What do you mean, not even for your sister?” Klaus asked, noticing the distant look her eyes took on while talking about her first life.

“She was the golden child. Poised, polite, obedient, beautiful like our mother…everything our father could have asked for in a girl, but she was still a girl. So…” Katie shrugged suggesting that even perfection could save them from their father’s hatred. “I on the other hand looked like a feminine copy of my father with a smart mouth and a defiant attitude.”

“Well, I happen to like your smart mouth and your sister sounds like the perfect match for Finn” He told her as he leaned in and caught her lips with his in a short kiss. “And I like Dorothy.”

TVDTVDTVD

Katie was sitting in the kitchen finishing up her lunch when Klaus found her. “Are you feeling up to a visit to the church?” he asked as he slipped his hand over her shoulders and she looked up at his worried face.

“Sure, what’s up?” she asked as she pushed her empty plate away.

“Marcel contacted me. Father Kieran isn’t doing well and Marcel is worried about Cami. He would go check on her himself, but-”

“But he’s been banned from the quarter.” She finished as she hopped down off the stool. “Let me grab my bag and I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”

TVDTVDTVD

Josh, Cami and a doctor stood around Father Kieran who was restrained in a chair. Josh was putting a gag into Kieran's mouth. “Well, isn’t this a gruesome little scene?” Klaus asked, announcing their presence.

Cami turned to them with wide eyes. “Klaus, Katie, what are you doing here?”

“I received an urgent call on your behalf.” Klaus answered. “It seems we’ve been tasked with doing what your coward of a boyfriend could not.” Klaus and Katie walked further into the attic that used to be Davina’s room. “Which, by the looks of things, is dissuading you from whatever madness it is you’re about to attempt.”

“ECT?” Katie asked with a look at the machine sitting behind Father Kieran’s chair. “Is he really that far gone that you have to resort to shock therapy?”

Cami ignored her and turned to the doctor in the room. “Are you ready?”

“Please.” The doctor replied, “I’m begging you, don’t force me to do this.”

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Cami said as she walked around him, grabbed the electrodes and dipped them in clear gel. Katie looked up at Klaus afraid of what she was about to see done to an innocent man like Father Kieran.

Klaus slipped his arm around Katie’s waist and pulled her into his side. “Camille, your uncle is a good man. He shouldn’t suffer.” He reasoned.

“He’s been suffering for weeks.” Cami argued. “He’s dying, Klaus. This might be the only chance he’s got.” She put the electrodes to her uncle’s temples causing him to yell in pain. Katie flinched and bit her lips closed, hating seeing the man in pain.

When Cami pulled the electrodes away, Klaus left her side to take the electrodes from Cami who moved to her uncle’s side. Kieran sniffled and looked at Cami, seeming to be lucid for a second as he said her name, but soon after his face changed to hateful and glaring, “What the hell did you do to me?”

“We have to do it again.” Cami moved back behind Kieran’s chair.

“Whoa, are you serious?” Josh asked.

“That was something coherent. It’s working.” Cami put her hand on the electrodes, but Klaus put his hand on hers stopping her.

“Doctor,” Klaus started, “See to your patient.” The doctor clicked a pen light on and shined it in Kieran’s eyes. The machine tracking Father Kieran’s vitals was beeping rapidly and irregularly.

“His heartbeat is irregular. We can’t keep this up. It’ll kill him.” The doctor informed them all.

“No!” Cami tried to take a step toward her uncle, but Klaus stepped in the way.

“Cami, we need to have a word, in private.” Klaus then walked over to Katie and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You and Joshua get the doctor and his machine out of here.” Katie gave him a nod then waited for him and Cami to be out of ear shot.

Katie unplugged the ECT machine and handed it to the doctor. “Josh, do your thing.” she said with a jerk of her head to the doctor. “He needs to get out of here before things get too bad.”

Josh nodded and ushered the doctor out of the attic. While they were gone Katie stood by the door to the attic waiting for Klaus and Cami to come back. Kieran stared at her for a few seconds before he looked to the side as if someone were talking to him. Then out of nowhere he growled and bit his thumb off, pulling it from the restraint as he lunged at her. She yelped and stumbled back out of the doorway only for father Kieran to slam into an invisible wall. Someone had put a boundary spell on the attic.

Having heard her yelp Klaus whooshed up to her only to see that she was safe and Father K. was beating on the invisible wall with a thumbless hand, his other one was still attached to the chair behind him. A few minutes later Josh came back to see what had happened. The two vampires got Kieran on the bed and restrained him while Katie grabbed the sedative left behind by the doctor and drew up the appropriate amount for a man his size.

Only after he was sedated did Katie pull a chair up beside the bed and start working on bandaging the priest’s hand. She was almost done when Klaus’s phone started ringing. He answered it, had a short conversation with the person on the other end then hung up. “What’s wrong?” Katie asked, noticing the frown on his face.

“Someone bombed the bayou.” He answered.

“Should you go do something about it?” Katie asked with wide eyes.

“No, we’re needed here. Elijah can handle the bayou bombing.” He answered with a shake of his head then called Elijah.

Katie, Klaus and Cami were standing around Father Kieran’s bed when the machine flat lined and he started fighting to breathe. “He’s in cardiac arrest.” Katie announced with a look at the monitor.

“You might want to look away.” Klaus told Cami before he plunged his fist into the priest’s chest.

“What are you doing?!” Cami asked, shocked by what Klaus had just done.

“Massaging his heart.” Klaus answered and the monitor started beeping again. “His body is shutting down. Even with my help he doesn’t have much time.”

“Your blood.” Cami said, desperately looking for a way to save her only family. “If you fed him your blood, he’d wake back up, right?”

“As a vampire in transition, yes.” Klaus answered with a look at Katie who stood on the other side of the bed watching him massage Kieran’s heart. “As for the hex,” he shook his head and looked at Cami over his shoulder, “perhaps his death will be a mercy.”

Tears slipped down Cami’s cheeks. “Do it.” her eyes slipped closed and she shook her head. “Just do it. Please, Klaus, I can’t let him die, not like this.”

Klaus looked at Katie for her opinion and she nodded her head. So he bit his wrist, placed it to the priest’s lips then took his hand from his chest and let his heart stop beating.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie and Klaus sat on a pew in the sanctuary while Cami lit a candle for her uncle. “Why did you agree with turning him?” Klaus asked quietly.

“Because the chances of the priest actually wanting to become a vampire are incredibly low, he won’t turn. He will still die, but if becoming a transitioning vampire will break the hex then they will have the chance to say goodbye and Cami will get the closure that she didn’t have the opportunity too with her brother.” She answered. “It was the only way to make things even close to right in this screwed up situation.”

Klaus kissed her then stood and went to Cami and told her Kieran should be waking up soon. So they all went up to the attic to be there when he woke.

Katie and Klaus stood at the foot of his bed while Cami sat beside him. Cami jumped a little when Kieran sat straight up then looked at her. “Cami, what happened?” he asked with a look at her then Katie and Klaus before he spun around and put his feet on the floor. “The hex…I could feel it like a living thing inside of me.” he looked at his hand to see that the x between his thumb and index finger was gone. “It’s gone.” Cami engulfed her uncle in a hug with tears in her eyes. When he hugged her back he saw his bandaged hand and missing thumb. “Oh my god.”

“Yes, you’ve had a trying day, Father.” Klaus said as he tucked his hands behind his back. Kieran looked around with an odd look on his face, probably realizing he didn’t feel normal. “How best to break it to you? It appears the hex was broken by your death.”

“Back up.” Kieran said, then looked at Klaus and Katie out of the corners of his eyes. “I died? For how long?”

“A few hours or so.” Katie answered.

“I’m sorry.” Cami told him with tears slipping down her cheeks. “I just couldn’t lose you, not like that. I made him give you his blood.”

“I see.” Kieran sighed. “So the devil has a deal for me after all.”

“Actually, you could still go where you’re supposed to.” Katie spoke up not wanting him to think he was damned to hell just because he’d died with vampire blood in his system.

“What do you mean?” Klaus asked, wondering what she was talking about.

Katie looked up at Klaus, “Your mother told Elena that even though you turned Jenna her soul remained pure. So she didn’t get trapped on the other side like most supernatural creatures.” She looked at Kieran, “She passed on and found peace and I believe it would be no different for you. I’m sure you know that if you don’t feed you’ll die, but Jenna fed and still remained pure, so if you want to have more time to-”

“Katie,” the priest interrupted as politely as he could, “I appreciate the options you're trying to give me, but I do not want to transition.” Kieran looked up at Cami who wiped a tear on her face. “Please leave me with my niece. I’d like a private moment to talk with her.”

When Klaus and Katie didn’t move, afraid to leave Cami alone with him Cami moved to Klaus and placed her hand on his upper arm. “It’s okay. Thank you for today, both of you, for being kind.” Katie wanted to say she didn’t do anything, but thought better of it and just gave her a small smile and a nod of her head. They both headed down stairs.

“I think I know who was behind the attack on the bayou.” Klaus told her as they came to a stop in the middle of the isle of the sanctuary.

“Really, who?” Katie asked with a frown.

“I think Genevieve has figured us out and she is taking it out on us by attempting to foil our peace with the wolves.” He told her and she nodded. “I need to go speak with her.”

“I’ll stay here.” Katie told him, making him sigh and give her a look that told her he wished she would let him take her home. “Cami doesn’t need to be alone right now and Father Kieran is better. I’ll be okay.”

“Call Nate. I don’t want either of you here alone with him.” He told her then leaned down and kissed her then left her behind.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie was sitting on a pew at the front of the sanctuary, waiting on Nate, while Cami sat in the upper balcony, taking a moment for herself when Katie heard Cami ask, “Have you changed your mind?” Katie looked behind her to see that Kieran had left the attic. Not a minute later Cami yelped then jumped over the balcony railing.

“Shit.” Katie cursed as she took her bag off of her shoulder, grabbed a vervain grenade then tossed the bag to the side. Kieran whooshed downstairs grabbed Cami and threw her into a pew, breaking it. Katie yelped and hid behind the pew she had been sitting on. When she saw Kieran pull Cami past her to the front of the sanctuary then grab her hair and make her stand on her knees, Cami saw Katie. Kieran was too occupied, listening to the voices in his head, people he saw that they didn’t, to see Katie mouth, “Cover your face.” and shield her own with her arm. When Cami’s face was shielded Katie pulled the pin on the vervain grenade in her hand then threw it at Kieran. When it wet off he screamed out in pain and let go of Cami’s hair. Katie ran to Cami. “We have to run, now.” Katie helped her to her feet and they were almost to the front doors when Kieran whooshed in front of them, his eyes red and framed by veins.

But before he could hurt them, his neck was broken. As he fell to the side, Nate came into view. Before Katie could say anything Cami went limp against her. “Whoa, hey.” Nate said as he stepped up and took the dead weight off of Katie. He was laying Cami on the floor when Klaus whooshed in, stopping when he saw Kieran passed out on the floor.

“What happened?” Klaus asked as he walked around Kieran to Katie, his eyes scanning her for any injury.

“Kieran’s hex came back.” Katie answered feeling a little faint herself as the adrenaline that has been coursing through her since Cami jumped off the balcony backed off. “He tried to kill us, but Nate whooshed in and broke his neck before he could.”

Klaus looked at Nate, “You know, I was wary of you at first.” Klaus told him as he wrapped his arm around Katie’s waist.

“What, have I finally gotten on your very short list of trusted people?” Nate asked as he stood up.

“No, however you do have my gratitude.” Klaus told him with a half smirk.

Katie smiled and shook her head at Klaus. “Okay, so what do we do about Father Crazy Pants?” she asked as she turned around looking at the still passed out priest. “He was dangerous enough when he was human.”

Klaus walked over to the broken pew and grabbed a sharp piece of wood. “I think there’s only one thing we can do, what both of them would have wanted.” Klaus kneeled down and drove the stake into Father Kieran’s heart causing veins to rise to the surface of his skin that turned grayish purple.

Katie stayed with Nate and the still passed out Cami while Klaus carried Father K. up to the attic and placed him on the bed so he wouldn’t be the first thing seen when someone entered the church. “Father Crazy Pants?” Nate asked with a serious look at her. “That was a little disrespectful don’t you think?”

“Yeah…I didn’t mean for it to be. It was an attempt to lighten the mood that failed.” Katie explained and Nate just smirked and rolled his eyes at her.

When Klaus came back, Nate left then Klaus scooped Cami up in his arms and they brought her home. Klaus laid her in her bed then they sat in her living room waiting for her to wake up. “I was wrong about Genevieve. She has no idea that we’re still together. The bayou bombing wasn’t her.”

“Then who was it?” Katie asked with a frown. “Marcel?”

“No.” Klaus answered with a shake of his head. “There were women and children who were killed in that bombing.” Katie gave him a ‘so?’ look. “Marcel has one rule he never breaks. He never hurts children.”

“So if not the witches or either group of vampires…then who? The human’s, they have no reason to go after the wolves.” Katie asked.

Before Klaus could answer Cami called, “Marcel?” from the darkness of her bedroom.

“Are those two together now?” Katie asked and Klaus just hummed a positive answer as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Katie saw Marcel’s name on the screen before Klaus hit call.

“Klaus, you need to know I had nothing to do with that business out in the bayou today.” Katie heard Marcel clearly in the silence of the room.

“I never thought you did.” Klaus replied. “I’m calling to let you know the priest is dead. Your exile is suspended for the next 24 hours. You may return to the quarter to bury your friend.”

“Why are you doing this?” Marcel asked, confused by Klaus’s mercy.

“Cami woke in the dark not knowing where she was or who was watching over her. It was your name she called.” Klaus answered. “If you can grant her comfort, so be it.”

“I’m on my way.” Marcel answered then hung up.

“That was nice of you.” Katie commented.

“If the situation were reversed, if Marcel were here and you in Cami’s place calling out my name in the dark, I’d like to think Marcel would do the same.” He explained as he wrapped his arm around her waist.

In a matter of minutes, a knock sounded on the door and Klaus answered it, letting Marcel in. He went straight to Cami so Katie and Klaus left.

TVDTVDTVD

The next morning Katie once again woke before Klaus and after watching his restless sleep she brushed his slightly wavy hair back out of his face. When her fingertips touched his scalp Klaus’s dream took over her mind's eye. He was in the church, looking down at a baby in a coffin. “Hi.” He cooed to the baby then started to pick it up, but the sharp squish of a stake through his body made him stand up straight, blood poured from his mouth as his eyes met hers seeing her in his dream. But her eyes were trained on Mikael who stood behind him, his hand on the indestructible white oak stake that was sticking out of Klaus’s chest.

Klaus turned to face his father who grabbed him by the neck. “Greetings, Boy.”

Klaus took in a guttural breath, waking from his dream with a start and Katie pulled back her hand. Klaus’s eyes found hers that were frowning at him in worry. He squeezed his eyes closed and pulled her closer, resting his forehead on her chest. It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. So she simply placed her hand on the back of his neck and rubbed it comfortingly.

Eventually, though they got out of bed, showered and dressed for Father Kieran’s wake at Rousseau’s. When they walked into the bar, cheery music was being played by a band in the corner while people drank and a few danced. “How could I have guessed that a New Orleans wake would be nothing like a regular wake?” Katie asked as they walked over to the bar where Klaus ordered a drink then took a seat in a corner booth. The whole atmosphere felt wrong for the mood Klaus was in. His bad mood put Katie in an odd mood as well.

Both of them were staring down at the table when Cami joined them. “Hey, earth to you.” Both of them looked up but said nothing. “Listen, I wanted to thank you.”

“Unless you come equipped with the means to fill this,” Klaus held up his glass that now only contained ice, “No additional platitudes are necessary.”

Cami looked at Katie who just gave her a tight lipped smile and shrugged. “Okay.” Cami drawled then looked back at Klaus. “I’m in a crap mood because my uncle just died and people are partying like it’s Mardi Gras. What’s your excuse?”

“I’ve been having dreams about my dead father.” Klaus admitted out loud for the first time. “No diagnosis necessary, love. I’ve already got this one covered. My fears of fatherhood, of scarring my child as my father scarred me are manifesting as nightmares.” He grabbed his drink only to remember that it was empty. “So horrifically cliché.”

“Okay, why don’t I go get you a refill?” Katie asked as she grabbed his glass and Cami stood from the curved booth to let Katie out.

She was standing at the bar when Marcel walked up beside her. “How are you?” he asked as he put his arms on the bar and sat down.

“Considering I saw a priest die, turn, try to kill me then get staked yesterday…I can confidently say I’ve been better.” She told him as she looked across her shoulder at him. “Not to mention Klaus is in a mood and this bartender is incredibly slow.”

“Let me help you out.” he flagged down the bartender and he ordered his drink then motioned for the bartender to take her order too.

“Thanks.” She told him with a small smile.

“You’re welcome.” He told her with a smile that showed off his perfect white teeth. “So how’s your old man? I haven’t heard from him since he left.”

“He is living in our old house and dating my best friend’s mother.” Katie answered as the bartender set Klaus’s drink and her coke in front of her.

“How weird is that for you?” he asked curiously.

“Only very.” She answered as she turned and saw Cami get up from their booth and head their way. “I should get this to Klaus before the ice melts.” She started to walk off.

“Wait.” Marcel said as he gently grabbed her elbow. “I want to thank you for whatever it was you said to Klaus to get him to let me come here and be a part of this…to be there for Cami.” He told her genuinely.

“Your thanks are unnecessary.” She told him honestly. “I had nothing to do with it. That was a mercy granted by Klaus himself with no influence from me. But just so you know, you have my condolences on the loss of both of your friends.” she told him, talking about Father K. and Thierry. Then turned and headed back over to Klaus.

A few minutes later Marcel grabbed a glass and a bottle and clinked them together making the band in the corner stop playing. “I know I haven’t been around these parts lately.” Marcel started. “It’s a testament to Father Kieran that we could come together and share a drink and a story or two. Kieran rolled into town on a rusty old cruiser after his daddy died 25 years ago. And, damn it, that guy could party.” Everyone in the room laughed and Cami smiled. “That was, of course, before he took his vows. But even then, he was committed to the quarter. He knew that this town needed him and we still do.” He held up his glass for a toast. “To Father K.” The rest of the room echoed him, but Katie watched Camille try and fail to not cry before she disappeared into the kitchen. Not long after the band started playing the cheery music again Francesca went into the kitchen with Cami.

Katie scooted over in the booth as Elijah joined them with a bottle in his hand. He was pouring them both a drink when Katie saw Cami storm out of the kitchen and Francesca came out and ordered a drink. “It seems rather uncivilized…” Klaus spoke up bringing Katie’s attention back to their table, “to laugh and dance around the body of a loved one.”

“Yes, far better to practice your process of grief, isn’t it, Klaus?” Elijah asked as he capped the bottle. “Denial, rage, and hoarding coffins in basements.” When Hayley walked over to them Elijah scooted closer to Katie and offered Hayley a seat so she took it. “I will warn you, Hayley, Niklaus is in a spectacularly foul mood today.”

“Sod off.” Klaus complained as he grabbed the bottle and refreshed his glass.

“What’s the deal with these moonlight rings?” Hayley asked, ignoring the brother’s banter. “Oliver’s trying to start a revolution every five seconds. People are scared, angry, and frankly I’m tired of stalling.”

Katie rolled her eyes at Hayley and placed her elbow on the table and rested her head in her hand. “It’s a day of peace, Hayley. Try and enjoy it. In the meantime the rings are in progress. I will live up to my word. We will find and punish whoever launched the attack on the bayou. But right now, I’m gonna finish this bottle and the next in the hopes of drowning the demon that has chosen today to haunt me.” he held the bottle in his hand up and looked up at the ceiling. “Cheers, Mikael. Impeccable Freudian timing.”

Elijah looked at Hayley as he sat up straighter. “Will you give us a moment?” Hayley nodded and left them and Elijah looked at Klaus. “Elaborate. Have you dreamt of our father?”

“Go ahead, have a good laugh.” Klaus told him grumpily. Katie felt a little out of place sitting between them, keeping her mouth shut.

“I can assure you there is not a piece of this that I find even remotely amusing, Niklaus. Especially considering I’ve been dreaming of him too.” Elijah told them, being completely serious.

“What?” Klaus asked.

“If you are also seeing him…” Elijah looked across the room at Genevieve who just joined the party. “Perhaps our elusive, unknown enemy is orchestrating a further attack.”

When Klaus looked at Genevieve she gave him a coy smile, clearly whatever mistakes Klaus had made with the two of them had been resolved or forgotten. “Well then, what better way to punctuate a day of peace than by killing someone?” Klaus gave her a smile and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave.

While they had been talking Katie had been thinking. “As much as I would love for you to kill her, I don’t think she’s the cause of this.”

“What do you mean?” Klaus asked with a frown at her.

“I think it’s your father’s doing.” She answered. “Remember what Bonnie said about the spirits on the other side being able to interact with our side?” she asked and a look of realization that this wasn’t a trick, but really his father messing with them, appeared on Klaus’s face.

“Would one of you be so kind as to fill me in?” Elijah asked.

“The purgatory that supernatural souls get trapped in when they die, the one that Bonnie is the anchor to, it’s been tampered with.” Katie told him. “Souls are being torn away into nothingness and the vale between our side and theirs is thinning. I’m fairly certain that the dreams you’ve been having are really your father reaching out from the other side and messing with your heads.” Katie explained.

“So you’re saying that our father, faced with permanent extinction, has decided to spend his remaining time tormenting us.” Elijah summarized. “How delightful.”

“On the plus side we’ll soon be rid of his abhorrent soul forever.” Klaus spoke up. “And what a good riddance that will be.”

“And I may or may not lose Bonnie, again.” Katie said putting two and two together for the first time since talking to Bonnie. “I need to make a call.” She pushed Elijah’s shoulder and he let her out of the booth. He followed her out as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Bonnie’s number.

This time Bonnie picked up after just a few rings. “Hey, what up?”

“Are you going to die?” Katie asked, getting straight to the point.

“I don’t know what you’re-” Bonnie started.

“If the other side ceases to exist, will you disappear with it?” Katie asked and looked over her shoulder when she felt Elijah touch her back. Bonnie didn’t answer. “Answer me Bonnie.”

“Yes.” Bonnie finally answered.

Katie squeezed her eyes closed. “Please tell me you guys have found a way to stop it or to at least save you.”

“If I did I would be lying.” Bonnie answered, bringing tears to Katie’s eyes. “The other side is just a spell cast by a witch…it requires balance and when those travelers overpowered me they messed with the balance.”

“So toss another weight on the scale.” Katie told her pacing back and forth, Elijah standing by not knowing what to do.

“You know that’s not how it works.” Bonnie told her with a shaky voice. “When the other side goes, so will I. I’ve accepted it and I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to accept it too.” Bonnie’s voice cracked and tears started slipping down Katie’s cheeks.

“No, Bonnie, I’m not going to accept that. You can’t just…disappear.” Katie argued.

“I don’t have an option. So I need you to listen to me because I don’t know how much longer I have it could be a week or it could be a day.” Katie stopped pacing and wrapped her arm around herself turning her eyes to Klaus who walked out of the bar and over to her and Elijah where they stood under the awning of Rousseau’s. “I love you and I am so proud of the woman I saw you become while I was on the other side.”

“Stop it, Bonnie, don’t tell me goodbye. I can’t hear it.” Katie begged.

“Yes, you can.” Bonnie argued and Katie could tell by her voice that she was crying but trying to sound strong. “You want to know how I know you can hear it?” Bonnie asked and Katie just sniffled. “Because you are strong and you will only get stronger.” She heard Bonnie sniffle before she kept talking. “So I’m going to tell you that you’ve been the best friend a girl could ask for and I will forever be grateful for that. If we find a way to save me and the other side, I’ll call you and if I don’t call just…know I went peacefully, okay?” Katie didn’t say anything back. “Katie, say okay.”

Katie took in a deep breath then let it out as Klaus cupped her cheek in his hand. “Okay.”

“Goodbye, Katie.”

“Goodbye, Bon.” Katie replied then heard Bonnie hang up.

“Klaus?” Genevieve’s voice made Klaus turn to see her walking over cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

“Now is not a good time, Genevieve.” Klaus told her.

Elijah handed Katie a handkerchief and she gave him a small smile in thanks. “Actually, Genevieve, I’d like a minute of your time if you have it to give.”

Genevieve looked at Klaus who gave her a nod. “Of course.”

Klaus and Elijah walked over to one of the free tables and sat down while Katie and Genevieve sat at another. “What do you know about the other side, the purgatory that supernatural spirits get stuck in when they die?”

“I know that it’s separate from where the New Orleans ancestors reside and it was created by a vengeful witch. But that’s about it. Why do you ask?” Genevieve answered.

“Because the other side is disintegrating and a friend of mine, a witch, is the anchor. When the other side is gone, my friend will be gone with it.” Katie explained as another tear slipped down her cheek. “I know you don’t like me and you have no reason to help me, but I hear you’re really good at what you do and-”

“Katie,” Genevieve interrupted, “if the other side really is unraveling there’s nothing I can do to save your friend.” Katie’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.” Genevieve got up from the table and walked over to Klaus and Elijah, but Katie paid it no mind and rested her head on the table.

After Genevieve went back inside Klaus went to Katie and held his hand out for her so she took it and let him walk her home. They were about to walk through the doors into the courtyard when a chill ran down Katie’s spine as she looked around, but didn’t see anyone. “Are you alright?” Klaus asked, noticing that she had stopped.

“Yeah, just caught a chill.” She brushed it off.

TVDTVDTVD

The next evening Katie sat in the church between Elijah and Klaus listening to people talk about Father Kieran and his life. If Katie was being honest she was blocking it all out, not listening for fear of it turning into Bonnie’s funeral in her head.

After the service Kieran’s coffin was placed into the back of a horse drawn carriage and everyone gathered behind the carriage to walk behind him on his journey to the cemetery. Katie coughed for the millionth time that morning and Klaus placed his hand on her lower back as Elijah rubbed her shoulder and asked, “Are you alright, you look-”

“Like a beluga whale wrapped in black?” Katie asked.

“I was going to say you look lovely.” Elijah countered with a smirk.

“I do wish you’d stop comparing yourself to large sea creatures.” Klaus told her as Katie coughed again. “Elijah’s right, you look beautiful as always, but you sound horrible. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, it’s probably just a head cold.” She answered.

“Regardless, I’m taking you to a doctor after the funeral.” Klaus insisted.

“Fine if you…” she had to stop talking and cough again, “insist.” She finished the sentence between coughs and when she pulled her hand back the brothers saw blood on her palm. The next cough brought with it a stream of blood that filled her hand and coated her clothes.

Klaus caught her when she passed out and he and Elijah brought her to the compound. Genevieve, having seen Katie faint, followed them.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie awoke lying on a table in the courtyard, all the color the place once had was washed out and as she slowly sat up a movement to her right caught her eye. She turned to see Mikael walk into the courtyard. “Mikael?” Katie slid off of the table putting it between them. “This has to be a dream…like you’ve been doing to Elijah and Klaus.” She was thinking out loud, stalling whatever was to follow the evil look in Mikael’s eyes.

“On the contrary, my darling,” Mikael told her as he walked around the table and Katie started backing away, “this is very real.” Mikael whooshed at her and wrapped his arm around her neck from behind. “Welcome to my hell. Stuck in an eternity of watching over that hideous creature my children call brother.”

“Let me go.” Katie growled as she tried and failed to pull his arm off of her. “You call him a monster, but the only monster I see in this family is you. You’re the pathetic one who can’t get over the fact that your wife screwed a werewolf. Even in death you can’t see that your pride…your wrath…made your children everything that they are. Your son-” he tightened his arm around her neck cutting her off.

“He is not, my son!” he yelled and threw her away from him. She managed to stay on her feet. “He’s a scourge, a walking symbol of weakness.”

“Of whose weakness?” Katie countered. “His or your wife’s?” her retort pissed him off and he grabbed her neck in his hand, pinning her to the wall of the courtyard.

“Are you any better than her?” he asked with a dirty look down at her stomach. “Laying with a beast when a true Mikaelson pines for you.” she grabbed his arm and practically snarled at him, fighting him though she knew it was useless. “Though you may try…there is no saving that atrocity festering in your womb. Klaus will destroy it one way or another.”

“Unlike you, Klaus loves his child. He’d never hurt her.” Katie rasped.

“Better it dies now and you along with it.” Mikael told her as he reared back his head, the veins appearing under his eyes, preparing to bite her. Whimpers and growls left her as she fought with all her human strength to escape his grasp.

A guttural gasp sounded out through the courtyard as she woke up back in the real world and sat straight up on the table in the courtyard. “It's okay, Sweetheart, I’m here.” Klaus told her as he brushed her hair, dampened by his blood that he tried to give her to save her, out of her face. “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Katie closed her eyes for a moment, catching her breath, before she looked around, noticing Genevieve standing behind Klaus before she looked at him. “Is the baby okay, can you hear her heartbeat?” Katie asked with wide eyes.

Klaus nodded. “It’s strong, but you’re going to a doctor in the morning whether you like it or not.” He told her so she nodded.

“Until then I can examine her, if you’d like." Genevieve spoke up and Katie gave her a why-are-you-here look.

“She saved you, and our baby.” Klaus told her so Katie looked back at Genevieve and gave her a nod.

TVDTVDTVD

Katie lay on the bed of her room next to the nursery while Genevieve examined her. When she was done she helped Katie sit up. “Thank you for saving me today.” Katie told her as she stared down at her hands folded in her lap.

“I didn’t do it for you.” Genevieve told her matter-of-factly with her nose in the air. “I did it for Klaus.” Katie pursed her lips and pulled them to the side with a nod. “You’re in the clear, but I’d still take it easy and go to a doctor in the morning.” Katie gave her a salute as Genevieve left, shutting the door behind her.

Katie had showered and was sitting at the vanity in the room writing in a notebook when Elijah found her. The party in honor of Father K was still going on in the street and the jazz music floated up into the room. “I seriously don’t get the way people in this city grieve. When I die please don’t party it up like it's freaking new years eve.”

“You almost did.” She stood from the vanity to look at him as she crossed her arms over her chest. “The last time I felt that….frightened was almost a year ago when for the second time in my life I heard your heart cease to beat.” Katie didn’t know what to say so she didn't say anything as he cleared the distance between them and brushed her hair out of her face then cupped her cheek in his hand. “It reminded me how important you are to me.”

Katie’s eyes slipped closed for a second, pushing back tears, before she looked up at his narrowed, dark chocolate brown eyes. “Where are you going with this?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t let people in, but you…with your compassionate soul, made your way into my heart during a time in my life when I didn’t want to feel anything.” The overwhelming amount of love in his eyes pulled at her heartstrings. “I love you, Katie.” Her brows drew together and she swallowed hard as she picked up her foot and started tapping her bare toes into the hardwood, a sign he knew meant she was trying to keep her emotions in check. “Not as Hannah, not as a lover, but as my friend,” he placed his other hand on her other cheek, holding her face in his hands, “my family.” A tear slipped down each of her cheeks and he swiped them away with his thumbs. “It’s a love that, in a thousand years, I have never felt before and one…I hope is reciprocated.”

He thought when she grabbed his wrists and took his hands from her face then turned her back, that she was rejecting him, but as he watched her walk over to her vanity and pull a Tiffany blue box out of a drawer he knew that wasn’t the case. “You…” she started, as she turned and started walking back over to him, “can press my buttons almost as easily as Elena used to.” She popped the box open, took out the necklace then tossed the box on the bed. “But I never stopped loving you, Elijah, not even for a second.” She held the necklace out to him then stuck out her left wrist.

He took the necklace, but didn’t wrap it around her wrist. “Not even when I compelled you?” he asked curiously as he walked over to her vanity and sat down.

Curious as to what he was doing, she walked over to watch him. “That was a hard one to forgive, but no, not even when you compelled me.” she answered as she watched him manipulate the delicate chain links to turn the necklace into a bracelet by doubling the silver chain on each side of the silver, horizontal infinity sign with diamond accents and a rose gold heart in the center of it. When he was done he stood up and motioned for her wrist. She held it out, letting him fasten the necklace, turned bracelet, around it.

She looked up from her wrist and gave him a small smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck, rested her chin on them and closed her eyes as she felt his hands press into her shoulder blades. When they pulled away he gave her a small smile and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You should get some rest.” She just gave him a half smile and a nod and he left her to sleep.

TVDTVDTVD

After speaking to Marcel before his allotted time in the French Quarter was up, Klaus returned home to find Katie sitting at her desk in their quarters writing something on pretty stationery. When she noticed he was back, she capped the pen and put it and the letter she was writing away.

“I assumed you would be asleep after the day you’ve had.” He told her as she stood up and he closed the space between them.

“No, I had a song swirling around in my head and needed to get it down before it disappeared.” She told him as she slipped her hands up his chest that was still clad in his black tux.

Seeing the sparkle he grabbed her hand, looking at the bracelet. “Should I be worried?”

She moved her arms to rest on his shoulders as she looked into his eyes then smiled. “What do you think?”

“I think…” he slid his arms around her waist, “I see a symbol of my brother’s undying love for you on your wrist.”

“Yes, but the love it represents has finally changed to match my love for him.” she told him.

“And that type of love is…?” he prompted.

She rolled her eyes at him and dead panned. “Seriously? After everything you still have to ask?” he gave her a crooked smile and a blink that told her no, he didn’t, but he still liked to hear it. “Elijah and I are officially life long friends and I believe it this time.” She told him with a pointed look then changed the subject. “So where did you disappear to?”

“I needed to speak to Marcel before his time in the quarter was up.” he told her with a look around and when his eyes met hers she could tell there was more on his mind.

So she walked over to the bed and sat down, needing to get off her tired feet, then jerked her head for him to join her. So he did. “Talk to me.”

“My father may have been influencing my dreams, but the fear of scarring our child as my father scarred me is real.” He admitted quietly as he dropped his eyes to her hand that he took in his.

“You’re not your father.” She assured him with a shake of her head. “And you never will be.”

“Are you so sure?” he asked.

“Yes.” She answered without missing a beat. “Look at me, Klaus.” When he didn’t she scooted closer to him and cupped his cheeks in her hands making him look at her. “You will be an amazing father because unlike yours, you will love our daughter unconditionally. I know that, because in 1828 I was where you are now, terrified by the aspect of raising a child, of becoming my mother or even worse, my father…I was even scared that I would resent my child for permanently tying me to Ronan for the rest of my life…but none of my fears came to pass, because I promised myself I would be a thousand times better than my parents ever were. The only difference is you have something that I didn’t.”

“What’s that?” he asked with a slow blink at her.

“A supportive partner, who knows about your struggles, understands them and will be there for you…always and for however long my forever may be.” She answered. She was going to add that he had Elijah, but she was cut off when a gasp left his lips as he closed the space between them, catching her lips in his in a kiss that told her everything he didn’t know how to say. When it broke he rested his forehead on hers and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I’ve got you, Big Bad Wolf.” He gave her another kiss before he stood and went to their closet, grabbed them both a set of pajamas then shut the bedroom door.

After they changed they laid in bed, Klaus on his back while Katie used him as a human body pillow with her head resting on his shoulder. His hand played with her hair, relaxing her. “You should really be asleep right now.” He told her quietly.

“There’s something you should know.” Katie told him, getting a curious look from him. “I saw Mikael today…while I was…out.”

“And what did he say to you?” he asked stiffly.

“You mean before he tried to kill me and your daughter?” Katie asked rhetorically. “Just the usual untrue ramblings of an abusive, piece of shit, pathetic excuse of a father.” She told him recalling what she had called Mikael to his face the first time she ever laid eyes on the horrid man. “I would have told you as soon as I woke up, but it wasn’t really any of Elijah or Genevieve’s business.”

Klaus kissed the top of her head then turned off the lamp. “Get some sleep, both of you.”

“Pretty sure we don’t take orders from you.” Katie told him with a playfully sassy tone to which he just laughed.

A/N: Reviews are highly appreciated. :-)

[winnipegpatty]

We’re Fatally Flawed | two | s.m. series

a/n: feedback is very much appreciated, okay? 

warnings: mentions of child abuse, absolutely nothing graphic. 

“The safety that you're selling me

One day be the death of me”

Turns out playing for We the Kings really is life changing. In the following weeks of their three shows, Terminal had been asked to open for 4 more shows of other various artists. They were in talks with two other bands looking for an opener too. Thanks to the help of Aaliyah, their instagram presence was better than ever, and for the first time, it felt like they actually had fans. There were people dedicated to listening to and loving their music. Downloads of their EP had increased some, and their Spotify listens were the same. We the Kings had publicly thanked them for opening in Toronto on their social media accounts a couple days ago, which started a whole new round of fever. It was chaos. A beautiful chaos.

Shawn couldn’t say they’d “made” it, sure. But they were well on their way. If the band could keep this momentum, they’d be able to make something of themselves. Shawn had been writing constantly when they weren’t practicing, gearing up to produce another EP to hopefully gain more traction. Afterall, only have 6 songs to your band’s name wasn’t much of a selling point if they wanted to make it on a real tour circuit.

Mandy was thrilled. Seeing Shawn’s smile every day when she came home from school was invigorating. She’d never seen Shawn like this before. His curls were fluffier than normal from over wear of his Harvard sweatshirt that he’d worn into the ground. He’d forget to take his earrings out before he went to bed because he was so exhausted, it didn’t even matter than he hated sleeping in them.

As much as Mandy wanted to say she was fully invested in Shawn’s continued success, that wasn’t entirely the case. Shawn’s happiness meant the world to her, but she also had a lot going on with herself. Kindergarten was a handful. Twenty one five year olds was a lot to take care of. It was only the second week of school, and so she was still learning the little quirks of each kid. She was deciding where the kids would be best sat in the classroom. She had to figure out who needed extra help or motivation and who could work well alone. She’d learned that Lilly really hated going out to recess. She’d rather sit inside and look at books. But she also learned that Milo would start crying for his mom everyday around lunch time. Luke was so sweet and would want to hug anyone who entered the classroom, while Lucas was a complete handful and dealt with a lot of sensory overload.

What she was trying to say, was that there was a lot to her job. There were so many details involved that no one really realized went into being a teacher until they were actually a teacher. Like how every month she had to have a new door design. Or how her one hour a day of “lesson planning” was never enough to actually plan lessons, so she’d spend evenings and weekends planning until the sun came up. She was constantly tired and didn’t see Shawn very often. But she was so happy. This had been her dream since she was a young girl. She’d always wanted to help little minds become great. To teach them what it meant to learn and to be kind to others.

Mandy was happy. Shawn was happy.

Everything was great.

“Hey, Em,” Shawn hollered as he walked in the door on a Thursday evening. “What are we doing this weekend?”

Mandy laughed, “Well, I’m not doing anything particular.” She walked down the hallway to see him pull off his leather jacket and throw it over a chair.

“Good,” Shawn answered. He reached towards her to pull her into a kiss. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”

Mandy smiled up at her boyfriend, “What are we doing this weekend then, Shawn?”

“I was thinking I’d like to take you out on a date.”

“I’d like that.”

___

“I want to go to the beach,” Mandy whispered to Shawn in bed later than evening.

“What? Mandy, it’s freezing.”

“Yeah, but I just want to see the water. Please, Shawn? We haven’t seen the beach in so long.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at her. “Yeah, because it’s fucking freezing,” he reiterated.

“Please,” She pouted, and god, Shawn hated it when she did that. She jutted out her bottom lip and her eyes held this manufactured sadness that he knew wasn’t real, but could fool even her closest of friends.

He sighed, “Fine, but the second you start complaining because your fingers are going numb again; we’re leaving.”

Mandy smiled brightly before squealing. “Yes, thank you babe!” She kissed Shawn’s sweet lips excitedly. Popping her lips on and off his, before moving down to sweetly kiss his neck.

Shawn’s breathe caught a bit in his throat, feeling her lips press sensually against his neck. It was already well past midnight, and he knew that if they started something now, Mandy would be angry in the morning when she was exhausted and headed to school.

“Babe,” Shawn whispered. “Mandy.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed against his jugular, moving down towards his collar bone.

Shawn groaned at the back of his throat, “You gotta stop. You need to go to sleep.”

“I don’t need sleep, Shawny. Just need you.” She smiled against his skin.

Her words sent a rush to his heart, and he felt like he was melting. He really fucking loved this girl. With his whole goddamn heart, huh? “That’s really sweet, babe,” Shawn struggled, trying to pull away, but Mandy only pulled him closer. “You’re gonna have other things to say when you have to wake up in five hours and got no sleep.”

She shook her head, “Mmmm, nope. Don’t think so.” She popped off his collarbone and moved back to his lips. “I just wanna be with you tonight. Nothing else matters.”

And with that, Shawn officially gave in, tomorrow morning be damned.

__

Shawn had been right, of course. It was fucking freezing. But so far, thirty minutes in, Mandy had stayed true and hadn’t complained once. Much to Shawn’s dismay because frankly, he wanted to leave. It was too cold for this shit, and his leather jacket was doing nothing to keep him warm. Water was pretty and all, but he didn’t find it awe inspiring like Mandy did. He’d much rather look at Mandy and find his inspiration, inside in the warmth of their home.

“There’s this little boy at school…”

They’d been sitting on a couple of beach towels in silence, Mandy mostly just staring off into the sea, and Shawn figured she needed some time. She did this sometimes, when she had a lot going on. She’d just stare off, and Shawn would wait until she was ready to talk about whatever it was that had her thinking so hard.

“And, he’s unique,” She glanced over at Shawn. “I don’t know, Shawn...I think there might be something going on at home.”

Shawn hummed quietly, “Something?”

“I mean like, I think he might be getting abused?”

“What makes you think that?” Shawn questioned, his lips pulling down in a frown.

“I mean, I’ve never seen marks or bruises or anything. Not on what I can see, but it’s just the way he acts? Like he’s scared of adults. Not just his parents, but anyone that’s bigger than him. And when his mom dropped him off the other day, her eyes...Shawn,” her breath caught in her throat. “Shawn she looked dead inside. And the little boy, Jack, his name is Jack. He’s usually sweet and kind and just really good to have in class, but when she was around. He looked like all he wanted to do was crawl in on himself.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Well, not about that…” Mandy sighed, “That’s just such a big accusation. And...it’s not like I have any proof. Maybe he’s just timid? Maybe his mom just didn’t get sleep that night before? Maybe I’m seeing things? I can’t accuse someone of something so horrible and not have any idea if I’m being right or just overreacting.”

Shawn splayed his hand gently over Mandy’s leg. “Maybe,” Shawn contemplated. “Maybe you could just get to know Jack. You know, make sure he’s learning well. Have some time with him where you’re just focused on his work. And, if he begins to trust you, he might let you in to see other parts of him. Make sure he’s okay, at school and at home, eh?”

“Yeah, yeah like maybe I could do a weekly tutor session with him or something after school. Work on his letters...he’s already a little bit behind the other kids.” Mandy bit at her nail bed, worrying herself.

“Just go slow,” Shawn smiled, pressing lightly again on her thigh. “Don’t scare him off.”

Mandy nodded, “Yeah, that’s good.” She looked up at Shawn before gently leaning over to kiss him, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Em.” Shawn smiled, squeezing her leg a final time before lightly rapping a little beat on it, “Now can we leave. It’s freezing, and I’m starving.”

Mandy laughed before nodding at him and whispering an okay. Mandy decided, at least for the night, that she’d leave her concerns about Jack here. Let them wash away into the sea. Let the wind carry away her words. At least for now, so that she could enjoy the rest of the evening with Shawn. It was rare that they got such uninterrupted alone time as of late. What with Terminal really hitting the ground running now a days.

At dinner, conversation had flowed nicely. That was never a problem with Shawn and Mandy. They may have only known each other for four years now, but they shared secrets with each other like they were lifelong best friends. Like they’d played together in the schoolyard as children. But Shawn loved that about his relationship with Mandy. It’s how he knew that she was all he’d ever need. How he knew they were perfect for each other. Mandy truly was Shawn’s other half, as much as he hated the saying. It was completely, not cool. The band members constantly berated Shawn about being whipped for Mandy, but Shawn figured it was okay for at least one area of his life to not be punk approved. Besides, it’s not like Mandy couldn’t get into the punk scene when she wanted to. She fit into concerts just as well as any other groupie. She had the dress and the disposition to match the part, but yet at home and at school she was the perfect working girl. Shawn loved that about her. She had class and attitude.

“I don’t know...but Julia is just a total snob. Two weeks in, and she already hates me for no reason it’s ridicul-”

“Excuse me,” Shawn felt a tap on his shoulder, looking up to see the girl who’d interrupted Mandy’s sentence.

“Hello,” Shawn said in a sugary sweet voice.

He didn’t really appear to be confused by the interruption which came as a stark contrast to Mandy’s bewilderment.

“Hi, you’re Shawn Mendes, right?”

A smile bigger than any other Mandy had ever seen spread across Shawn’s face, his eyes squinting as he looked up at the blonde.

Shawn nodded, “Sure am.”

“Oh wow,” the girl blushed. “Wow, wow. I am such a huge fan of Terminal.”

Really? Mandy wouldn’t have pegged this girl, clad in a plaid schoolgirl shirt and a button up, as a punk band kind of gal. Her bleach blonde hair showed no signs of dye, which was not punk. And her nails were painted pink. Pink.

“Thank you, hunny. I’m so glad to hear it.” Shawn smiled pressing his hand against the girls arm.

“My name is Sev.” She introduced herself. And okay, Mandy didn’t know they were going to get all the way to introductions.

Shawn leaned back in his chair, gazing up at this girl like she owned the entire fucking world. And Mandy felt like her blood might begin to boil. It’s not like she didn’t know they had fans, but she certainly didn’t know that he had fans who’d rudely interrupt her only alone time she’d had with her boyfriend for three weeks. She wondered if he’d been recognized before. Did this happen often? Why had Shawn never mentioned that?

“Shawn, it’s nice to meet you Sev.” Shawn reached his hand out to shake the girls hand, and Mandy was just happy he hadn’t gone in for a hug or something. Anything that would make the girl linger any longer.

“Do you mind if I got a picture?” Sev asked excitedly, “I don’t want to interrupt or anything…” As if she hadn’t already completely cut off Mandy’s sentence and inserted herself into a private gathering.

“Of course, sweetie.”

It was odd hearing Shawn call other girls hunny and sweetie like that was a normal thing he’d do. Mandy had heard of a customer service voice, and hell she knew for a fact that she had a teacher voice at school, but she wasn’t aware that Shawn had a fan meeting voice. Or that the voice sounded entirely too close to the sound of his sweet I love you’s that we’re supposed to be for her ears only.

“Oh, great. Wow. Thank you so much,” Sev smiled.

Shawn stood up quickly as Sev pulled out an iPhone, readying herself to take a selfie before Shawn stopped her, “Oh, no. You don’t need to take a selfie. Here,” Shawn turned toward Mandy. “Babe, could you take it?”

Shawn smiled at Mandy, who most definitely did not want to take the photo. But she smiled and nodded curtly anyway, grasping the photo and taking two pictures as quickly as possible. She handed the phone back to Sev before returning to her seat and waiting for the interaction to end.

Finally, Sev and Shawn hugged before she finally departed, leaving them alone in an uncomfortable silence.

“Well, that was cool.” Shawn smiled, hunching over in his chair. He let out a breath, almost like a sigh of satisfaction.

“Yup,” Mandy answered with none of the enthusiasm to match Shawn.

The popped ‘p’ at the end was enough for Shawn to pick up on Mandy’s annoyance. And when he finally looked up at his girlfriend, he wondered how he didn’t see it earlier. She hadn’t been this way the whole dinner right? Her crossed arms over her chest, her downturned lips, and the annoying flickers of her eyes away from his while he tried to make eye contact, all clued him in.

“What’s wrong?” Shawn asked, all hints of his previous happiness gone.

“Nothing,” Mandy muttered, pushing around some of the leftover food on the plate.

“No, no. What happened. This was all going fine, what changed?” Shawn pried.

“I just didn’t realize you had fans recognizing you,” She huffed, taking a sip of her wine.

Shawn ran a hand through his curls, “Well, not constantly, but sometimes.” He wasn’t entirely sure how that would lead to Mandy’s sour attitude, but he decided he’d let her work through it if that’s what she needed.

“And do you flirt with them all like that?” She said quietly, refusing to meet Shawn’s eyes.

Shawn coughed, “Excuse me? I wasn’t flirting with her.”

Mandy laughed, “Really? Shawn, I’m cyour girlfriend. I know exactly what it looks like when you attempt flirting.”

Shawn rolled his eyes, “I was being polite, Mandy. The fans are the people that let me do what I’ve always dreamed of doing. Without people like her Terminal would be nowhere and would be in the garage for the rest of it’s life. So sure, if she wants a moment of my time and a photo, I’ll give it to her. Because she allows me to follow my dreams.”

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to give her a moment of my time,” Mandy muttered under her breath.

“What? Mandy, so what she came over during dinner. She came, she left, and now we resume. It’s not like its some big disruption.”

“Well it felt like one to me, is all,” Mandy answered.

“Well I’m sorry it felt that way but—”

“I’m ready to go home.” Mandy interrupted him, not allowing him to finish his thought.

Shawn balked at her for a moment, unsure of what to make of this new festering side of Mandy that he’d never seen before. “Fine,” is all Shawn uttered before asking for the check.

They left in silence and drove home in silence. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d ever sat in uncomfortable silence. And Shawn was just left wondering when he’d fallen in love with a girl who might not even support his biggest dream.

tagged: @fourtristattoos @peacedolantwins2 @rosecth @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel @shavvnmendcs @justanotherfangurl272 (let me know if you want to be added) 

support me on ko-fi if you’d like 

[susandwrites]

Fallen Through Time - Chapter Seven

Read on AO3.

Sherlock extended a confident hand and waved down his first Victorian cab. As John climbed in, he said to the driver, “Bart’s Hospital, please.” The man nodded and Sherlock slid into the back of the carriage, settling in beside John.

“I have a friend who works in the morgue who should be able to sneak us a peek at the murder victim,” John said, unbuttoning his jacket and making himself comfortable. “Perhaps we’ll be able to suss something out without traveling through time or giving chase to a stalker in the forest.”

Sherlock huffed a little laugh. “It would be helpful to finally have uninterrupted access to the body,” Sherlock mused. He ran his hands over the fabric of his new suit, admiring the handsome plaid pattern, and it occurred to him that John had made rather a large sacrifice in paying to clothe Sherlock. He had deduced when he first met John that he was living above his means simply for the sake of living in London and not begging to his family, and now he had gone and spent what much surely be a large sum of money on a man he had only just met. And kissed. Rather spectacularly. Sherlock felt his cheeks flush; John had done him a favour, apparently out of the goodness of his heart.

“John,” he said, keeping his face as smooth as possible, “I’d like to thank you for the suit. Sincerely. It was… quite generous of you.”

John looked almost taken aback. He blinked a little confusedly and uttered, “Oh — ah, of course. Think nothing of it.” He offered Sherlock an awkward little smile and turned his face back to the window. Doesn’t like to talk about money. Noted. Is that why he won’t go to his family? Oh, no. His family is why he doesn’t like to talk about money. Unsure of the next “appropriate” thing to say, Sherlock decided to leave it be. He had done what was socially required when a person does one a favour and, surprisingly, he had meant it. Sherlock continued to fiddle with his jacket until he felt something in his pocket. His eyebrows furrowed, Sherlock extracted a small slip of cardstock. It was printed with a delicate image of a bouquet of roses and read, “Miss Janine Hawkins, 43 George Street.”

“What on Earth?” Sherlock mumbled and John turned to see what he was on about. Sherlock turned the card for John to see and was surprised when John’s face split into a wide grin. “What?”

“It seems Miss Hawkins would like to see more of you, Mister Holmes,” he teased with a bright laugh. At Sherlock’s continued confusion, he explained, “It’s her calling card ‒ so you know where to find her. Surely people do something similar in your own time?”

“My understanding is that when young people are interested in coitus they send small pictures of aubergines and peaches via their mobile phones to the object of their affection.” Now it was John’s turn to be confused.

“Whatever for?”

“I believe it is due to their vague resemblance to human genitalia.” John’s eyebrows flew nearly to his hairline and Sherlock chuckled.

“Dear God,” he muttered, utterly scandalised.

“I know. Vulgar, isn’t it?”

“Rather.” They made eye contact and were soon enveloped in a fit of giggles that lasted until the cab pulled to a stop in front of St. Bart’s Hospital.

The morgue was located exactly where Sherlock remembered it — in the basement — and that small similarity gave him a tiny feeling of reassurance. This was a case, like any other, and he had to go about the Work with the same diligence and fervour with which he treated every case.

John led the way into the morgue, Sherlock following close behind. There were several bodies laid out on work tables, all covered over with heavy linen, and a quick survey told Sherlock that they were, surprisingly, all female.

“Miss Hooper. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” John was saying cordially, and Sherlock’s attention was drawn to a living woman at the back of the room. She turned and offered John a mousey little smile, taking his hand in a polite shake. Her hair was pinned up in a simple, slightly-askew bun and her clothes were plain. Simple. Practical, Sherlock corrected. Durable fabric, no excessive frills, well cared-for but clearly worn regularly ‒ not a large wardrobe, then. Single, lives with a relative ‒ likely an aunt or some such ‒ late twenties, works with her hands.

“You must be quick, Doctor Watson,” Miss Hooper replied in a thin voice. “I’m really not supposed to let you down here while I’m working.”

“Working?” Sherlock inquired with a tilt of his head. “You work with the bodies?”

“Yes,” Miss Hooper replied, slightly surprised by the question. “I’m the undertaker here for women and children. And you are…?”

“Oh! Apologies,” John interjected, “Miss Margaret Hooper, this is my new friend, Mister Sherlock Holmes. He’s a detective, helping me to investigate this murder.” Sherlock gave John a slightly-indignant look at being referred to as someone else’s helper, but he let it slide. He was, after all, the stranger in the strange land. Sherlock offered Miss Hooper a handshake and she took it.

“I didn’t expect a female undertaker,” Sherlock explained, but that earned him a surprisingly-hard expression from Miss Hooper. Her mouth formed a thin line and her eyes narrowed, clearly having heard this sentiment before.

“It’s more common than you might think,” she said, almost accusatory. “Bart’s has a policy against men embalming females and children for the sake of decency. It seems that even dead women are not free from the societal pressures of modesty.”

Sherlock was a little taken aback ‒ he had only suspected that, due to the time period, women would not be allowed to do what was often considered “man’s work”. Certainly, he didn’t think one’s gender had any bearing on their competency. Societal constructs of gender and sex were completely arbitrary, besides. Suddenly, it occured to Sherlock that he had not voiced any of these thoughts and had been staring uncomfortably at Miss Hooper for nearly thirty awkward seconds. “That’s not ‒ I didn’t mean…” he stuttered quickly, but John stepped in.

“I’m sure Mister Holmes is merely surprised,” he supplied helpfully. “He’s never worked with an undertaker before ‒ you must forgive his ignorance, Miss Hooper.” Ignorance? Sherlock had never been accused of ignorance before in his life. Well, except by Mycroft, but he was a cock. John raised a warning eyebrow at Sherlock  and he decided to take the path of least resistance.

“Apologies if I offended you, Miss Hooper. I am grateful for your assistance.” He nearly pulled a muscle from trying to maintain an expression of plausible contrition. But it appeared that Miss Hooper was mollified.

“I’ve heard it often enough,” she said with a sigh. With little fanfare, Miss Hooper approached one of the slabs and whipped the sheet from the body atop the wooden surface. “Mrs. Edith Herraldson, formerly of Swindon, in town visiting her sister who identified her earlier this morning. Thirty-four years of age, stabbed on the left-hand side with a non-serrated blade which punctured her liver and lung.”

“A bit of an expert maneuver, wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock asked casually, bending to take a closer look at the wound in question. “To miss the ribs and not make a mess of the whole affair?”

“I’d say so,” Miss Hopper concurred.

“Are these bruises on her chin?” John was bent over Mrs. Herraldson’s face, his eyebrows furrowed and his fingers gently tilting her head left and right. “Here ‒ along her right jaw.”

Sherlock stepped closer and examined her face from John’s point-of-view. He was correct. “The killer must have gripped her ‘round the mouth as he stabbed her.”

“He?” John asked.

“Most likely, given the spacing of the bruises and the strength required for this kind of stabbing.” Sherlock righted himself and looked down at John, his open face a touchstone for steady thought.

“So he ‒ what? ‒ sat on the bench beside her and held her by the jaw?” One of John’s eyebrows lowered in contemplation. “Why wouldn’t she have moved away? Been afraid or offended?”

“I expect he was making a pass at her.” Sherlock looked quickly around the room before grabbing two chairs and plopping them down side by side. He pointed to one and John sat down before Sherlock took up the other seat. “He joins her on the bench, at a respectable distance, they start chatting and he slowly sidles closer.” Sherlock demonstrated and John turned to look at him with an expression that was somewhere between bemusement and amusement. Dropping his left arm onto the back of John’s chair, Sherlock leaned over him a little as he continued to speak. “He’s making her feel comfortable ‒ flattered, even. She’s not paying attention to his hands.” Sherlock dropped his gaze a little, glancing down at John’s mouth before meeting his eyes again. There was heat in John’s blue irises that hadn't been there a moment before. “It’s the perfect moment to strike.” Sherlock quickly wrapped his left hand around John’s jaw, covering his mouth, and jabbed John in the side with his right index finger. John jumped at the attack and Sherlock smirked. A little huff of embarrassed laughter escaped John’s nose and he practically rolled his eyes as Sherlock stood from their makeshift bench.

“You git,” he said, but there was no real annoyance behind the word.

“I’ve heard it often enough.” Sherlock grinned and offered Miss Hooper a playful little wink. Finally, she smiled at him and shook her head. It occured to Sherlock that in his own time, working with people was an unfortunate evil. He would never have felt inclined to make peace with someone whom he had offended ‒ or even realise that he had offended someone in the first place. But John was introducing him to people, practically insisting that he engage in polite conversation, and for some reason, Sherlock felt inclined to comply. It had been easier, for certain, to deal with people after being nice, if a little more time-consuming. But perhaps, in the long run, it would prove beneficial for people to feel engendered towards him. John truly was proving himself to be an asset to Sherlock’s very existence in this time.

“Well, if the two of you have gotten everything you need,” Miss Hopper said as John replaced the chairs to their proper stations, “Professor Moriarty will be down shortly to make his own notes and I’d rather not be caught letting unauthorised persons in the morgue.”

“Certainly, Miss Hooper,” John said, waving his hat politely before donning it.

“Thank you again.” Sherlock nodded with a small smile, which Miss Hopper returned, and he and John took their leave.

‒‒

“I don’t know what it is you want me to say, Mister Holmes. I know as much as you do.”

“Well, I doubt that very much.” Mycroft sat back in his chair and tapped the capped end of his Montblanc pen impatiently against the surface of his desk. He stared across at Detective Inspector Lestrade with a shrewd expression. “But when it comes to Sherlock Holmes, there are certain details of his everyday life which he still manages to keep from my sight.”

“What makes you think I know anything?” Lestrade demanded, equally impatient but unable to remain as infuriatingly calm as Mycroft. “I need him on this case ‒ a body turns up on Parliament Hill in what Sherlock assures me are authentic Victorian clothes, he goes running off into the woods, we all turn our backs for one second, and next thing he and the body are missing. What am I s’posed to do with that, eh? If I knew where he was, don’t you think I’d be after him myself?”

“I think you know where he is because, loathe though I am to admit it, you do probably know him best.”

“I’ve known him for five years and no I don’t.” Lestrade crossed his arms and flopped back in his own chair, far less comfortable than the one in which Mycroft reclined.

“You’ve been his arresting officer on no fewer than eleven occasions. I believe that gives me reason to suspect that you may have an inkling as to his whereabouts. His most-frequented bolt-holes, the people with whom he usually associated when he… relapses.”

“You’re the one with all this power ‒ you can’t track him or anything?”

“Power?” Mycroft scoffed. “What makes you think I have any power whatsoever?”

“Well, I’ve been sequestered in this office for more than twelve hours, brought here by spooks in an unmarked towncar. And, as you say, I’ve arrested Sherlock at least eleven times and the last time I checked, he doesn’t have so much as a parking ticket on his record. I know I  didn’t pardon him.” Lestrade lifted an eyebrow and gave Mycroft a look that could only be described as sassy. “Now, I will do anything I can to find Sherlock because he’s my friend, it’s my job, and I need his help. But I can’t do anything while I’m trapped in this bloody office.”

Mycroft took a deep breath through his nose and considered the detective before him. “This conversation never happened.”

“I’m sure it didn't.” Lestrade stood from his chair, grabbed up his jacket, and marched through the door.

[beardycarrot]

This post is way too long so ignore it and just keep scrolling

Alright. Having played both Sonic Mania and Sonic Forces, I can now say, based on my own experiences... that Sonic Forces is a smoldering garbage heap.

First off, let me get this out of the way: the character creation system is... okay. In the screenshot above, you can see My Original Character,  Blonic  Eiko the Cat. You have several different anthropomorphic animal species to choose from, each of which has their own species-specific ability. Birds can double-jump, cats hold on to a few rings even after taking heavy damage, that kind of thing. There’s a selection of three head types for each species, about a dozen eyes, and can set two skin/fur/scale/feather colors. Not bad.

For the game’s main selling point, though, it feels a little weak... especially in comparison to the last game I played, South Park: The Fractured But Whole. In addition to your character’s physical appearance, which meshes perfectly with the South Park style, you can set your character’s gender (male/female/non-binary/multi-gender), whether they’re cis or trans, both their race and ethnicity, their sexual preferences, religion, all sorts of stuff that are pointless in the context of the game but let you make your character whatever you want them to be. I’m not saying that all games should have this, but I did just play that game, so I can’t help but compare Sonic Forces to it since the character creator is meant to be one of the game’s big gimmick.

Anyway. In addition to your character’s body, you also get to dress them up with outfits you unlock as you play. I guess this is a cool concept, with you getting between three and twelve costume pieces every level depending on how well you do and whether anything you did in a level completed a special objective... but it’s annoying constantly being pelted with costumes you’ll never wear. I was a mixture of fortunate and unfortunate in the fact that clothes I like (a tactical outfit in black and olive green) were unlocked within the first couple levels, so I could wear an outfit I like throughout the game... but it also meant that I never had any reason to change out for new gear or experiment with costumes that would only be less appealing to me.

There’s also the jarring fact that with clothing on, your character looks completely out of place. Most of the other characters in the game wear nothing but white gloves and sneakers, and seeing you alongside them just makes them look naked. I’ve spent way too long talking about customization. Moving on...

...You can also customize your avatar’s weapon, which I guess is the power of the Wisp aliens from Sonic Colors stored in a gun? There are probably advantages to all of them, but you spend less than half of the game playing as your avatar, every enemy in the game dies in one hit, and the fire weapon I started with can clear a screen of enemies in literally two seconds... so I never really bothered with them. You also occasionally find Wisps locked in capsules, but the game never actually gives you a real tutorial for them. It’s possible that it was explained in a hint marker, but it’s possible to take a route through a level or jump at just the wrong moment that you miss the marker and can’t go back to see what it said. I eventually figured it out in level twenty-five, which is right at the end of the game... and that level also happens to be a great example of why I don’t like this game.

I know that as a still frame this is kinda incomprehensible, but what you’re looking at is a little vertical shaft kind of thing. There have been shafts like this elsewhere in the game, but they’ve always been things you either just dropped down through or rode an elevator in or had platforms to jump on. Here?

This game apparently has a wall-jumping mechanic, which only appears here, in the twenty-fifth of thirty levels. I’m completely fine with video games using mechanics sparingly or even basing levels around a gimmick that never appears again... but this is the only time in the game that this happens, and the mechanic isn’t even implemented very well. If you’re too close to the wall it will sometimes fail to activate, if you press the jump button again too soon you won’t cling to the wall, and sometimes your series of jumps will have you end up jumping over the wall to the left instead of going right... which is an issue considering that for the second half of the level, you have to do this while trying to outrun a giant instant death laser. Assuming you can even get to that point.

I can’t tell you how long I was stuck here. To the left is a checkpoint, and all you can do is collect what looks like an electric Wisp in a capsule, then... wait to the blue death laser to kill you and put you back at the check point. The dark red boxes are breakable, and you’re clearly meant to either get down through this shaft to continue... but there’s no obvious way to do this. I thought that you were supposed to use the electric Wisp somehow, but I guess you can only do that if you have the right Wisp weapon equipped, as the game only seems to care when I collect capsules with fire Wisps in them.

I was eventually forced to watch a video of someone playing this level, and they just kind of... broke through all the boxes at once. After further research, I discovered that if you press the Crouch button (which I’ve never pressed up to this point and forgot existed) while in the air, you’ll do a stomp move that the game never bothered to teach me.

Once you’re past that, the next section is incredibly difficult... I figured out how to use the encapsulated fire Wisps (it’s the “Wisp Special” button that I’d previously been unable to figure out the function of) to skip over the obstacles, but if you don’t time/aim it properly, you’re back down in the area where you have to deal with the wall jumps that occasionally send you careening backwards.

I know that I’m just complaining about one difficult end-game level, but the entire game is like this. It’s all either gameplay mechanics the game doesn’t explain properly that are prone to failing, or levels that are way too short and simplistic. I haven’t even touched on the jumping mechanics... Want to know how many times I died replaying that level to get those screenshots?

A couple of those are from the laser section, but it’s mostly falling into bottomless pits because you’re pretty strongly locked into your jump trajectory when playing as Your Own Character, and the platform placement in that level sucks. It’s not as big of a deal when playing as Sonic; I think Classic Sonic has free control in the air, and you only play as him in two or three levels, while Modern Sonic’s levels are so completely filled with enemies and jump pads that you can just spam the jump button to string homing attacks through anything that isn’t a speed section. Places where the gameplay becomes frustrating aren’t as common as in other games I’ve played recently (L.A. Noire comes to mind), but that’s because the majority of the levels are ridiculously simplistic and easy, and when you reach the end without anything really happening you’re just like...

Which brings me, finally, to the worst part of the game: the story. This is among the worst video game writing I have ever seen... and as someone who does a lot of art for indie, amateur, and fan games, I’ve seen a lot of scripts from “idea guys” who’ve never taken any kind of literature or creative writing classes.

The basic premise of the story sounds interesting, and seems like a huge departure from the normal Sonic formula: Dr. Eggman and his new associate Infinite use the powers of all the major antagonists from past games to kill Sonic and take over the world. The remaining characters of the Sonic universe form a resistance movement (the forces in Sonic Forces) to fight back, and half a year later Your Own Character joins up after their home city is destroyed.

Damn, man! That’s pretty dark! Unfortunately, it completely fails to deliver. Unsurprisingly, Sonic isn’t dead... but he HAS been held prisoner and tortured for the last six months. Despite that, he’s in high spirits and joking with his captors... yeah I dunno, just bad writing ...and manages to escape when the resistance attacks the base and temporarily disables the power grid. Why Sonic was in a Laser Prison and wearing Laser Handcuffs that require uninterrupted power to operate is just more bad writing, as is the fact that he was being held on a space station and you’re never shown how the resistance got up there.

More importantly, it’s never explained how the resistance discovered that Sonic was still alive. There are other captives in the same area, so THEY would know he’s alive, but there’s never any indication that one of them managed to escape. Speaking of which, they’re all still imprisoned after Sonic breaks free, and I think the space station ends up destroyed... so those guys are probably all dead. That reminds me of another point: most of the levels just end at a random arbitrary point. You ostensibly have a goal that you’re trying to reach, but the goal markers are always, like, in the middle of a hallway, which looks no different from anywhere else, and there’s no cutscene showing what happens what the characters do after reaching their goal... the level just kinda ends.

Most of the game’s dialogue and exposition is in the form of radio conversations that occur on the map screen, which I can’t help but admit makes sense: media too often forces characters to be in the same place for scenes to occur, when logically they would’ve just spoken on the phone. The issue I have with this is that it really does make up the bulk of the game’s dialogue, and none of the conversations are ever that interesting. Honestly, more than anything it reminds me of the kind of story you’d see in a free-to-play mobile game... except there isn’t really any kind of story being told, just information being relayed. There isn’t any kind of character development, since the game expects you to already know who everyone is and what their paper-thin personalities are.

After Eggman spends six months taking over Literally The Entire World, and the resistance apparently does very little to stop this, Your Own Character joins up and things start happening instantly. They rescue Sonic, then Classic Sonic appears out of nowhere to save Tails from Chaos, the creature from Sonic Adventure. I guess they included him (Classic Sonic, that is; after this cutscene, Chaos is never seen again) to trick people into thinking that this game would be similar to the much more popular Sonic Generations. I think the plot of that game involved time travel, accounting for the two Sonics, but here they’ve retconned him as “the Sonic from another universe”.

Speaking of time travel and alternate dimensions, Silver and Blaze are in this game... I’m no big Sonic fan (in fact, Sonic Mania and Sonic Forces, both of which I played this week, were the first Sonic games I’ve ever beaten), but them being part of the resistance is kinda inexplicable. To my knowledge, Blaze is from an alternate dimension, but in Sonic ‘06 was somehow Silver’s partner or something in the post-apocalyptic future. In the end, I think Sonic saving the day included the elimination of the timeline in which Silver existed... so I’m not really sure what’s up with Silver and Blaze being in this game. Are they now retconned to just being normal people who live in the same place as everyone else?

I’m also really confused on how this game fits in with the rest of the series. Infinite’s power is to create autonomous physical virtual reality projections, and he uses it to create his own versions of the Chaos, Zavok, Metal Sonic, and Shadow... so in addition to being in continuity with Sonic Generations and Sonic Colors (the game the Wisps are from), you also have to include the Sonic Adventure games and Sonic Lost World. Again, I’m no expert on Sonic, but... I’m pretty sure at least a few of these games feature planets populated with humans, and not the hordes of bipedal animals that make up the only characters in this game. Is there just no official continuity at this point?

As an aside... every character you see in scenes like this are made with the character creator, but for some reason they’ve limited themselves to a very small number of models instead of just using a bunch of different random colors and other features. See that bluish-purple dog at the front? If you look closely, you can see five or six identical dogs in the background, all doing the same animation where they raise their guns up in the air.

I’ve gotten REALLY off-topic, which is basically a war crime with how long this post is already. Anyway, as I was saying before I derailed myself, once Your Own Character joins the resistance things happen super fast. Sonic is alive, Classic Sonic appears out of nowhere and punches the Chaos clone (which is subsequently never seen again, despite Infinite being able to create an infinite number of them), and Eggman for whatever reason reveals that his ultimate plan will be complete in just three days. I’m not really clear on what this plan is, but it involves a virtual reality projection of the sun... I don’t know, Majora’s Mask-ing the planet and killing everyone, maybe? Again, bad writing.

Sonic faces off against Infinite and, despite the player winning the boss fight, gets his $#!+ kicked in... and that’s when Infinite says, and this is an actual, verbatim quote, “You’re not even worth the effort to finish off”. I think I might actively hate the writers of this game. I feel like I should probably also mention that the boss fight takes place on the back of a giant snake that’s just kinda floating there, suspended in mid-air, above a forest that is also a casino?

It’s at this point that Infinite drops a prototype version of the Phantom Ruby, which is what gives him his powers. How did he fail to notice that he’d dropped something the size of a softball? How was he even carrying it? WHY was he carrying it, when the finished perfected ruby was already embedded in his chest and he’d been using it for over six months? If you expect these questions to have answers, well, that bold text in the last paragraph must’ve caught your eye and you’re just now at this point starting to read the post. Hello, welcome! The writing in this game is absolutely abysmal!

Your Own Character picks up the prototype ruby and holds onto it for the next three days... well, except for when they drop it while Infinite is looking right at them after a boss fight, and he doesn’t notice ...and at the end of the game, uses it to somehow get rid of the virtual reality sun. How do they know that the ruby is and how to use it? No idea. How do they get rid of the sun? Happens off-screen. Then, further confusing matters vis-a-vis whether the prototype ruby is invisible to bad guys, Eggman acts as if he saw it... despite it breaking and disappearing before he arrives. Weird.

Alright, backtracking a bit, I need to touch on the stupidest plot point in the game: the Phantom Zone. Well, I think it’s called Null Space or something, Eggman calls it “a little something the Phantom Ruby cooked up”, whatever that means... but it’s basically the Phantom Zone. A pocket dimension that supposedly contains literally nothing. Eggman opens up a portal into it, Your Own Character tries to save Sonic from it, and they’re both pulled in... man, that’s a scary concept, isn’t it? Being trapped in an empty void?

If a regular prison held Sonic for six months, and he only got out with help from the outside, then I can’t even imagine how long this will-- haha just kidding it’s twenty seconds this game was written by chimps.

Apparently “completely empty” means “filled with blocks you can run on”, and Sonic manages to get out... by double-boosting. There are a handful of levels where you play as both Sonic and Your Own Character at the same time (the “you’re next to me and I’m next to you” in the Hoobastank song you hear in that video), allowing you to use the Wisp weapons while also using Sonic’s super speed. You’ll also be prompted to “double boost” at set points, which consists of the characters jumping in the air, fist-bumping, and then... holding hands and somehow running even faster, I guess? I’m not at all clear on how this works, or how it broke them out of Null Space.

I’d be totally okay (bored, but okay) with the prototype ruby being responsible for them escaping, but that’s not how it’s presented: they’re meant to have escaped through the power of friendship and running really, really fast. I mean, I can come up with a reason it works, gimme a minute... uh... virtual reality... pocket dimension... gotta go fast.... gotta go faster faster faster faster faster... aha! Maybe it’s an empty, infinite void because it’s being created as you move through it, but the double boost allows them to move faster than it can be created, allowing them to break free? Yeah, that’s dumb but plausible in-universe. Too bad the writers made literally no attempt to explain it.

After that, it’s time for the big showdown with Infinite, the game’s hot new antagonist. Who is he, why does he hate Sonic, why is he working with Eggman? What kind of awesome boss battle will you have against him? Not explained, not explained, not explained, and it’s just a slight variation of the boss fight you have with Metal Sonic earlier in the game. You DO get an explanation of who he is if you play Episode Shadow, free DLC consisting of three levels that you played in the base game that serves as a kind of prequel. All of your juicy Infinite-related questions are answered: he’s a nameless mercenary who went all emo because Sonic beat him up. Oh. Well. That’s... lame.

This post is already over three thousand words, so I’ll wrap it up. After your boring rehashed boss battle with Infinite, he just kinda... runs away, never to be seen again, and you have to contend with Eggman and his giant robots. It’s not very interesting. Once the day is saved, you get this completely inane exchange between the characters, which in most games would be the worst bit of writing... here, it might be in the top five. Knuckles says that the fight is over, everyone can go home, there’s no longer a need for the resistance... but then Amy (or someone) says, “no, we’re just getting started!”, and Knuckles nods in agreement as if she didn’t just directly contradict him. As if two characters doing this isn’t bad enough, Tails then does the exact same thing all by himself, saying something like, “we won, the resistance is done, now we have to come together to save the world!” I think he also says something about just one person not being able to change the world, which I’m pretty sure runs contrary to a “one person CAN make a difference!” message the game had been going for earlier.

And... that’s about it. I have nothing more to say. This game is bad, anyone who defends it is lying to themselves, and it’s entirely possible that I’ve spent more time writing this unfocused rambling post than I did actually playing the game. I’m not a Sonic hater; the playground politics surrounding video games in the early nineties didn’t exist where I grew up, so to me Sonic has always just kinda been that series with the interesting music that I had no particular interest in playing. As I mentioned, I played through Sonic Mania at the same time as I was playing Forces, and loved it. It’s a bit on the hard side for someone who’s never played a Sonic game, but aside from a few annoying bits in Hydrocity and Oil Ocean, it’s a blast all the way through. That’s a great game... and Sonic Forces, in my opinion, is decidedly not.

Back in 2017 I made a post about the Metascore for Sonic Forces, and received backlash for it. I decided to wait until as many critics as possible had reviewed the game, and... never really felt like doing the update, so didn’t get around to it until now. So, how much of a difference does a year make in the review score?

Oh wow, it’s like I knew what I was talking about or something. Well, kinda. At the time I said that Sonic Forces didn’t seem like a bad game, based on what I’d seen of it. Having played the game for myself... I think my opinion is known.

[varvesivy]

Quixotic

Prompt:  "Quixotic- v.  to be excessively romantic or chivalrous; illogical, idealistic, overall dreamy."

Word Count: 1332

Rating: T+

Warnings: None

A/N: Day 25 of Aureate August 2018

The first time Natasha tries to ask Maria Hill out, it doesn’t work out so well.

It’s after a training session and Hill’s just dismissed a group of sweaty and disgruntled rookies when Natasha strides over, her eyes burning into Maria’s, her proximity just a little too close to be considered professional.

“Do you want to go out for drinks sometime?” Natasha asks, putting on her usual bravado in an attempt to hide her nervousness.

Hill stares at her like she’s grown an extra head. “We’re in a metal fortress forty thousand feet up in the sky, Natasha. There’s really no room to go out for drinks.”

Natasha knows that Maria’s just being her normal self; snarky, sarcastic, frank, but it doesn’t do anything to soften the sting of Hill’s response. And she’s pretty sure that Maria wasn’t rejecting her, just her proposition of getting drunk on the Helicarrier and she can almost see why; it really isn’t the smartest thing to do.

She’ll find another way. She always does.

---

Natasha decides to make a sort game out of it, because there’s nothing more fun than watching Maria puzzle over something (it’s kind of cute when she furrows her eyebrows in concentration, but Natasha would never admit to thinking that). Besides, it gives her something to do when she’s sitting on the Helicarrier, other than beating the living shit out of a punching bag/Clint.

The first thing she chooses to do is simple; maybe, hopefully, it’ll get the message across.

Roses.

Should be foolproof, right?

And Natasha even goes the whole nine yards; requesting shore leave, going to the local flower shop, spending thirty dollars on a dozen red roses and ten more to make it a bouquet, complete a glass vase and those little white buds that made the arrangement look halfway decent. She drops the vase off the next morning, attached to it a little card that just has a heart drawn on it and the letter “N”.

It’s simple, it’s decently easy, and it absolutely does not work.

Natasha watches from the vents with interest as Maria walks into her office, takes one look at the roses, then proceeds to throw them out, not even taking the time to look at the card.

Apparently, Hill does not like flowers. And forty dollars (plus tax!) go down the drain, or more accurately, down to the large trash bins hidden in the Helicarrier.

---

The next thing Natasha tries is just as stereotypically romantic as the first one; chocolates. She leaves the red heart-shaped box filled with Venezuelan-imported chocolates on Maria’s desk, a note (not a card, this time, Maria has to read it) taped on top with another heart and “from N” written on it.

Maria regards the box with interest, taking a moment to read the note before ripping it off and shredding it, along with any of Natasha’s hopes that this idea was going to work.

Hill eats the chocolates though, which could be considered a win but really isn’t, at least in Natasha’s mind.

---

“Someone keeps leaving these weird gifts on my desk,” Maria says, barging into the break room where Natasha is sitting, pouring a cup of coffee for herself and plopping down on the couch next to the agent.

“Oh?” Natasha responds, trying not to show too much interest in the subject.

Their coffee “dates,” if you will, have become somewhat of a weekly thing; they just rant about the annoying things in their lives for a couple of hours before returning to whatever threat needs their attention. They even go out to dinner sometimes, when their shore leave dates match up and the powers allow them to have a nice meal uninterrupted, once, they even went to a concert. It’s a good way to release some of the frustration that is built up from the week and Natasha finds herself feeling lighter after one of their meetups, although she doesn’t know why it’s because of Maria or the talking.

Hopefully both. Probably Maria.

“Yeah,” Maria says, leaning back against the pillows casually. “I mean… what’s the point?”

“Of what?”

“Of gifts. Just seems like another way to bribe people, if you ask me,” Maria says, taking a sip of her coffee before looking at Natasha. “Your turn. What’s Clint gone and done this week?”

Natasha lets out a short laugh, mentally thinking of the idiotic things her partner has done. “Well, there was this incident in Barcelona involving a flamethrower…”

---

Gifts don’t, and won’t, work, so she switches to messages.

Natasha writes little notes on post-its, messages like “smile more” and “you look nice today,” all complete with a heart and the letter “n” next to them. It’s a little much, Natasha realizes, the little blue and pink notes pasted around Maria’s office, the whole idea borderlining “ridiculous” and “over-the-top” but she’s really been left with no choice.

Maria seems to think it’s stupid and rips off the notes one by one, throwing them all into the trash.

She tries food after that, leaving a pastry or a cup of coffee on Maria’s desk, attached with a little card like always. But like the chocolates, Maria just throws away the note and eats the food while working on her computer.

Natasha hates to admit it, but this just isn’t working and she’s almost out of ideas.

When Natasha meets Maria later in the breakroom, Maria grabs two cups of coffee instead of one and sits at the table, slowly rubbing her head as she sips the dark liquid.

“I think I have a stalker,” Maria proclaims, “or a secret admirer. I don’t know. It’s giving me a headache.”

Natasha stays silent because for once, she doesn’t know what to say.

“I feel a little bad though, how are they supposed to know there’s someone else I’m involved with?”

“Someone else?” Natasha immediately asks, watching as Maria’s expression turns into confusion.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Maria asks. Upon receiving no response from Natasha, only a look of utter bewilderment, Maria continues after a moment of complete silence.

“It’s you Natasha. The someone else is you.”

“How?” It’s the first thing that comes to Natasha’s shocked mind, and admittedly one of the worst things to say as Natasha attempts to backtrack. “I mean, we were dating this whole time?”

“Well, I thought so,” Maria replies, her coffee abandoned as she sits straight up. “These meetings with the coffee, the concert, the restaurants? Weren’t those dates?”    

“I thought it was a thing that friends do?” Natasha asks. “Concerts?”

“Natasha, I put on a fancy suit and actually took the time to do my makeup,” Maria deadpans, looking Natasha straight in her green eyes.

“But I never- we never kissed?”

“I thought you didn’t want to!” Maria says, her voice getting higher and higher. She looks at Natasha again, and this time it’s different, Natasha can feel herself getting lost in the blue pools from across the room and there’s a certain electricity between them.

Their lips crash together not even a second later, their tongues battling for dominance as they kiss, Natasha straddling Maria’s lap as Hill sits on the plastic chair, her hands clutching Natasha’s ass.

And then suddenly, Maria’s back is touching the ground, her head millimeters from the floor because apparently, they tipped the goddamn chair over. Natasha immediately pulls back, her forehead a couple of inches from Maria’s face.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to,” Natasha says, half-breathless. Maria chuckles slightly, looking around the dirty floor.

“Nat, we tipped over the chair,” Maria says, chuckling softly. Natasha just smirks at her, watching as a grin spread across Maria’s face.

“What about the stalker?” Maria suddenly asks. “What do you think I should do about them?”

“That was me,” Natasha admits, “trying to ask you out.”

“Oh my god, we’re officially idiots,” Maria says and Natasha leans in to catch Maria’s lips once again, a grin spreading across her face as they kiss.

[akanemachurida-blog]

18/01/08 - Talkshow and Only Silver Fish Report

I traveled to Tokyo on January 8 to watch the play Churi is in, Only Silver Fish. I was lucky because there was a talk show with her at the Wonder Photo Shop in Harajuku beforehand, so I got two events in a day.

I woke up very early and took some local trains to get to my Shinkansen at Toyohashi which I took to Shinagawa in Tokyo, and then made my way to Harajuku for the event. Shinkansen tickets are very expensive if you don’t have a Japan Rail Pass, and I’m not on a tourist visa so I couldn’t get one. While I don’t regret going, I think it would have been wiser to have restrained myself and not gone due to the cost. However I really wanted to see Churi act since it’s her dream and possible future career. I’m not sure if I’ll ever have that opportunity again.

The tickets for the talk show started being handed out at 9:30am, and I got there around 8:40am. One of the guys I know was lining up since 5am since there was a limit of 70 tickets for this event. When I got there there were less than 50 people waiting though. I actually don’t know if they sold them out entirely, because by the time they started handing out the tickets we were around 52 or so.

It cost 1000 yen, but unlike other events where you pay simply for a ticket we got three photos of Churi along with the ticket, so it felt like a good deal. I then went for breakfast with some fans I know. One of them is a real treat to talk to - he knows a lot about Canada and he’s great to talk to, very inquisitive. He’s a real help because he always explains idioms and things I wouldn’t understand since I’m not Japanese and not familiar with some context.

The event was awesome. I just love the events where Churi talks to us for a long time and is uninterrupted by other MCs. It was just her talking for thirty straight minutes.

Here are some points I remember:

-She talked about the Muishiki Iro MV. The members selected what badges they’d pin on their white uniforms, and Churi thought about a mix of songs that meant a lot to her as well as how visually appealing those badges were. She mentioned that Ego took badges that had pastel colours for the visual effect they’d have, and that Naochan took dark coloured badges. She said that the staff were the ones who decided what past singles/uniforms they would be in/have in the muishiki iro MV. She said she really didn't get why the staff put her with Sugawara, and why Jurina was paired with Nakki for example. She didn’t understand the commonalities Jurina/Nakki shared and it wasn’t explained to them. As my friend told me after, the Jurina/Nakki pairing makes a lot of symbolic sense since it contrasts the longest serving/most popular member with the newest member of the senbatsu. Maybe Churi, who is the second longest serving, was placed with Sugawara for that same reason. It seems odd to me that this never occurred to Churi, but odder still that the staff made no attempt to explain this to them. The MV has a lot of symbolic meaning to it as well as nostalgia so there clearly is a reason for these decisions. Anyway, I have to thank the staff for putting those two together!

-She talked about the upcoming wrestling event in Nagoya. She actually wants to appear in it, even if she’ll be having a lot of practice for the Basara play during that time. So she’s still on the fence about it but she’d like to do it. I’m still around so I’d go see it.

-She talked about this year’s sousenkyo. She explained that she said (during her birthday performance) that she was considering not appearing in the sousenkyo because she always feels that way, and she is on the fence for it still. Every year she feels like not appearing in it, but then eventually goes. Therefore she always gives that impression of it being her last one. After her birthday performance some fans came to talk to her when they were getting their 2shots and they told her they’d like her to appear this year since last year’s sousenkyo was cancelled due to rain and it didn’t feel proper. This made her think about it more, but she hasn’t come to a decision. She just feels that if she announces early that she’s unsure it will prepare the fans if she ever says she won’t be going.

Those were the main points with announcements. The rest of the time she talked to us about the pictures which were on exhibition there. These were mainly the same pictures as those on exhibition on the 8th floor of Nagoya Parco, which I went to see twice. However Churi got to sign some of the ones in Tokyo and write some stuff on the walls near the photos. Overall this exhibit was far better than the one in Parco, which is a mall. Wonder Photo Shop is tiny and feels more like a cramped office than an art gallery but it was nice.

She talked non stop until about five minutes were left, and then she asked if we had any questions. She said she’d give us one second to think about it but no one asked anything. I actually wanted to ask how the MV shoot went since she talked about that for a while, more specifically how it was being next to Maya… but of course I couldn’t and wouldn’t ask that. Instead, she asked us some things. She asked us who was going to see the play, who had already seen it (hardly any of us there had seen it before) and who had gone to Laguna. She asked how Oshirin did with Cross and if her legs were up to the task. A fan replied that Oshirin did well, and Churi asked who the other two were. When she learned they were Aiai and Hatagon she looked really surprised and said “What kind of unit is that?” and laughed. (It wasn’t meant in a bad way I think)

So that was it for the event, and Churi left after a bit over thirty minutes. It was 11:30am by then, and the afternoon play began at 2pm, so she had to hurry over there to get ready. The Wonder Photo Shop closed for an hour but everyone waited to go back inside to buy these special photos they have of Churi. Each photo cost 2000 yen and there were three in total. I only bought one. Here it is:

By then it was 12:50pm so I went over to Kinokuniya Hall in Shinjuku for the play. The fan I mentioned before was there and we spent the time before the play looking through the pamphlet and the characters. I didn’t buy the guide/pamphlet to the play, so there’s a lot of stuff I’d like to write to make sure of stuff but I can’t. Anyway, I can’t say I like the outfits much, especially Churi’s. It looks plastic. I can understand how girls feel at SKE events now, because the audience was 90%+ female as well as having quite a lot of older women.

I came into the play completely spoiler free, like most people. The only thing Churi had mentioned was that the play had to do with being able to go back to the past and changing it. In this regard it sounded like ReLife, the play Churi was in two years ago where an older person is put into the body of a younger person and relives high school.

As expected some parts of the play were difficult to follow because of the language barrier. There were some parts I couldn’t understand because of vocabulary I didn’t know, but there were other parts I didn’t get simply because of a difference in culture. For example, at the beginning one of the characters sings a song for a long time, which I really didn’t get. I thought it was just meant to be funny but that fan told me afterwards that the song was something all Japanese people knew and had been associated with one of the actors throughout his career.

However my problems with the play went much further than simple language issues. I did not enjoy it for a number of reasons, the biggest two being the poor plot/flow and the other being the restricted gender roles. I’ll start with the story.

My biggest problem with the story was that I didn’t understand it - which I expected before seeing it because of the language problem - but the story eluded everyone it seems. After the play I overheard nearly everyone asking their friends what had happened, and the fan I was with had just no idea what had happened at the end. He went to the second viewing that day and said that it was easier to understand if you followed the beginning carefully since there was some foreshadowing.

I’ll try and summarize the plot: There is a wealthy person named Matthew who is about to get married. A lot of people are invited over to his mansion to celebrate his wedding. In the mansion there is an aquarium with a fish called the Only Silver Fish, which is unique and has the power to let you relive a moment. A series of events occur and Matthew brings back his late grandmother, who appears as a young lady. The grandmother was a very famous writer of crime stories. Afterwards a series of weird invitational letters are sent to the mansion, each detailing some condition or predicting a horrible event. Things go downhill after Matthew and his fiancee pledge to marry one another, when the butler and the legal advisor die, and finally Matthew is shot on stage numerous times. Some more events occur and the killer is revealed to be one of the guests, however it turns out that Matthew was actually alive all along. (This was the twist, and no one seemed to understand how it happened) He is shown as the mastermind behind the events and that his grandmother was actually just someone hired by him to make people believe in the Only Silver Fish. Some other stuff happens and it then appears like everyone is back to life and Matthew wishes he could undo the past and be with his fiancee again, despite his whole plot to get rid of her, and he stares at the Only Silver Fish at the end. (I think it’s supposed to be up to the viewer to decide whether he’s successful or just imagining things)

I had trouble following it so I didn’t explain it well and I probably made some mistakes. However, the plot truly is disjointed and while I tried to summarized what happened, these events are maybe 25% of the entire play. It drags on and on until the suspenseful parts actually start to happen. There is an hour between Matthew’s grandmother’s entry and the first murder or so. While this play was supposed to be a mystery and have some suspense, it was mostly filled with horrible gags, jokes, and slapstick humour for the first part. The dramatic parts felt flat and uninteresting to me too, because I just wasn’t interested about any of the characters. I was given no reason to care about them and their backgrounds were so uninspired, boring, and badly explained. No matter how hard I tried to invest myself into the story I couldn’t feel anything for it, and just felt frustrated.

I want to be clear: the shortcomings of this play were in no way the fault of the actors. Their performances were great and I never felt that they were unconvincing as actors, but rather that simply the casting, roles, and plot were poorly done. If anything they did well, restricted as they were by the director.

This brings me to what personally felt the worst about this play and what really made me sad. Churi’s character, and the rest of the female characters, were such non-entities that they may as well have not been in the play. If you look at the short synopsis I wrote of the play you can notice how few characters are central to the story. It is all about Matthew and his fiancee. The play has a total of twelve characters, which could easily be halved. A lot of the male characters are redundant and flat as well, but they got the lion’s share of the lines, so they just look like they matter more. Churi, by contrast, got so few lines and appearances. She is the one who figures out that Matthew was the mastermind, but it didn’t feel necessary. It just feels out of place, really, since she is totally irrelevant to the story. Her character is also missing from the end.

I didn’t watch ReLife except for some streamed parts, however that play seemed so much better at sharing the lines and creating meaningful characters. She wasn’t the heroine but her character still seemed relevant, from what she wrote about it. A lot of people claim that 2D media is misogynistic however when compared to this play their media at least gives bigger roles to females which aren’t always hopeless and powerless. I have no experience with other plays so I can’t presume if this is a thing in Japanese 3D media.

I honestly felt quite bad after the play. I had invested a lot of money to go to Tokyo and had been looking forward to seeing Churi on the stage for such a long time. It felt wrong for it to end up this way but I’m willing to admit that maybe this is my fault for not understanding the play and not getting the full appreciation out of it. I met up with other international idol fans afterwards and I bought some Maya photos to cheer up. (I would have bought Churi ones but I own them all.)

Edit: At the end one of the actors is chosen to give their thoughts about the play. I was lucky because Churi was the one chosen to speak. It was pretty formulaic to be honest but the way she spoke flowed very well and she definitely made her point about hoping that the play (which they worked hard to practice for) could have some value for us. All the audience gasped when she spoke and they clapped a lot so I guess she left a favorable impression on them with that. Obviously the value I took from it was seeing Churi in this stage of her career.

[little-maynard]

Twelve Days of Jack (December 15 - Day 2)

Summary: When Sarah is invited to casually hang out with her Friend With Benefits, Jack, and his group of friends, things suddenly get a lot more serious than she bargained for.

Word count: 2.1K

[A/N] This mini series all takes place in the run up to Christmas. Each chapter takes place the day it is uploaded.

Day One

Sarah had a 9AM seminar and stuck around in a study area to get some homework done. She would stay there until Jack and his friends picked her up around two so they could all go to Winter Wonderland together. It was quiet in the room, apart from the occasional cough and the uninterrupted typing of a boy a few tables over, and when her phone buzzed in her bag and broke the silence she scrambled to get her hands on it to make it shut up. A few people shot her annoyed glances and she gave them what she hoped was an apologetic smile. It was a message from Kailee.

The night before, after dinner, the two girls had sat in Kailee’s room together, discussing the whole thing again. Sarah had shown her best friend pictures of Jack to judge, which had naturally led to Kailee telling a story about a boy she’d slept with a few times the year before. She had broken it off when the boy tried to get serious, even though he was a sweet guy. “There was just no connection”, Kailee had explained. Sarah wasn’t sure what to make of that. Here her friend was, trying to get her to give Jack a chance, while she herself hadn’t done the same thing. Then again, Jack and she did have a connection of sorts. She enjoyed spending time with him and liked hearing about the things that kept him occupied, and he was a good listener who also made her breakfast.

The text she’d just received was some meme to which Sarah replied with an emoji. Just as she was about to put her phone back in her backpack, a new text came in. This time from Jack.

We’re about to leave. Have to pick Mikey up along the way because the lazy fuck refuses to walk, but we’ll be there in 25 mins or so

Twenty-five minutes was plenty of time to get some more work done, but now that her mind had drifted to Jack it was hard to get it back onto linear algebra. Eventually she gave up on trying, shoved all her stuff in her bag, and went outside, where she sat down on a low fence surrounding the bicycle parking area.

“Hey, Sarah.”

Sarah turned around to see Ryan, one of her housemates, put his bike in a stand and walk up to her. “Are you coming out with us tonight? Celebrate Nick’s friend’s birthday?”

“Nick’s friend?” Sarah looked amused. “Do we even know this friend?”

“No, but it’s a good excuse to party.”

She checked her watch, as though that would give her answers, and then nodded, “I think so. No promises, though.”

“Cool, we’re doing pre-drinks in Ella’s room at about eleven and then we’ll head out whenever.”

“Save me a beer.”

He laughed, “Will do, Sares. See you around.”

She said goodbye to him and hopped off the fence. No one had told her how long they’d be staying at Winter Wonderland for, let alone whether they would be going out after. Knowing Jack, they probably would. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted her friends to meet Jack. It seemed to serious, even though she also knew his friends. It was complicated.

--

There was a single spot saved for her in the car; wedged between Josh and Conor in the backseat. Jack and Mikey were sat in the front, babbling about whatever it was that those two boys found interesting. She tossed her bag in the boot of the car and climbed over Conor to get to her seat.

“How was geometry?”

“My lecture wasn’t on geometry, but it was alright. Thanks.”

Conor seemed to have an easy time chatting to whoever about whatever, whenever. She’d noticed this the first time she’d met him, when she realised after half an hour that she’d been talking to this complete stranger for a full 30 minutes without it getting at all awkward, and now that she was tuned into it she was always on the lookout for his tricks. Having someone explain something to him seemed to be one of his top choices for conversation starters.

Despite the fact that she knew how he worked, she still took the bait and explained some things about probability to him during the drive to Winter Wonderland.

--

Finding a parking space at a large festival is always a hassle, but Sarah had never seen anything as bad as this. They drove around for almost half an hour before Jack finally spotted a car pulling out of a spot and immediately jumped on it. By that time the car had gotten nice and warm, and getting out of it was horrible. Sarah zipped her coat up as far as it would go and retrieved her bobble hat from her bag before they left the parking lot.

By the entrance of the park they met Joe, Byron and Will, who had taken a bus, which in hindsight would’ve been a better idea than this whole car ordeal.

“Finally. We’ve been here so long, Joe’s grown a beard.” Byron complained.

“Looks more like pubes on his face to me.” Jack responded.

Joe’s stubble could hardly be called a beard, but it looked good on him. It framed his face and made him look mature, which, if you knew him, maybe didn’t suit him that well.

As soon as they entered the grounds, Sarah spotted a drop-tower. Her absolute favourite ride in any theme park. “Can we go on there?” She asked, trying to play it cool. This genuine hangout with Jack’s friends still felt weird to her and she was unsure of how to behave. Was she supposed to keep to the background or act like one of the guys? Fortunately, the others the others didn’t seem to mind her presence at all.

Will immediately said he’d go with her, and after some convincing Jack, Conor and Byron agreed to go too.

She ended up, how could she not, next to Jack, who was nervously eyeing the tall structure from the queue. “You okay?” She asked him.

“Not a fan of heights.” He responded.

“If I recall correctly, you dangled off a pretty high building during I’m a Celeb.”

He laughed, “Ah yeah, my only trial. Didn’t have a good time. I heard that it was cut down a lot in the episode, ‘cause I must’ve been up on that stupid plank for at least fifteen minutes.”

“Toff totally outdid you on that one.”

“Well, if I’d actually done any other trials I know she would’ve outdone me on those too.” “The ones with the spiders?”

“Every single one. Except for maybe the eating. I think I could do that.”

It was their turn to get on the ride. Jack doublechecked his safety belts, and then checked them again. Just for good measure.

“You know you don’t have to do this right?”

“Bit late for that now.” He responded. “Feel my heartbeat.”

She reached out and placed two fingers on the side of his throat. His heart was pounding away as if he was running a marathon untrained. “Sorry for dragging you into this, but it’ll be fun. I promise.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die.”

“You’re such a drama queen.” She laughed. She dropped her hand and he grabbed it before she could put it to rest on her safety harness. He was shaking a bit – poor guy- and squeezing her hand as if his life depended on it. To him, it probably did.

The ride started moving, slowly gaining height. Jack closed his eyes. Usually Sarah would use the ride up to enjoy the view, but this time she couldn’t look away from Jack. When they were together, they were either having sex or just chilling. She had never seen him experience any negative emotions, and the fear on his face was piteous, but also cute.

“You’re okay.” She said. He shook his head but didn’t respond.

On her other side, Conor and Will were joking around, clearly out of nervousness, pretending to undo each other’s safety harnesses.

She used to be afraid of heights too, when she was younger, but when she was seven years old her brother persuaded her to go on a drop-tower with her and it had done away with her fear at once. The elation she felt during the drop completely diminished any kind of unease she felt. She’d gone on the ride eleven times that day.

The most dreadful part was when the ride stopped at the top and you had to sit and wait until you would inevitably come crashing down. “Do you want to look at the view?” She asked Jack when they were there.

“No, I want to die.” He said.

“I thought you were afraid of dying. Isn’t that the whole point of a fear of heights?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Shut up.”

When the drop finally came, she was surrounded by screams. Jack let go off her hand to grab onto his harness as he screamed his lungs out with his eyes still tightly shut.

The wait and the way upwards were always endlessly long compared to the actual fall, which lasted eight seconds max. Sarah undid her harness and jumped to her feet, “You coming?”

Jack stayed put for a few seconds, catching his breath and trying to calm his heart down. “I’m never doing that again. You can’t make me.”

She laughed, “I won’t. I’m sorry.” She started to undo his harness for him and eventually he raised his hands to help her out.

Behind them, Conor was dramatically prancing around like he was ten beers deep into a night out and struggling to stay right side up, while Byron was steadying himself on the barrier around the ride.

“How are you okay? That was a nightmare.” Will exclaimed.

“I’ve been on this ride more times than I can count.” She said. “These things can’t scare me anymore.”

Jack finally got out of his seat when the operators went around to see if anyone needed help with their safety belts. “Let’s go do something fun now. Like a rollercoaster.”

As if high speeds were less scary when they were horizontal.

--

Two rollercoasters, eight hotdogs, and thirty-seven pounds wasted on claw machines later, they were strolling towards a Christmas market. Jack was a few yards ahead of her, walking with Josh and Conor, while she lagged behind with Mikey.

It was getting close to five, and they had already decided they would be going to Nando’s after the market. They were going out tonight, too, and had acted disappointed when Sarah said she wouldn’t be joining them. She really didn’t get these people. Were they just so laidback that they didn’t care whom they hung out? Or did they really want her around? Was it normal for Jack to bring his flings with him on friend group outings? He wasn’t making things any clearer on her.

--

“Have fun tonight.”

“You too.”

“Maybe we’ll run into each other somewhere.”

“Not if I can help it.” They both laughed and she kissed his cheek, “Bye, Jack.”

“Bye bye.”

He’d given her a ride back to her hall, the gentleman, and was now taking his friends back to his own place for pre-drinks.

It was shortly after ten when she finally walked into the TV room, where most of her corridor was gathered to watch The Hangover.

“She’s alive! Did that boy keep you occupied?” Amber called.

Sarah groaned, “Kailee told you?”

The accused gave her a guilty look.

“I should’ve known.” Sarah laughed, tossed her coat and bag on the floor and sank onto one of the couches. “Yeah, he’s keeping me busy.”

“Is this the boy you said you were ‘casually making love to’?” Tommaso asked.

“Yeah.” “Not so casual anymore?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

“Sam and I started out ‘just sex’ first. We all know how that turned out.” Ella had been with her girlfriend for two years and had told Sarah from the start that Friends With Benefits never came without complications. Sarah had told her she’d prove her wrong back then, but she was turning out to be right.

Fortunately, the others took this as their cue to all start talking about their own love lives, and Sarah gladly took this opportunity to get out of the conversation and talk about the boy Vada had been dating instead.

--

Sarah and Kailee spent the night playing a game to see who could kiss the most boys, so she could get her mind off Jack.

She won, with four against three.

[officialdeathbycinema]

Star Wars Official Trailer Analysis

OK! So i've watched...and re-watched...and rewatched...and analyzed this two and a half minute piece of cinema hypeness, and i've a few things to say if you don't mind...well, I really don't care if you do mind or not because it's 2:10 in the morning and i've been trying to bring my thoughts together on not only a trailer, but two movies as well, so fight me.

So we open to see an Imperial Officer looking silhouette staring at an assembly line. This could be Ben Solo, but for all intents and purposes, i'm going to assume this is the previously unseen "Rose" character, only officially depicted in Funko Pop! form. I'm honestly kinda interested to see what we see in this character, considering she's been so prominently featured in toy sales but no real promotional material for the movie itself (As i'm typing this however, I looked back and it really is just Ben).

Six seconds in and we transition, the change in scenery accompanied by Ces- I mean Snoke's voice over towards Ben, giving the audience a taste of what we have in store when it comes to the new Emperor-type Big Bad. We see a bunch of AT-M6 Walkers in a line for a span of three seconds, which then transitions into an overhead location shot of what i'm going to assume is Snoke's actual lair, which we see Ben and a good number of troopers walking in formation, presumably on the way to see the Supreme Leader (HA, Rocky and Bullwinkle reference!) at thirteen seconds in. Then a profile shot of Ben with his helmet on at fourteen seconds, which leads into him reaching down and picking up a new saber. This being essentially the same saber design, only sleeker, blacker, and more refined.

After that, a few seconds of black, followed by the blasting sound of a saber igniting and we see Rey on Ahch-To. We're gonna skip ahead to thirty-five seconds in, and watch Luke Skywalker take back his saber from Rey. But at thirty-eight seconds, we hear Rey say the line "Something inside me has always been there." Ok, that's a pretty cut and paste line, so i'll move on because that's probably one of the least interesting things to talk about in this trailer. Forty-one seconds into the trailer and Rey is entering the temple tree, where the books are held. Now in the first trailer we saw the insignia of the "Grey Jedi". Think of them as the agnostics of the Star Wars universe. That's obviously an oversimplification, but we can get to that topic later. Maybe when the films come out, but later. Forty-seven seconds in and she's training with a saber, and I'm really wanting to assume she's been here for a few months, and not just a week or two after the first film when this scene plays out (*cough cough, make Rey not a Mary-Sue anymore cough cough*). The force is apparently so strong with Rey that she can make the ground crack beneath her, which prompts Luke to say, in my opinion, a very interesting line.

At fifty-two seconds we hear Luke say the line: "I've seen this raw strength only once before. It didn't scare me enough then, it does now." Couple that with imagery of a building burning, more burning, and Luke's robot hand emerging from debris like he's in The Evil Dead, and people are going to assume one thing. They're going to assume that he's talking about Ben Solo. I however, do not think this is the case. Sure he underestimated Ben, but he wasn't scared of him because he was family, not because he had darkness in him. No, he's not talking about Ben, or Vader, or even Starkiller. No, I think he's talking about Sideous. Because if you remember the original trilogy, Luke was very, VERY headstrong when it came to defeating the dark side, and in turn didn't take the Emperor as a serious threat until it almost cost him his life...but now that he sees that same pure, raw power, it TERRIFIES him. But then it plays into the whole "Old man doesn't want to train young pupil for something that happened to them personally until they reluctantly give up" cliche that this series seems to want to jerk off like Ron fuckin Jeremy...but I digress. From one minute and three seconds in to one minute and eight seconds in, we hear Ben say the words "let the past die" while he subsequently DESTROYS his Darth Fanboy helmet (Which is what i'm going to be calling it from this day on forth). He could be talking about his time as an agent for the light side, or this could be a potential scene beginning a redemption arc for Ben where he tears away from his Kylo Ren persona. But then again, a redemption arc wouldn't be that fun when you can just kill the character before that happens in the slightest....or just have him evil, you know, because evil apparently isn't cool anymore, everything has to be "tragic and misunderstood"...AGAIN, I digress. Then comes a starship battle, and boy HOWDY is Ben one hell of a pilot. He says the line "Kill it, if you have to", which is in relation to the previous line of "Let the past die"...and then at one minute and fifteen seconds, we see General Leia....which basically is an "oh fuck" moment because I'm basically just calling it that she's gonna kick the bucket HARD in this movie, and the news of her playing a "pivotal role" is highly exaggerated.

One minute, seventeen seconds: Mommy senses baby through force, and vice versa...or IS IT? My whole thing about how the trailer is edited is weird, because there are some obvious weaving techniques being put in here to deceive the audience. So how I think this scene is going to play out is that Ben is ordered to destroy the Resistance base on that particular ship, which he does. But you know, since Snoke's whole thing is manipulation of Ben, and losing his mother (since it was explained in the last movie that his bond with Leia was far stronger than his bond with Han) would essentially put him in a state of darkness, making Snokes job WAY EASIER. So Snoke tells Ben "Hey, I don't like this Resistance ship. Blow it up." to which Ben replies "Alright, you've not really sent me astray before, why would you do it now? It's not like you're a manipulative dickbag that looks like a scrotum wrapped in one of Hugh Hefner's robes.". But then Snoke "fails" to mention that Leia is on that ship. She senses him, but since he's STILL not mature enough in the ways of the force (and sometimes this series throws continuity into the wind like Nana's ashes on a late summer evening), He doesn't sense her until it's too late. He doesn't sense her persay...but he senses a lack of her. He feels that classic disturbance in the force. He doesn't know why until later...and he doesn't know that he had just killed his own mother, a woman he loved so dearly, and the reason he was so conflicted about going fully dark side. But now that she's gone...Snoke can take him, and Ben is so distraught...that he listens, and fully accepts his role as not Ben Solo, but Kylo Ren.

BUT THAT'S JUST HOW I WANT THE SCENE TO GO DOWN, I DON'T THINK THE WRITERS ARE GONNA BE CLEVER ENOUGH TO DO IT THAT WAY.

One minute and thirty three seconds...Porg.

One minute, thirty seven seconds, Poe Dameron vs Ben Solo dogfight which is no doubt gonna be really cool. One minute, forty seconds, Finn vs. Brienne of Tarth in a giant Aluminum onsie...I mean Captain Phasma. Probably gonna be really cool, I just want more character growth in Finn since he had a pretty weak arc in Episode Seven (well, at least it was stronger than Rey's).

There's some more lines said by Luke which are pretty uninteresting, but at one minute and fifty-seven seconds, we see our first look at Snoke, and boy was I accurate in my description. You guys remember that scene in Deadpool where they basically just let TJ Miller riff at Ryan Reynolds for three uninterrupted minutes? Yeah, that. But my sister did raise a pretty good theory for this scene earlier, and she said that Rey might be experiencing one of Ben's memories...even though she's probably not.

Two minutes and three seconds, black screen with Rey's dialogue leading us into the most misleading part of the trailer which has the #Reylo shippers up in arms. We hear Rey say the words "I need someone to show me my place in all of this." and then we see Ben raise a hand towards the camera. Now upon first glance, we assume he's offering to take Rey under his wing...but these two shots aren't even in the same scene. The lighting is all wrong for this to be possible for one thing, two the tones of each shot are different as well. The light that is facing Rey camera left is pure, and unobstructed. She's in the temple tree on Ahch-To, presumably talking to Luke and convincing him to train her. But when the camera is on Ben, he's obviously in the tail end of a battle sequence. He COULD still be talking to Rey, but no, the line given is in a completely different scene. So no #Reylo shippers, your beloved character parallel fetish fodder is not canon yet, keep writing your fanfiction. Now that last paragraph could potentially label me as Anti-Reylo, but then again not only do I not care if I am labelled as such, I just don't care about the delicious death threats i'm BOUND to get from subsequently posting this analysis on Tumblr once i'm done posting it to Facebook.

Anyways, the credits roll three seconds after that, we're promised a film on December 15th, and the first week of tickets are probably already sold out as i'm writing this. But overall it was a decent trailer as far as analytical material goes, and I don't really think we need another since the movie is two months off.

So yeah, weeee Star Wars...I think the internet is just RUINING this new trilogy for me.

[anexperimentallife]

Going through some of my older work, and started re-reading the first story I ever sold...

There are some embarrassing things about it (the obligatory cishet romance is unnecessary and comes off forced, for one thing, and I tied things up into much too neat of a package at the end, plus there are some other aspects I think I need to redo), but overall it reminds me that yeah, although I need to up my game, I DO have chops. I can do this. This isn’t bad at all, IMHO, but I can do SOOOOO much better now. If you want the entire anthology it’s in, grab yourself a copy of The Crimson Pact Volume 2. (It’s also available at Amazon and so on, but when you buy directly from the publisher, you get all formats, DRM-free--whether you buy the hardcopy or just the ebook version--and I get a bigger royalty cut.)

And I am going to do better. Now that I have  the rights back, I am going to rewrite the fuck out of this,,especially now that I have better ideas about how to fit it into my revised Quiet World setting.

I’ve posted a little of the beginning before, but here’s a much bigger chunk:

Karma (story excerpt)

by D. Robert Hamm

We hit the interstate like an unguided missile. Needles of frozen rain and jagged blades of wind beat my face numb and turned what was left of my dress into a full-body ice-pack. Even with the heater on ‘incinerate,’ I couldn’t stop shivering, but the outside air was all that kept me from gagging on the smell of my own puke and the rusty stench of blood, so the window stayed down. Between the black pavement and blacker sky, the air was wet and gray. It sucked the vitality from my headlights well before their natural time, but that was okay. I wasn’t paying much attention to the little they revealed anyway.

The man in the passenger’s seat either didn’t feel the cold or was too stoic to show discomfort. The dashboard glow turned his short white beard to green and deepened the age lines in his face. Gods, I’d loved that face growing up. It was my grandfather’s face. But right then, I could barely look at it, because this wasn’t my grandfather, just a sad, confused spirit wearing his body. And even though he was one of the good guys, that didn’t mean it was easy to take.

“You’re going to catch cold,” Not-Grandpa shouted over the storm.

“I’m . . . what?”

Since last night I’d been shot at, whipped, and electrocuted. I’d watched a good man beheaded and disemboweled before my eyes, and learned things about myself, my family, and especially my past, that had already driven other people into padded-room territory. I was marinated in a vile concoction of blood and various other body fluids, quite a bit of it my own, and had spent the last however-many hours fighting horrors that should never have existed. In the middle of all that—because I’m an overachiever—I took time out to kill a man I loved.

And this guy was worried that I’d catch a fucking cold?

Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. The kind of deep, full-body laughter that doubles you over and makes your stomach muscles ache for days afterward. The kind that shreds the lining of your throat and rises in pitch to rapid staccato squeaks, like sneakers on a hardwood floor. I held back the worst long enough to wrestle the car onto the shoulder, then let go. The laughter turned to howling, the howling into screams, the screams into sobs, and the sobs into a quiet whimper that finally, gods finally, tapered off, and I could breathe again, in great, ragged gulps. I wiped away a rope of snot hanging from my nose and sat hunched over with my eyes closed and my forehead against the steering wheel, shaking, while the rain pummeled my back with tiny, ice-cold fists.

In shock? Probably. Hysterical? Definitely. Look, I make sandwiches at my family’s restaurant for a living, okay? Sandwiches.

Not-Grandpa waited until I quieted down before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was the dozenth or so time he’d said it. The line of his mouth stayed hard, but his eyes and his voice were soft and broken. I believed him. Had to believe him.

“I know.” I didn’t mean for it to sound bitter. He’d saved my life after all, and he deserved better than that. I just didn’t know if I could forgive him for not being who I wanted him to be.

* * * * *

A little too “in media res” for you? Yeah, me too.

So here are the vitals: My name is Karma Miranda Rodriguez. I’m twenty-three years old, five foot six, with brown eyes, light brown skin, and dark brown hair that I keep boy-short. I claim to be a size five, and I dare you to say otherwise. I like strawberry daiquiris, support equal rights for supernaturals, am indifferent toward long walks on the beach, and . . .

And oh, yeah—Apparently, I kill demons.

* * * * *

Eli’s Borderland Station, my family’s restaurant, has been the only twenty-four hour eatery on the Kansas City Plaza since back before the Jasonites outed the supernatural community (aka, “The Quiet World”) and we had to coin the term ‘daylighter’ to differentiate plain vanilla humans from those touched by the paranormal. During the riots that followed the Jasonites’ little party, and all through the Apocalypse Wars, my Grandpa Eli and Uncle Garston kept the restaurant open as a free kitchen-slash-aid-station for refugees and emergency workers, and turned the upstairs apartment—which is mine, now—into a de facto headquarters for various peacekeeping forces.

So alongside our Absolutely Killer Turkey Sandwich (made from, according to the menu, genuine killer turkeys), we serve up a mean side-order of history. Obviously, a lot of things have changed since the AWs; for instance, the Plaza, always an upscale shopping district, is now a level four Private Patrol Zone with the best law enforcement money can buy. As you’d expect, our main business is well-heeled shoppers whose sidearms are more fashion statement than personal defense, but we try to keep prices reasonable enough for the average college student, too.

No amount of money will buy you a table or a bar stool in our VIP lounge, though, even if every other seat in the house is taken. The lounge is permanently reserved for veterans, proxies, bounty hunters, elites, and so on. It’s where people with code names like Halloween Jack, Lucy D.T., HalluciNathan, and so on come to catch up with one another, trade information, or just relax. Grandpa and Uncle Garston are technically civilians now, but a lot of the VIPs still use their call signs from way back when, so if someone in armored leathers with notched weapons and a stare that looks like they’re counting the ways they could kill you with one finger says they’re going to see The General and Body Mass, they’re not talking about some secret mission, it just means they’re headed our way for the lunch special.

On Tuesday nights we lock up for a few hours of uninterrupted cleaning with my special patented Karma Rodriguez closing procedure. This involves, among other things, lots of dancing around with brooms and mops, and other Weapons of Mess-Destruction, and me in a casual dress singing along with loud music at the top of my lungs. It’s effective. The more I can make work feel like play, the faster and more efficiently I get things done, and as proof of that, what used to take three people on Tuesday nights now requires only two.

At thirty seconds to zero-dark-thirty on a drizzly February evening, when my grime-fighting partner Jayden and I were the only ones left in the restaurant, I locked the front door and hit the music. My mix for the night was weighted heavily in favor of pre-Apocalypse rock—music that was old before I was born. It was a minor tragedy when it cut off about ten minutes into the shift, right in the middle of David Bowie’s Rebel, Rebel. Jayden and I both trailed off a cappella.

“I didn’t hear you singing if you didn’t hear me,” Jayden said. “We stick together, and nobody can prove anything.” He fixed me with what would have been a deadpan stare if not for that quirk at one corner of his mouth that I thought of as his, ‘our little secret’ smile.

I put on my best film noir ‘tough dame’ voice. “It’s always secrets with you, isn’t it? Fine, I’ll play your game.” Staying in character, I headed upstairs with an over-the-top hip-swaying sashay, to reboot the router while Jayden kept cleaning.

I can’t be objective about Jayden, so I won’t try. He was one of a kind. Literally. Part Aosidhe, part Graealfinsidhe, and part daylighter, Jayden was a medical miracle, and he got the best from each branch of his ancestry. Six and a half feet of lean muscle, flawless skin, hair like pale gold silk, and . . . you get the idea. His ears were only slightly pointed, and with his hair down, he could pass for an exceptionally pretty daylighter, if not for his eyes. Whiteless, and bright turquoise in color. They suited him.

And yeah, I know. If only I wasn’t his  boss. Jayden had something of a ‘mystery man’ air about him that only added to his status as local lust-object. Among other things, the way he dressed like a wastelander (only cleaner) but acted like a gentleman fueled speculation. He kept his past and his private life just that, though—past, and private. It was like the world was in love with Jayden, but Jayden wasn’t sure how he felt about the world and didn’t want to lead it on.

When I got back from confirming that the router was indeed fried, those exotic eyes of his were fixed on the big screen in the main dining area. I came up behind him and stopped, gaping. “What the . . . ?”

Just north of us, people were fighting in the streets and looting, while Rushville—Jayden’s neighborhood—burned.

“Short version?” Jayden said without turning around, “They busted the wrong guy for the Taylor murders, so they released him. He lasted a whole three hours.”

“They didn’t give him police protection?”

“He was under police protection when it happened. Now everybody has a conspiracy theory, and apparently with every conspiracy theory this week, you get a free Molotov cocktail kit. Speaking of which . . . ” He rewound a few seconds and paused on a burning apartment building that I recognized as his. “Great firebomb, huh?”

“Wow. I’m sorry.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged, his back still to me. “I carry everything really important with me.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want me to leave you alone?”

He paused, as if considering. “No.”

“Okay. But know what? Fuck cleaning. Help me get the trash out, then haul your duffel bag upstairs. You’re staying at my place tonight.”

Jayden turned and looked at me as though I were speaking Swahili. “Your place?”

“You just lost your apartment to a xenophobic asshole with a fire fetish, and you need crash space. Friends do that kind of stuff for each other.”

That earned me a confused look. “No, I just . . . Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.” He seemed utterly bewildered. So much for his famed stoicism and unflappability. Ah, Jayden. Such a strange, strange boy. I ran up to get my coat and pull on a pair of jeans under my dress, and Jayden and I dragged the first can out into the alley.

I remember the air tasted of cold grease and wet pavement. I remember the electric buzz of the street lamp, and the way its dirty light turned the drizzle into sparse gray streaks like anime rain. I remember the exact cadence of the trash can’s scraping and banging as we dragged it toward the dumpster. How screwed up do things have to get before taking out the trash is a fond memory worth replaying in your head?

We didn’t hear the patrol team until they entered the mouth of the alley, running hard toward us, shouting at us to get inside. The woman’s name was Lawson. She’d lost her helmet, and a sheen of blood covered the left side of her face. Her partner, Hall, had a crack running down the side of his faceplate, and his body armor was shredded in places. They both carried their weapons at the ready, scanning the roofline as they ran.

Before they’d even finished their warning, a clot of shadow and sickening angles detached from the rest of the dark. The Kasu-Hurun slaughter-spider—How did I know that?—dropped from the roof and—The Kasu-Hurun and the bad people are making us walk a long way again. I don’t say how tired I am because I am almost eight years old, and that means I’m a big girl, and because it would make Mommy feel bad that she can’t carry me that far. Mommy and me are in our nightgowns because we were asleep when they—Where were these images coming from?—landed in the alley behind them. It was an impossible thing, eight or nine feet tall, all mottled ochre-and-black chitin, with eight spiked and bladed spiderlike legs from which it took its name, serrated mandibles beneath great protruding compound eyes, and short, thick, writhing tentacles suspended from the underside of a bulbous, misshapen central body.

I shouted my own warning, but Hall was already emptying his magazine at the thing as he backed toward us. Lawson either tripped or dove in our direction, twisting in mid-air to land on her back. She raised her shotgun, and—grabbed us, and it was really late because both moons were out, but they let us put on our boots before they made us start walking. Mommy tried to fight them and she shot one of them but they beat her up and cut her cheek really bad. But she is still the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. It was real people, not Kasu-Hurun, but they don’t act like real people. Mommy says they have bad things inside them called Qlippoth. I think they are telling the Kasu-Hurun what—made it roar as she hit the pavement.

The monster’s cry was like a foghorn made of cats and feedback, a spike that shoved through both eardrums. Lawson had hurt it, taken out one leg, in fact, but it wasn’t enough, and Hall’s automatic gunfire cut off with a sickening, meat cleaver sound as the spider sliced through his neck. Hall’s head flew from his shoulders and bounced against the alley wall while the spider eviscerated his body before it could hit the ground, as if he weren’t–to do. A man tried to run away today, but they caught him, and instead of shooting him a Kasu-Hurun stuck one of its sharp arm/leg things in him and cut him open and played with his insides until he stopped screaming, and I cried, but I won’t cry anymore, because I’m a big girl, and—dead enough already. Even as far back as Jayden and I stood, hot, sticky wetness splattered our faces.

The monster tried to leap toward us, but its missing leg threw it off balance. Lawson’s shotgun was out of ammo, so she fumbled out her .45 and taunted the slaughter-spider while edging toward the side of the alley opposite the door. Sacrificing herself—big girls don’t cry. The demons usually kill everybody, but now they only kill people who try to run away or stop walking before they tell us to stop or people who fall down and can’t walk anymore, but sometimes when somebody falls down they let somebody else make a travois, which is a kind of sled thing that you drag—to give us a chance to get away. My gun was in my purse inside, but even if I’d had it on me, I couldn’t loosen my grip on the trash can, let alone force myself to move.

I caught Jayden’s eye. I’d never before realized–when I feel like crying I think about Daddy. Daddy is a general, which is a kind of soldier who tells other soldiers what to do. He is a long way away fighting other Kasu-Hurun, but when he comes to save us, the Kasu-Hurun and the bad people are going to be sorry. I am going to be a soldier like Daddy when I grow up and—how much he and I communicated without speaking, but with that look, I knew we’d done the same math. One of us might—just might—make it to the door. If we left the other one to die along with Lawson.

Fuck that.

Once I’d made the decision, the tension drained from my body—I am nine years old, and I have been in the prison camp for a over a year. They tell me it is time for the laboratory again, but if I pick someone else to go, they will leave me alone today. If I choose my mother to go they will leave me alone for a month. They seem surprised when my answer is to hold out my wrists for the cuffs. I am the daughter of a general and a hero. I do not run, or let others take my pain. And no matter what they do to me, I won’t let them see how scared I am—the way the fear had, sublimating into the night and leaving me perfectly relaxed. Jayden gave me that ‘our little secret’ smile, and I knew he got it. He understood. Not just what I was about to do, but why.

When anything you do will end in death, make your final act one of defiance.

And so it was that we, about to die, in the most futile and ridiculous gesture in the history of futile and ridiculous gestures, screamed our defiance in the face of death, and charged the monster that would surely kill us.

With a fucking trash can.

We slammed into the slaughter-spider and fell hard, with the trash can bouncing between those giant legs and spilling its slippery contents out onto the already-slick blacktop. The slaughter-spider screamed at the impact, even louder than when Lawson had shot it, and nearly toppled. A serrated leg missed me by inches, and I rolled away, but I’d only be able to dodge for so long. My only regrets were that since I hadn’t properly prepared this body, I would die along with it—again, where the hell did that thought come from?—and that so many things would go unsaid between me and those I cared about. Including Jayden, if I was being honest.

Something hard in my coat pocket bit into my side as I rolled. I’d forgotten about the taser I almost always took with me when I left the restaurant. Even if it was still charged, it wasn’t salvation, but at this point salvation wasn’t an option. Victory was what mattered, and victory was nothing more nor less than continuing to fight until the inevitable happened. I pulled out the taser, flipped off the safety, and sent 50,000 volts into the center of that mass of tentacles, along with all the fury I could muster. The slaughter-spider jerked momentarily, and Lawson took advantage to pick up a piece of steel rebar from the junk pile in the alley and plunge it glove-deep into one of the slaughter-spider’s faceted eyes. Jayden followed with a sharp piece of broken two-by-four into the other.

And as though someone had flipped a switch marked ‘alive/dead,’ the slaughter-spider fell . . . in slow motion, like those television broadcasts of building demolitions. After one final spasm, it was still, and the alley was silent for several seconds except for the buzz of the streetlight. After barely long enough to begin to accept that we weren’t dead, answering cries to the spider’s death scream split the night.

We staggered inside the restaurant as the first new creature hit the pavement, and got the bars across the door just before another slammed against it. I slapped my palm against the ward sigil and spoke the syllables to activate it, then ran to the front and did the same there. After grabbing my gun and other weapons from upstairs and activating still more wards, I hit the ‘dim all’ switch and met up with the others in the kitchen. Lawson used a cabinet as cover, her shotgun aimed at the door, and Jayden . . .

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I’d been gone perhaps two minutes, but when I returned, Jayden stood transformed, a grim-faced cross between a modern wastelander and a wild warrior from legend, in a combination of armored biker leathers and Fay armor. The hilts of two matching blades extended over his shoulders, and his jacket sleeves were pushed up to reveal Sidhe archery gauntlets—the real kind, not the department store knockoffs. Other weapons clung to various parts of his body, strategically placed so as not to impede movement—blades, throwing disks, bolas, and quivers and bandoliers of bolts and arrows for the quick-load mini-crossbow in his hand and the compound bow housed in a slender case across his back. He shrugged bashfully—Jayden? Bashful?—when he caught me staring. So this was what he meant when he said he carried everything important with him.

The booming of another hit on the door jerked my attention away from Jayden. After a few more tries, though, the spiders seemed to realize that it was futile, and ceased their efforts.

Now that we had stopped racing time, time slowed to let us catch up. Whether from the endorphin rush or something else, I felt disconnected, an observer watching from inside myself. In the dimness, Lawson and Jayden were pale, oh so pale, and heartbreakingly beautiful against the gray and charcoal shadows. I stood with chest heaving alongside them, seeing and feeling and hearing everything as though for the first time, in love with it all. Because we, who moments before had been dead, were alive and more than alive, were filled with life until we could burst from the pressure as it strained against the insignificant scraps of skin and flesh that could barely contain it.

A single glossy drop of blood formed at the tip of Lawson’s finger, creating itself until it was real enough to float downward and finally join its comrades who had already emigrated to the floor to form a puddle, and Lawson was falling, falling, falling behind it as if to join the puddle herself.

I shook out of my trance barely in time to help Jayden take Lawson’s weight. She was conscious, but weak. “It’s okay,” I told her, “We’re going to get you taken care of. Did you call for backup?” Lawson shook her head weakly, closed her eyes, and made a sound between a chuckle and a sob. “Nobody left to call. Even if the radio worked, nobody left to . . . ” she trailed off and seemed to fold in on herself. I’d seen what that thing did to Hall. I didn’t need her to tell me what had happened to the rest of her squad.

[justtryingtob]

Mina’s to my right, she’s watching Kubo and The Two Strings. I have some random movie playing in front of me but I’m not really watching it. I’m mostly letting my eyes slide to Kubo and thinking about other things. Other things like how I don’t like Defne or Alara anymore. I can’t really blame them for changing because I know I’m really the one who changed. I’m the one who became friends with Mina. I’m the one who got excited about the immature freshmen sitting next to us. It’s all my fault that they don’t want to sit next to me anymore, but I don’t even care.

Remember that one snap I sent you? Yes, I really did put down your name on my bucket list. I singled you out, I had a friend-crush for so long. It felt so good to finally cross it off my bucket list. “Become good friends with omer esin”. Who knew it would be this easy? I certainly didn’t.

Planes are calming for me. The constant background noise lulls me to sleep. Airports are my second home. And whoever I can share travel experiences with, I can trust. So when I saw you and Can sliding out of your seats so that Defne and Alara could sit with Ela and Melisa, my heart couldn’t stop itself. I made sure to avoid Can’s face while he waited for you to move onto the seat next to me. And that’s how the whole thing began. With Mina to my right, you to my left and Can to your left. We talked a bit until I decided ignoring you would be a better strategy. I watched you play that stupid stack four game for a while. And then I started browsing for a movie.

Lately, you have been the only reason that I’ve wanted time to slow down. Usually, I cannot wait for time to pass. I am so eager to leave this city and this school behind. There is nothing more I want then time passing. But those 10 hours on the plane were definitely not long enough. I wanted time to freeze just as you were slowly lowering your head onto my left shoulder. Now that I know you only have three months left here, I want to rewind. I want time to go back as far as it can and stay there for a while. I want you to stay here for a while longer. Believe me, three months will pass in the blink of an eye. We will both be united with our best friends when summer comes, but I know that we’ll lose this friendship in the process. I haven’t gotten used to that idea yet. Weeks pass us by faster than wild horses running free on empty fields. I’m scared of time passing now.

I was watching you as subtlety as possible. You and Can, your friendship is my favourite movie. I try to catch glimpses of it in the halls. I try to hear about it from you as much as I can. But that flight was an uninterrupted 10 hours of you two interacting. I watched it eagerly and secretly. I memorised your every move. I knew when you plugged your headphones in and when you took them out. I know which movie Can watched. I know how you leaned on his shoulder to watch it together. I know how your eyes slowly closed and he kept watching, undisturbed by all of this. And I know when you switched places. I know when you took your shoes off and slowly tilted your head to the right. I know it all.

You do not disgust me. Instead, you mesmerise me. This life has not been nice to you, you don’t care. None of these people seem to really love you, you don’t care. Nothing is getting better, yet you keep on living. I never saw one scar on your wrist. I never heard one suicidal thought from you. You don’t even joke about it, it seems so foreign to you. Your raw state does not disgust me. I feel more human when you talk about it. I feel accepted, finally. You have asked me several times how I am not disturbed, but I think you are smart enough to know the answer. Most people would look through our texts and tell us how in love we are with each other. But I know you and I, we are both smart people. We understand this world in better ways than most people. It is good to have someone who understands.

Yes, my heart starting pumping blood at approximately 500 times its normal rate when your head slowly started tilting towards my shoulder. I don’t know if you know, but having someone fall asleep on your shoulder is the best feeling on earth. In that moment everything is moving a bit too fast and a bit too slow at the same time. Space and time warp around you and all you can feel is the weight of their head pulling your shoulder down. Your hair tickled my neck and I froze every muscle in my body. One wrong move and it could all end. There’s a certain balance to the art of having someone sleep on your shoulder. I have yet to master it. The thing is, when you’re on a plane, life is a bit different. It is easier to coexist, even if you’re not compatible. Bodies are merged together. Physical touch is not the same when you’re high up in the sky. It feels more natural, touching another person is not any different from touching a blanket on an airplane. At least, that’s how I feel.

Did you realize you fell asleep on my left shoulder? Did you think about it ever again? I never really thought about it until I started writing about it. I didn’t even remember that it had happened until thirty minutes ago when I opened up the notes app and started typing. I don’t think you really thought of it again. Human touch is such a precious thing. And the kind you can feel safe with is the best kind. A real friend who you really can trust, that’s all you need in life. Someone to sit on the couch and watch movies with. Someone to hold your bag while you take something out of it. Someone to sit on a park bench and talk about anything with. Human touch is precious and deep down we all crave it. Touching does not have to be sexual. It certainly doesn’t need to be romantic. The best kind of touch is the kind that’s comforting. The kind that slows down your heart.

The water is silky smooth. It makes a human feel like they’re back inside their mother’s womb. The water envelops you and covers you. It presses down on your skin and pulls you into itself. The water is warm and comfortable. It feels like home. But a human always has to resurface to fill their lungs with air. That’s what it feels like when the person finally wakes up. I felt like I could breathe again. You seemed kind of dazed for about two seconds. I think I might’ve shrugged, to show you that is was ok. I think you figured that if I had been uncomfortable I would’ve woken you up myself. Anyways, I filled my lungs with fresh air. I let go of all the warmth. I stopped looking at you, I stopped thinking about you. Having someone fall asleep on your shoulder is the absolute best feeling in the world. But sometimes, it’s good to get out of the water. After all, every baby must one day leave the womb. Every bird must learn to fly away from the nest.