#only because i want to be able to find a site to pull the clips from. yall know how crunchyroll is 🙄

[gk-clips]

s4ep13

[youre-where-i-wanna-go]

My YouTube account just reached 1k subscribers so now I'm gonna make a list of the coolest Angela Bassett video finds I've found and shared on there and how I found them (even if the target audience here is only like one person)

Mr. & Mrs. Smith deleted scenes

Gonna start with the most recent find bc I never thought this footage would see the light of day. They shot all these scenes and only 30 seconds of Angela's voice made it to the movie bc the villains were dropped completely. Turns out the footage had been hiding on the second disc of an unrated special edition DVD release all along.

Old TV Commercials (KFC, Equal, Allstate)

These commercials you're really only able to find if you know what you're looking for. And the way I found out was through interviews in which they were mentioned (one was a newspaper clipping from 1991 that mentioned Equal and Allstate). Then it's watching tons of old commercials from those brands on YouTube until finally Angela's pretty face shows up. So grateful to the people who uploaded them first (even if they didn't mention Angela in the description).

Doubletake & Liberty

There are quite a few movies and shows in Angela's filmography that seem impossible to find. And some of them are really not available to watch anywhere unless you pay private sellers to send you the files. That's what I had to do to unearth these two rare gems. [insert Thanos gif iykyk] but no regrets because I really wanted to see them. Still hoping to find Equal Justice, STAT and the full Ryan's Hope episode

Ryan's Hope clip

Which brings me to the next tiny (very tiny) gem. For some time I had my doubts she was actually ever even in this soap opera. That was until I watched the Oscar's red carpet 2023 and they aired this super short clip of her character. Next to Angela's dress and Gaga's performance that was my highlight of the night.

My Man Bovanne

Talk about credits that aren't even on her IMDb. I found out about her role in this in the Playbill of Joe Turner's Come and Gone (which Angela starred in on Broadway in 1988). Made an account for the one website that hosted this little-known-about short film to be able to screenrecord it. That was a happy day. Fun fact I learned in a newspaper clipping since: Angela only got to be in it because the person who was first cast for her role got sick.

HeartBeat

Another one that took me very, very long to find. This is probably the one I had to use the most detective skills for. Found a dead video on a site that used to host it, tried to look up the account owner on other social media channels and finally found their tumblr that was still active (hooray) and they sent me the file. Best day ever (even though the plot of the episode is really heartbreaking).

Angela talking about kissing Gaga to Access Hollywood

Listen... Listen. If you know me, you know that these two are my QUEENS. They are everything to me and the fact that they played lovers? That they kissed and enjoyed it? Means the world (read my fanfiction on AO3 😉). This interview in particular has only been available as an article to read on their website for many years now but I could never find the video. I wanted to hear Angela say how she kissed Gaga and pulled her in and told her I love you when the director called cut and made Gaga jump. I found an old link to a long deleted YouTube video in an old tweet on one of my many Twitter searches for any trace of this video. Bless the person who uploaded it back then and bless the people who shared it on Twitter and bless the person who backed it up in the Wayback Machine. I owe you all eternal gratitude.

A 17-minute interview about Ruby's Bucket of Blood

DVD extras hold many gems and this is one of the biggest Angela-focused special features on a DVD I've seen. According to a friend who bought the DVD much longer ago, it wasn't even always part of it so I feel very blessed that this came with my DVD that I only bought bc it's one of my favorite movies and I like to collect those on physical copies.

Her Boyz n the Hood audition tape

In a newspaper clipping I read that this has actually been a part of physical releases of this movie since they still put out Laser Discs. But somehow I've never seen it surface online. I found it in a torrent that had all the Bluray special features (the best kind of torrents) and decided to share it of course. It has since gone viral on TikTok (where someone reposted it) which made me very happy. Who thought we'd ever get to see Ms. Angela Bassett audition??

Celebrity Poker Showdown

You have to admit, Angela in a reality game show is just gold. Was looking for this for a long time too and eventually found a Russian torrent (thank you Russians). Was luckily able to share the full episode on YouTube so everyone can get the full experience of "Angela folds" ten times in a row 😁

Angela's full performances of 3 songs on Close to the Enemy

[I only linked one here] Angela's character on Close to the Enemy was unfortunately very small but the British DVD release had extended scenes of 3 of her performances on it. [The American Bluray for some reason didn't.] Glad I found out about these.

1993 Fresh Air radio interview

I don't know if this counts as a rare find as it is freely available on the NPR website and in my university library BUT I have never seen it acknowledged until I shared it on YouTube and let me tell you I put blood, sweat and tears into captioning this 16-minute interview 😭 the payoff was grand. One interviewer from Variety used it in her research and mentioned it to Angela (who couldn't even remember it lmao) and part of the audio was also used in a tribute post the Academy (yes the Oscar Academy) did for her birthday. It's not my interview but I know they wouldn't have done so if it wasn't for my video (that I posted in tribute to the great Tina Turner. RIP.)

(Assumably) all her episodes of Search for Tomorrow

If I'm not mistaken this was her first on-camera acting job and a cool guy posted all her episodes (and hundreds of episodes she wasn't in) on YouTube last year. Luckily I downloaded them all right away as his channel no longer exists. Her episodes are safe on my hard drive tho and her scenes are safe on my YouTube channel :)

I was going to share a link to the unaired pilot of Identity (2011) that someone posted but it's already been privated again. Might post her scenes at some point, in the meantime if you're interested in this episode you can always dm me, I saved it to my hard drive. Very exciting find indeed as I also never expected it to see the light of day.

Honestly I get excited over every interview, DVD extra, speech or segment from a TV special that I come across (especially old ones). Sharing these on my YouTube channel is my pride and joy and I also have a scenepack account on Instagram (@/angelabassettscenes) where I share all her scenes from her bigger projects that I can't share to YouTube for everyone who wants to watch, edit or GIF them. Seeing people get as excited as I do when I share my finds makes me so happy and I'm definitely not done. Many DVD featurettes still to come. Angela's work will be preserved on this channel by any means necessary 😌

If you've read this far, thank you for reading and have a good day/night

[sadgirllbbadgirl]

Process Note (part 1)

This time around researching for me was way more specific and tedious compared to last time during the creation of the podcast script. At that time I used articles that you had linked for us and since I was familiar with them and the concepts they had I used them thinking it would be easier to speak about my idea. This time around I found that I almost had more flexibility because of the fact that I found articles directly pertaining to my specific idea. My idea didn't really change as I mentioned I wanted to stick with the same idea but dive deeper into it. What was helpful about the scholarly articles was that it made it easier for me to understand the breakdown between certain negative emotions and mental illnesses that people experience and the link artists are creating between the two. Unfortunately I did struggle quite a bit with finding scholarly articles and had a tough time trying to not only understand what the difference is between a scha;rly article and a typical magazine or news outlet article. This is due to absences that caused me to miss out on informational class work. Because of that it definitely held me back from completing this project sooner than later. Thankfully I was able to find out and emerge myself to distinguish what a scholarly article is but still unaware of how to find out how to know if it is peer reviewed. When it came to locating visual text I went to a website that I'm familiar with, that being pinterest. I know they hold this angsty and aesthetic collection of images somewhere on the site so it was my job to find them. I had searched into the search engine sadness, sad girls, and glamorization so see what exactly come up. It took some digging for the first two images. I think they do make the theme of glamorization quite well though. As they are alms directly doing that highlighting this emotion of sadness in a  literal glamorous way. Upon submitting my draft a new note of the tv series Euphoria was mentioned. It made me want to not only try to find new articles about the media and also how they play into sad girl troupes but also help find additional visual texts. The next time I began looking for images I wanted to see if I could pull any from the television series. I searched for euphoria on Pinterest and came across the next two images which I think also fit well. Since I also know the stories behind the two of their characters and they’re life predicaments it adds onto this idea I speak about which can be more relatable or understandable to the audience in my tumblr post. Attached one of the photos I included a link to a youtube video. That was the exact clip that the image was taken and I think it gives an additional understanding and context to the image. It really shows the distress that the Euphoria character Maddie was facing how even through the front she puts on in the show of this content popular girl she is even in sad situations as we all are. However, like I mentioned, since her character is this popular perfect girl in times of sadness she's still surrounded by this fabulous pink room in sad moments like this. Almost glamorizing this feeling of pretty girl sadness. Now when it came to creating my drawing for this project it was a bit spontaneous. It's not a style that I'm familiar with and it was quite the quiet drawing so I don't think I executed it to the best of my abilities either . But I was trying to show a girl who is visibly sad or upset with these flowing tears drawn coming down from her eyes but also around the page. I wanted it to hold similar ideas as the visual text I picked but it came out a bit confusing to me.

[unstablequeerbitch]

WOAH WAIT REALLY OKAY IM TAKING THIS AS AN EXCUSE TO TALK. Ratchet/Transformers will be further below the bullets

-in case you did know the “war is war and hell is hell and out of the two war is worse than hell.” Quote is from mash.

-Charley O’clock. He can’t seem to hit anything so it turns into a daily party. I actually have a transformers fic based on this. It’s an autobot flyer that can’t fly or aim well

-so many jokes

-so much pain and suffering and hoping the latest science magazine can help.

-got some black market action to get meds or recover property

-making sketchy medical machines out of what they can find lying around

-a few mental breakdowns including one that became a “lets burn everything in site fuck this war. Fuck the government

-they whole new year eve episode. Here’s a clip. You can skip to 35 if ya want

-getting winter suppliers in summer and summer supplies in winter

-fighting in three wars and now being the only one left alive from your group

-some wonderful group moments,poker, singing, dancing, trying to celebrate before the war comes back full swing (like this time)

-complaing about staff meetings and regulations and how hard it is to get supplies

-sketchy high level officers

-doctors not giving up on a patient

-there’s so much more that I wouldn’t even be able to type all out and few that I want to keep secret for avoiding spoilers in case you do watch it or anyone reading this

-but like honestly it’s a comedy and a tragedy and a medical show rolled into one. I have never cried or laughed so hard until I found this show. It actual aged well somehow. 11 seasons. Deadass bought all the seasons.

And I can see Ratchet being a colonel potter being fed up with everyone and kinda giving up. On reigning in some of the terror so he comprises. Expect you know, the war in cybertron gets worse. Ratchet loses more and more mechs on the table. Ratchet starts losing doctors and nurses. It just gets more and more depressive. Add in like Pharma going mad from the stress or others swapping sides. Like maybe have Knockout being trained at their medic center then leaving one day. He’s seen chapters later at a con medic area.

Ratchet himself or maybe some of the doctors start going out further trying to scavenge out supplies from peoples works and homes, seeing the graffiti and destruction and occasional energon splatter on the wall.

Pulling out pads with medical books scouring through the index and pages trying to find something, anything to help the patient.

Mourning the low supplies that he can’t even give out normal routine additives/meds because he has to stockpile them for a try emergency.

Also like Ratchet would HATE having to bug out and would def say fuck all this and stay with a patient until they can move them.

Pre-war / no war au that focuses on a young!Ratchet and it's a parody of the medical dramas I love so much

[wordynerdygurl]

Hello Everyone! I've been conspiring with @sammy-jo1977 to create a new series of sorts. We want to explore all those characters that started us on our journey into Fandoms, large and small.

This series will be a place for those ladies and gents who haven't had a lot of attention recently, are old favorites or the ones you can't seem to shake. If you would like to contribute a chapter to this guide, please send me a message! We want to have a full and accurate guide, so we are hoping you'll hop in with your character of expertise!

As an example, I'm posting our first story... I'd love to get your thoughts! With Love - Your WordyNerdyGurl

In The Stacks - A Rupert Giles Story

Author’s Note:  This story is due, in large part, to my beta-bestie @sammy-jo1977 and it is part of the afore mentioned series.  This character might be off television, but his fiery spirit lives on!! As always, reblogs/ shares are encouraged as are comments and love!

Pairing:  Female Reader x Giles (Buffy The Vampire Slayer Series) Summary:  You get up to mischief with the librarian, in the stacks. Warnings:  SMUT ahead.  General Buffy knowledge might help, but is not required.  There’s a moment with a bit of blood, but hopefully nothing too triggering for anyone! I hope you enjoy!

“Mr. Giles?” “Just a moment!”  You heard the clipped British voice answer before being drowned out by the heavy thumping of falling books and the rustling sound of shifting papers hitting the floor. As you stepped further into the Sunnydale High library, you weren’t surprised to see the familiar faces of Buffy, Willow, Xander and Cordelia huddled around a small table.  The friends were practically inseparable and clearly close.  You found their kinship adorable and couldn’t help smiling at the group as you drew closer. “Hello to some of my best students!  And of course, to you Mr. Harris.  How is everyone today?”

Willow, stalwart student and overachiever, smiled broadly, “Pretty good.  I did ace my math quiz and got an A on my English paper… but, well, I only pulled a B on my Bio test and I just know that I could have done better.” Offering her friend a consoling pat to the shoulder, Buffy sighed, “It’s ok, Will.  You’ll get those cells next time!” “Tune in next week as Willow passes her AP Biology test with flying colors, on ‘As Sunnydale Turns’!” Before anyone could counter, Giles came around the corner carrying a sturdy stack of texts which he dropped onto the table as gently as the large load allowed, “As always, you four are the best assistants a librarian could ask for.” “Come on Giles!  You know I only hang out here for the beautiful ladies!” Pinching the bridge of his strong nose, Rupert Giles sighed, “I am well aware of where your interests lie, Xander.” “Please, he can hardly handle being with one beautiful girl.”  That was from Cordelia who pouted prettily, her hand mirror open as she fixed her hair. “My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen!  Thanks for that, Cordy.” Snapping the case shut, staring down her beau, she smiled, “You’re welcome.” “Uh, Mr. Giles, if I may?”  You hated to interrupt but you had come in with a purpose and you meant to see it through. “Yes, of course, how can I help?” Shuffling your feet, a bit nervous now with the asking, you smiled shyly, “I asked at the local library but they were absolutely no help.  You see, I’m looking for a specific point of reference and I was led to believe that you could help me.” “Oh!  Is it something for our Inner Vision collage boards?  I love working on mine, only… It’s not my fault that I only see dark clouds and blood when I close my eyes.” “Well, Miss Summers, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  And the best art challenges us to see that beauty.” “I hate to tell you what I see when I close my eyes.”  Xander retorted. “Ah, Mr. Harris, your collage certainly showcases your, ahem, cultured world view.” “Hey!  The Simpsons are fine art, ok?  Just because they don’t live in a museum doesn’t mean they aren’t culture.” Giles, unable to stand by any longer griped, “Xander, I am almost positive that cartoons do not count as culture.” You started to answer but Buffy cut you short, adding, “Don’t mind Giles.  If it doesn’t come out of some dirty, dusty old book it can’t be culture.” “It’s pop culture!  The entertainment of my generation!” It was your turn to cut in, turning to the tweed clad gentleman, “Actually, Mr. Giles, Xander has a point.  Cartoons and animation in general are all increasingly seen as valid forms of art.  No matter what your tomes might tell you.” Smirking a little, he appraised your answer before replying, “Be that as it may, Mr. Harris, the amount of television you consume is corrosive.” Raising his hands in defense, Xander’s head swiveled between the two of you as Willow chimed in, “Give it up, Xander.  You know you’ll never win and besides, I’m pretty sure that animation and art are different.  Wait.  They are, aren’t they?” “When I was in Rome last summer, the very attractive, very Italian tour guide told us that they’ve found painted graffiti on the Coliseum.  It only goes to prove that times change but people don’t.” “Cordy’s right!  About the art, not the dishy Italian.  And they didn’t paint it, they carved it.”  Bouncing her blonde hair decisively, Buffy made her declaration.   “Wouldn’t paint be easier?  I mean, who wants to carry a chisel in order to deface a wall?” “Oh!  Oh!  I know this!  The kind of paint needed to last for centuries hadn’t been invented yet!”  Willow, lifting out of her seat in the excitement of academic excellence, was giddy. “Yes, Willow, that is correct.  In fact, a lot of the graffiti is simple and very crude.  Mostly of the phallus, if memory serves.  I’m sure I can find a documented case in Agrippa if you’ll all just-” And you watched as everyone rolled their eyes as Giles trailed off, lost now in the hunt for a specific volume which could be sited, should further proof be needed. “Ew.  Pass.” “I’m with Buffy here, Giles.  Keep your Grecian graffiti out of my brain.” “I’ll stick with the Simpsons, thank you very much.” “Yes, well.  It’s not Grecian at all, is it?  It’s Roman-” Smiling broadly, Buffy hopped off the table, “Giles is right.  The Greeks were more into orgies!” “Buffy!”  Willow’s shocked response made you cover a laugh with a fake cough. “-Of course, cites are rare.  Very difficult to find documentation.”  Giles, typically, hadn’t given up the search. Cutting through the chatter, louder than it ever needed to be, the period bell sounded. "Ugh.  Gym class for me.  Why is this even a thing?" "I don't know Buffy, I thought you liked showing off in your little shorts and beating the boys at basketball." "Cordy, that's enough.  And while us boys do love looking at you, Buff... we don't love the beatings you regularly deliver." "Well, I have a free period Giles!  Do you want me to stay and -" Snapping shut the leather book he was gripping, Giles caught your eye and turned to the peppy student, "Uh, no Willow, I don't think so.  I believe I need to see what our Art Department is in need of at the moment." With a shrug, Willow began packing up her belongings as Xander slung his back back over his shoulder, "Will, you can come with me.  I'm going to find a nice little corner, under a tree, and sleep away my study hall." “But, I… I could help find the Agrippa?  Or… some other old Roman book?” Xander wrapped an arm around Willow and took Cordelia’s open hand, “But why do that when nothing calls?” "Another fine example of your scholastic aptitude, Mr. Harris", was your parting shot at the foursome as they walked out the door. "Well. Mr. Giles, now that we’re alone… Could I talk you into helping me out?" “Of course, of course.”  Pushing his glasses further up his nose, fixing his light eyes on yours, “What are we looking for?” Sighing deeply, knowing the chances were slim, “I was hoping we would find some examples of Pre-Columbian deity carvings.” Pausing, his look serious, Giles peered at you, “Interesting.  Anything in particular?” “Yes, actually.”  Again you flushed, more than a little flustered at what you were really looking for, “I’m researching fertility icons.” Raising his eyebrows, Giles started, more than a little outside of his comfort zone, but you had to give him credit.  He recovered from the shock rather quickly, “Oh… I… I see.  Well yes, I’m sure we can find… something.  If you’ll follow me, please.” “I’m right behind you.”  Biting into your bottom lip, you smiled to yourself.  Right behind Mr. Giles?  What a place to be.  Giles led the young art teacher through the deepest stacks of the library, pausing once or twice to confirm that she was keeping up with him.  He was ashamed to admit that he had lost travelers a time or two as he stalked through his overstuffed shelves, knowing instinctively where to find the book he needed most. For her, watching the tweed covered bottom of Mr. Giles was no hardship.  True, he was older and tad bit reserved in the best British way, yet she had the sneaking suspicion that underneath all the wool and starched cotton was the heart of a wild man poet. "Uh... just a bit further, I'm afraid.  Books like this, well, I keep them at a greater remove." "It makes sense.  Don't want the kiddos getting a hold of anything too tantalizing." "Of course not.  As you well know, they don't need much help in the libidinous response department." You chuckled softly, nodding as the air around you grew stuffier, "Too true!  You should see what some of them turn in and call art.  It would make a blind man blush." And at the mention of blushing, you were shocked to see a rosy hue grow on Mr. Giles' cheeks.  You liked it.  It reminded you of the high color in a Vermeer painting.  You couldn’t help the flutter in your belly at the thought, "Mr. Giles, have you ever seen a South American fertility statue?" "I can't say that I have... have... have you?"  Something about the idea of you examining an ancient artifact directly connected to sexual congress made his body stir.  "Hmm... Oh, yes.  I was able to study in Mexico for a semester.  Some of the art work is just incredible and the carvings, they're truly magnificent.  Carefully made.  Usually stone or..." swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry, "hard wood." Breaking fast at the implication in your words, Giles froze in place which caused you to press directly against his broad, vest covered back.  You had a second to register the soft scent of his aftershave; something spicy and masculine, which made your mouth water.  Moaning quietly, you offered a weak apology, “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Giles.” Offering you his profile, the bookcases too cramped for him to turn around fully, you saw his sweet smile, “That’s… that’s quite alright.  In fact, we’re here.” Stepping out of the way, you pushed back against the opposite wall, the shelves digging into your spine in the confined space.  Giles bent over, giving you a great view of his backside, as he extracted a slim book from the bottommost ledge.  When he stood up, directly in front of you, the narrow, book covered alcove caused him to stumble. Giles’ chest collided with your own, forcing the air out of your lungs.  Instinctively, you lifted a leg, curling it over the swell of one trousered hip and lifting the hem of your knee length plaid kilt.  Nose to nose in a compromising position, you exhaled a shaky breath as Mr. Giles inhaled, “Close quarters around here.” Shifting under his deceptively hard figure, it was difficult to ignore all the places that were firm to the touch, especially when you could feel so much through the thin barrier of your cotton panties.  Bracing one arm on the obliging shelf biting into your shoulder, Giles pushed back a bit, lifting his weight off of you without making any other attempts to move away.  He was so close now.  Close enough to feel your fuzzy sweater and all the soft skin that trembled beneath it.  Close enough to see the pound of your pulse in your throat.  Close enough that when you licked over your bottom lip Giles could almost taste it too.  And why shouldn’t he?  “Giles?”  Your voice was whisper soft, fanning hotly over the face of your colleague. “Uh… yes?” “I’m stuck.” Blinking behind his thick lenses, it took the normally quick witted Brit a second to process your words, “You’re stuck?” Nodding slowly, your hair curling over your cheek, “My… My skirt.  It’s… uh, caught.  Caught on something behind me.” “Good heavens!  I’m so sorry, let me help you.”  Slowly, Giles lowered your bare leg to the floor, his hand lingering for a second longer than absolutely necessary.  He was still in your space.  Still incredibly close to you. You arched away from the bookcase in an attempt to free yourself with a groan that sounded heady in the stuffy stacks.  All you managed to do was force your sweater covered décolletage into Giles’ chest.  Stammering, a wave of sweat breaking over his brow, “Allow me?” The way your skirt was caught pulled the bright plaid lower on your waist than you would normally consider decent.  It meant that you had a fleshy strip of skin exposed along your tummy and Giles raised his eyebrows by means of asking permission to touch you.  “Yea, yes.  Please!” Tentatively, gently, you felt the strong fingers of Rupert Giles circle your waist and shivered at the unfamiliar familiarity of his touch.  Your chin rested on his shoulder as he worked and you couldn’t help sighing when he opened his hands and pulled you closer.  Under other circumstances you might have misunderstood the embrace but you were both professionals.  Not that you hadn’t considered the handsome book guardian a time or two before. “I… I think we’re almost there.  If you’ll just, maybe to the right?” “Um, sure.”  Following his directions you twisted in his arms, trying hard not to tear your outfit or rub against Giles.  All the close contact and talk of fertility gods had you feeling a little aroused and it wouldn’t do for your colleague to learn that fact. With a triumphant grunt, Giles set you free, only for gravity to kick back in.  The momentum created by your falling took the gentleman and the entire Grollier’s Gothic Almanac collection with you.  A cascade of papers, scrolls and dust rained down on you both. Coughing, aware that you were laying on something softer than the floor, you struggled into a sitting position, swatting away clouds of disintegrated pages, “Rupert?  Are you alright?” From beneath you a rumbling grumble that sounded like, “Yes quite… you?” was heard.  It was then that you realized exactly where you were.  Straddling your friendly neighborhood librarian, surrounded by debris, but safe, all the same. “Oh my!  I’m so-” “No, No.  Please, don’t apologize.  I’ve been meaning to reorganize this section and well, now it seems I’ve got no choice.” “You’ve got a bump.  Right here…”  Just over his right eye a small bruised egg, the color of lilacs, was starting to rise and you gingerly touched the swelling spot. “Then it will match the one on the back of my head perfectly.” “Poor Giles!  All of this injury in the name of research!” “No one ever tells you the dangers one might encounter in the library.” His dry British wit sent you both into giggles and suddenly nothing could be funnier than the moment you were in with Mr. Giles.  Looking up at you, his fingertip traced over your cheek, suddenly serious, “I’m not the only one with a war wound, it appears.” “Oh?”  Your hand covered his as you realized that you had a small cut, bleeding just a little, over the apple of your jaw.  Smoothing his thumb over your injury, Giles soothed you, saying, “Hush now, I think you’ll live.”  And you watched as Giles sucked the drop of scarlet from the pad there, his green eyes on yours, daring you.  Something about it was so… sinful.  So dark.  So alluring. Then his lips were on yours, suddenly and savagely.  Hands, firm and capable, slid under the fluff of your sweater along your spine as you tangled your own in his dark hair.  Giles, drawing you near, was satisfied only when you were splayed over him, writhing between the piles of text and stacks of piled paperbacks, as his tongue plundered your mouth. Trapped by his bent knees at your bottom, Giles helped center you over the firmness of his excitement, teasing you as you moaned, “Oh, oh Rupert!” “Call me Ripper.”  Before the word had left your throat, Giles was sloppily kissing over your neck, sucking lightly on the skin revealed by the v-neck of your top.  Sitting up quickly, you lifted the soft sweater over your head, tossing it away from you without concern.  Like one of the teenagers you might chastise, you then hugged your lover tight, gasping when you felt the nip of teeth over your bra.  “Giles… Uh, Ripper!  Please, go easy?”  With a hard grip on your upper thigh and one hand on the back of your neck, Giles held you still, smirking, “If you wanted easy you shouldn’t have come looking for fertility icons, my dear little art teacher.  And if this particular article of clothing-” He paused long enough to pinch at your hardening nipple before continuing, “-is dear to you, take it off.” Clenching your abdominals at his crass language, more turned on that you could remember, you reached behind you.  Unhooking the pretty scrap of lace and satin, you shyly covered yourself, biting into your bottom lip, “Fine… Ripper.  Should I be worried for my virtue?” “Absolutely.”  Without waiting for permission, Giles pulled your arms away, exposing your bare body to his blazing gaze, “You have nothing to hide, you know?  You are-” “Just shut up and kiss me, Ripper.”  And he did. Grinding your hips into his, it was impossible to ignore his hardening manhood, even through the fabric of his pressed trousers.  Giles cupped your bottom, under your skirt but over your panties, bouncing you in place as if he was already inside of you.  For your part, you tried to unbutton his pin striped shirt, but the force of his kisses was proving too distracting. “Oh, dear!  Poor thing been kissed senseless?”  He was teasing and cruel, but in the sexiest possible way. Red cheeked and huffing, you nodded, “Yes… let me touch you!” “Tsk… you didn’t say ‘please’.” “Please!  Please, Ripper!  Oh god, please let me!” Unseating you slightly, Giles leaned up on his elbows, cocking his head to one side as he took in the mess he had made of you, “Go ahead then.  Unzip my pants.” “What?” Removing his glasses, eyeing you darkly, “You heard me, I think.” Swallowing hard, your hands shaking with excitement, you reached for Giles’ belt.  Watching him, and only him, you slowly slide the leather from it’s buckle.  When you popped the button of his pants and let your hand drag over his hardened length, Rupert groaned and tossed his head back, “Yes.  Keep going.” Slowly, agonizingly so, you lowered the zipper as you were ordered to do, “What now, Ripper?” “Take me out.  I want you to feel what you do to me.” “I can do that.”  You played it cool, but the saucy words being said in that clipped British baritone did things to you.  They made your thighs tighten, your belly flutter and your breath catch.   Trailing a hand over Giles' barely exposed hip, you moved closer to the prize, your prize, as it pulsed with need.  Wrapping your hand around the meaty girth of Rupert's member, you couldn't help stroking the silky hot skin, so vital in your palm.  That it caused the man beneath you to moan your name only added fuel to the fire of your desire. Slick and sorely wanting, you licked your lips, ready to savor the flavor of your book stacking beau but he stopped you, saying, "Last chance to run back to the studio." "No way… Ripper."  And you felt a rough jerk as your panties were removed by force, the air cool on your overheated core.  Another kiss, full of needful things, distracted you as Giles parted your lower lips with his nimble fingers. Pumping into you, once, twice, just to ensure that you were ready, Rupert swiftly stretched your center.  With your small hand guiding his shaft, you lowered yourself onto the engorged tower of his power, crying out a ragged, "Oh God!" You thought you were capable of handling any man, but the delicious spread Giles' fine form forced you to endure was more than you expected.  Clutching at his bunched up sweater vest, your back arched tautly as Rupert dragged your hips down onto his unrelenting hardness over and over.   In your head, a rhythmic, tribal tattoo that made you think of ancient fires and curved statues took hold and you rose and fell against Giles on the beats vibrating through your brain.  He sensed it too, alternating his stroke, slowing down and speeding up in time with the thrumming pulse only the pair of you could hear.  "I want you to cum for me.  Do you understand?  Tell me you understand." "Yes!  Yes!  I'm so close, Ripper!  So close!" "Good.  That's very good."  Tingling now, your muscles tensed, ready for the release Rupert would provide.  You flung yourself onto his swollen sex without thought or reason, merely searching for the pleasure he had promised.  His thumb, so thick, so clever, pressed against your sensitive clit and your world imploded. Rupert felt it.  The moment your body and his melded together was forceful.  It tore his pleasure from his loins in grunting gasps as he experienced your ecstacy at his hands. Limp and listless, you draped your half nude body over his, dazed and drained.  Who knew screwing the librarian would feel this good?  In your post coital haze you started to laugh.  Giles, his hands roaming over the sweat soaked skin of your back, heard your chuckles and joined in.  It was another release, of sorts, and you found it almost as intimate as the act you had just committed. Folding your hands under your chin, flashing Rupert a wide smile, "Ripper, huh?" Sliding his glasses back into place and carding a hand through his hair, Giles grinned, "Oh, uh… yes.  Ripper.  My nickname in London." Toying with the collar of his shirt, "I'd love to hear about London sometime… Ripper." At the sound of that name in your voice, Rupert flexed inside of you, "Call me that again and you'll miss last period." Gasping against him, nodding weakly, "Hmm… promise?" That made him smile broadly as he handed you back your sweater, "We can't have a repeat of last week, can we?" "It wasn’t my fault you didn't hear the bell ring, Mr. Giles!" Sitting up, you fastened your bra and shrugged into your sweater before asking, "Did you have to destroy my undies?" "I'm afraid I did.  Although I told you to remove anything dear, didn't I?" "What am I gonna do for the next hour, Giles?" Pushing his glasses up, "I would advise you not to bend over." Swatting at him playfully, you used one of the sturdier shelves to stand, adjusting your skirt and fluffing your hair.  Looking around at the absolute mess created by falling books, embarrassed, you asked, "Can I help clean this up?" "No, I don't think that'll be necessary.  After all, Willow will be in-" "Along with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia.  Got it." Standing himself, Giles chuckled as he fastened his trousers and set himself to rights, "Precisely.  Now-" he bent over to retrieve a slim volume, "- The book you asked about.  Fertility iconography in Meso-American subcultures." "Thanks.  Ya know, I always enjoy coming to the library.  I'm surprised more people don't." Walking with you, his hand on your lower back, nuzzling into your neck, "I enjoy you cumming in the library." It was on the tip of your tongue to say something fresh when the overly loud bell clanged.  Lifting up on tiptoes you pressed a kiss to the goose egg over Giles' eye, saying, "I hope that makes it feel better!" Snagging you into a tight hug, Giles stared into your eyes before kissing you deeply, "That.  That makes it feel better." And then the library door swung wide on the four students who called the library a second home, "Um… are my eyes deceiving me or is Giles sporting a black eye?  I was only gone for an hour, big guy, what happened?" "If you must know, Xander, a shelf collapsed in the back.  We were fortunate enough not to be badly hurt but, there were some bumps and bruises." "A shelf!  Oh no… which one?!" Giles turned to Willow solemnly, "I'm afraid all the Grollier’s… and most of Crentist." "On it.  Come on Xander.  You can help me sort!" "Aw, gee.  That sounds like fun." As the pair trotted off, you turned to Giles, whispering low, "Dinner?  My place?  You can tell me about London, your childhood and why you love tweed." Eyeing Buffy, who was distracted and a distraught, Giles answered, "Tonight?  Um…" "He'd love to!  Say 9 o'clock?  And, he'll bring the wine."

Spinning on your heel, surprised that Buffy was your champion, you grinned, "Great!  Awesome!  I will see you then."

As you left you heard the bubbly blonde doling out instructions, "No Giles.  You can't wear that outfit to dinner!  You need to look nice.  Nicer than you do now.  Also, why is there so much dust in your hair?" If Giles answered you didn’t hear it over your big yawn.  You had a lot to do between now and 9 o’clock.  Rupert Giles was coming over for dinner and you could hardly wait.

------ Fin ------- I’m tagging my minxes, even though this is specifically NOT a Loki story.  I do want you guys to send me stories that might fall under the “Hot Characters” banner though!   Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion​ @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​ @jenjen8675309​​ @that-one-person​​ @roguewraith​​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 2

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

Richard Slessman's bedroom looks like something straight out of a serial killer documentary. floral wallpaper taunts Morgan and I as we walk inside. a model airplane hangs above his bed; cheap medals-- the kind kids get for participation-- decorate the area above his desk, which is littered with books about forensics. there's a carousel of CDs, too.

"whoa." is my brilliant analysis.

"we should have Garcia check out this guy's laptop." Morgan starts to wander around the room, trying to piece together Slessman's head just by examining his things. a group of cops are already huddled at the table with the laptop open, and I realize too late what they're doing.

"log in password." one of them plucks a post-it off the screen, starts to type it in.

"wait, wait--" Morgan and I nearly lunge toward them, but the crackling sound of a fizzing motherboard tells me we're too late. the screen goes black.

"it's not turning back on." Genius #1 observes. Morgan sighs and squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.

"yeah, and it won't. it's a false password."

the cops stare up at us blankly.

"it triggers a complete shut down of his system." I clarify. they share a look, deservedly feeling stupid. I want to roll my eyes, but Morgan's told me that the police on these cases get defensive most of the time; they don't like us on their turf. one glance from my partner, though, and those guys flee the room without another word.

I pull out my phone and dial Garcia's number in the hopes that she can salvage whatever's left of this asshole's computer. we arrested him an hour ago and we can only hold him with probable cause because we don't have any charges yet. this house search could be our only chance to get him in custody.

"well hello, my fresh-faced beauty queen." Penelope answers on the second ring. a slight smile turns up the corners of my mouth.

"hi, Penelope." I watch Derek plugging something into the laptop, then opening another monitor next to it. "listen, Morgan's trying to set up Richard Slessman's computer and I was wondering if you'd be able to hack into it."

"oh, kitten," she sighs contentedly. "that's my bread and butter."

"great. I'm putting you on speaker." I press a button and wait for Morgan to talk. he's typing furiously until a tab pops up with the words "Deadbolt Defense" in bold above a box for a password.

"what's the six at the bottom of the screen mean?" I ask.

"remaining password attempts until it wipes the hard drive." Morgan replies. shit.

"Penelope, there might be a journal or document or something that tells us where Heather is." I inform her.

"what system are we talking?" she asks.

"Deadbolt Defense?"

"Deadbolt is the number one crack-resistant software out there, hon. you're gonna need to get inside this guy's head for the password."

my heart sinks. when my colleague double takes, it makes me think that this is a rare occurrence.

"babygirl, are you serious?" Morgan complains. my shoulders droop. Penelope has been nothing short of genius since I got here. slicing through sealed files and unfurling secret criminal records is always ridiculously easy for her.

"sorry, handsome."

"thanks anyway." I hang up and shove my phone into my back pocket. "so... what now?"

"now," Morgan takes another look around the room. "we get creative."

...

somehow, I wind up in the attic. I don't really know how this happens, seeing as I started by flipping through discs in Slessman's weird quasi-childlike bedroom, but it's certainly an interesting space. Christmas lights are strung about, along with some shawl-like material that drapes raw ceiling.

the laptop sits in front of me, password cursor blinking mockingly while I sit in the chair. my head is aching. despite having the unit go through every single one of the CDs in search of the most-played one (hoping it'll crack the password), there's been nothing.

at least there have been other successes since we got here: we know that Slessman isn't operating on his own. he's the submissive in a partnership with Timothy Vogel, a prison guard where he was incarcerated a while back. the problem is that Vogel was onto us and fled to the kidnapping site, which we can't find. I feel useless sitting here with nothing to offer.

I consider going back downstairs and perusing the room again when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Reid's head pops into the room, spinning a bent paper clip between his fingers.

"hey." I greet curiously.

"I've been thinking about the CDs." he responds, walking over to me. I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes.

"we tried it, Reid. there's nothing there," I slam my back to the cushions with an exasperated groan. "if we don't find something, this girl is dead."

instead of replying, Reid bends down next to the laptop in front of me, squinting at the DVD slot in the side. he pokes the end of his bent paper clip into the small opening.

"I think we may have missed the obvious." he murmurs, working diligently. I scowl.

"what do you--?" in response to my question, the DVD slot pops open and out slides a copy of a Metallica CD. Reid and I look at each other with wide eyes before I snatch the disc out of of the computer and stare at it. "what made you think of this?"

"it was the only empty case." he shrugs. I grin at him.

"okay, okay," we still don't have the password. I read the cover of the case he hands me. "I'm an insomniac who listens to Metallica to fall asleep. what song would make me do that?"

Spencer frowns, grabs the thing back from my hands, and scans the track list within the span of a second.

"'Enter Sandman'." he says. I watch the puzzle pieces fall into place in his brain, those lips parting with a slight smile playing at the edges. his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

"you are a national treasure." I type like the wind, unlocking the screen and immediately digging into his files. Spencer peers over my shoulder as we search for any indication of Heather's location.

"fucking bingo." I mutter when a video feed pops up. it's black-and-white, showing a crate in the corner of the room with a light hanging above it. Heather's inside, eyes duct taped and hands tied in front of her.

Spencer is already dialing Hotch's number. the blood drains from my face as I watch her trying to breathe through the gag in her mouth.

nothing in the feed is helpful in terms of finding out where she is. it's a nondescript room with wooden floors, mostly shrouded in darkness except for the light hanging overhead.

"wait a minute." I pause what I'm doing.

"hm?" Reid asks. I hit a few keys, trying something.

"I'm lining up the last twelve images." I explain as he watches me work. the photos sit in a grid on the screen, causing my heart to stop in my chest when I notice what I've been meaning to find. "look at the light."

"it's shifting positions like it's swaying," he notices. "like the earth is tilting."

"the ocean." I nod. we share another glance, both of our hearts hammering. we're so close to solving this, I can feel it in my chest. "we need to tell Hotch. find out if there are any piers or docks near here. there's no way he could get the webcam image from the middle of the ocean."

Reid nods, runs downstairs as fast as he possibly can. when he goes, I notice the board in the corner of the room: Go, mid-game. I've never learned how to play.

...

by the time I get back to my apartment that night, my limbs feel like jello. I collapse into the chair by my door and rub my eyes again. my head is still pounding now that the adrenaline rush has subsided. we ended up finding Vogel at the docks; Heather is safe. Hotch was shot in the arm, but he'll be fine. and I'm still a little in shock.

I hate the rumble of my stomach as I realize I haven't eaten since this morning. my head was too full of other thoughts to even consider food and after such a long day, I can barely fathom getting up to change into pajamas.

my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see that Garcia texted me.

what are you up to? followed by a series of emojis that make me smile. I sink deeper into the seat before replying.

nothing why?

can I bring over takeout?

I stare at the message for a second with surprise. Garcia is fun and we've had drinks as a team, but I've never hung out with her one-on-one before. I'm curious.

sure. what genre of food should I expect?

Thai. send me your order!

that sounds so good right now, I almost order it myself. part of me is nervous about hanging out with a team member by myself, except she's been so friendly to me. Penelope was the first person to make me feel at home, aside from Prentiss.

I wait patiently for her to arrive, watching some TV and working my way through some leftover paperwork. my thoughts are everywhere right now, but when she tells me she's downstairs, I try to put it all out of my mind.

"hey!" I open the door to see Garcia with an armful of plastic bags.

"I have your curry, and I got chicken satay and spring rolls and fried rice in case you're still hungry." she beams at me. her bracelets make a pleasant clinking noise as she waves the goodies around.

"a woman after my own heart." I smile, stepping aside to let her in. we head upstairs and before long, we're settled on my couch with a full display of food on the coffee table. I heap my plate while she looks around my space.

"this place is so cute!" she says through a bite of spring roll.

"thanks. I've had it for about two years now. that window over there was really the selling point." I point to the enormous view of downtown DC, which is sparkling right now. there's another chair set in front of it, where I sometimes read or nap in my free time.

as we eat, Penelope and I gossip about work and the city and everything else. she's really easy to talk to. when I ask about her life, she doesn't seem guarded at all; unlike a lot of FBI agents I've met, she wears her experiences on her sleeve.

"how are you liking the team so far?" she asks a similar question as I received this morning. I smile to myself before answering truthfully.

"everyone is great. Hotch is kind of terrifying, but I've worked with people like him before." I shrug. he reminds me of one of my old professors: perpetually stoic to the point where he doesn't even seem like a real person. she laughs.

"he's super nice once you get to know him."

"really?" I look up.

"definitely. he's just always got that scowl on his face. don't let it put you off." she pats my hand reassuringly. I sigh, finish chewing my bite. there's been something prodding me since visiting Garcia's tech lair for the first time, when she showed me her collection of puppy calendars and fuzzy pens.

"can I ask you a question?"

"anything, my love." she smiles warmly. I hesitate, hoping I don't ruin the moment somehow.

"how did you get involved in the FBI? you just don't seem very..." my sentence trails off.

"government oriented?" she laughs. "I used to do a lot of hacking in my free time, and I got into some stuff that the government didn't like. and, um-- you know that saying, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em'?"

I nod.

"it was like that, except they hired me. and I love it." she finishes the last spring roll. I think on this, imagining Penelope doing something so serious that the American government hired her on the spot for her skills. it's interesting.

"so you don't profile at all." I state.

"technically no, but I've picked up a couple things." she smirks.

"oh, yeah? like what?"

"well, it's obvious that you're never home, based on the lack of decoration here." she refers to the mostly blank walls of my apartment. aside from a couple photos of my friends and family, there's not much unique to me. "and you've obviously got a candle addiction." she points to the various spots around the living room, where half-burned pots of wax sit patiently awaiting their next light.

"that's definitely true." I laugh. she gets up and starts to smell the various candles.

"I like this one a lot." she sets down my chai vanilla one. I let her go through my things, despite the fact that Garcia is incredibly reserved about people touching her own little office trinkets. she picks up stray books and memorabilia, occasionally making a comment.

while she does, I finish my curry. I'm way too tired to resist her search, anyway. I'll be curling up in bed soon and praying that tomorrow is a paperwork day. eventually, she settles onto the cushions again.

"you seem tired," she says when she glimpses the dark circles beneath my eyes. "I'll get out of your hair."

"what? oh, I'm sorry." I draw myself up a little more. "this last case just took a lot out of me."

"they all do." she gives me a soft expression, then pats my knee as she stands.

"Penelope." I say as she gathers up her coat and purse.

"yes, darling?"

"thanks. for the food and for coming over." I smile gratefully at her. the tech analyst stands at my door with a look on her face that makes me think we're going to be good friends.

"anytime." she heads out, leaving me on the couch. I stare at the mess of empty takeout boxes that I told her to leave. now that I've eaten, getting up to clean the space is even more difficult. I trudge about the apartment, wash some dishes, and head off to bed.

my body is too exhausted to remember the dreams.

...

"oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I practically sprint into the conference room, swinging my bag down by my feet as I grab the last open chair. JJ is standing at the front of the room with a new case on the screen. everyone stares at me as I settle in. "my train was super delayed."

"everyone is allowed to be late," Hotch barely glances up from the case file. "once."

a chill runs down my spine and my face flushes an embarrassing red as JJ passes me the remaining file. keeping my head down, she notices my discomfort and clears her throat.

"okay, you guys are heading to Arizona today." she clicks a button. some pictures pop up for us to see. "Bradshaw College in Tempe has had six fires in seven months."

it's a video recording of a building from the outside, and two students talking about a fire inside. the camera shifts to show them in their own dorm, examining a strange wet spot leaking into their room. and then one of them catches on fire.

he burns to death on tape. it's jarring, the shrieking noises he lets out as the flames engulf his body. they travel up his legs alarmingly fast, so much so that it's obviously chemical.

"the first fire was in March, the second in May. the third didn't happen until September." JJ explains once the clip is over. "and then two weeks later, there were three that happened in one night."

"he's speeding up." Prentiss observes from her spot next to me.

"82% of arsonists are white males between seventeen and twenty-seven. female arsonists are far less common, with motives usually limited to revenge." Reid sits across the table, adjusting his watch.

I raise my eyebrows at his fact and look more at the crime scene photos. burned flesh is definitely an uncomfortable sight, one that makes my stomach churn.

"sounds like he's a student." Morgan taps his pen against his fingertip and leans back in his chair.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hotch continues to read the document. "we don't want to rely too much on precedent."

at this, I press my knuckles to my chin and try to think of other suspects. he's obviously doing these during the school year, but that doesn't necessitate that he's a student. he could be working on campus-- a professor, even.

"there's a rapid escalation. he's gone from the damage to a building to something far more satisfying." Morgan closes the file and we all look to Hotch.

"wheels up in thirty." he says. I get up to grab my go-bag and gather some things from my desk, my cheeks burning at the memory of being late again. I've never done that before, but I don't want to start now. maybe it's best if I start coming in early, just in case my train gets delayed again. I can't risk losing this job, or being moved to a different department. it was enough of a hassle switching from sex crimes to the BAU. I really want to settle into this position, and that includes having the unit chief not hate me.

"hey." Prentiss catches my wrist just as I'm hurrying out of the room. I turn to her.

"hi."

"a little birdy told me that you and Reid pretty much single-handedly solved that case yesterday." she smiles.

"oh, no. it wasn't just us." I shake my head.

"quit being modest. nice job." she nudges my shoulder as we walk down the steps to the bullpen. "also, I brought a couple of those horticulture magazines that I told you about. we should read them on the jet."

"no way!" I pause at my desk, grinning.

"one of them has a whole section on caring for orchids."

"orchids?" Morgan overhears her from his desk. he appears deeply concerned with our discussion.

"if you have to ask, you wouldn't understand." she smirks. he turns his attention to me in hopes of a clearer answer.

"it's plant care." my explanation seems to be enough to bore him, however, because he just shrugs and returns to packing his bag up. Emily waves the stack of magazines at me before I head over to her desk.

she doesn't really seem like the type of person to be into it, but when Emily caught sight of the air plants I've got scattered on my desk my first week, we got wrapped up in a conversation about them. there's a special magazine subscription as well that has a bunch of helpful tips about where to buy and how to keep them healthy.

I'm flipping through one of the copies on the way to the elevator, my nose buried in a section about how much to water Hoyas, when Reid and JJ pop in next to me. the blonde is on the phone with someone, presumably the Tempe police. I haven't seen much of her recently-- she's been staying behind for most cases-- but she sends me a sweet smile before returning to her call.

"what are you reading?" Spencer's eyes hungrily run over the paper, as if seeing something he hasn't already absorbed in that big brain is unbearable. his hair is slicked back as usual, and his tie is sort of crooked; he's not aware of it. I hold the material between us so he can take a peek.

"a magazine about plants that Prentiss and I like."

"fascinating. can I see?" he grabs it before I can answer, although I don't think he means to. his fingertip runs down the page quickly, and then he's flipping them like mad, staring at the pictures. my eyes widen at how eager he is; I guess his curiosity is enough to override any awkwardness.

"did you know that owning indoor plants is actually correlated to overall mood improvements?" he asks me once he finishes reading, attention still focused on the back cover. the elevator door to the main level slides open.

"no, but I'm proof of it," I take back the reading material and put it in my bag. we walk out into the lobby. his long legs mean that my pace has to quicken a bit in order to keep up. "something about taking care of them is quite nice. they don't need as much attention as a pet, but they still rely on you."

"interesting." he nods.

"I like to think so."

"maybe I'll get one." he muses more to himself than anyone else. I smile at his open-mindedness, keep my eyes on the tiles we're walking over. maybe he, Prentiss, and I can have our own affinity club. he would become more knowledgeable than both of us combined within the span of a week.

[notquiteapex]

VodBot, and taking off the training wheels.

Part 2 of a series on my own little command line application, VodBot. This one will be much longer than the first! You can read part one here. The images in this part were done in MS Paint because I'm currently stuck in an airport!

So last we left off, VodBot was in it's shelling out stage. It was able to process data from Twitch's servers and on the local disk and figure out what videos were missing, but it left the biggest function of actually obtaining that footage to the more mature programs. In addition, VodBot didn't help all that much with actually slicing up videos in prep for archival on YouTube, and lastly actually uploading to the archive channel on YouTube. These two things needed to change, for the sake of maintaining the project into the future, and also for me to keep my sanity.

Fun fact, Twitch uses the same API that's exposed to developers to build the entire website, and it's pretty well documented what OAuth Secret and ID they use, since you can easily find it in the HTML of any Twitch page. In case you don't know, an OAuth Secret and ID is essentially a password and username of a "user". No this does not mean you can easily access anyone's info, channel, etc. because this ID and Secret have limited functions, used only for making the site function on a web browser. In fact, VodBot has its own ID and Secret which are not available, because they're meant to be a secret unless you properly manage its permissions, which I have not (yet). Anyways, the way this little faux-login is used is to access Twitch's database of video data and metadata. It uses a special system called GraphQL, you don't need the details on it for this though. Whenever you pull up a video on your browser on Twitch's site, the ID and Secret are used to log in to this GraphQL database, and pull the relevant data to have it display video on your screen.

Streams on Twitch, when being watched after the stream is over, are sent in 15 second chunks. This is how many video platforms send video dynamically to your browser, allowing video to load while you watch! It's not always 15 seconds, it varies between platforms like Netflix, YouTube, Twitch, Amazon, etc. The database returns two important bits, first up is all the info on the video segments that Twitch has for a specific video. The other bit, is just all the 15 second video files that Twitch sends to your browser. VodBot is now able to save all these by itself without an extra program, but still requires ffmpeg to stitch it all together as these 15 second video clips use a special protocol and its not as easy as simply opening a file and writing the contents of each 15 seconds one after another.

Once ffmpeg does it's job, VodBot moves the video out to a proper archival location and removes the old metadata and all the 15 second video clips it pulled from Twitch's database. A major issue with this whole implementation is that Twitch, at any moment, can easily change out the ID and Secret, meaning all the apps that rely on it can break. Although it's not currently implemented, it wouldn't be difficult to have VodBot's main configuration file contain the current values and allow them to be changed in case Twitch breaks something.

Next, since we already require VodBot to have ffmpeg, we can use the method I talked about last time to slice videos and prep them for upload. Problem is, we have a lot of functions we need to make accessible from a simple command line interface, so I had to begin thinking about how to organize VodBot's functions.

I kept it simple enough. Want to download videos? Run `vodbot pull` and VodBot will do all the hard work and download any videos you don't have. You can give it the keywords `vods` or `clips` and it'll pull what you need, and soon giving it a specific video ID will download it too. Want to prepare videos to be sliced or uploaded? Run `vodbot stage add` with the appropriate identifier and VodBot will ask a series of questions about what the video title, description, and relevant timestamps of the VOD or clip to prepare it for upload to YouTube. Running `vodbot stage list` will also list the current videos in queue to upload, along with `vodbot stage rm` to remove them from the stage. Vodbot can output these videos with the appropriate information with `vodbot slice` and the appropriate stage ID, or just `all` with a specific file or folder location respectively. Lastly, `vodbot upload all` uploads all of the stage queue to YouTube, provided you are logged in. You can also just give a specific ID in place of `all` to upload a specific video.

All of these commands have a purpose, or have sub-commands that do something related to each other. Pull and upload also have aliases named download and push respectively, in case you like having either style. Personally I like the git style, but download and upload are a bit more descriptive.

That's all for now, next time we'll actually get to how Google handles it's exposed API and how it's pretty messy.

For now though, if you'd like to support me, you can follow me on Twitter, Twitch, or buy me a ko-fi!

[toomuchtv95]

Struggling Chapter 2

Characters: Jay Halstead,  Hank Voight, Antonio Dawson

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader (Eventually)

Word Count: 3k+

Chapter Warnings: Swearing ( I think that’s all)

A/N: I am working on a Damon Salvatore x Reader imagine because I am been re-watching TVD and I forgot how much I love Damon so of course I had to write something. So just keep an eye out for that. I am also working on Chapter 3

Series MasterList

You had a busy week at work, and you haven’t had time to think about what Antonio said about moving on. And unfortunately, you ran out of time to think, today was the 2nd anniversary of Ryan's death. Waking up this morning, you already started to feel like you were going to cry. While taking a shower, you had some time to think about moving on and how to do that. After showering, you went to the flower shop that sat on the corner of your block before heading to the cemetery. As you walked through the cemetery, you carefully stepped over the headstones as you made your way over to his headstone. The gravesite looked untouched like it always does. Ryan had no family that was close by to take care of the site, expect you.

Kneeling you placed the flowers on the ground and cleaned up the grass and leaves. "I know I haven't been around in a while and I'm sorry, but I'm been struggling a little more than usual.” You whispered as tears formed in your eyes causing blurriness. “It’s been two years and I still feel like it was yesterday when I got the news.”

"I still think that you are going to walk through the door and kiss me and tell you to love me, but you're not because you're gone. I'm mad at you for leaving me and I shouldn't because it's not your fault. We were barely married when you left, I wanted a life with you, I wanted kids with you and now that's not happening." Your voice cracked as choked out a sob. "The last two years have been hell and today is even worse, because I came here to tell you that I can't keep thinking you're coming home. I need to move on. You're not coming back, and I have to learn to live with that."

“I know it’s going to be hard, but I need to do it for myself. I need to be happy again because I am tired of being broken and alone.” You wiped your tears just as fresh ones formed. “I’ve read your letter again, and I think your right about letting go and finding someone else.” Taking a deep breath, you wiped the tears again, “last week one night, I spent the night eating take-out and watching a corny TV movie with a guy who cares for me more than a friend, but he would never tell me that because he knows I would just push him away. I think he could be someone to be more than a friend, but I will never know if I keep holding on to you." Taking a deep breath, you stood up and placed a hand on the headstone. "I love you and I always will, but I need to let you go and move on." Leaning down, you kissed the top of the headstone before turning around to see Antonio keeping a fair distance.

Antonio opened his arms as you approached him. You collided into arms and lot out a sob that you couldn’t hold back anymore. “It’s going to be okay," Antonio whispered as he rubbed your back as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “I know that was hard for you.”

You pulled away to wipe the tears, “yeah it was, but I have to move on. He’s not coming back.” Antonio wrapped his arm around your shoulder as the two of head back towards his car. Originally you weren’t going to go to work but staying at home and sulking around isn't healthy.  You needed to go to work.

Once the two of you were in his car, Antonio’s phone started to ring, which he took the call. You glanced over at him and you could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong. Once the call ended, you turned to look at Antonio, “what is it?” Antonio hesitated which caused you to worry. “Just tell me.”

“Jay’s security team was ambushed.” Jay was working his security job today and apparently while they were doing a deposit the team was ambushed and one of the guys was injured.

The whole car ride to the district you felt tense as you thought about Jay. Since the beginning of the year, you and Jay have gotten closer ever since you saved him when he was kidnapped while working an undercover op. Then when Jay took you home, and brought you food and stayed the night, you have just been feeling closer to him. Once the two of you got to the district, Antonio headed upstairs while you waited in the garage for Jay to show up. You paced the floor as your anxiety rose. You came to a stop when you saw Al walk in with Jay right behind him.

“Jay.” You immediately walked over to Jay and hugged him tightly.

"Y/N, I'm okay," Jay whispered against your hair as he wrapped an arm you. “Any word from Med about Terry?”

“No nothing yet.” The two of you pulled away and headed upstairs. Once the two of you made it upstairs your father looked at both and the two of you headed into this office.

“You are not taking me off this case.” Stood behind Jay as you closed the door. You leaned against the door with your arms crossed. Your father glanced at you then back at Jay.

“That is not your call to make.”

“This is Terry’s blood.” Jay pointed at this sleeve that was covered in blood. “I saw the guys. You need me.” Your father looked at you which you gave him a slight nod. After agreeing to let him stay on the case, he left the room to go clean up, leaving you and your dad alone.

“I know what-” Your father pulled you into a hug which you hugged back without hesitation. “I’m okay. I went to his grave this morning.” You pulled away and sat on the arm of the sofa. "You know the last 2 years, things have been a struggle, but I need to move on and learn to live my life. He’s not coming back, and I have to accept that.”

“Whatever you need to help you through this let me know.” Your dad squeezed your shoulder for comfort.

"Actually, there is one thing that I can think of right now." Your dad hummed in response. "I want to be with Jay on this one. I know you won't understand, but just trust me." Your father nodded his head in agreement as you pushed yourself off the couch and left the office.

“Jay.” You walked into the room where Jay was watching your dad and Antonio finishing up question Brianna Logan, who was Jay’s boss at the marijuana dispenser. “I just heard from Med. Terry didn’t make it. Massive hemorrhaging.” Jay turned to look at you and without saying a word he left the room. After a few moments, the interview was over and you exited the room only to be stopped by Adam, who said that the lab was able to get prints on the gun they found at the scene. You nodded your head and went to find Jay, only to see him and Brianna talking as you rounded the corner.

You couldn't help but hear the last first things exchange between the two. "I can't help but feel responsible for what happens to Terry." There was something about this Brianna woman that you didn’t like. Maybe it’s because she was clearly into Jay. Not that it should bother you. He a single man and he can do what and who he wants.

“You’re not. I am.” You could clearly hear the guilt in Jay’s voice which caused your heart to sink.

“Please tell Terry’s wife that I will take care of all the funeral costs." Brianna reached over and placed a hand on jay's bicep causing your to jealously raise. Okay, why does this bother you so much?

“He was in the marines, so he’ll get a military send off.”

“Hey, Jay we got something off the gun.” You took a step closer causing Brianna to step back. Jay told Brianna to lay low and that they would call her if they needed anything else. Once she left, you and Jay headed back into the bullpen to find the rest of the team.

"Okay, so the lab managed to pull a partial print off the clip inside the gun that was left at the scene. They matched to a guy named Joseph "Joey" Ortiz." Adam taped up the photo on the board as he spoke.

"Ortiz? Yeah, he's a known member of the Insane King crew. They don't sell drugs. Their M.O. is to follow the cartel mules with a large amount of money after big drug deals then they rob them. I had a run-in with them once when I worked a joint case with narcotics a few years ago.” You explained it to the team.

“Okay, put an investigative alert on Ortiz.” You nodded your head as you sat at your desk and picked up the phone.

“Okay, I gotta ask. Are you sleeping with this woman?” You stopped what you were doing and looked at your dad who was standing next to Jay by the board.

“Who Brianna?” Your dad looked at Jay with a stern face. “What does that have to do with the case?”

“All right, one more time. Are you sleeping with her?” You held your breath as you waited for him to answer. You also weren’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“No.” Jay came right out and said it and relief washed over you.

This case has really taken a toll on Jay the last few days but thankfully it was over. Al and Adam went to sweep the dispensary for bugs, and they found a bunch of bugs throughout her office. They were able to get serials numbers off them it turned out that Brianna’s soon-to-be ex-husband hired a PI to get dirt on her. Then after questioning the PI, we found out that he was in on the robbery along with a guy them Brigs but turned out that a crew that worked for Brigs was the one who did it. After the case was solved, Jay went to tell Brianna that he was quitting which made you secretly happy.

“Hey, need a ride home?” You looked up from your paperwork and saw Antonio putting on his coat.

“No, I’m good.” You fiddled with the pen in your hand. “I’m actually grabbing a beer with Jay at Molly’s after he’s done talking with Hank. I decided to tell Jay about Ryan.”

“Yeah? Are you sure?” Antonio sat on the edge of your desk.

“Yeah. It’s time.” You stood up from your chair and tossed the pen on your desk. “Lately, I’ve just been feeling, I guess you can say, closer to Jay and I thought I would feel guilty about it, but I don’t.” Tears built up in your eyes and you had no idea why you wanted to cry.

"Yeah, I've noticed that. This is a sign that you are moving in the right direction. Remember letting go and moving on. I know the last two years have been a struggle for you, but this could be the first step to figuring things out." Antonio placed his hands on your shoulders and rubbed your arms up and down. “So, if telling Jay about Ryan is what you feel is right then do it and then figure things out from there.”

You nodded your head before hugging Antonio. “This is why you’re my best friend.” You pulled away just as Jay exited the office.

“Ready to go? I can really use that drink.” You nodded your head as Antonio left leaving just you and Jay alone.

20mins Later

"Hey, detective." Herrmann leaned forward against the counter with a smile on his face.

"Hey, Herrmann.” You smiled back as you ordered two beers along with two shots. “Thanks.” You grabbed the drinks and moved through the crowd over to were Jay was sitting. "Alright, here we go." You handed Jay his beer along with the shot of whatever Herrmann gave you.

“To Terry.” The two of you raised your shot glasses in the air before chugging them down.

“How your cheek?” You motioned at Jay’s cheek where he got into an altercation with one of the crew members.

“I’ll be fine.” Jay took a swing of his beer. “Are you okay? You seem a little off the last couple of days.” You picked at the label on the beer bottle while trying to figure out a way to tell Jay. You wanted to tell Jay, but your nerves were getting the best of you and you were having second thoughts. “Y/N, whatever is you can tell me.” Jay reached over and grabbed your hand.

“There something I need to tell you and I don’t want you to look at me like I’m this fragile piece of glass.” You looked up at Jay and when his green eyes locked with yours, you instantly felt at ease. “Two years ago, I lost my husband.”

“Your husband?” Jay looked at you with complete shock.

“Yeah. I guess I should start from the beginning.” You took a deep breath then took a sip of your beer. "Well as you know I was in the Army and the reason why the left was because during my last mission I was taken, hostage. It was days until the rest of the team found me. When they did find me, I was in bad shape. I had two broken ribs, a broken wrist, a concussion, and a collapsed lung. I thought I was going to die."

“It was about a 6-month long recovery and it was hell. I did half my recover overseas in German and the other half back home in North Carolina, that was my post was at the time. Then after I left Army I can back home to Chicago. I moved back in with parents until I was able to get back on my feet. Coming back and adjusting to living was hard and it just triggered things. My father sent me to therapy to help with the problems I was dealing with and I was diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety. Once I got things under control, I joined the police force, and then about 3 years into the job I met my late husband. I was working my first case in Vice and he was working security detail for one of the victims." You stopped to take a sip of your beer than taking a deep breath.

“His name was Lieutenant Commander Ryan Campbell. He was Navy Seal before he decided to join the reserves. We dated for about 2years before he asked me to marry him and of course, I said yes. We were engaged for a little while before he got the call telling him that he was needed for active duty. We deiced to get married at the courthouse because we didn’t want to wait until he came back home because we didn’t know long, he was going to be deployed for. It was 6 months later when the officers showed up at my step and I knew.” Tears started to form in your eyes as you thought back to that day. Two Navy Officers stood at your door and you knew the drill. You knew Ryan wasn’t coming back.

“Hey,” Jay squeezed your hand causing you to come back to reality. “How did it happen?” Jay spoke low almost a whisper.

“IED overseas in Iraq. Getting that news was devastating, but deep down I knew that it could happen. My PTSD was triggered again, and I need time off to deal with everything. I eventually got onto some medicine and seeing someone once a week and it helped but I struggled to deal with the loss of Ryan. I still struggle, but I’m learning to accept that he’s got coming back and I need to move on.” You looked down closing your eyes to stop the tears, but it was too late. Jay removed his hand from yours and walked over to your side of the table and sat next to you and pulled you into a side hug. “Sometimes I feel so broken that I don’t know if I can put myself back together.”

"You are not broken," Jay muttered into your hair. “I don’t think you realize how strong you are. You may feel like your broken, but I don’t think you are.” You pulled away and Jay looked at you with a soft smile. “This doesn't change the way I look you. I don't see you as a fragile piece of glass." Jay reached over and wiped the tears that were rolling down your cheek.

After the two of you finished your drinks, Jay drove you home, walked you to your door, and to be honest you felt great that you were able to tell Jay about everything. You felt a weight lifted off your shoulders. “Thanks for listening tonight. I really need to tell you.”

“Always. If you ever need to talk about anything. Just know that I am here.” You grabbed your keys from your purse, turned to unlock the door, and once you unlocked the door you turned back around. Looking at Jay, a smile formed on your face and something inside of you sparked. Without thinking, you leaned over and connected your lips to his. You could feel Jay was hesitant at your sudden actions and causing you to pull away.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” You whispered as you turned back around and opened the door to head inside your apartment. Jay was about to stop you but decided against it, not wanting to make the situation worse. Once you were inside, you locked your door and leaned your back against before sliding down to the floor. What have you done? Did you misread the signals over the last couple of months? Maybe he found someone who wasn’t broken. For the first time in a long time, you thought you could be happy but you guess you were too late.

Series TagList: @hehurst23 @tyzerman91 @ceotoddross-blog @halstudandruz @corebore123 @myplaceofheavenorhell @baker151910 @katierpblogg @talicat713 @kadygirl @esauthor @jay-haisteads @onechicago18 @secretsinflame @weepingbluebirdmentality @jasminfelling @lovecatystuff @oncechicagolove @bellag1128 @yzas-stuff @mxgdx7 @andreiaafaria @fullwattpadmusictree @itsdesiree86 @mamanurin @lil-bita-everything @ngwelburn @lisemaria0719 @a-dorky-book-keeper @chrisrandumness @perfectnightbouquetgoddess @Ima1986 @123happyllama @delcateswift @gfountainsblog @pollyyates24 @scatchia @ld-1204 @daenerys-targaryen @beachfan412 @theelvishmermaid @fofisstilinski @levelneunzehn @wemma554 @wicked-laugh @totalllytrashy @onechicagofan20 @wearesodrica @haileymatthewss @danielacastellon @smalltowngirly05 @faithhasnowords @music-is-my-escape71 @olihju @detective29 @sevschicago @lifeisalohaa @singingtree2012 @nikki1dxx @mandybug39 @mheart27 @lovecatystuff @alex-blackmoon @beckisaurusrex @kicksomeasskatherine @miranda0102 @fearless-to-die @readbasoeverything @deedee220802 @zizzlekwum @melmenya @lovingfanofupstead @thevelvetseries @panaitbeatrice @hehurst23 @musicgurl162010

[abrakophile]

I was looking through a bunch of junk and found some letters from my dad when he was in the army. I’m afraid I'll accidently toss them, so maybe I’ll put them here?

OPs Name JUNE 02 03

I LOVE YOU

THIS IS MY NAME IN KURDISH

*my dad wrote his first and last name, and under it, in Kurdish*

ILL TRY AND FIND OUT HOW TO WRITE YOUR NAME AND MOMS TOO.

ITS STILL HOT. I WORK AND READ BOOKS TO PASS THE TIME AWAY.

HOW ARE YOU DOING? GOOD I HOPE. WHAT DO YOU DO FOR FUN? DO YOU EVER HANG OUT WITH YOUR FRIENDS? TELL THEM I SAID “WASSUP?” NAH, DONT TELL THEM. TELL ME WHAT YOUR THINKING. I’M TRYING TO SEND YOU SOME MORE OF MY DRAWINGS. WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DRAW YOU? DID YOU LIKE THE DRAWING I SENT YOU OF YOU NAME? ITS ALRIGHT IF YOU DIDNY. JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU DO WANT ME TO DRAW YOU.

(Flip Page)

THIS IS WEIRD! (The page does not have lines on the left side of it) i WONDER WHAT HAPPENED TO THIS PIECE OF PAPER. HaHa

I MISS YOU ALOT. PLEASE SOND ME SOME MORE OF YOUR DRAWINGS, YOU CAN DRAW ME ANYTHING YOU WANT TO.

ARE YOU BEING GOOD FOR YOUR MOM? ITS NICE IF YOU HELP HER OUT WHILE I’M AWAY.

HAVE YOU BEEN ANYPLACE NEW? HOW IS SCHOOL GOING FOR YOU? IS MOMMY GOING TO SCHOOL? I KNOW I WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL WHEN I GET BACK. HOPEFULLY I GET THE CHANCE TO LEARN EVERYTHING THAT THERE IS TO KNOW. THAT WOULD BE GREAT.

ALSO, ID LIKE TO DO SOME FISHING? HOW ABOUT YOU? I GUESS ILL END HERE. BE GOOD AND STAY IN SCHOOL. AND JUST SAY NO TO DRUGS.

THEYRE BAD.

I LIVE YOU OP

*hearts and x’s* DADDY

---

(I don’t know if all these pages are in order or if it’s missing any, but this was the letter in the same stack as the last but this one was for my mom. In some places his indents indicate passage of time.)

I HAVENT HAD ANY TIME TO WRITE SINCE WEVE BEEN ON THE ROAD, NOT TO MENTION THAT WE CAN’T SEND MAIL WHEN WE’RE MOVING ALL THE TIME.

WEVE BEEN ON THE ROAD FOR ABOUT FIVE OR SIX DAYS, I HAVENT REALLY BEEN COUNTING. I KNOW I TOLD YOU THAT WE’D BE IN KUWAIT FOR A WHILE, BUT THAT WAS SO YOU WOULDNT BE WORRIED. I’M GOING TO KEEP THIS LETTER THOUGH, TILL I GET HOME.

ABOUT TWO NIGHTS AGO, WE DROVE THROUGH BAGDHAD, SOMEBODY SAID THAT THERE WERE PILED BODIES, I DONT KNOW IF IT WAS TRUE.

AND I GUESS YESTERDAY, A COUPLE OF PEOPLE SAID THEY SAW A MISSILE OR SOEMTHING SHOT AT US. I WAS TRYING TO FIX A TRUCK SO I DIDNT SEE IT.

ITS NOT AS DUSTY HERE IN IRAQ. IT REMINDS ME OF THE CONVOYS IN KOREA.

MOST OF THE PEOPLE WILL WAVE “HI”. SOME OTHERS DONT.

I SAW A KID OPEN HIS HAND ONCE WHILE MOVING, AND IT SAID “BUSH” THAT WAS KIND OF COOL.

OH YEAH. HERES A STORY. WHILE OUT DOING A MISSION, ONE OF OUR “BRADLEY” TANKS FIRED ON AN ENEMY AMMO TRUCK AND CLIPPED A KID. THE ROUNDS BLEW ONE OF HIS LEGS OFF AND SOME OF THE OTHER, FROM THE KNEE DOWN. SO THE MEDICS PICKED HIM UP AND BROUGHT HIM TO OUR RECONCOLIDATING POINT FOR MEDICAL TREATMENT. I GUESS HE EVENTUALLY DIED FROM LOSS OF BLOOD THE NEXT NIGHT AND YESTERDAY THEY TOOK HIM OUT AND BURIED HIM.

ALSO WE PICKED UP ABOUT 25-30 P.O.W.s AND SENT THEM SOUTH.

IT GETS PRETTY COLD AT NIGHT. AND THE DAY’S ARE VERY HOT.

SINCE WE LEFT KUWAIT ITS BEEN ME AND MENDOZA IN THE FIVE TON WRECKER AND I HAVE TO ADMIT THAT ITS BEEN EXCITING. WE KEPT GETTING SEPERATED FROM THE CONVOY AND BREAKING DOWN. BUT I THINK THAT WERE BETTER NOW. HOPEFULLY.

IM STILL WAITING TO BE AMBUSHED TO MAKE ALL THIS SEEM REAL TO ME. A PART OF ME WANTS IT AND ANOTHER DOESNT.

AND IT SEEMS LIKE ONLY OUR UNIT HAS TO STAY IN UNIFORM, EVERYONE ELSE WEARS T-SHIRTS AND BANDENA’S AND RAGS ON THEIR HEAD

WERE STILL GOING NORTH. NOBODY KNOWS HOW LONG WE’LL STAY. ITS NOT THAT BAD HERE. MEANING, IT COULD BE WORSE. 

I USED A “SHIT-CHAIR”. ITS JUST A METAL CHAIR WITH A HOLE CUT IN THE MIDDLE AND THE SEAT FROM A TOILET BOLTED TO IT, GROSS.

HELICOPTERS CAN BE HEARD ALL DAY AND NIGHT. I GOT TO SEE THEM DROP BOMBS ALL DAY ABOUT 3 DAYS AGO, FROM A DISTANCE OF COURSE.

ILL BE DRIVING AGAIN, IN A MINUTE. PROBABLY RE-FUEL AND BACK ON THE ROAD AGAIN. IM ENJOYING IT.

I HAVE 8 MAGAZINES FULL OF ROUNDS. NO GRENADES, BUT I LIKE IT LIKE THAT.

SOMETIMES IT SMELLS LIKE SHIT.

I GUESS ILL END IT HERE FOR NOW

I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU TWO TWICE IF NOT THRICE AS MUCH AS YOU MIGHT MISS ME TOO.

HELLO AGAIN. WERE SOMEWHERE NEAR TIKRI + MOSUL. YESTERDAY, ME + MENDOZA WENT LOOKING FOR MOMENTO’S. WE BROKE A LOCK TO A NEAR BY BUNKER AND FOUND 6 A.K.47s! BUT ON OUR WAY BACK TO TURN THEM IN, MAJOR TATU GOT THEM FROM US. I WAS SO PISSED. BUT I GOT A GAS MASK w/ FILTER, A FULL MAGAZINE CLIP FROM ONE OF THE A.K.s AND A BERET WITH IRAQ 1 RANK ON IT.

I MADE A STENCIL FOR THE TRUCK WERE RIDING IN. ITS CALLED THE “GAMBLER.” YESTERDAY MENDOZA DROVE, SO TODAY ILL BE DRIVING.

IM NOT POSITIVE, BUT, I THINK WERE GOING TO TURKEY. NIETO SAYS THAT HE OVERHEARD SOMEBODY FROM S1 (or SI, I’m not sure) SAYING WE MIGHT GET PAID EXTRA FOR GOING THROUGH BAGHDAD.

I THINK NIETO’S MAD AT ME. CANT EXPLAIN WHY. MAYBE ITS BECAUSE IM RIDING WITH MENDOZA AND HE DOESNT LIKE MENDOZA TOO MUCH. OH WELL, WHATEVER REASON, HOPE THINGS GET NORMAL AGAIN. HAVE TO GO,

*hearts and xs*

TODAY IS THE 25th OF APRIL, I RECEIVED FIVE OR SIX (OR SEVEN) LETTERS YESTERDAY. THE LATEST WAS DATED 07 OF APRIL. THAT TELLS ME THAT ITS GOING TO TAKE A WHILE TO COMMUNICATE.

WE HAVENT RECEIVED MAIL BECAUSE WEVE BEEN MOVING NEVER STAYING IN ONE PLACE MORE THAN A DAY, OR TWO, UNTIL NOW. WE’VE BEEN IN THIS SPOT GOING ON FOUR DAYS TOMORROW?!

GIVE ME A MINUTE...

FOR THE LAST COUPLE OF DAYS IVE BEEN HELPING MENDOZA PULL THE ENGINE OUT OF A 5 TON TRUCK AND SWITCH IT w/ ANOTHER ONE. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN EASY BUT THE FLY WHEEL SEIZED UP INSIDE THE BELL HOUSING. ITS FINISHED NOW AND THE RUMOR IS WE’RE LEAVING  (OR MOVING) AGAIN TOMORROW.

ITS 10:33 THURSDAY MORNING. YOUR TIME IS 12:32 JUST TURNING THURSDAY.

I ALMOST CRYED WHEN I SAW ELIS PICTURE. I REALLY MISS BOTH OF YOU. LET ME BACK TO BEFORE I GOT DISTRACTED. I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO SEND MAIL BECAUSE WE’VE BEEN MOVING. BUT I GUESS THAT WHATEVER THREAT THERE WAS (IF ANY), ISNT SO THREATFUL ANYMORE, WE CAN START RECEIVING AND SENDING MAIL. NO PHONE TO CALL FROM, AND NO INTERNET TO E-MAIL FROM.

THE WHOLE UNIT IS SCATTERED, SO EVEN IF I GET WHAT YOU NEED IT’LL TAKE FOREVER TO GET IT TO YOU. LET ME PULL THOSE LETTERS BACK OUT. OH WAIT. I DID LAUNDRY AND SOME UNDERWEAR THATS DRY, FELT HARD, OH WELL, WAIT A SECOND, K

I HAD TO FOLD SOME T-SHIRTS. ALL MY SOCKS ARE STILL DAMP. 

YOU CAN USE MY CONTRACT TO SHOW THAT I ENLISTED IN TEXAS AND HOWS THIS

*On a separate sheet my dad wrote a detailed note for my mom to give to someone to confirm that he did want to buy a house. He writes “I AM ALIVE AND WELL.” and “PLEASE ACCEPT THIS PAPER”, then he signed it with his scribble signature, and underneath it wrote his name in print and added “1st SQUADRON 10th CAVALRY HEADQUARTERS TROOP (I have no clue what this means)*

HOW’S THAT? HOPE I SPELLED EVERYTHING CORRECTLY. IM ALMOST READY WITH A DESIGN TO COVER THE OTHER TATTOOS ON MY LEFT FOREARM.

I JUST FINISHED LOOKING OVER ALL THOSE LETTERS YOU SENT FOR ME

IM BACK! I GOT SLEEPY SO I TRYED TO LAY DOWN FOR A LITTLE BIT. NO SLEEP. I DONT THINK. I DIDNT HAVE ENOUGH WATER TO WASH MY DCV’S AND A PAIR OF BDV’S. BESIDES FOR DRINKING WATER, BUT WE HAVE TO CONSERVE IT.

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE RUMORS. TOMORROW WE’LL BE LEAVING FOR THE IRAN/IRAQ BORDER TO DO “PEACE KEEPING” FOR 3 TO 6 mths. OTHERS SAY THAT THE 4ID (i think is what this says) GENERAL WANTS TO KEEP US HERE TILL NOV., THATS WHEN 1 CAV WILL COME TO REPLACE US. WHILE OTHERS SAY WE MIGHT LEAVE BY JUNE. NOTHINGS FOR SURE.

SMALLER RUMORS FLOATING AROUND THE SITE ARE; RAMSEY AND SFC BACON ARE SLEEPING TOGETHER. SGT SIREK HAS PLANS TO TAKE NIETO AS HIS APPRENTICE AND PADIWAN LEARNER OF THE DARK SIDE. LITTLE BLACK ARNOLD IS MILITARY INTELLIGENCE FOR SPECIAL FORCES OPERATING UNDER COVER A SURVEILLENCE AS PART OF

*the rest of the page is blank*

IM BACK. TODAY IS THE 27th. I GOT BACK TO THE LITTLE CAMP AREA ABOUT AN HOUR AND A HALF AGO. I LEFT YESTERDAY MORNING TO, WELL, AS PART OF DE-CON (DE-CONTAMINATION) MISSION. HERES THE INFORMATION THAT I GATHERED.

A SITE HAD BEEN FOUND THAT WAS THOUGHT TO HAVE CHEMICAL WEAPONS AND 1-10 WAS APPOINTED TO GO TO THE SITE AND DE-CON THE CIVILIANS THAT WERE GOING TO OPEN THEM. AS IT TURNS OUT THE CIVILIANS HAVE BEEN DE-LAYED AND WOULD BE SET BACK 1 DAY.

THE NBC TEAM THAT I WAS WITH WERENT PREPARED TO STAY OVER NIGHT AND AS FORCASTED BY SSG MINOR WE MIGHT HAVE HAD TO STAY 3 TO 4 DAYS. EVERYBODY WAS PISSED.

LATELY ITS BEEN GETTING REALLY COLD AT NIGHT AND WE JUST HAPPENED TO BE NEAR A RUNNING RIVER. SO THE, ITS ABOUT 9 O’CLOCK AND IM BEAT, NO SLEEPING BAG OR ANYTHING TO COVER UP WITH AND I DECIDE TO TRY AND SLEEP. I GET AS COMFORTABLE AS POSSIBLE AND I GET ATTACKED BY MOSQUITOS. NOW IM PISSED SO I DECIDED TO JUST TO STAY UP ALL NIGHT. ABOUT 10PM ONE OF THE HEMTT (this might just say “hemi”, I don’t know) FUELERS SHOWS UP AND SGT TORRES SAYS HE HAS EVERYBODYS SLEEPING BAG! THE SITES ABOUT 45 MINS AWAY AND THEY LEFT SOMETIME MID AFTERNOON TO GET OUR SHIT, I HATE THESE PEOPLE.

RIGHT NOW ITS 9:01 PM AND ITS 11:02 AM YOUR TIME. I MISS YOU.

RIGHT NOW IM GOING TO ADDRESS AN ENVELOPE AND HAVE IT READY TO SEND TOMMOROW THE 28th. IM SORRY IF IT SEEMS THAT IM NOT WRITING VERY OFTEN. FOR A WHILE WE COULDN’T. AND NOW THAT IT SEEMS WE MIGHT BE HERE A LITTLE WHILE, THEYVE KEPT ME REALLY BUSY. LET ME ADDRESS THE ENVELOPES (he drew a star here)

ALL DONE. I THOUGHT ABOUT THE HOUSE A LOT TODAY AND YESTERDAY. IM SURE BY THE TIME THIS LETTER REACHES YOU, YOU’LL HAVE EITHER GOTTEN IT OR GAVE IT UP. IM O.K. WITH EITHER DECISION YOUVE MADE.

YOUVE KEPT THIS FAMILY TOGETHER, AND THAT MAKES ME PROUD. YOUR SMART, ATTRACTIVE AND FUNNY. AND YOU DONT TAKE ANY SHIT FROM ANYBODY. I LOVE YOU.

I HOPE THAT OUR DAUGHTER TURNS OUT TO BE LIKE YOU.

I GUESS ILL MAIL THIS TOMORROW, FIRST THING, SO

EVER YOURS

EVER MINE

*my dad signed it with his scribble, and wrote his name under it. under that are hearts and x’s with my mom’s name and then my name under hers.*

[sticks-and-stone]

Bronson’s Camp Outlaw

April 10, 2020 - April 12, 2020

For the April 2020 camping trip, I took my girlfriend to Bronson’s Camp Outlaw. This was an interesting trip to plan because I had never been there and didn’t know anyone that had. I found them on an app called HipCamp which is basically an AirBnB for camping. You pay money to sleep in someone's backyard. Obviously this idea rang a little weird for me, but I figured with the state parks closed for COVID-19, I had few options. I spent a long time deciding on a “campground”. I looked through reviews for hours before I decided on Bronsons. And honestly, for the price I paid, it was a really great find. 

Madison and I drove down right after work on Friday. When we arrived, the mom and pop type vibe bled through hard. There was a house at the top of the hill as we arrived. I assumed (incorrectly) that this was the office to check-in. As I walked up to it, a man came over to me and asked if I was checking in. He then directed me to this grassed area right on the water’s edge that had a wood pile, a fire pit, lots of seats, and two pop up canopies. 

It took them a while to find my reservation. Apparently husband books on HipCamp and wife books on Facebook. This caused some confusion and they did not know where to put me. I ended up following the wife and the first dude (we’ll call him Buddy because I can not remember his name) to the long row of river-side “campsites”. I only put this in quotations because there were no markers or indications where one site started and the other ended. 

We chose our site at the end of the row of tents and cars and began to map out how we would set up. I had the camping carpet and the site was about the size of it and absolutely overrun with cypress roots (the ones that stick up and come to a rounded point out of the ground). This made the setup pretty odd, but we made it work.

Instead of placing the carpet out in front of the tent, we placed it completely under the tent. This allowed it to double as our footprint too, luckily, due to the small nature of our tent, we were able to find a small plot of dirt without cypress roots so we wouldn't have to sleep on top of them. 

As we got set up, Buddy and Deb (the owner) kept coming around to see if we needed any help. I guess two girls doing this alone made us look vulnerable? We kept declining. I bought some firewood and Buddy brought it to our site for us. I asked where I could dig a fire pit (there was no grill or fire ring) and they just kind of shrugged and said “anywhere you want, don’t be dumb though”. So that was neat. 

Once we got the tent completely set up, I found a spot that split the difference between the tent and the river bank our site overlooked and dug a shallow hole and started a fire. By this point it was dark. 

A quick shout out to one of the game changing pieces of gear this trip: clip-on lights for hats. Since trip #2 I have sworn that I would never go camping without a headlamp, but this took it even a step further. These little lights clipped to our hat bills, completely eliminating the need for a headlamp. No more messing up my hair or squeezing my head! And the best part? $1 each at Walmart. 

So with the new help of my hat clip light I got the fire started and we ate the sandwiches that Madison got from Publix earlier in the day before I got off of work. The next thing I worked on was the other game changer for this trip: fishing poles! I grabbed two small Zebcos rod and reel combos from Walmart for a measly $10 each and a small tackle kit for about $12!  I used my lap and the fold out table (there was no picnic table on site) to get the poles all set up. Our site sat literal feet from the water’s edge so I was excited to throw a line out at daybreak the next day.

Madison ended up going to sleep before me while I stayed up and took in my surroundings. I couldn’t see much due to the dark, but I could smell the river in front and behind me. (the sites lined a sort-of peninsular so there was water everywhere) My neighbors (arguably too close to us for comfort) were actually really nice and proved helpful the next day with our fishing lessons. They ran their van all night but the humming noise was quite lulling. I loved looking out on the dark water and seeing the occasional top feeder break the surface. It was peaceful. The sites were smaller than I was used to and lacked my usual amenities, but I liked this place. I liked the whole vibe. 

I went to bed and fell asleep instantly. I woke up before the sun and decided to walk alone in the dark to the bathroom. The bathroom was a glorified outhouse. Which bothers me NONE. It’s camping. You walk in the room to a concrete floor, soaked. A pedestal sink - dingy, a “shower” which was basically a hose coming through the wall and a shower curtain, then finally, a toilet. It was pretty gross and definitely a hovering situation, but again; its camping. I was just happy enough to have a private place to pee. Due to the closeness of our site neighbors and the comfortable vicinity to the bathhouse, I never bothered to set up the pop up potty. 

I got back to the site, started a fire, and waited for sunrise. As soon as the day broke, I threw a line out next to this big tree at the edge of the water on our site. Then Madison woke up and joined me and we had a little breakfast and I had coffee. We spent the entire day fishing off and on. I got some writing done, she read her book, and we just lounged around the river's edge and watched people come and go on kayaks and boats. It was a great day. I caught some brim, Madison caught a few too, we befriended a lot of strangers, and watched kids swim in the water next to the boat launch over by check-in. It was a great day. Madison really took to fishing and fell in love with it. We ended up going through all of our hooks and bobbers though. We kept getting snagged on the brush and losing equipment. The little dock near our site became very useful. We had lots of success fishing with bread and hotdogs (left by our neighbors).

We headed to bed early like I tend to do on night two of camping trips, around 9pm. But right as we were laying down, a family of 4 pulled up in an F350 with its brights on and began setting up right next to us. They kept apologizing for the noise and lights, but it was hard to be angry after the great day we had. They blocked my car in, but promised to move their truck before morning - they didn’t. Their tent was huge - one of those multiroom deals and I have no idea how they set it up with cypress roots everywhere but they did it. Madison and I sat up in our beds (we switched the second night so she could try the cot) and made up backstories for them and made fun of their very awkward teenage children. 

The next morning I had to pee really bad as I woke up and had to wait outside the bathroom for the mom of that family who apparently was applying makeup in the ONLY BATHROOM THE CAMPGROUND HAD. I was pissed, but I dealt with it. We threw another couple of lines out, but worked pretty quickly to get packed up and headed out. It didn’t take long to pack up as we didn’t unpack much. Without a table or big enough site, there wasn’t much to unpack. I did most of the cleaning up and packed myself, though Madison did sweep the tent out which is my least favorite camping chore. So that was nice. We got out quickly, dropped our trash at the dumpster, and headed to McDonalds for a real meal, then home to nap. 

The size and conditions of the sites were tricky, the sites were too close together, and I would have had a better time if I had kayaks with me,  but we made it work. I plan to go back to Bronsons in the future with Jenna, but I want to continue to improve our gear first.  But for a last-minute rush trip, it was pretty great. 

Stay Dirty, 

Stone. 

[thisisthe-way]

Kings and Wizards

Title: Kings and Wizards Fandom: Star Wars (The Mandalorian) Rating: T Summary: Din Djarin has given Grogu to Luke Skywalker to train. But the connection between the new (reluctant) Mandalorian “king” and the “wizard” Jedi goes deeper than he ever could’ve imagined. And he’s about to learn just how deep.

“It’s time for you to go.”

Din turned his uncomfortably exposed face toward Bo-Katan when she spoke, his brows furrowing as he blinked back the few remaining tears in his troubled brown eyes, pushing the sorrow back and allowing sternness and confusion to fill them instead. He knew what was coming next. Cara seemed to as well, and she spoke before he could: “Can we not do this right now? He just watched his kid leave.” “Which is why I’m giving him a head-start,” Bo-Katan replied, unable to look Din in the face. Din knelt, picking up his helmet, but didn’t deposit it back on his head yet. He approached Bo-Katan and held the darksaber in one final attempt, letting her see all of the raw emotion on his face. “Take it. I yield. It’s over. You have your ship and your weapon.” And the only thing he’d wanted had just flown away with a Jedi. “It doesn’t work--” “Take it,” Din snapped, eyes flaring, his whole face contorting with the pain and frustration. Grogu had been his only priority. He didn’t want to be ruler of anything.

Bo-Katan didn’t move, but she was looking at him now, her knuckles going white as she clenched her fists behind her back. “I can’t, and if you stay, I’ll be forced to kill you and take it.” Din snorted a little and finally placed his helmet on, before attaching the saber to his belt and looking at Cara and Fennec. “Then I guess it is time to go.” The gleaming beskar and dark visor turned toward Bo-Katan and she could feel the cold gaze he was giving her through it. Bo pursed her lips as she watched their backs retreat toward the elevator. She didn’t want this. She glanced down at the unconscious form of Moff Gideon--he had caused this. He had known. Known if he engaged Mando in a battle, and he’d won the saber from him, she would have to then turn around and engage Mando as well. Known that they would instantly become enemies. She also knew that they hadn’t exactly been anything but reluctant allies to begin with, but she had never meant ill-will toward him. She had wanted him to get his child back. She knew all too well what it was like to lose family. It was a pain she didn’t wish on anyone. She looked at Koska as she heard one of the cruiser’s transports being “comandeered” by the fleeing group. She turned her eyes toward the viewport as it left, jumping to hyperspace to meet with Boba Fett and Slave One at a rendezvous point that had not been disclosed to Bo because they had always planned on parting ways with her keeping the cruiser for her purposes. She turned to Koska again. “We’ll give him one day’s head-start,” she murmured, and then turned toward the controls. After all, the ship was only half the battle. She still needed the saber before she could return to Mandalore. And that meant the hunt for that lonely, nameless Mandalorian--she never had asked his name, had she?--would have to begin in haste. She set coordinates for their own safe rendezvous and then sent the cruiser into hyperspace as Koska moved to lock the unconscious Gideon in the brig.

-----------

Nevarro

----------- “Your debt is repaid,” Din said to Boba-Fett as they stood in front of Slave One. “The kid is safe.” 

It stung, burned deeper than Din could really put to words, that he wasn’t with him. But even without all the fancy Force powers, he knew Grogu was in better hands with the Jedi than he would be with him. He knew Moff Gideon wasn’t the worst the Galaxy had to offer, especially with someone as powerful and innocent as the child. Worse would come. And not every enemy could be contained or felled by a blaster shot. 

Boba Fett nodded and looked at Fennec, who nodded and returned onto Slave One. Boba glanced at the other Mandalorian. “If you have any more trouble,” he clicked some buttons on his wrist-cuff, the electronics beeping and sending a signal to Din’s. “You can find me at these coordinates. If you can afford it.” The smirk was audible even with his helmet masking his face. And the deadpan expression was clear on Din’s visor as his helmet turned toward Boba’s. But he was a member of the Guild. He understood--there was a silent understanding and appreciation between them. Boba nodded once more before following Fennec onto his ship. In only moments, they left atmo, on their way to their next escapade. And Din Djarin was left on Nevarro, shipless, childless, with Bo-Katan’s darksaber attached to his hip. He turned and looked over at Cara Dune, who stood a few feet behind him, frowning apologetically toward him. “I can find you a lead on another ship,” she offered when he caught up to her, walking next to him now as they moved through the archway into the market of the small town. 

Din nodded. “I’ll need it. It won’t take Bo-Katan long to find me. I’d rather not bring that battle down on you or your people, Marshal,” he said, the humor evident in his voice when he reached her title. Cara snorted. “I’m not worried about Princess Tight-Ass,” she replied as they entered her office, and she stored her gun away in the corner, sitting down and putting her feet up on her desk. “Let me put some feelers out. Might even be able to find you one like the one you had.” 

Din paused as he fingered the small knob tucked into his belt. Grogu’s favorite toy. He chuckled, sadly, to himself, and then nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.” -----

Bracca ------

The little alien flying the transport shuttle was prattling in a language Din didn’t understand as he finally gave him his credits and rolled his eyes under his visor. “Alright, alright, here,” he said as he handed the credits over. He hoped this tip from Cara would pan out. As it was, Bracca was more known for scrapping old starships, not leaving them intact. But they had just received the old patrol gunship on site days prior according to Cara’s contact. So, it was possible, at worst, only a few things had been scrapped off of it so far. Din walked down the landing platform. The planet was entirely coated in old ships and scrap metal, and the entire upper-deck scaffolding of it was made from it, with old scrapping tools built into it. There were caves and crevices of metal everywhere and as Din traveled, ducking through these corridors of rust, it was hard to find anything resembling an office where he could haggle, or even ask about the gunship. Finally, he found a large platform where a makeshift office of sorts had been erected, and he ducked inside, causing many of the scrappers who were talking to the scrapyard’s owner to turn and look at him with a mix of curiosity and fear. The owner looked up. He was no older than 40, with flame red hair, gray peppered into the fiery locks. He was wearing a red poncho, but the proxemics in Din’s helmet alerted him to a weapon underneath--a very familiar weapon. Unfortunately familiar. Din’s eyes widened beneath his helmet and he turned to leave. “You must be the Mandalorian,” the man called out, before murmuring something to his guys with a grin, as they all flitted out to get back to work. “Marshal Dune said you’d be coming.”

Din paused and turned back to him. “You’re the one looking for the old military patrol ship,” he continued. “You’re in luck--we just received one not two days ago. And we’re so behind on our jobs as it were, we haven’t even started dismantling it yet.” Din kept his stance as relaxed as he could. “How much?” “For a fully intact ship that I could scrap and make four times as much on?” the man replied with a grin as he led him out of the make-shift office and onto the platform, letting him look out into the piles of scrap where the unscrapped vessel lay nearly on top. “You’re the one costing me money, Mando. So you better make it worth my while.” Din was emotionally compromised after losing Grogu, it was true. But he was also still a Bounty Hunter, and a negotiator. He was a manipulator--and he was used to winning. “Then,” he began, visor trained on the man. “You let me have it free of charge and no one finds out there’s a Jedi running this backwater scrap heap.”

Despite Din thinking the man might flinch or fidget, instead, a smirk pulled on his lips, and he placed his hands on his hips, chuckling. “The New Republic is pretty accepting of the resurgence of Jedi, Mando. I’d be more concerned to be you.” “There are people out there hunting your kind,” Din replied. “And why are you so sure I’m a Jedi?” the man asked, and then noticed the helmet of Din’s armor tilting toward his hidden belt. “Ah, of course. Forgot those helmets aren’t just fancy head protection.” He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and looked at it fondly, before nodding to the darksaber clipped to Din’s belt. “Seems you have one too--but you’re most definitely Mandalorian. That much is clear. Don’t judge a book by it’s lightsaber, Mando.” Din’s lip curled under his helmet. Damn you, Bo-Katan. He really hated having this thing. “How much do you want?” he grumbled, his voice tight with irritation. “Well, I don’t want to wheel and deal for too long--I’m going off planet soon, and I don’t really have time to go through all the bargaining before I leave. I’ll tell you what--” The man eyed the saber--and then the beskar spear on his back. For a moment, Din thought he was going to ask for one of them--or both. And despite hating the kriffing thing, Din felt hesitant to offer the saber to the man for a ship. The man turned his visibly bright eyes back on Din’s hidden face and grinned. “I’m feeling generous. And, like I said, I’m in a hurry. So, whatever you have to offer--you can take it off my hands.” “Wh--” “Don’t make me change my mind, Mando.” The slight tilt of the helmet clearly conveyed the confusion on Din’s masked countenance beneath as he handed him what was left of his money, and watched as the man called to his crane ships to lift it out and onto a nearby platform. Din made his way toward the ship, pausing for only a moment to look over his shoulder at the man. “Can I ask you something?” “Depends on what it is.” Din wanted to ask about Grogu’s call. How far had it gone? Had all of the leftover Jedi felt it? Yet, he realized, it was true what he had said--a lightsaber could be just another piece of scrap from a forgotten time that had been dumped on this world. There was no proof this man was a Jedi. He shook his head. “Forget it. Thanks--for the ship.” And with that, he turned and continued toward the ship. He was already the size of an ant, making his way up the ship’s ramp when the man heard the familiar hum of his ride--a long-bodied, angle-winged ship that landed on a different platform. He heard the gunship take off, glancing as he caught a glimpse of metal just before the hazy skies of Bracca disguised it. He gave his itinerary to his second in command--a hard-working Twi’lek male--and explained the next few weeks worth of work to him before making his way toward the long, sleek ship, smirking at the dark-skinned woman who emerged. “Cere.” He said. “Cal.” She replied. “Where to?” “Dathomir,” he said. ------ Outer Rim - Open Space

----- Well, she had given him a head-start. It had been about a week since receiving his new ship. He should have known purchasing the exact same model of ship meant putting a bigger target on his back. Bo-Katan would be tracking the transponder signals from ships like his. Of course she would. “It’s a damn laser sword,” Din grumbled to himself as he dodged blaster fire from a light cruiser chasing him through the open space, his hand gripping the knob on his console tightly--a knob he had replaced with Grogu’s. 

He felt one of the shots knick his engine, causing him a spiral, and he growled and slammed a hand down on his comms button, “Dank ferrik, Bo-Katan, this isn’t necessary! I told you you could have the damn thing!” ‘It doesn’t work like that, Mando!’ came the response. ‘This is the only way.’ Din snorted to himself at the similarity to his tribe’s saying, realizing more and more there was no real way. His own way would have been…

Having Grogu here with him. He just wanted his son. His consoles began to beep--he realized in his spiral he’d been pulled into the gravitational field of a planet nearby.  “Dank ferrik,” he cursed again as he went down, taking another shot to the engine as Bo-Katan’s cruiser followed. Pressing a few buttons on the console and pulling on the steering, he was able to stabilize the ship as it came down hard onto a craggy, rocky, red-orange surface and noticed Bo-Katan’s ship hover for a moment in the blood-red sky before turning and gunning it out of atmo and away. He doubted it had anything to do with changing her mind about her mission to take the Darksaber from him. No, even without Jedi senses, he was very aware that the--darkness--of the planet he was now trapped on more likely had something to do with it. He stood and exited the Razor Crest II--which, really, he just called the Razor Crest--and looked up at his engines. They were billowing smoke from where Bo-Katan had ruined them with her ship’s blaster fire. And now, he was trapped on a planet with little to no vegetation, that seemed to have a perpetual blood sky and dark aura. He shuddered a little under his beskar, and checked to ensure all of his weapons--even the damn saber--were on his person. He had a feeling he was going to need them. He ignited his jetpack and trailed upward into the sky, flying over the sharp, uneven mountainous surface of the red-drenched planet, over the strange trees and a few ugly, ill-willed creatures as well. He even saw a few strange humanoids he didn’t recognize--men with tattooed faces and horns. Something about them felt familiar but he couldn’t place it. He landed in one of the few areas on this side of the planet with vegetation--odd, spiraling trees that had no real leaves, and huge trunks. Their spindly branches had something hanging from them--bulbs that seemed to pulse oddly. Din paused in his stride, his brow furrowing under his helmet. The bulbs began to glow, and suddenly, falling from within them were--”Dank ferrik,” he cursed, when he realized they were forms. Humanoid forms. Female humanoid forms. And they were definitely dead. They began to chase him through the forest, each body enflamed by green energy, shrieking as they ran through the trees with inhuman speed after him. He ignited his jetpack and went to take off, but something--someone--leaped on him. The weight wasn’t light or bony like the corpses that were chasing him. It had real heft--like a person. Suddenly, he heard the familiar whirr of a lightsaber, and his helmet swiveled, looking over his shoulder to find--a woman standing on his back as he flew, crouched with one knee on his jetpack, the other foot standing on his shoulder.

Her ice blue eyes seared into him, the yellow saber in her hand raised, her pale-white skin mostly exposed save for the black short-suit and red tunic wrapped around her midsection. She had the palest blonde, nearly white, hair growing out of her head. “You aren’t welcome here,” her low, raspy, feminine voice hissed as she brought the lightsaber down. Din threw one arm up and blocked the strike just as the woman brought the blade down into his jetpack, and cursed when it didn’t penetrate. “What are you?!” she hissed in irritation, and then felt a pull from something beyond the two of them, looking up and leaping off of the back of the man with a flip as green energy surrounded the jetpack, snapping the straps of it.  Din felt himself lose altitude immediately as he went plummeting to the terra firma below, tumbling, and groaning. He pushed himself up almost immediately, and grabbed the Darksaber off of his belt, igniting it to fend off the woman and the corpses, but found the corpses at a stand-still behind his attacker making her look like the grand general of an undead armor. After a few moments of intense staring between the two of them--another came through the crowd of the undead--this one was younger than the woman who had attacked him, though their Dathomirian biology made it nearly impossible to tell, and was wrapped from head to toe in red and black. Her own hair was shrouded by a hood, and she had the green energy crackling from her fingers. “Stand down,” she said to the older woman, who de-ignited her saber and bowed a little. “This is the one he was waiting for.” Din rescinded the blade of the Darksaber back into it’s hilt and clipped it to his belt. He watched as the corpse army was returned to their pods with care, and then the younger woman dropped her hood to reveal her entire face, and a crop of gray-white hair that went half-way down her back. “My name is Merrin. I am the Mother of this clan of two.” “I don’t know what any of that means,” came the electronically amplified voice of the Mandalorian through his helmet. “What are you?” “We are Nightsisters--the rightful rulers of this planet,” Merrin replied. “Welcome to Dathomir.” In that moment, that strange feeling of familiarity at seeing the strange men on the cliffs formed into a full-fledged memory of the Armorer and her teachings: “Our planet was taken--overrun by a man with red skin, black markings and devilish horns. He handed our home over to the Empire. We are wanted men and women--hunted.” “Then why do we take work from the Empire?” a young Din asked.

“This is the way,” the Armorer replied. “It is guild law--we work for those who can afford to pay. But remember, little foundling, we never break the creed of the Mandalorian, no matter what job we are given.” Din had done so. But only once. When he handed a foundling right into the Empire’s hands--his multiple removals of his helmet since, notwithstanding. He had regretted that decision, and gone straight back for Grogu. And his sect had come to his aid. Because their laws far outranked the necessity to bounty hunt. But he remembered now--Dathomirian. A Dathomirian had upheaved Mandalore. He wanted to feel a deeper sense of anger, remorse and frustration toward the women in front of him--or the men he’d seen on the cliffs. But he wasn’t truly Mandalorian. He was a foundling. He had never lived on Mandalore. Being Mandalorian to him was a creed--not a race. And even now, he questioned what being Mandalorian truly was to  him anymore. Removing his helmet for Grogu had felt like the most natural thing in the world. Necessary, even. Yet, when he heard Bo-Katan’s voice in his head calling him a child of the Watch, degrading him for his refusal to remove it, he wanted to hide under it forever. A battle raged inside him over what was even right anymore. 

And now this--Dathomirian women standing before him, reminding him of what his people had lost before they had even saved him. The battle only grew deeper. “What do you want?” Din asked, eyeing the older one especially. She seemed--unpredictable. Erratic. Her blue eyes were sharp and icy. She was one wrong step or word away from attacking again, kept at bay only by the words of the younger. He wondered why. “I need you to come with me, Mandalorian. He’s waiting for you,” Merrin said, again alluding to some he that Din had no idea about. Who was this he? As if sensing his question, the younger offered a bit of a wry smile. “You’ll be surprised but not entirely shocked, Mandalorian. This whole ordeal is about your son.” Din grew rigid suddenly, and he took a step forward, heavy and purposeful, despite knowing one wrong move could make the older woman lash out. Which she nearly would have if the younger’s hand has not paused her forward motion. DIn spoke, nearly snapped: “What about the kid?” “All will be answered, I promise. You have to come with us, though.” Din was still tense, defensive now that Grogu had been brought up, but he nodded, unable to deny his curiosity, and followed the women through the trees. “I don’t trust him,” grumbled the older woman as she walked next to the younger. “No Mandalorian would ever trust our kind after what Maul did to their planet.” “He’s different,” Merrin whispered back. “He is a foundling; he never lived upon Mandalore. He may know the story but he has no memory of the incident to give him pause in at least listening to what we have to say.” She glanced at the older woman. “Don’t forget who the Mother here is, Ventress.” The older, Ventress, gave a nod. “My apologies.” “You have a lot to atone for; and much to repay,” Merrin continued. “Don’t forget.” “And you don’t forget the promise you made to me,” Ventress replied. “The promise your mate made to me.” The younger chuckled, and smirked at her. “One thing at a time, Ventress. One thing at a time.”

It was hours of walking through the forests when they emerged on a small, abandoned village in the middle of Dathomir--the Nightsister village, that had been abandoned for decades save for one small girl who had grown into a woman during the Clone Wars, and had been found by a young Jedi padawan who had been trying to find his place in the galaxy, and pay back the life he had been spared by the protection of his own Jedi master. The Nightsisters led Din to a small house, made of the same rock and stone as the red-rimmed cliffs of the dour planet. They ducked inside, and Din was met with the smell of food cooking--and was taken aback by the cheer of--was that a child? “Mom!” came a cry, as a young girl with the same pale white skin as the two women, and a shock of long red hair, came bolting out of the next room over and threw herself into the Nightsister, Merrin’s, arms. She was no older than ten or eleven, and she radiated joy at seeing her mother. She reminded Din of Grogu. “Meelah,” the woman said with warmth, kissing her head. “Where is your father?” “You found him,” came a new voice--a very familiar voice to Din--as a very familiar red-headed man stepped out of the back room, cleaning his hands on his poncho, and smirked at the Mandalorian. “Good to see you again, Mando.” “....you are a Jedi, then,” Din said. “You knew where I would end up.” “Mm, in a sense,” Cal Kestis said as he approached the group, watching Ventress slump, huffily, into a chair--and then warm a little herself when Meelah bounced up into her lap. If there was anyone the Sith-apprentice-turned-bounty-hunter had a soft spot for, it was her Sisters. And the young Mother, and her child, had a special place in her heart. She had died--or gotten very close to it--when she had been buried like her Sisters on Dathomir--lovingly buried by hands that had once loved her in one of the burial pods. Little had she known that the young girl’s powers were growing. Somehow, her magic had inadvertently kept her alive--barely--and in stasis. Five years later, when the young man had riled the young Mother’s anger, and she had released the corpses of their Sisters, she had been released as well. Alive. Unexplainable--a bittersweet miracle of the Force. Because Ventress--Asajj Ventress--had already lost everything by then. Order 66 had been executed. All of the Jedi, save for Cal Kestis, were dead. 

He was dead. The owner of the loving hands that had buried her five years prior. Her Quinlan. Jedi Master Vos.

It didn’t help matters that the young Mother had begun a romance with Cal. Or that Cal shared Vos’ very unique Force abilities: his psychometry. She saw too much of herself and Vos in the couple. But it also had given her a soft spot for their child. The child that, despite herself, she would have given anything to have with Vos. If he had lived. If she could find him, now. Still, a part of her felt a tug from the Force. As if she had counted Quinlan out too soon, as if he were still out there. But then, would he not have felt her too? Come looking for her? Had he moved on--forgotten about her? She wouldn’t blame him. Still, she wanted to find him. Or at least what had happened to him. For her own closure. And so, she had sworn herself to the new Mother. To Merrin. In return for her service, Cal had been using his powers to try and find Quinlan. So far, no such luck. But at least Ventress had her Sisters back. Merrin, and Meelah. She would kill anyone who might try to harm them. “What does that mean? In a sense?” Din asked, snapping Ventress from her thoughts and memories. “Just because we Jedi have a certain handle on the Force doesn’t mean the things it shows us are always 100% correct,” Cal replied as he approached Merrin and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “When you came to Bracca, I got a feeling you’d be led here. Which is good, because this world is, despite it’s appearance, a safe haven from the leftover dregs of the Empire. It lives somewhere between fear and inconsequence.” He shrugged. “So they don’t touch it. They don’t even know the Nightsisters have a new Mother.” “What does any of that mean?” Din asked again, the frustration now clear in his voice. “This place,” the younger Dathomirian woman said, “used to be ruled by a matriarchal society of magic-wielders known as the Nightsisters. We use the Force in a much darker, more mystical way than the Jedi. My Sisters--they were ruled by a Clan Mother. The most powerful of the Nightsisters.” She glanced at Ventress. “....they were all slaughtered during the Clone Wars.”

A flash of his parents’ faces appeared behind Din’s eyes. “I was all that remained--or so I thought,” Merrin said, looking at Ventress. “Because I was the only living, practicing Nightsister left on Dathomir, the last of the Clan Mother’s powers were inherited unto me. I became the Mother. All things on Dathomir bow to my will now.” “Because the Nightsisters were slaughtered, and the Nightbrothers are too primitive in their machinations without a Mother to guide them, the Empire didn’t think Dathomir was much of a threat,” Ventress mumbled. “They left it alone to rot on it’s own. But Merrin preserved it to the best of her abilities.” “And?” Din said, glancing at the other two near Merrin. “And you’ve met Cal. And this is Ventress--Asajj Ventress.” Merrin said, looking at the older woman. “She was one of my Sisters in the pods, when Cal brazenly stepped foot on my planet without permission. When I released my fallen Sisters on him--she emerged in tact.” “How?” Din asked--none of this Force fodder made any sense to him. “Not entirely sure,” Cal said. “It’s speculated that a connection to the dark side can keep someone alive if they have enough rage inside of them to will it to. But the Nightsister magic lands somewhere in between light and dark. Ventress has the magic in her despite barely using it. And she used to be a Sith. It could be any combination of her will to live, her former connection to the dark side, and the strength of Merrin’s magic as the Mother that kept her alive. We don’t know for sure.” Din sat down--his head was reeling now. He remembered the other Jedi woman, Ahsoka Tano, mentioning the dark side. But she had said it with a sort of fearful reverence. As if it were something to be avoided, because the power of it was too great. Too dark. And yet this Jedi--he was in cahoots with those known to tap into the dark. And he didn’t seem phased or frightened at all. He had even had a child with one of them. It was almost as confusing as his sudden uncertain understanding of the Mandalorian creed. It seemed more and more that the galaxy was settling on middle-grounds rather than bold black and white strokes. But was it supposed to be that way? “Fine--fine, alright--then why am I here?” Din asked. “Why do you think your Force-thing brought me to you twice, Jedi?” “Simple: two things,” Cal said as he sat down at a small table in the middle of the room and looked at Din straight in his helmet, as if he could see the eyes and face beneath perfectly. “I was once looking for Force-sensitive children left in the galaxy, to try and rebuild the Jedi Order. I abandoned that mission, realizing that once upon a time, we, as Force sensitives, didn’t have a choice but to be raised in the Temple, raised as Jedi. I didn’t think it was my right to take that choice away again. Which brings me to point number two…” Din’s brows furrowed under his helmet. “I knew Grogu,” Cal said, finally, and then shrugged. “Not well, mind you. I had seen him around the Temple. Training, as I did, before I was chosen as a padawan and taken to finish my training on my Master’s light cruiser above Bracca. But I knew him--he and I were two of the few lucky ones who weren’t slaughtered that night.” Din leaned back heavily in his chair as he looked into Cal’s face--saw the sincerity, and the pain. The memory of losing everything. Then, he straightened. “Okay, so?” “Do you know who you gave your son to, Mando?” Cal asked, frowning a little. “The Jedi you let him leave with?” “No,” Din admitted. “I don’t know anything about any of this.” Cal leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “His name is Luke Skywalker,” he murmured, “and he’s the son of the man who killed all of the younglings that night in the Temple.” Din tensed immediately, and shot up, and Cal got to his feet as well, throwing up his hands to stop him. “Wait!” Cal said, shaking his head. “It’s okay; Luke is a good man--I’ve sensed his sincerity. He isn’t like his father was at the end. But there is something about him that troubles me.” Cal glanced at Merrin, and frowned. “He does want to restore the Jedi Order. Train younglings in the ways of the Jedi, the ways that constricted so many of us before. I realized after becoming a Knight--and then meeting Merrin, that the ways of the original Order were stifling.” He looked at Din. “Attachments are forbidden. No familial, or romantic, attachments are allowed. Master and apprentice only.” Din’s heart sank into his stomach as he remembered Ahsoka’s words on Corvus. I can’t train him, she had said, his attachment to you is too strong. “Unfortunately, Luke allows himself one exception to this rule,” Cal continued as he stood and picked his daughter up off of Ventress’ lap and held her. “His twin sister, who he is also training.” He chuckled as Meelah laid her head on his shoulder. “Basically, what I’m saying is his relationship with the Force is an enigma. It’s unclear how he’ll train Grogu. What boundaries he’ll insist on. And he isn’t the only Force wielder who heard Grogu’s call.” He smirked when he saw the helmet jerk up to look at him. “You were going to ask me that on Bracca,” he said, “but you hesitated because you didn’t know if I was trustworthy.” “We all felt the pull,” Merrin said, and glanced at Ventress. “All of us.” Din suddenly put two-and-two together. “...it wasn’t just Jedi who felt it.” “No. And I think that puts your little green son in a lot of danger,” Cal murmured. “Luke Skywalker is a hero--a very powerful Jedi. But even he wouldn’t be able to fight off an onslaught of Dark side users if they all descended on Grogu all at once. He’ll need help.” Din stood, suddenly resolute in what he had to do. He looked at the Force wielders before him--the Jedi, the former Sith, the Nightsister--and asked, “Are you offering? Because--” He paused, and glanced at Meelah, tucked against her father. He was reminded of holding Grogu in those last moments before he handed him to Luke. “--that kid means everything to me. With, or without your help, I’m going to look after him.” Cal glanced at Merrin, who approached him and Meelah, and placed one hand on each of their backs. She had determination in her eyes as well. Cal nodded, and then looked at Din and smirked. “Then, let’s get started.” 

[440mxs-wife]

Research Break

Imagine: You've developed a huge crush on the youngest Winchester, but won't tell him because you don't think he's interested in you that way. Until someone gives the situation a nudge.

It had been three years since you started hunting with the Winchesters. Before that, you were living with your Aunt Ruthie, who was a designated Hunter's Resource. She provided information on supernatural lore to any and all hunters who asked for it. You came to live with her after your parents were killed in a car accident when you were 10.

You first became involved with Sam and Dean during a hunt for a particularly nasty and elusive werewolf. Aunt Ruthie gave you as much information as she had and put you and the Winchesters on its trail.

As you sat in the diner waiting for your meal to arrive, the bell above the door chimed. You thought to yourself that the two handsome men walking in had to be the Winchester boys. They had that air of confidence about them that came from all that they had seen and been through together. The taller man, Sam, noticed you sitting in the corner booth and walked over to you.

"Hey there, you're Ruthie's niece, right?" he asked.

"That would be me, and you must be Sam and Dean Winchester. Aunt Ruthie told me that I would be meeting and working with you for this hunt," you explained.

"Did she happen to mention how devastatingly handsome we would be?" Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows.

You pretended to think. "No, no, I don't think that subject came up. She did say that you were a bit of a ladies' man, Dean, and that I should watch out," you quipped. Sam chuckled while Dean mumbled something under his breath.

"Seriously, though, she had high praise for your hunting skills, though, and said you both were the best. Also said she worked with your father a few times, providing some much needed information. We were sorry to hear of his passing," you said solemnly.

"Thank you. What can you tell us about this werewolf that makes it different?" Sam asked. You turned your laptop around to show him what Ruthie had come up with, then the three of you were off on the hunt. You chose to ride with Sam and Dean to the site where it had last been seen. You noticed an abandoned shack in the woods, a perfect hiding place for it. The plan was for the boys to enter through the front door, while you went around back.

Before you opened the door, you checked that you had a clip full of silver bullets and also your silver blade as a backup weapon. You carefully opened the door, only to have it ripped from your hands by the werewolf. "You shouldn't have come alone, dearie. You're just in time for dinner. Main course: YOU. You're just the type of meat I'm looking for, young and sweet," it snarled.

You reached for your gun, only to have it knocked clean out of your hands before you could get a shot off. The werewolf picked you up by your neck, cutting off your air supply. Fortunately, you were able to reach your silver blade in your pocket, so you slashed it across its arm, causing it to drop you. In retaliation, it took a swipe at you, its claws slicing across your midsection. You screamed in pain, which alerted Sam and Dean.

Sam was the first to respond. He yelled at you to stay down, then he fired his weapon, pumping three silver bullets into the creature. You were able to drag yourself out of the way before the thing fell on top of you, but it took nearly all of your strength. Sam and Dean came rushing over to your side, trying to take stock of your injuries. "I don't think it's that deep, but I'll need stitches," you managed to get out before falling unconscious.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam scooped you up and carried you back to the Impala, where the boys carefully laid you in the backseat. Sam climbed in with you, holding his shirt over your wounds to hopefully keep the blood loss to a minimum. Dean fired up the Impala and raced back to the motel where they could get you stitched up.

Looking down at you, Sam couldn't help but feel a tug on his heart. You had short spiky brown hair, hazel eyes, and a killer smile. He didn't know much about you yet, but what he did know so far was enough to determine that he was definitely interested in knowing more.

A buzzing sound went off in your pocket, so he fished out your cell phone. Caller ID said it was your Aunt Ruthie, probably checking in. Sam answered it and explained to her what had happened. She was understandably upset, but she was glad the werewolf was dead. In the end, she said she was confident in their ability to get you patched up. Sam promised they would take good care of you and that you would be up and around in no time.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Working on that werewolf hunt with Sam and Dean was just the tip of the iceberg with these boys. Before too long, you had moved in to your own room in their bunker, which was like the ultimate secret clubhouse of the hunting world. Together, the three of you battled demons, rogue angels, wendigos, djinn and even managed to knock out a vamp's nest or two.

As time went on, Dean tried his best to flirt with you and win you over, but you began to realize that you only had eyes for Sam. He was more your type, more at home with a book than in a bar. That's not to say you didn't go to bars, but while Dean chatted with the ladies, you and Sam sat together and talked most of the time.

Sam would probably never know, because you would never tell him, but he held your heart. You just had no idea if he felt the same way or not, and there was no way you were ever going to take that leap. You cherished your friendship too much to risk telling him. If you found out that he didn't feel the same way, you didn't know how you could stay in the bunker after that.

One afternoon, you were researching a case on your laptop. After staring at the screen for the past two hours with no progress made, you finally pushed it away. You rubbed your eyes out of exhaustion and then covered your face with your hands. Sam pulled up a chair and sat behind you, then gently put his hands on your shoulders.

"Looks like you could use a study break. Can I get you something from the kitchen?" Sam asked as he started to massage your shoulders.

"Aw, that's sweet of you, Sam, but I wouldn't want you to make a special trip just for me," you said as you groaned with the relief provided by his hands.

"No trouble at all. Wow, you have a lot of tension in your neck, muscles all in knots. Just relax and let this work," he said softly. As Sam's skilled fingers were working out the knots, you could feel the tension begin to fade away. You closed your eyes as he continued to massage your neck area.

"Now, how about I bring you something from the kitchen, then we tackle this research problem together, hmm?" he suggested, his breath hot against your neck.

"Umm, yeah. A bottle of water would be great, thank you," you stammered.

"Coming right up," he grinned, gently squeezing your shoulder as he left.

You turned around in your chair, only to see Dean with a knowing smirk on his face. "Is something amusing to you, Dean?" you asked.

"Yeah, YOU are. Why don't you do us all a favor and just kiss him already? Get it over with," he muttered.

"What are you talking about?" you inquired.

"I'm talking about Sam. You have feelings for him, right? Don't deny it either, anyone looking at the two of you can tell. The sexual tension between you two is so thick, you can cut it with a knife," he remarked.

"What??" you whispered in horror.

"I'll tell you this much. Either make your move or move on, because this kind of messing around is what gets in the way on the job. That's when people can get hurt or killed," he warned.

"Fine, if that's what you want, I'll 'move on', as you say. You are making it painfully clear that you don't want me here, Dean," you retorted. You picked up your notebook, pen and laptop then ran towards your room. You could feel the tears threatening, but you for damn sure wasn't going to give Dean the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam was walking back to the library with a bottle of water and an apple for you. He arrived just in time to see you picking up your supplies and running off towards your room. "Dean, what did you say to her? She looked upset," Sam asked him.

"Nothing, I just pointed out the obvious about you and her," Dean answered.

"What's 'obvious'? What the hell are you talking about, Dean?" Sam snapped.

"Oh, come on, Sam! The way you two dance around your feelings for each other? Neither one of you wanting to admit it to the other? It's driving me crazy! So, I told her she should either make her move on you or move on. Because it's this kind of uncertainty that ruins a hunter's concentration. And that's when people get hurt or worse," he spat out.

"Dean, how could you say that?!? How could you even suggest that she leave here?? She is the best thing that's ever happened to us, to me! Seeing her smile is what gets me out of bed in the morning. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten lost while talking to her, just by staring into those sparkling hazel eyes of hers.

“I love how she scrunches up her mouth when she's trying to figure something out, and how her face lights up when she finds the answer. Her kindness, her sense of humor, her selflessness and her passion are only a very few of the many things I love about her," he finished.

"You love me?" a small voice asked. Sam turned to see you, standing with your tear-stained face and a large, tightly-packed duffel bag in your hands.

Sam looked at Dean, who got up out of his chair with a smug grin on his face. As Dean walked past him, he patted Sam's shoulder and said on the way to his room, "By the way, you're welcome, little brother."

In two long strides, Sam had reached where you were standing and looked down at the packed bag in your hands. "Going somewhere?" he asked softly.

You paused a minute. Looking straight into his eyes, you said, "That depends. Did you mean everything you said? All those wonderful and beautiful things you said?"

"I meant every word," Sam whispered, dipping his head and capturing your lips with his own. Your mouths moved hungrily against each other, tongues fighting for control. Sam's hands roamed up and down your back, gripping and releasing the fabric of your shirt. When you broke your kiss, you were both struggling to catch your breath. Sam searched your sweet face for an answer to his question.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam. You hold my heart, and I love you, too," you answered.

[steves-on-a-plane]

Two Roads Diverged

Title: Two Roads Diverged SONG FIC: The Day I Died - Five For Fighting Words: 2343 (2090 without lyrics) Pairing: Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter Author’s Note: This song came up under my suggested songs on Apple Music and as I listened to it, it just really gave me Steve and Peggy vibes. I wasn’t a huge fan of how Endgame tied up Steve’s story but as I wrote this, I took a linear look at his relationship with Peggy and it helped me understand that version of Steve a little bit better.

“Give me your coordinates. I’ll find a you a safe landing site.” The voice of Agent Margaret Carter ordered. The sounds came out muffled and crackling through the speaker on the plane’s console. That was 1940’s technology for you.

“There’s not gonna be a safe landing.” Captain Steve Rogers relayed regrettably from his seat in the cockpit. He fiddled with the plane’s controls. Steve was already strapped into the pilot’s chair and physically preparing for impact. “But I can try and voice it down.”

“I-I’ll get Howard on the line. He’ll know what to do.” Agent Carter insisted. Steve could hear the desperation in her voice, even through the cracking of the speaker.

“There’s not enough time.” Her told her, his voice never wavering. He told himself at the time that the level tone was for her sake, but the truth was it was just as much for his own. “This thing’s going down and it’s headed for New York.” There was dead air between them for several seconds before Steve laid out the only option. “I gotta put her in the water.”

“Please, don’t do this.” Agent Carter argued, sounding more desperate than Steve ever thought he’d live to hear. “We-we have time. We can work it out.”

“Right now, I’m in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die.” Steve disagreed. He needed to make her understand that the didn’t have any time at all. “Peggy, this is my choice.” Silence managed to push its way into the conversation again as Steve tugged at the yolk of the plane. The aircraft dipped down into a full-on nosedive, its trajectory headed straight for the icy water below. Neither one of them could bare disconnect communication with the other. There was still so much left unsaid between them. Some many things they’d never share.

“Peggy?” The Captain’s voice finally cracked slightly as the yolk shook in his hands. Though he hoped she’d never be able to tell through the speaker on her end.

“I’m here.” She responded, already sounding very far off.

“I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance.” He said as his plane broke through the clouds. He was coming in fast. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

“Alright.” Peggy obliged, holding back tears. “A week next Saturday at the Stork Club. Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

“You know, I still don’t know how to dance.” He admitted. Trying to keep the conversation going. Again he convinced himself this was for her sake.

“I’ll show you how.” She promised. “Just be there.”

“We’ll have the band play something slow.” Steve agreed, the water felt only inches away now. “I’d hate to step on your…”

I woke up, you next to me. You said, “Good morning, are you free?” The sun crept in for one last time. I was alive the day I died. The clock struck noon but did not care.

No matter how much time passed, Steve couldn’t seem to shake the memories of that day. When he woke up thawed and miraculously alive sixty-six years later, he knew it couldn’t have been anything but divine intervention. It truly was a miracle to be alive, but Steve wasn’t so sure it was a good thing. Whether you called it fate, destiny, whatever, the same force that had brought Steve Rogers back to life was the same force that had forced him go in the first place.

It was just easier for Steve, who liked to think of himself as a simple man from a simpler time, to think of this force as God. And to Steve it seemed just so unfair that the same God who could curse him with so many childhood ailments could bless him with whatever it was that Dr. Erskine liked so much. The same God who brought the force of nature that was Peggy Carter into his life, could let the two of them be separated so absolutely. To the rest of America, the return of Captain America was a sign of good things to come, but to Steve it was a painful reminder of the man he’d never gotten to be.

Bzzzz. Bzzzzz. Steve looked at the mobile phone that vibrated across the desk in his room. The phone had been given to him by SHIELD Director Fury who had explained that landlines were as extinct in this time as he felt. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered the phone anyway. It wasn’t like anyone he knew would be calling.

“Hello?” A female voice called cautiously into his ear.

“Hello?” He questions back. “This is Steve Rogers. Who is this?”

“Captain, my name is Sharon. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call, but your condition was need to know and I wasn’t high enough on the chain of command. Anyway, I’m calling because I think my aunt would like to see you and I suspect you’d also like to see her again. You knew her as Peggy.” The woman on the phone explained.

I saw a child in my old chair. A shadow fell across your face, but all the years could not erase. I was alive. I was alive. You pulled me close. I held you tight. Though my smiles told a few lies, I was alive, the day I died.

Again, Steve found himself wondering how a God could bring him Peggy back, but not quite. Was this the curse he was destined to bare forever then? To always have what he wanted just out of reach? The love of his life was there with him but while Steve still looked the same Peggy had aged. She’d gone on and gotten married. She had a family, a life. For her it had been sixty-six years. It wasn’t her fault that to Steve it had felt like six minutes.

“You should be proud of yourself.” He told Peggy as he said by her bedside. He studied the photographs by her bedside at the nursing home. The Captain couldn’t help but think how lucky the man who’d been married to her must have been.

“Mmm.” Peggy hummed in agreement. “I have lived a life. My only regret is that you didn’t get to live yours. What is it?” She added, taking in his downcast expression.

“For as long as I can remember, I just wanted to do what was right.” He sighed, looking away from the photographs. “I guess, I’m just not quite sure what that is anymore.” Peggy laughed at him and Steve’s heart skipped a beat. He’d missed her laugh.

“You’re always so dramatic!” She commented between chuckles. “You saved the world. We rather mucked it up. The world has changed and none of us can go back. All we can do is our best. And sometimes the best that we can do, is to start over.”

I was the first to see a star. It seemed so close, it was so far. Wind started to roar. Screamed time to go. You know all you need. You know all you know. I was alive. I was alive. You pulled me close. I held you tight. And though our smiles told a few lies, I was alive the day I died.

She’s gone. In her sleep.

That’s what Sharon’s text had said. That was the message that Steve received to let him know that the love of his life had died. A simple five-word text. Steve looked around the room, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The Avengers were literally falling apart before his eyes. They were all there. Sam, Tony, Nat, everyone. Arguing over some bullshit restrictions that had no place even being considered in the first place. It was too much. But that was the future, or in this case the present. Everything was always too much too fast these days.

“I have to go.” Steve mumbled, getting up from his seat in the living room. He walked off without giving the others a chance to ask why. He was packed an on a plane to London within hours.

The service was everything one would expect from an international hero like Margaret Carter. Even down to the perfectly pitched choir of angelic singers. The family asked Steve to be a pallbearer and he was honored, even if they were just indulging an old man’s sentimentality. Sharon gave a moving eulogy and then it was over.

He was expected to just go on home. To pretend like the only person, he’d ever really loved wasn’t buried six feet under. He was expected to go back to New York and sign a bunch of documents saying that the government had the right to tell him and the others like him if, when and how they were allowed to save people. The entire thing didn’t sit right with Steve. He couldn’t stomach it, the entire idea of someone else being in control of his future.

Steve Rogers had let people tell him who he was his entire life. That ended today.

“Sometimes, the best we can do is to start over.” He whispered to himself. Steve Rogers had let people tell him who he was his entire life. That ended today. He was done being the monkey in the suit who danced when they called. Steve slipped out of the church and disappeared from the public eye for three years.

Oh, Sweet Angel you call. Oh, Sweet Angel you call. Oh, Sweet Angel. White went black. Black went white. Universe cracked. I saw the light. You called my name. I did not respond. But I heard you well, carried you on.

“You have to return the stones to the exact moment we got ‘em or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.” Dr. Banner explained to Steve. He flicked open the briefcase where all six infinity stones were housed.

“Don’t worry Bruce,” Steve closed the briefcase solemnly. “Clip all the branches.”

“You know if you want, I could come with you.” Sam offered.

“You’re a good man Sam, but this one’s on me though.” Steve nodded and took in one last look at his friend before turning to Bucky.

Buck had been Steve’s friend forever. They’d survived almost a century together. The world had changed around them and dragged the pair kicking and screaming along with it. There were no secrets between them and Buck knew, even if Rogers didn’t, this was the last time they’d be seeing each other. At least as they both were then.

“Don’t do anything stupid till I get back.” Steve echoed the last worlds Bucky had said to him before shipping out back during WWII.

“How can I.” Bucky shook his head, recounting Steve’s response from ‘The good ‘ol days.’ Back when the worst-case scenario didn’t involve time traveling aliens who could wipe out half the population with a single snap. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” They shared a hug that expressed more than either had ever said allowed to the other. “I’m gonna miss you buddy.” Buck whispered as they separated.

“It’s gonna be okay, buddy.” Steve promised. With a final reassuring pat on the shoulder he walked away and stepped on to the time machine.

Midnight came and I was gone. The planet shrugged and moved along. A few people noticed and sang my songs. I was alive the day I died. I was alive the day I died.

Returning the Infinity Stones hadn’t exactly been easy. Even with the ability to travel forward or backwards with time as needed Steve found that getting the timing just right, took a little bit of practice. He didn’t have a way of recording how long the job had taken him, but he knew he was done when he opened the briefcase to find no more Infinity Stones and one final Pym Particle, his ticket home.

Home. He chuckled to himself. He’d never really felt at home anywhere or anytime. Growing up he’d been a scrawny kid from Brooklyn who never quite knew when enough was enough. During the war he was a puppet. Back when his uniform was still a costume and the closest he got to being a hero was punching a fake Hitler in the jaw three times a night. After the ice He was an eighty-eight year old man trapped in a twenty-something’s body. There was no stopping things after that. The music was too loud, and cars moved too fast.

He’d missed so many things he’d never be able to catch up on. America in the twenty first century had never really been his home. He looked down at the Pym Particle in his hand wondering if he dared. There’d be no going forward or back. That was the last one. He’d have to get the timing just right, because he was going to be stuck whenever time he landed.

Despite his best efforts to live in the present, he’d spent most of his life looking back with regret. Regret that he hadn’t been able to tell her back them when the timing was right. Regret that he hadn’t listen that day. That he hadn’t let her get Howard on the line to work things out. Regret that he’d never gotten that dance with his best girl.

Hardening his resolve, Steve set the date on his time travel watch. It had been seventy-two years for him, but for her it would be less than seventy-two hours. He’d show up with a bouquet of flowers even though flowers weren’t quite her thing. This was a special occasion and she’d understand that. He’d apologize profusely for missing their date and then before she had a change to say another word, he’d get down on one knew and ask her to be his gal forever.

I woke up, you next to me. You said “Good Morning, are you free?” The sun crept in for one last time. I was alive the day I died.

Disclaimers: All the bold text are song lyrics, and there is quite a bit of dialog pulled from MCU movies so if you reconize it, chances are its probably from The First Avenger, Winter Soldier, Civil War or End Game.  

[saxxxology]

What Goes Bump in the Night - 7

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Series Masterlist

Read the entire series on Patreon for just $3

You’re woken by the sounds of yelling coming from downstairs. It takes several seconds to recall the events of the last twelve hours, and you raise a hand to your throat, feeling the bruises that have formed overnight. Swallowing is slightly less painful, thanks to the tea Sam’s made you drink, but your cheek aches terribly. 

Standing, you tiptoe slowly to the door, listening intently. John and Sam are yelling at each other.

“I don’t care what she did or didn’t do, you should have claimed the bitch the night you bought her! None of this would have happened if you put a mark on her! Now we’ve got a hunter dead and enough witnesses to bring you down for murder!”

Sam interjects, his voice loud and clear. “I wasn’t aware that Nick would even be here. I did my job as her Alpha to protect her, and I can’t claim her without her trust—”

“You don’t need her trust! Omegas are made to serve, not to be listened to. I already branded the bitch for you, do I have to knot her for you, too?” John’s voice echoes up the staircase, as if he knows you can hear and wants his words to hit home. “Your mother understood.”

“My mother never wanted me!” Sam bellows. “I was born because of your sick belief that an Omega is nothing but a breeder! She killed herself because of y—”

You hear the sound of glass hitting the floor, and then Dean yelling “dad, stop!” There’s a vague threat growled, from who, you can’t tell, and then the sound of the library door slamming. Footsteps echo on the stairs, and you quickly scamper away, walking around to the table where your tea from the night before sits cold. 

Sam enters just as you raise the cup to your lips. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes have the same backlit glow as they always do when he’s ticked off. His demeanor changes in an instant the moment he sees you standing. 

“You should be in bed,” he says calmly.

You bow your head. “I woke up… heard you and your father fighting.”

Sam rubs his forehead, but doesn’t press the issue. He crosses the room quickly and pushes your hair away from your face. His eyes narrow at the sight of the purple bruises on your skin. “Christ…”

“I’m sorry for being a problem,” you say, your voice wavering as tears spring to your eyes. “I know I should have let you claim me, I never thought that it would cause all of this.”

“No.” Sam strokes your unharmed cheek with his thumb. “No, this was not your fault. Nick was always a dangerous, reckless man and it was only a matter of time before something did him in. He made his choices and paid the price for them. My father shouldn't have allowed him to come and I thought he was on a case in Greece.”

You sniff, looking timidly up at him. “So it was an accident?” 

He nods, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat. “Yes, it was an accident.”

He hugs you gently to his chest, one arm wrapped around your shoulders as he gently sways back and forth. You allow a few tears to escape before pulling back and gingerly wiping your eyes. Sam lets you go, watching solemnly as you sink into the chair and pull the cold tea towards you again.

“I’ll get breakfast,” Sam says, “and I’ll bring some more medicine for your bruises, it’ll help them heal faster.”

He leaves you sitting by the window and takes the steps quickly, heading down the hallway to the kitchen. Dean’s leaning against the counter, a chipped mug of coffee in one hand, the morning paper in the other.

“Anything in the papers?” Sam sets the tea kettle and cast iron pan on the stove and starts preparing a tray. There isn’t much to eat; with the events of the night before, no morning shopping has been done, and Sam can only find a few more slices of bacon, bread, and butter. 

“Nothing.” Dean’s answer is hard and clipped. “How’s Y/N?”

Sam tenses at the sound of your name coming from another Alpha’s mouth. “Hurt. Nick hit her a couple times, choked her, ripped her bloomers open.” He shakes his head.

“No broken bones?” Dean answers.

“No.”

Dean chuckles. “Not hurt enough to not claim, then.” He stiffens when Sam rounds on him, nothing but rage in his eyes. “Seriously, you need to put a goddamn mark on her. Dad’s pissed, and frankly, I am too. If Nick had a family, they’d be askin’ all sorts of questions and you’d probably go to prison for murder. You know what happens to Alphas in there?”

Sam growls. “She’s going to be in heat in a few days. I’ll claim her then, but she’s scared and hurt and I won’t take advantage of that.” He steps towards Dean, squaring his shoulders to assert his height and dominance. “And if you so much as sniff her, I swear to God—”

“Yeah, I know, you’ll cut my knot off.” Dean rolls his eyes and tosses the paper onto the small round table. “Just do whatever you can to get back on terms with dad, he’s not happy with you or her.”

“I’m not worried about it.” Sam turns back to the stove. “The minute he sees a claim on Y/N’s neck it’ll be one less thing for him to piss about.”

***

Three days later, you wake up with a fever and cramping in your lower belly. When you move, you can feel slick pooling between your thighs. It’s your heat, not in full swing, but surely well on its way. Sam stirs behind you, woken by you rolling out of his hold, and his eyes snap open the moment he catches the scent of your heat. 

“Omega,” he says, his voice hoarse with sleep as he reaches out for you, “Christ, you smell good.”

You scramble away from him towards the edge of the bed. “Don’t.”

Sam grunts and ruts his hips into the mattress, his nostrils flaring. “You’re in heat.”

You whimper and press a hand against your lower belly as another cramp wracks your body. “Please, Sam, no.”

He issues another predatory growl before sitting up and pushing the covers off his hips. His cock is hard, tinted light red, and you can see the dark flesh of his knot at the base. You haven’t touched him since the day he’d first made you service him, and the primal drive inside of you is begging to touch him again.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” he answers stiffly, “unless you want me to relieve myself here.”

Your cheeks burn as you bring your knees up to your chest. Sam vanishes into the bathroom and closes the door. You curl into yourself, hoping against hope that Sam’s able to keep his urges at bay until you’re ready for him.

***

Sam stays with you all day long, only leaving to make tea and lunch when your stomach finally growls. You manage sleep through most of it, only waking up during particularly painful waves of cramps. 

Soon after the sun sets, however, you can tell that Sam’s getting antsy, and your Omega’s soft pleads have become violent screams to be satiated. 

You’ve just emerged from a cold bath to find him pacing in front of the bed, rubbing a hand over the front of his linen pants. 

“Alpha?”

He turns at the sound of your meek voice. “Yes?”

You swallow thickly. “I… I think I might need you now.”

His stony expression relaxes into a soft smile. He meets you halfway, reaching up to cup your face. There’s still faint traces of your injuries there, but they pale in the lamplight. He towers over you, his presence strong and dominating, but his touches are feather light. 

Suddenly, before he can make any other moves, he breaks out into a short burst of laughter.

“What is it?” You furrow your brow, wondering if you’ve still got soap on your face. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “In all the time you’ve been here, I’ve never kissed you.”

Your cheeks flush warm. “Is there a reason why?”

Sam chuckles. “Just never thought you wanted me to.” His thumbs stroke your cheeks. “Would you like me to now?”

You take a shaky breath and press your palms against his chest. “Yes.”

Sam lowers his head, bending slightly to meet you as you stretch up on your toes. He nuzzles your cheek with the tip of his nose, giving a gentle nudge until you tip your head back. 

His lips are warm and soft on yours, and your knees nearly give out when the feeling sends a warm wave of heat between your thighs. Slowly, the two of you find a rhythm, and it’s only when you reach up to rub your fingers over Sam’s shoulders that he pulls away, scooping his hands under your bare thighs and lifting you off the ground. He crosses to the bed in three long strides and crawls onto it, laying you down underneath him.

“Do you want me?” he asks, hovering over you. “Do you want me inside you?”

Driven by your heat, you nod quickly. “Yes, Alpha, I want you.”

Sam darts his tongue over his lower lip and leans back, undoing the tie of his pants and shoving them off. His cock bounces between his legs, harder than ever and flushed with arousal. The tip leaks with beads of clear fluid, and Sam swipes a finger over it, emitting a soft grunt. 

“I’m going to make you feel so good.” He shifts so that when he lies down, his head rests perfectly between your thighs. You shiver as he trails kisses down the insides of your thighs and growls at the scent of your cunt. 

The first drag of his tongue through your folds makes you arch up off the bed with a soft whimper. Heat floods through you when Sam wraps his lips around the most sensitive part of you, and he slings his forearms over your hips, holding you still. Your fingers twist in the sheets as he holds you down, working your sex with expert precision. 

“Sam,” you whine his name when his hands slide up to cup your breasts, massaging the soft mounds. He only replies with a growl and quick swirl of his tongue. The sounds coming from between your legs are downright obscene, wet sucks and kisses that echo in the large room. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he pulls back, lips glistening with your slick.

“Such a sweet little cunt,” he murmurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But I want you cumming on my cock this first time.”

He pushes your legs back, spreading you open so he can notch the thick tip of his length at your entrance. You whimper when he lowers his hips, slowly pressing between your folds. There’s a resistance that burns when he pushes past it, and you scream when he sinks in to the root, his pelvis coming nearly flush with yours. It hurts, and you wonder if he’ll split you open. You’re made to take an Alpha by nature, but if you’d thought Sam was big in your hand, it’s nothing compared to what he feels like inside you. 

“Shh,” Sam soothes you with soft kisses and strokes of his thumbs on your cheeks. “It’ll stop hurting in a minute.” He presses a warm kiss to your lips, moaning at the sound of your desperate sob when he throbs inside you.

You grit your teeth and dig the tips of your fingers into Sam’s back as the burning stretch fades. Your thighs relax around his hips, and he looks deep into your eyes, breathing heavily. “Sam… Alpha…”

He presses the tip of his nose against yours. “I’ve got you.”

He braces his hands over your shoulders, holding himself over you as he rolls his hips back. You feel him moving, a hot, thick, wet slide as he pulls out. His thrust back in is long, but powerful enough to make your entire body jolt. He lets out a loud grunt as he slowly falls into a rhythm, in, out, in, out, in, out, until you’re gasping and squeezing his sides with your knees. The pain from just minutes before has become warm bursts of pleasure that make you writhe and arch as Sam drives his cock deep into you with rough, passionate thrusts. 

With a huff, he shoves a hand down between your bodies and rubs the sweet nub that makes every bit of you tingle, and this time he doesn’t muffle your gasping cry. He wants the entire house to hear what he’s doing to you. 

“You want it harder?” he asks, his voice deep and breathy. When you nod, he plants his knees into the mattress and roughly bucks his hips, making his cock nearly punch into your pussy. You toss your head back, mouth stretched into a wide O as pleasure builds between your legs, making you pulse and clench uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” Sam urges, “let it out, sweetheart, let me hear you.”

He quickens his fingers, and something inside of you breaks. Heat ravages your body, making you shake violently as gasps and moans fly from your lips. It’s like nothing you’ve felt before, and for a brief second you feel like you might faint. 

It’s over almost as quickly as it began, and Sam pauses when you let out a strangled cough. As soon as your breathing returns to normal, you feel your chest tighten up. Tears fill your eyes, but this time, Sam smiles when they slide from the corners of your eyes and drip into your hairline. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, “you’re squeezing me so tight… that your first one?”

You shudder as an aftershock flows through you. “Wh-what? First one?”

“That was your first orgasm, sweetheart.” He chuckles and kisses both of your cheeks. “You like it?”

You nod weakly and rub your fists over your eyes. “It was intense.”

Sam hums and rocks his hips forward. “Your next one will be better.”

He presses a heated kiss to your throat and pulls out. You let him flip you onto your hands and knees, and when he skims a palm up the dip of your spine, you arch your back to present for him.

“Mmm,” he runs his thumbs down the cleft of your ass, spreading your pussy lips. “You have the prettiest little cunt.”

He slides back into you with a throaty groan. One hand spreads out between your shoulder blades, the other thudding onto the mattress by your head. His hips snap against your ass, and you shudder under the force. He’s growing rough, and you feel his restraint beginning to dissolve. 

“Oh, God,” you choke on your gasp as Sam shoves your hair off your shoulder, exposing bare skin. “Oh, fuck, Sam…”

The grunt that leaves Sam’s throat is loud and feral. He grabs your waist with both hands, holding you up as he pounds even harder. Your body jerks with the motion of his thrusts, and all you can do is hold onto the covers and let your moans and cries and whimpers come free.

Sam only makes it a few minutes before you feel the knot near the base of his shaft growing. He curls over you, wrapping his arms underneath your body to hold you still. He’s nearly crushing you against the bed, and the heat combined with the punishing rhythm of his cock inside you is enough to drive you closer to the edge of another climax.

“Alpha,” you take a shuddering gasp of air when he reaches for your hand, gripping it tightly in his own, “please…”

“I’m almost there.” Sam presses his lips to your shoulder and slides his other hand down between your legs. He rubs quick circles on your clit that make you arch up with a cry. “I’m gonna knot you. Spread your legs wider, lemme get deeper…”

He shoves the entire girth of his knot into you with a vicious thrust. It’s not painful, but you can feel the weight of him throbbing hard as he falls over the edge. Hot bursts of his seed fill your womb, the final trigger to make you join him in ecstasy with a wail of his title.

The feeling of his teeth snapping into your shoulder makes you scream. It’s agonizing, and you fight hard against it, sobbing wildly as your body continues to climax despite the pain. Sam growls at the taste of your blood on his tongue and bucks his hips against your ass. He’s overcome by the instinct to mark you as his, and it’s only when the haze of his orgasm washes over him and he draws his teeth from your neck that he seems to realize that you’re in distress.

“Omega?” He holds himself up, turning your head to the side so that you can see him. “Omega, open your eyes. Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

You let out a gasping sob and let your eyes flutter open. Through the foggy tears, you can see Sam’s face contorted in a mixture of post-coital bliss and worry. There’s blood on his lips, and he swipes his tongue over them to clear the drops away.

“It hurts,” you whimper, giving into your sobs and burying your face in the pillow. “It really hurts, make it stop.”

“Shhh…” he presses a soft kiss to your temple and grips your hand harder. “It’s okay… was I too rough?”

You swallow, then nod. “A little.”

Sam inwardly curses himself. “Of course… you were a virgin, love, it won't be like that next time. I promise.” 

You sniff and allow him to wrap his arms around you in a protective embrace. “When will it stop hurting?”

Carefully, so that his knot doesn’t pull, Sam rolls onto his side, pulling your limp, trembling body with him. “In a bit. I’ll get some ice and ointment, we can bandage it up.”

Sam holds you until his knot goes down enough for him to pull free. Reaching for his pants, he pulls them on as a stream of his seed flows from your swollen cunt and onto the thick blanket. There’s a little blood on your inner thighs, and he makes a note to give you the night to heal. Your heat should repair the minor injuries soon enough. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he whispers, leaning over to kiss you as he ties the linen belt around his hips. “Don’t move, you need to heal.”

***

Sam returns ten minutes later with a tray of ice, a chalice of water, bandages, and sterile ointment. You’re sitting up, legs apart, examining the mess—a combination of both yours and Sam’s climaxes tinged with faint traces of blood.

“Are you okay?” Sam sets the tray on the bedside table and hands you the glass of water. 

You accept the glass and down a large gulp. “Sore. I had to sit up and I couldn’t stop… there’s so much—”

Sam shakes his head and lifts a corner of the comforter. “Don’t worry. It’s old, I was planning on getting rid of it anyway.”

You stumble to the bathroom to rinse what’s left of the mess from your body. When you return, Sam’s pulled the comforter from the bed and has set a small stack of folded blankets at the bottom. He instructs you to hold a cool cloth between your legs. It helps with the ache, and when he sets about cleaning and wrapping the claim bite in white bandages, you start to feel the difference. Sam’s claim makes you feel larger than life. His touch sparks a warmth that’s never been there before, and when he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, you instinctively grab his wrist, desperate to never let him go. 

“I need to put this away, ‘mega,” he whispers.

“Leave it,” you reply, pulling him close. “Come to bed.”

Sam chuckles and unfolds one of the blankets, draping it over you as you lie back. He follows, turning out the lamp and snuggling up by your side. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says quietly. “I’ve never claimed an Omega before, I thought it might hurt, but…”

“I forgive you.” You graze your lips over his chin. “Just hold me.”

Sam slings an arm over your waist and kisses your cheek. “All right, ‘mega. Sleep well.”

***

Three days later, your heat finally fades. Sam’s knotted you several times since that first time, taking great care to make every single moment nothing but pleasure. He makes you cum with his mouth and fingers when your heat sends a flare through your body, and by the end of those three days, you’re exhausted and spent and don’t allow him to touch you. But Sam’s all right with that. He’s mated and claimed you, and as with your connection to him, he knows he’ll be satisfied simply by snuggling you until you fall asleep.

Sam leaves you sleeping and dresses in his linen pants. He doesn’t bother putting a shirt on; it’s just his father and brother in the house, and if they’ve been home, they’ve surely heard the rutting coming from his bedroom at one point or another.

John and Dean are talking over the morning paper when Sam strides in, a steaming cup of tea in one hand. Dean whistles at his brothers disheveled appearance, and John raises an approving eyebrow.

“Are you done?” he asks somewhat sarcastically.

Sam nods. “She’s sleeping.”

“And you claimed her?”

Again, Sam bobs his head shortly. “Yes, sir.”

For the first time in a very long while, John smiles at his youngest son. “Good.”

[krispyalpacaduck]

Music Lessons With The Devil Chapter 2

Lucifer x OC fic

Rating: R, for language

A/N: I changed the character’s name while writing this. Her name is now Isra or Is for short.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

I heard someone yelling my name and looked up to see Chloe running full speed at me, nearly crashing into me when she caught up. Bending over to get her breath back, I laughed, “Good morning to you too, Chloe.”

Thrusting her phone into my face, she squealed, “10. Million. Views…Overnight! Over. Night, Is!”

I stopped, taking the phone from her hands so I could see what she was trying to show me.

It was a clip of Lucifer and I playing at Lux the night before.

“Wow…” I breathed.

“You are viral, girl!”

“Psh. I’m only viral because of him.”

“What do you mean?”

I gave her back her phone and said, “It’s on a Lucifer fan site.”

“Oh, stop it! You were incredible and you know it!” She lightly tapped my arm. “Stop being so modest.”

I handed her back her phone as we walked along the path.

“So… what do you think?”

“I hate him.”

My answer was so sudden Chloe took a step back.

“Not the answer I was expecting. You guys were so electric last night! Did you see the way he was looking at you? Did you feel the room when you played together?? Why do you hate him?”

“I can’t explain it but something about him is just so extremely off putting. I told you last night that that type of man and myself do not get along. Not to mention that attitude and ego? And what Maze said about a list to reserve a spot? Do women literally line themselves up to sleep with him? He’s the absolute worst type of man! God, I wanted to smack him 10 ways to Sunday. He’s dangerous, Chlo.”

Chlo snorted and laughed. “Lucifer? He wouldn’t hurt any-”

“I don’t mean physically. I mean that he’s the kind of man who once you’re on his radar, you don’t get away unless he chooses to let you go. Call it a hunch, but I think I’m in that man’s cross hairs. Buried deep like a tick.”

She got a playful smile on her face. “I feel a but in there.”

I sighed. “Damn you and your perceptions. But I did enjoy playing with him. I’ll think about it as long as he is clear that this is a professional relationship. I’m not about to be another one-night stand for him.”

Chloe ‘s face dropped.

“I know he’s a lot to take in and deal with. Believe me there, but Is… he’s not like the-”

“Good morning, Detective! Coffee for you!”

Lucifer’s bright and cheery face was not what I needed to see this morning. My cheeks flushed at the sound of his voice. The eyes, the way he looked at me. How close we’d been… It all came flooding back in.

“I gotta go Chloe. Class is about to start. Talk to you later.”

She squeezed my arm affectionately with a small smile and watched me walk away.

“Isra!” I heard Lucifer exclaim.

“Last night was exhilarating! You made this old Devil happier than he’s been in a very long time. I’d love to do it again!”

I turned to face him. His smile was beaming, contagious.

“I had a lot of fun too. But listen I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Actually,” Lucifer began, walking up to me. I felt his hand touch the small of my back. That electric shock was back. Fighting the urge to lean into it, I stepped to the side out of his reach.

His eyes furrowed before silent understanding dawned on his face. He brought his hand back, fisting it in embarrassment before putting it down by his side. “Right. Sorry. I wanted to talk to you about an arrangement.”

Juggling the bags on my shoulder, I said, “I’d love to, but really. I have to go. Running late for class.”

“Lucifer, she has to go.” Chloe said, grabbing him by the sleeve. “And so do we!”

Lucifer pouted at Chloe. “But -”

“She said she would talk to you later. Come on. Let’s go.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right. Crime doesn’t wait! I will see you later, Miss Isra.” He said cheerily.

I waved goodbye and turned back in a brisk walk towards the Los Angeles College of Music

.…………………………………………………………………………

Lucifer and Chloe had a case delivered to them about a murder near the Los Angeles College of Music.

“Huh….what a funny coincidence…”

“What’s that?” Chloe asked.

“Isra works at that college, right?”

“Yeah, she does.”

“Well, guess we should pay her a visit!”

Chloe stood with her arms folded across her chest, a knowing look on her face.

“The college, I mean. We should question the Dean right since it was his assistant that was murdered?” Lucifer said, cheerily.

“Lucifer, this is an active police investigation. You will leave her alone while she’s teaching.”

He looked offended. “I give you my word."

…………………………………………………………………………

“Did you hear what happened to Cindy?” My assistant said, leaning against my door frame.

“I did. That’s so awful. Who would want to do something like that?”

“I don’t know. The Dean is just sick about it.”

“They were a thing weren’t they?”

“On the DL yeah, but I think everyone knew.”

“That’s so sad. Have they announced a service yet?” I asked quietly.

“I think Friday at 3.”

She came over to me for a hug. I hugged her back as I heard her sniffle.

When she pulled back, I kept my hand on her arm. “My best friend works for the LAPD. If there’s anyone who can find who did this, it’s her.”

She nodded her head and walked out.

In the silence, I was left to my thoughts. As I sat staring at the piano, last night’s events flooded back. It was exhilarating. I’d felt like myself again for a brief moment. No worries, no fears. Just music. I’d played as an accompaniment loads of times before but… no one had ever made me feel the way he did last night… There was something about him that made me tap into a more bare, carnal side of myself that I thought I had locked away. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered his face and the way he stared at me.

Pushing back from the piano, I said, “Nah. Nope. Nada. Net. Nein. Nope nope nope!” Smacking myself a few times in the face, I said, “Pull. Yourself. Together. Pretty faces equal bad.” Mocking myself, I said, “Let’s test the Devil shall we?” Then snorted with laughter. More like test the cement that held up the wall I’d erected.

My heart physically hurt. It hurt to hide who you really were. Who you really wanted to be. I wanted to feel like that again. The way I did with him but knew I couldn’t. As much as I loved music, sometimes music betrayed me. For me, it was like a high that came with an eventual addiction that led to sudden withdrawal. The way someone made me feel when I played with them made me want to chase that high forever. That chase had left me heartbroken, and in one case, almost dead.

After that, I vowed to make it incredibly difficult for someone to love me. For someone to get close to me. It pissed me off that he was able to slide in under the radar. How easily he had slipped through the cracks of that iron wall around my heart.

Feeling my eyes burn at the corners, I angrily swiped at them. I’d felt like this before. Wanting to chase it and holding back because I knew what would happen. I thought I was past this. Thought I was stronger than this. It wasn’t fair.

‘Listen. Life isn’t fair. Life is full of shit-for-brains people. Life is full of psycho people. Life is full of people who can’t handle who you are. You’re going to get hurt. No one gets out of this life without experiencing it. You might think putting your walls up protects you but in reality you’re protecting the world from you.’

I looked up at her slowly, eyes red from crying.

‘It’s so easy to put up that wall and ball yourself up in fear, hate and regret. Don’t forget about all the good that there is in this world. Don’t build the wall up! Instead, knock that motherfucker down! Bare yourself to the world. Let them see who you are! And if a motherfucker wants to disrespect you, then you remind that motherfucker who you are. You remind yourself who you are. You are Israfel Giannone! And no one messes with you!’

The conversation with my grandmother faded from my head. I swear she was keeping tabs on me from the grave, always knowing when to pop in when I needed her the most. It made me smile thinking of that conversation. She always swore when she was angry at someone for making me doubt my self worth. It was aggressive, but hey she was Italian.

I wondered how my grandmother would’ve handled the former lover, ‘Another musician, fancy that’. I seethed inwardly, from an Italian mob family who had left me for dead. I laughed quietly to myself, imagining her 93 year old frame chasing after him with her slipper, yelling profanities. She might’ve been little, but she was fierce!

I looked up to the ceiling, clutching the locket on my chest.

“I will try, Nonna. But it’s not that easy…”

I put one of my headphones in and started to play Fly by Ludovico Einaudi, putting all of my emotions into it

.…………………………………………………………………………

I said good morning to my students as they filed in for class, greeted with the usual grunts and hollow hello’s. Most of my students took this as an elective so I doubt many of them actually cared about it. I turned around and wrote on the chalkboard the lesson for the day, waiting for them all to be seated.

When things quieted down, I read through the roster, checking off the students as they called out “Here.” or leaving a circle if there was no response. I was almost to the end when I saw a name that was new.

“Lucifer? What in God’s name-”

“Devil, actually.”

I looked up to see him smiling at me.

“Buongiorno, maestro.” He said in a deep, flirty voice with a cheeky wave.

A busty blonde next to him twirling her hair in her finger smacking chewing gum obnoxiously laughed over exaggeratedly, “O.M.G. You speak French? That’s so hot.”

I resisted the urge to walk over to my cabinet and slam my head through it. I watched Lucifer making googly eyes at her and definitely NOT being shy about checking out her chest. I couldn’t help the animalistic sound that came from my throat. Two of the things I despise most in life were sitting right in front of me: womanizers and airheads.

Lucifer’s eyes snapped up to check out the sound he heard, his mouth falling open.

“Are you done?”

He booped the blonde on the nose, giving her a wolfish grin.

“Right. Sorry. Carry on.”

“Fottuto idiota.” I said. 

Lucifer sat up, offended. “Now I don’t think that’s necessary!”, with the blonde screeching, “O.M.G. You speak it too?!”

Slamming a book down onto the podium, I gritted my teeth and said, “Read the first chapter of The Musician’s Guide to Aural Skills: Ear Training.” I made sure to stare a hole straight into Lucifer’s head.

Softening my voice I said, “I will be right back.”

I heard sounds of ruffling as the students did as I asked, not sure what would happen if they didn’t. Walking back to my office, I sat down, trying to calm my anger. 

“How does Chloe deal with this?” 

Lucifer popped into the doorway, seconds later.

“Isra, I-”

In a split second, I stood up, grabbed him by his jacket, pulled him into the room and slammed the door. He stumbled into the wall next to my desk as I rounded, hands on my desk chair.

“Ti sei rincoglionito?!” 

“You are full of surprises! What was it again, French?” He had a smile on his face that I just wanted to smack right off of him.

I growled low in my throat, fisting my hands on my chair.

“Fine, I’ll play along. "Qualunque cosa intendi?” 

My voice was low and thick as I spat through gritted teeth.

“What… the fuck are you doing here?!”

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

A/N:  Fottuto idiota means “Fucking idiot.”

Ti sei rincoglionito means “Are you out of your mind?”

Qualunque cosa intendi means “Whatever do you mean?”

I used google translate so for the 1st and 3rd Italian phrases so it may not be 100% correct.

Tag List: (Please feel free to share! Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

@ayanna-wild @using-our-made-up-names

[crqstalite]

Ashes.

for MER week 2020. day 6, argument. set in 2183.

It seems every time something is lit on fire, Shepard is in the middle of it. After Virmire, that doesn't change, especially after the loss of Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams.

(f!shenko if you squint -- warning for major character death + spoilers for virmire.)

read on AO3

-

She should be glad that the Corporal waited until after they left the planet to start yelling.

No one spoke after the Normandy took off, after the cargo bay door closed their only view of the lush green planet, of the base they were leaving their squadmate -- their friend, behind on. The only acknowledgement was that Joker came over the comms, subdued to hell and back saying that once debrief was done, that the Council wanted a word with the Commander.

Kodelyn heard Corporal Johansson's armor hit the floor as soon as they were aboard in the cargo bay, as soon as she'd put the Lieutenant down from where he'd been over her shoulder, the helmet clunked down to the ground with enough force to leave a dent. Not a single squad member said a thing, but in everyone's eyes she could see the hurt, could see the wounded pride and the loss that went along with it. It was petty, but she couldn't stand looking at the corner that Ashley often frequented, the work bench. Corporal Johansson gently brushed it with a gloved hand, blonde hair draped down in front of her face as she took it in. Kodelyn couldn't see her expression. Couldn't hear her if she had said something.

She didn't want to.

Kodelyn should've said something then. Did something. Anything to soften the blow, like any good Commander should've.

But the broken look in Johansson's eyes when she made the order to return to the bomb site instead of continue onto Kirrahe's squad's position was enough that she wasn't willing to risk it in the slightest. Johansson was a vanguard, and while she hadn't ever seen the woman flare outside of a combat situation, Kodelyn had enough bruises and cuts from Virmire as it was. Adding to it by flying back against a bulkhead would surely send her to Chakwas for the rest of the flight back to the Citadel.

Other than a glance to the rest of the squad to take stock, she took the elevator up to where her locker was. No one followed her up. She wants to say that was a good thing, she could be alone with her thoughts before the debriefing of all debriefings. Keep herself in check before she said something she shouldn't.

But she doesn't want to be alone, not now with all of her thoughts suffocating her. Kodelyn felt numb, slipping off her own helmet and brushing out her hair with a hand. She trudges over to the white and red locker, pulling off pieces of armor and carefully stashing them away. Her hands are trembling enough that she's forced to slow down her normal routine. She can't find the clips and buckles that she knows by heart, vision blurring not with tears but lack of focus. Even removing her chest piece doesn't relieve her of the pressure that's haunting her chest.

"Go back and get Alenko--"

"--You know it's the right choice, LT!"

She has to take a moment, right there in her undersuit just to process. To accept that what was happening...had happened. That there was nothing she could do now. That if Johansson really was as angry as she assumed she was, then she'd have to face the music, face that look of loss that she'd only seen once before on her mother's face. And really, she deserved it. Why hadn't she sent the others over to get Ashley? Why hadn't she tried to send someone else down for Kaidan? In that moment, she finds that there were so many things that she could've done that would've guaranteed that both the Gunnery Chief and Lieutenant would've returned to the Normandy in one piece.

They were both willing to die for the cause. Willing to sacrifice so that the mission could be a success.

Kirrahe and his men had gone down with Ashley. So now, not only had she lost a skilled soldier, the last of the 212th, she'd also lost an entire squad of Salarian STG soldiers under her command.

While she yanked off her undersuit in her quarters, she looks in the mirror that hangs just off kilter on the wall, blinking once and then twice at the subdued mahogany irises with the darkness of insomnia underneath them. One hell of a Commander that she was. The wheels had come off that mission before she knew what was happening. She knew she should've sent Wrex with Tali ahead of them. Had been on the tip of her tongue when Tali had called in with an update of the situation from the CIC and that Private Petrakis had gone down to a Geth Prime. But no, she'd declined because she didn't want to unnecessarily sacrifice their lives in favor of their own. She'd sent both her and Corporal Johansson back to deal with her wounds.

Pulling on her fatigues, she tries to justify the decisions. Knowing everyone would want answers, knowing she's going to have to face the entire squad with those words, having to look at Lieutenant Alenko -- Kaidan, and find if she really hadn't broken every reg in the book to go and save him.

The bomb had been important. It needed to go off, or the whole mission was doomed and they'd sacrificed Salarian lives for nothing. That they'd just nearly lost their lives for absolutely nothing. She wouldn't have sent Wrex and Tali and her stead, even with Ashley covering for them they'd still be dug in anyway. There were no promises that Joker would've been there for both sets of squads. She could've costed them the Normandy if she'd taken too long. The bet was in her favor for saving Kaidan.

She should've saved Ashley. If for just a moment, she could forget about the budding relationship between her and the Lieutenant, the strategic decision would've been to go back for the Gunnery Chief. The bomb had been described to her as impossible to shut off once started, and the Salarian Councilor would surely have less curt words for her once she flicked on the Godforsaken FTL comms after this meeting. Ashley was younger, yes, but still a force to be reckoned with. Kaidan had the seniority, but what did that mean if the Alliance cut ties with the Salarians?

Sacrifice. They'd warned her that she'd need to be able to do it, need to be able to make the hard decisions in the face of adversity. She'd said she could, said she was willing to hunt Saren down no matter the cost. To bring him to justice, and end his reign of terror.

So why was she here, unable to breathe and the room spinning around her like a ferris wheel? Unable to get those confused and wounded hazel eyes of the Lieutenant out of her head, unable to stop hearing Ashley's desperate voice out of her ears?

Once this mission is over with, she'd have to tell Anderson. Have to tell her father figure that she'd broken a regulation, and it costed them a whole soldier. She'd probably be reassigned from the Normandy, or in the worst case, that the Lieutenant would be. Demoted for fraternization, a black mark on her otherwise clean record. She'd never stop agonizing over it, and facing her mother and stepfather with those actions behind her.

A headache is starting to form just behind her eyes.

"Commander, the squad's in the comm room," Joker's voice comes over the room's comms as she pushes a hair band onto her wrist. She looks like a dead woman with her hair down around her shoulders, frizzed at the ends. Scars criss-crossing over her face, bruises from where a krogan had gotten much too close and got a nice hit in with his shotgun before Liara sent him flying. She doesn't think she's ever had her hair down around the crew before, but with how she was picking up the pace to just fasten her fatigues back on doesn't leave her with a choice. If she stayed up here any longer they'd think she was stalling, "Just uh, letting you know ma'am, in case you needed time to yourself after...everything. Want me to recall them for later?"

"No. No, I can handle this now."

Can she?

Can she really go down there, look into the impossibly indigo eyes of Corporal Annika Johansson and tell her that she'd sacrificed her friend, maybe even her girlfriend not because she was selfish and had kept Kaidan around just to quell her need for acception, but instead because it was a tactical decision?

"Thanks anyway, Joker." She says, grateful that Joker hasn't started trying to dig into her for her decision. He's probably just as upset, Ashley had gotten close to just about everyone on the crew. He simply makes a noise of understanding, before the comm clicks off and leaves her in silence. Pressing the button to open her door, she pushes her gaze up from the floor. She couldn't say she had any pride over this decision, but it was better than coming off guilty and worn down. Or, she hopes it is.

Climbing the stairs and firmly keeping her eyes off the station just outside her room, her thoughts fade to static. What was the appropriate response here? Lay out the facts first, right? Debrief, explain herself if she had to. Quell a mutiny. Wasn't the first time, but she supposed it wouldn't be the last either. She was sure this would split the squad in half over a matter of opinions, or maybe they'd all be against her. Who really knew?

Kodelyn doesn't even realize she's there until she's tapping the door open. Until the silence is ground into her as she strides inside, before turning to her squadmates.

Ashley's chair is empty. Annika sits beside it on one side, Kaidan on the other closest to her. Liara's eyes are downcast, Garrus' visor is off for once, and Wrex has the same unreadable expression as always. Briony has chosen to stand, instead leaning against the railing with her eyes pinned just beyond Kodelyn. She has bandages wrapped around her head, another around her left bicep. That gives her solace, that she managed to pull Briony out of the fire before things got past the point of Chakwas being able to do anything about it.

She can see the light corona of blue flickering in and out around Corporal Johansson's lithe form. Like the beginning embers of flames, they lick her pale, scarred skin, her lavender eyes mixing with the blue of biotics. She's trying to keep her powers from flaring, but it isn't being held back as well as she thinks.

"I…I can’t believe that Ash didn’t make it. How could we just leave her down there?" The lieutenant questions, as Annika shifts in her seat, fully forward with her head on her hands and her elbows on her knees. Expecting an answer. The hurt inflected in Kaidan's question shakes her to her core, but after a moment she allows herself to meet his eyes. This was real. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't a nightmare. Ash really was gone, and giving voice to those words that she'd thought as she raced back towards the bomb site only made it all the more shocking to her system.

"Williams knew the risks going in. She gave her life to save the rest of us." Kodelyn answers, firm but quiet enough that she can see Private Petrakis straining to hear her in the dead silent room. Should she speak any louder, she's not sure she'd still sound like herself. She swallows down a lump in her throat, crossing her arms over each other just to give herself a sense of stability.

This is why there were fraternization regs. So you weren't choosing between your lover and a good soldier. So there was no hesitation in the field if it did come down to a decision like this. Guilt over the unlucky party was natural, but there was no indescribable feeling like there was now, choking her, punching her in the gut as she tried to focus on the people around her.

Her hands are shaking.

"But why me? Why not her?" He asks, his voice cracking just so. Had they been alone, had they been anywhere else, she would've wanted to hug him, say anything, do anything to quell that pain in his voice. But they're not, and there are rules and regulations that she's already left behind her because of this.

Because I care about you, she desperately wants to admit, because I don't know what I'd do with myself if I knew I was the reason that you weren't going home to Vancouver.

"I’m sorry, Kaidan. I’d never leave you behind. I couldn’t. You know that."

She's already pushing boundaries here with her choice of words, and one of Liara's artificial eyebrows raises out of the corner of her eye. Maybe in surprise, maybe in confusion. Annika actually does flare for a moment, quick enough that if Kodelyn had blinked in that moment she would've missed the flames rising off her. Kaidan's mouth falls open for a moment, then snaps close. Organizing his thoughts, she's sure.

"I know. And I am grateful. But Ash died because of me. Because of us." He responds, knowing full well what he means. Or at least, what she hopes he means. She should be happy, being referred to as part of an us. Being part of anything at all, really. But instead the stone in her empty stomach weighs more than it did before she walked inside. It was because of this us that she'd chosen wrong. That the Williams family wouldn't be seeing their daughter ever again, that her three younger sisters would no longer have her to look up to.

Wasn't Sarah set to graduate this year?

"It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault. The only one to blame here is Saren." She answers solemnly. It's quiet for a moment. For a moment she believes she's done it right, believes that she's not only comforted Kaidan to the best of her ability, but also quelled anyone's doubts, before a chair scrapes across the ground of the debriefing room.

She raises her head to the pale form of Annika Johansson.

The woman stands only a half an inch shorter than her, but with enough muscle to compensate considerably. Eye to eye with blazing blue eyes as she feels energy spark against her skin that she attempts not to flinch from, the shock of electricity that runs up her spine. She'd never seen a biotic that didn't intend to kill her this close before save for Kaidan, and if she wasn't trying to keep from bawling like a baby in front of her squad, she think it was beautiful. The supernova of blue and white that raises hairs on her arms, one that had probably nearly killed her a few times.

She doesn't know whether Johansson intends to kill her or not. Personally, she isn't sure if she wants to stick around and find out either.

"Shepard, I would follow you to hell and back but what the hell were you thinking back on Virmire?" Her voice is deep, rough, scratchy with what she assumes is unshed tears, "Where was the strategist I met on Feros? The one who would've gone back for Chief Williams -- for Ashley? When did she die?!"

"I made the choice that strategically sound at that moment, Corporal," She steadies her voice, or tries to, "I made the decision that would guarantee that the mission would succeed. If I could've saved the Chief, I would have. But sacrificing more lives for one would've put us at the tactical disadvantage."

"Bullshit!" Johansson's hands ball at her sides into fists, as if she's not entirely sure what to with them. Surely even in her heightened emotional state, she remembers that violence against her CO wasn't going to get her anywhere. That at least keeps her heart from jumping out of her chest as Johansson grows closer, "You think we're all blind don't you? As if you can keep playing this game of fantasy and break the regulations you deem as fair game!"

"Johansson." She states warningly, but the recoil in Johansson's expression never comes like it should've. Kodelyn wants to pull rank, wants to put her in her place, but if she doesn't deal with this now, doesn't hear out her own squad, then was she any better than anyone else they were fighting these days? She had to be the bigger person, and if that meant hearing her own thoughts come back at her, then so be it, "I made the decision. The bomb needed to go off, and I went back for the Lieutenant because we needed to secure it. Had we not, we would've sacrificed the STG's squad's lives for nothing."

"You--" Johansson's eyes narrow, pressing an electric finger to her chest roughly, "--just wanted to screw Alenko a few more times before all this was over! You pretended as if you could just play God for a couple more days, as if you'd pulled the wool over our eyes. News flash! Ashley was a person too, and she deserved to live just as much as your precious Lieutenant, if not more!"

Kodelyn lets that sink in. So that meant that they knew, or at least Johansson did. About what? She didn't have anything to hide, and neither did Kaidan. Hell, she couldn't even classify this as a real relationship, and going as far to accuse her of only keeping Kaidan around because she liked the way he looked? She bites her tongue to keep from snapping entirely. Before he was anything else, he was a capable L2 sentinel, and a friend. Anything more, and that was when you became delusional. She knew better than the assume where she stood with someone.

She pulls herself back together.

"My personal relationships, if they existed or otherwise, did not factor into my decision, Johansson. I've stated my case, and my friendship with the Lieutenant did not affect it." Her voice wavers at the admission, and selfishly wonders if that confession would affect this back and forth, never concrete relationship with Alenko. He'd always said to leave herself a way out, and she's really hoping that she hadn't just given him another one, "Ashley was a damn fine soldier and that decision wasn't made lightly."

Johansson is literally shaking, she can see her blonde hair flying as her grimace turns into an ill-timed smile, a chuckle escaping her, "Everything's just perfect for you, isn't it Commander? Damn peachy, huh? A family supporting every decision you've ever made, a Captain watching your back, damn Spectre status, commanding the first stealth-recon ship of it's kind and a biotic boyfriend to back you up? Really, Shepard. You didn't even think about the people you were tearing Chief Williams -- Ash away from, did you? Didn't even think about the people who cared about her, about the people who would grieve for her until the end of their days, about the people who lost the one thing still tying them to this damn galaxy, did you?"

Kodelyn is beginning to see the cracks in her resolve. It hits her like a brick, Johansson had no family left in the galaxy, and after Akuze, no prior squadmates either. She had lost everything before the SR-1, and now losing Ashley, however close they were, shattered her entirely. She still has her concerns that the vanguard might biotically punch her into next week, but she stays firm in front of her, "Ash was my friend too Johansson, just as much as anyone else in this room. Had I been able to spare the men to do it, you'd better believe she'd be in here with us. But because of her, we don't have cloned Krogan on our asses now, and Saren's been taken down a peg because of it."

"We lost both her and an STG squad because of it. You knew that bomb was going off either way, you just didn't want your Alenko in the center of it. The hell is your moral compass, Shepard? Do you have any idea how much she meant to her family, to the crew? To us? To me? Do you know who the hell you sacrificed just so you could have him of all people back in the comm room?"

Kodelyn doesn't dare meet Kaidan's eyes from where she can feel them burning into her side. Everyone is waiting on an answer, and she has to really think for a moment before she answers anyone. Johansson might've just exposed herself to being more than just friends with Ashley, but she's not willing to pull out her big book of regulations to put her down, nor does she wants to sow the seeds of dissent in the ranks with any pissed off response. Instead, she pulls her hand from where it had been crossed over her chest and gently places it on her shoulder. It burns like a bitch for a moment until she manages to find her words, "I get it. She meant a lot to you, Johansson. I don't think I ever saw the two of you without the other down in the cargo bay. I get it. And I'm sorry I couldn't bring her back for you. If you don't think this is going to haunt me until the day I stop breathing, then you're dead wrong. I don't ever make a habit of losing soldiers under my command and Saren is going to pay for her. You ask me whether I know how much she meant to her family...damn it, Johansson, I'm going to have to call them and tell them that I'm the reason she won't be back for shore leave this year. I'm going to have to tell Sarah, Lynn and Abby that I'm the reason their sister won't be back for Christmas. So yes, I have an inkling of what she was to the people around her."

Annika's eyes still smolder with blue, but her form falls from a defensive position to one of acception. Mission accomplished then, and without her knocking her shoulder back into place (Kodelyn makes a mental note to visit Chakwas once she dealt with the Council). Kodelyn softens her voice, not willing to raise her frustration any further, "I'm sorry I couldn't do more. And I'm sorry we're down a soldier and a friend. But channel that anger towards Saren instead of me, if you can. He's the real reason we're missing our Gunnery Chief Williams."

She deflates. Kodelyn stops feeling shocks of lightning up and down her fingertips once she does, and Johansson steps away from her, gaze averted. Addressing the rest of the room, "Dismissed. We'll be on the Citadel in a couple hours, you need me, you know where to find me."

Johansson is gone as soon as the order is given. Petrakis follows silently, though there's a limp in her step as she makes her way towards the doors. Liara moves to help her, with Garrus and Wrex on her heels. She leans back against the FTL comm system, careful not to bring up the interface and rubs at her temples. A headache is pulsing at the back of her eyes, and she figures this day isn't done with her yet. Her hair falls forward as she pulls it up into a ponytail, immediately hyperaware that Kaidan hasn't moved from his seat on her right. If she was going to take a guess, all the stress of Virmire not to mention they'd been out for most of the day was going to bring on a migraine. A part of her wants to talk about this -- about them, but she can't find the words now. Can't even think of bringing that idea back to the table considering their current situation.

She doesn't have to, as he stands first, "Ma'am--Shepard?"

"Go ahead, Lieutenant." She says, raising her eyes to his. All the fight has spilled out of her into the comm room, and she doesn't want to alienate him anymore than she already has. She'd been so blind, thinking no one else would be any the wiser. Hell, he practically haunted that terminal outside her room, and she allowed it. Anyone could've overheard their conversations in the mess, and now it was coming back to bite her in the ass. She knew all of this was too good to be true, and it'd gotten Ashley killed. Had probably earned her a one way ticket off the Normandy while she was at it. Nothing came without a price, and here was her invoice.

"I--thank you. For saving my life," He states. He seems conflicted for a moment, unsure of how to continue, his voice dropping to just above a whisper, "Shepard, you did all you could. Anything short of a miracle in the form of the Alliance's warships over the planet couldn't have saved her."

"I'd like to think that, Alenko. But then there's reality. Should've sent Tali, Wrex and Johansson ahead to get her." She answers. He's close enough that she can see the scars that he'd earned recently. One of which is on his jaw, and she winces, "There are so many things I could've done, so many things I should've done that I didn't in that split second. Johansson was right, the strategist in me died on Feros."

"Don't let the what-ifs drag you down, ma'am. Because of you, Saren's facility on Virmire is done for. There won't be any Krogan fighting for him when we finish him off," He responds, "Maybe this wasn't a picture perfect victory, but you did something they deemed impossible."

"Saren is getting the ass-beating of the millenia when I find him for Jenkins, Nihlus and Williams," She responds coldly, before turning from his form to flicker on the comm interface, "Do you need anything else, Alenko? I'm sure the Council wants to talk about this colossal failure of a mission before we land and they do it in person with an audience."

He's quiet for just a moment, "Thank you, for defending me against Johansson. I know you wouldn't let...this, get in the way of a mission, ma'am. If it means anything at all, I think you made the right decision," Again he pauses, double taking on his words, "I mean, sorry Shepard, that sounded selfish."

"No, no it didn't, Alenko. And thank you," She turns over her shoulder, offering a gentle smile. To think he thought that he was being selfish, just for being grateful that he lived to fight another day, "For not giving up on me."

"You're welcome, ma'am. You know where to find me if you want to talk, about anything." His voice softens further, and she's not sure what to say. Instead, she nods as the door closes behind him with a satisfying thunk.

She watches him leave. She straightens her fatigues and brushes her loose hair back as she cracks her jaws. Three of the biggest annoyances in her career thus far come onto the vid, and she puts on a neutral face to receive their thoughts on the mission, "Commander Shepard--"

-

It may be purely out of habit but I do the starting missions in this order: Therum > Feros > Noveria. Private Briony Petrakis was recruited on Noveria. Corporal Annika Johansson was recruited on Feros. Their profiles are both on my tumblr. She and Ashley were mid-relationship when Virmire hit, same as Kodelyn and Kaidan.

This story is also just something I had floating around my head for a bit. There is some shenko at the end if you squint, but I mostly wanted to introduce Annika. And Shepard's interaction with her after Virmire was a little heartwrenching to write. This is tied to the 'Eye of the Storm' verse and there will be more stories included.